The Spirit Is Willing (The Lady Hardcastle Mysteries Book 2)

by T E Kinsey

  He looked at her with some alarm. ‘I… er…’ he stammered.

  ‘Good,’ she said sweetly. ‘We shall say no more about it. Now then, what can we do for you?’

  To say that Brookfield was wrong-footed by this outburst followed by the sudden change of mood would be an understatement, and he struggled for a moment to gather himself before he could respond.

  ‘I… er… I just wanted to consult you on the case,’ he eventually stammered. ‘To find out what you had discovered, what you thought of our three suspects.’ He took his notebook and a pencil from his satchel and stood ready to make notes.

  ‘Well,’ she said, after a moment’s thought, ‘I find it difficult to choose between them. I mean, they all seem so likely. They all have strong motives, and Craine and Hinkley both have the money and influence to be able to pay someone to push poor Mr Morry off that roof. I’m not sure yet how they might have lured him there in the first place, but I’m sure we’ll discover that in due course.’

  ‘And Stansbridge?’ he said, scribbling eagerly.

  ‘He’s impecunious but he’s quite a fit young man; I imagine he could handle himself in a scuffle. Or perhaps the Earl employed someone. It really is a most perplexing case, Mr Brookfield; I fear we are getting nowhere at all.’

  ‘Shall I continue to dig into their histories?’ he asked as he finished his note-taking.

  ‘Yes, please,’ she said. ‘And we shall make discreet enquiries of our own. Don’t worry that there’s been little progress so far, it often works out that way. Things usually come together in a rush at the last moment.’

  ‘Very good, very good,’ he said with a keen grin.

  ‘Is there anything else?’ said Lady Hardcastle.

  ‘Well… I… er…’ he seemed once again wrong-footed as he discerned, quite rightly, that he was being dismissed.

  ‘Splendid,’ she said. ‘Well, thank you so much for dropping by, Mr Brookfield. Do telephone next time, won’t you. Armstrong will show you out.’ And with that, she turned away and began careful perusal of the books in the bookcase in the alcove beside the fire.

  I showed Brookfield to the door and bade him a safe journey back to town. He stood for a moment on the step as though hoping I might say something reassuring, but although I wasn’t entirely certain what Lady Hardcastle was up to, I had a fair idea and I was sure that my saying anything even remotely uplifting would be contrary to the plan. I closed the door.

  She was still standing when I returned to the drawing room. I said nothing but raised my eyebrows.

  ‘Ah, yes, sorry,’ she said. ‘I should have let you know what I was up to; perhaps you could have helped.’

  I maintained my silence.

  ‘It’s a reasonable bet that our Mr Brookfield is in the employ – or at the very least under the collective thumb – of Autumn Wind. He’s not a stupid man and yet he continues to peddle these hopeless suspects and it’s pretty obvious that he’s trying to keep us well away from anyone who might actually have had anything to do with it.’

  ‘I confess I thought the same, my lady,’ I said.

  ‘Exactly. So it can’t do any harm to play the snooty widow who has no real idea of what she’s doing, just to keep them off our backs. If I’d told you what I was up to you could have chimed in with some improvised ignorant nonsense of your own. I do apologize.’

  ‘Think nothing of it, my lady,’ I said. ‘I thought it might be something like that, but I didn’t want to join in in case I took things in the wrong direction.’

  ‘Splendid,’ she said. ‘Well, now that he’s out of the way for a bit, reporting back to his masters that we’re a pair of snooty old duffers, we can get on with some serious work.’

  ‘Excellent,’ I said. ‘Is it the sort of work that will require tea? I’m spitting feathers, I am.’

  ‘A splendid notion, pet, yes. Make a pot of tea and we shall plot together.’

  Lady Hardcastle came through to the kitchen and sat at the table while I was still putting the tray together.

  ‘I know I said that Lady Bickle is in no real danger, but I don’t honestly believe it,’ she said.

  ‘No, nor I,’ I replied, filling the warmed teapot and settling the tea cosy on it before filling the milk jug.

