A Quiet Life in the Country (The Lady Hardcastle Mysteries Book 1)

by T E Kinsey

  ‘Did the constable have any more news?’

  ‘Not really. We talked about the events of that night in the pub as he understands them. I came to much the same conclusion as you did about Daisy; she’s well known around the village for being something of a flirt. I expect she thought she might be able to paint herself in a more flattering light to a newcomer. She just hadn’t reckoned on meeting such a shrewd newcomer.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘I confirmed my initial impression that Constable Hancock is an absolute poppet.’

  I laughed. ‘Yes, I suppose he is.’

  ‘Like a big, eager puppy.’

  ‘You could keep him in a kennel in the garden and he could guard the cottage for us. Maybe that would make you take security seriously.’

  ‘I’ll keep you in a kennel in the garden, my girl. But I had a delightful little chat with the good constable; he’s been quite diligent in his researches.’

  ‘Anything more of our victim? Any rivals? Any other romantic entanglements?’

  ‘I say, Flo, you’re rather getting into the swing of this, aren’t you. No, sadly, despite his heroic efforts he knows nothing more.’

  ‘We’re really not very good at this, are we, my lady.’

  ‘We have to be, Flo, we have to be. But let’s leave it for now. I confess I’m not really in the mood for dinner. Would you be a dear and make some sandwiches?’

  I made the sandwiches and we ate them together in the drawing room, reading until bedtime.

  On Wednesday it rained; a beautiful summer downpour that made me thankful I’d had time for the laundry on the previous day and saw me instead rearranging the freshly stocked pantry. Thanks to the mischievous whim of whatever malevolent gods are responsible for the security of bags of flour, one had split just as I was transferring its contents to my flour jar and I was covered in the stuff when the doorbell rang. Wiping my hands on my pinafore and trying to brush the worst of the mess away, I went through to open the door to find a man in overalls and cap.

  ‘Begging your pardon, miss. Is this the right house for...’ he said, consulting the scrap of paper in his hand, ‘Lady Hardcastle?’

  ‘It is,’ I replied.

  ‘Bloomin’ ’eck – begging your pardon, miss – but you’re hard to find. We’ve got a delivery for you.’

  ‘A delivery of what?’

  ‘A piano and a blackboard, miss. You starting a school?’

  ‘Starting a school?’ I said, incredulously. ‘Why on earth... We’re expecting a piano, but–’

  ‘It’s all right, Armstrong, it’s for me.’ Lady Hardcastle had appeared silently behind me. ‘Bring them in, would you. I want the piano against the back wall in the drawing room and the blackboard by the fireplace in the dining room. Would you care for some tea? And there’s cake. I should expect delivering things is quite thirsty work.’

  ‘Tea would be most welcome, madam, yes. Thank you. I’ll get my lad to start shifting a few things in here if you don’t mind – give us a bit more room to get the piano in.’

  I looked outside and parked in the lane was a large wagon, pulled by quite the most enormous horse. A young boy of about fourteen sat on the wagon’s driving seat, and on the bed of the wagon, covered by an oiled tarpaulin, was – I presumed – Lady Hardcastle’s new piano.

  I went back to the kitchen and set about making tea while the delivery man and his “lad” began shifting furniture in the drawing room to make way for the new upright piano. Lady Hardcastle joined me. ‘I’m so glad it’s here. I’ve been missing having a piano in the house terribly.’

  ‘I know, my lady. It’ll be nice to have some music in the house again. But was I dreaming or did he also say something about a blackboard.’

  ‘Ah, yes, that was an idea I had yesterday. After I’d finished talking to the constable I prevailed upon him to let me use his telephone to contact the music shop to complain about the absence of my new piano. The nice man told me it was just being loaded onto a train bound for Bristol and that he’d arrange for it to be delivered today. I explained that it really wasn’t good enough and that I’d been in my new home for over a week without it, despite the fact that I’d placed the order over a month ago. He apologized profusely and asked if there was anything he could do to make things right, and I said that if he managed to get a large blackboard and easel onto the train with the piano we’d say no more about it.’

  ‘You made him go out and buy you a blackboard?’

  ‘No, silly, they sell them. For music teachers. I bought it, but I made it clear that my goodwill and continued custom were contingent entirely upon the safe arrival today of both piano and blackboard.’

  ‘And so now you have a blackboard.’