  ‘She is in the hands of capricious and arrogant men who believe themselves above the law, and if one of them should hit upon the notion that killing her would be in some way beneficial, or even just a jolly good wheeze, then her life is worth nothing.’

  We sat in silent contemplation for a few moments, sipping our tea.

  ‘The city council’s the key, isn’t it,’ said Lady Hardcastle after a while.

  ‘It seems that way, my lady,’ I agreed.

  ‘So how do we gain access to the dishonourable members of Bristol City Council? How do I inveigle myself into their august and slightly grubby company.’

  ‘You could always go to that reception, my lady,’ I said.

  ‘What reception?’

  ‘You were invited to a reception in honour of some visiting Americans. You thought it would be a waste of time.’

  ‘So I was, so I was. I’d completely forgotten. Well done, Flo, well done indeed. What happened to the invitation? It’s not in my study.’

  ‘It’s in the bin over there, I think,’ I said, and pointed to the kitchen bin. ‘But I’m sure we can clean it up. No one will notice.’

  ‘Brava, dear girl. I shall go to the ball. When is it?’

  ‘No idea, my lady. Soon, though, I should think. One moment.’

  I got up and rummaged around in the bin until I found the slightly tea-stained invitation.

  ‘Ah,’ I said as I read it.

  ‘“Ah”?’ she said. ‘That doesn’t sound like a positive and encouraging sound.’

  ‘It’s tonight, my lady.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly,’ I said. ‘It’s RSVP, too, but at least we didn’t send regrets.’

  ‘Oh, that’s not a problem; I’m sure they’ll be delighted to have me there. I’ve met the King, you know.’

  ‘I know, my lady, you remind me often.’

  ‘So I’m exactly the sort of person they’d want at their soirée.’

  ‘They’d be lucky to have you.’

  ‘Quite so, pet, quite so. What time does it start?’

  ‘Seven-thirty for eight, my lady,’ I said, reading the card.

  ‘So early?’ she said, standing up. ‘How gauche. Still, we’ve plenty of time. If you’d be kind enough to seek out something elegant for me to wear we can have me all polished up and fit to be seen in plenty of time to make a late entrance. Will you drive, please.’

  ‘Of course, my lady. We can’t have you scuffing up your best shoes driving the Rover. I shall be an attentive chauffeuse.’

  ‘As long as you can speed up a bit, everything will be spiffing. Come on, then, pet – lots to do. My hair’s a mess, for a start.’

  We set about preparing her for the reception.

  I delivered Lady Hardcastle to the doors of the Council House on Corn Street at around ten minutes to eight – late enough not to be unfashionable, but early enough not to be rude. Having seen her safely inside, I had then driven the motorcar round the block to park on Broad Street outside the Grand Hotel between two other, slightly swankier, vehicles in the deepening shadows. Lady Hardcastle had said she would stay at least an hour so I checked that I had a good view of the corner of the building and would be able to see her when she eventually emerged, and then settled down to wait.

  Although there was no particular reason to imagine that I might need them, we agreed that I should take a pair of plimsolls with me. I wore my usual boots in case I had needed to get out of the Rover and be a “proper” chauffeuse, but I had the soft, rubber-soled shoes in a bag under my seat “just in case”. Using the same “just in case” reasoning, I had replaced my white-collared blouse with a black one. There would almost certainly be no need for sneaking about
in the shadows – Lady Hardcastle was just attending a civic reception, after all – but no one ever came a cropper from being too well prepared.

  As much for something to do as anything else, I removed my boots and slid my feet into the plimsolls. It was a warm evening and I had already shrugged off the heavy driving coat. It felt odd to be excluded from Lady Hardcastle’s activities again after nearly a year of being away from the London’s social scene but I also had the reassuringly familiar feeling of being “on duty” again. Since that night in Shanghai when Lady Hardcastle had finally revealed why she was so often absent for days at a time and had invited me to join her in her world of espionage and intrigue, I had spent many evenings sitting silently in the shadows, watching and waiting.

  I was reminiscing about an evening in Calcutta when Lady Hardcastle had had to flee from an embassy ball with important documents concealed beneath her skirts and pursued by a couple of toughs. Fortunately for her, they hadn’t quite been able to make out the identity of the snooper in the Ambassador’s office, and so she was safe from future accusations or reprisals. Unfortunately for her pursuers, they were foolish enough not to anticipate that she might have someone waiting outside to keep cave and were somewhat taken aback when a small woman pounced from the darkness to beat the living daylights out of them and leave them groaning in the gutter while the mystery snooper made good her escape. I was still smiling at the memory when a movement on the other side of the street caught my eye. Someone was approaching the side door of the Council House, moving slowly and carefully along the street and staying in the shadows.

  I was reasonably certain that whoever it was had not noticed me sitting in the car. It was nearly dark and the street lamps were not yet lit, and parked as I was with the roof up between two slightly more imposing vehicles, there was no clear view of the interior from the lurker’s side of the street – I had only just noticed him, after all, and only because I caught a glimpse of him moving. Nevertheless, when I was certain that his attention was definitely elsewhere, I slowly eased myself over to the left into the passenger seat and deeper into the shadow of the motorcar’s interior.

  He had stopped near the side door and was watching intently, as though waiting for someone. He did not have to wait long. The door opened just a crack and the light from inside lit a small wedge of the pavement. A head poked out, scanning up and down the street. The lurker moved forwards and the owner of the head stepped out into the street, closing the door behind him and plunging them both once more into darkness. It took a few moments for my eyes to become once more accustomed to the gloom but I was soon able to see the two men in heated conversation. They were keeping their voices very low, but it was easy to see from posture and gesture that neither was especially pleased with the other. I would have guessed from outward appearance that the man from the Council House was the superior and the lurker his hired muscle, but something about the way they were conducting themselves made me wonder just how low the lurker really was in the pecking order.

  Their exchange ended with angry finger-pointing from both parties and Council House Man let himself back in through the side door while Lurker angrily stalked off back down the street to wherever it was he had come from. On a whim, I decided to follow.

  As quietly as I could, I opened the passenger door and slithered out onto the pavement outside the hotel. I padded along the street, concealed from view by the car parked behind the Rover. There was a church at the end of the road with three gothic arches running through the middle of it giving access to the next street. I saw Lurker disappearing through the centre arch and hurried towards it so as not to lose track of him on the other side. I crossed the narrow lane at the end of Broad Street and chose the rightmost archway. Emerging on the other side, I looked both ways along Quay Street, but he was gone. I crossed the road to get a better look up and down the street, but there was no sign of Lurker at all. He must have gone into one of the many buildings that lined the narrow street and there was no easy way to determine which one.

  Reluctantly, I padded back to the car and resumed my vigil.

  I was on edge for the next half an hour while I waited for Lady Hardcastle to tire of the reception. I kept going over my memories of the earlier events, trying to make out if I could have given myself away. There was a chance, of course, but what would Lurker have learned? Nothing as far as I could tell. But even if I had managed to remain unnoticed, I had learned little. A man lurking in the shadows and having a heated conversation with another man meant nothing on its own, and it was only the fact that it happened on an evening when Lady Hardcastle was trying to sniff out members of Autumn Wind that had made me suspicious of them in the first place. The whole exercise now seemed like an enormous waste of time and effort.

  Eventually, Lady Hardcastle appeared on the corner of the street, searching for the motorcar. She spotted me when I waved, and I jumped out and cranked the engine into life while she walked over and climbed in.

  ‘Did you have fun, my lady?’ I said once we were both settled. I presumed not since it was still only nine o’clock.

  ‘Well, now,’ she said. ‘Fun? No, I don’t really think so, but it was most illuminating.’

  ‘How so?’ I said, pulling away from the kerb and negotiating my way carefully round the car parked in front of us.

  ‘Well, I made my usual discreet entrance, grabbed a glass of fizz and cast around for someone to chat to, when who should catch my eye but Oswald Craine.’

  ‘He of the coffee shops and the wandering wife.’

  ‘The very same,’ she said. ‘He cut me dead, of course, and stalked off to the other side of the room where I saw him talking earnestly to another chap who kept looking over in my direction.’

  ‘Medium height, stocky build, dark hair parted in the centre, wearing a dark suit with a gold watch chain?’ I said.

  She frowned. ‘Uncanny. Don’t tell me you really have developed psychic powers.’

  ‘No,’ I said with a smile, and told her what I’d been up to while she was inside hobnobbing.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ she said when I had finished. ‘Curiouser and curiouser. I should say that Mr Craine and his stocky chum are up to no good.’

  ‘I just wish I’d seen what happened to Lurker, though. He just vanished.’

  ‘Hmm,’ she said. ‘Although that alone probably tells us something. I think you’re right: I think he did disappear into one of those buildings near the church.’

  We speculated wildly for the rest of the journey home about who the mystery men might be and what they might be up to, but however outlandish our hypotheses became, most of them started from the presumption that they were all in some way connected with Autumn Wind and that they were all in it up to their well-scrubbed necks.

  We arrived home shortly before ten o’clock and I was wondering what we might have for supper as I unlocked the front door to let us in. No sooner had we removed our hats and coats than the telephone began to ring. I picked up the earpiece.

  ‘Hello?’ I said, employing the newly fashionable greeting I’d read about in the newspaper.

  ‘Miss Armstrong?’ said a male voice. ‘It’s Sunderland.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Good evening, Inspector. I shall fetch Lady Hardcastle.’

  ‘No need,’ he said, quickly. ‘I’m at the village police station. I’ll be with you presently. Goodbye.’ And he hung up.

  ‘Sunderland?’ asked Lady Hardcastle. ‘What did he want?’

  ‘He didn’t say, my lady,’ I replied. ‘He’s on his way to the house.’

  ‘Crikey, it must be urgent to get him out here so late. Perhaps you ought to put the kettle on.’

  ‘I’ll get to it right away,’ I said, and hurried to the kitchen.

  A few minutes later the doorbell rang and Lady Hardcastle answered it herself. She brought Inspector Sunderland into the kitchen and invited him to sit down.

  ‘Tea, Inspector?’ she said.

  ‘To tell the truth, my lady,
’ he said, ‘that would be most welcome, but I’m afraid we can’t hang around.’

  ‘“We”?’

  ‘Yes. I need at least one of you to come with me. We need to talk to someone.’

  ‘Anyone in particular?’ I asked, taking the kettle off the stove and joining them at the kitchen table.

  ‘An informant,’ he said. ‘He contacted me at the station early this evening and asked me to meet him at a grubby little pub in town later tonight.’

  ‘I don’t mean to diminish the importance of your work, Inspector dear,’ said Lady Hardcastle, ‘but that sounds rather ordinary to me. Where do we come in?’

  ‘He asked for you both by name. He said he had something you’d be interested in.’

  We both looked at him in some astonishment.

  ‘By name?’ said Lady Hardcastle.

  ‘Both of us?’ I said.

  ‘Indeed,’ said the inspector, thoughtfully. ‘I’m as concerned as you; it’s an obvious trap.’

  ‘Autumn Wind?’ I asked.

  ‘That’s my guess,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘How far do you trust this nark of yours, Inspector?’

  ‘Slightly less far than my grandmother could throw him,’ he said. ‘But I’m pretty certain he knows something, even if it’s just the identity of the person who slipped him a few bob to set you up.’

  ‘You have a plan?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, no, not really, that’s why I raced out here; this is more your area of expertise. I tried telephoning but I got no reply in so I came out in case I could catch you on your return. I was at the police station with Sergeant Dobson when we heard your motorcar.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Will this fellow talk if we’re not there?’

  ‘It depends how much they offered him to get you there, or what threats they made against him if you didn’t turn up. He’s a stranger to the idea of loyalty and he’d offer up his own mother if there was a few bob in it for him, but he’s not the bravest of souls either.’