  ‘And a piano.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s for making exquisite music. Obviously.’

  ‘No, my lady, the blackboard. Why do you have a blackboard?’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course. Well, you see, I rather got used to using a blackboard for working things out when I was at Girton. Helps me to think, d’you see? So I thought perhaps if I had a blackboard, it might help me to think about this murder business.’

  ‘The murder.’

  ‘Quite so. I thought if I could make notes, draw diagrams, perhaps even pin up little sketches of the people involved, it might help me to make sense of all the information about the murder and perhaps find a solution.’

  ‘And so for this one case, you now own a blackboard.’

  ‘And chalk. And a duster. And a box of tacks.’

  ‘Tacks?’

  ‘Thumbtacks. For pinning things to the blackboard.’

  ‘Won’t that make holes in it?’

  ‘Oh, Flo, you do worry about the most inconsequential things. Take the tea out to our horny-handed sons of toil and rejoice that we finally have a piano.’

  ‘You have a piano, my lady. I play the banjo as you very well know. You also have a blackboard.’

  ‘Yes. Yes I do. Now feed and water the nice men who own the cart that brought it.’

  I took tea and cake to the delivery man and the boy that I had by now established was his son, and supervised the rearranging for the furniture in both rooms to accommodate the new items. Less than an hour after they had first rung the bell, everything was safely in place and we had tipped them handsomely and sent them on their way.

  I returned to the floury chaos of my kitchen.

  With everything finally in order I set about preparing dinner while Lady Hardcastle continued her sketching in the dining/investigation room.

  We dined early and while we sat at the table afterwards sipping some of Lady Hardcastle’s excellent cognac – one of her few vices – she explained the “Crime Board” as she had christened the new blackboard which stood in the alcove beside the fireplace. While I’d been preparing our meal, she had been busy pinning up sketches of the victim, Mr Pickering, together with blank outlines of our two main suspects, Messrs Lovell and Tressle (she’d not yet met either of them so she had no idea what they looked like). Another chalk line linked him to a sketch of Mr Seddon standing outside a building with a sign above it reading, “Seddon, Seddon & Seddon, Shipping Agents”.

  There were notes under each sketch outlining what we knew as well as some speculation about motives and connections. She also had one of the sketches of the body in the tree and of a cart rather like the one in the yard at the Dog and Duck.

  ‘After all that, though,’ she said, sitting back down, ‘I’m no nearer solving the case than I was before. We’ve got two men who might have a reason to kill Mr Pickering if their jealousy of him were strong enough. Both of them seem to have an opportunity to do so. Mr Tressle seems to have had access to a handcart that would be perfect for transporting the body to fake the suicide, but Mr Lovell could easily have taken it from outside the cricket pavilion where the rowdies left it. But we still have no proof that either of them did it nor any idea how they might have managed to get the body up int
o the tree. I fear we’re getting nowhere, Flo.’

  ‘We know more than Inspector Sunderland already.’

  ‘Perhaps. But let’s leave it for now, I feel the spirit of Chopin coming upon me.’

  ‘I love it when that happens,’ I said.

  ‘Then come, servant, let us repair to the drawing room and I shall play.’

  ‘I’ll tidy these things away and make some cocoa.’

  ‘Very well. But hurry, the spirits are restless and dear Frédéric might be elbowed out of the way by Franz Léhar at any moment.’

  ‘Léhar is still alive.’

  ‘He is? That hardly seems fair. Well such is the sickly power of his sentimental spirit that even life cannot stop him. Hurry, girl, or it’ll be “The Merry Widow” for you, and that never ends well.’

  ‘One merry widow in the house is quite enough for me, my lady. I shall be as swift as I can.’

  The piano turned out to be a charming instrument and only slightly in need of tuning after its journey. It was nearly midnight by the time we retired.

  Thursday morning saw us both engaged in mundane domestic matters, with me continuing to organize our household and Lady Hardcastle catching up with correspondence at her desk in the small study.

  I had prepared a ham pie for lunch which we shared at the kitchen table. Lady Hardcastle declared it the most delicious pie of the day and we were toasting my success as Queen of Pies when the doorbell rang.

  It was Constable Hancock. He snapped smartly to attention as I opened the door.

  ‘Why, Constable Hancock,’ I said with a smile, ‘what a pleasant surprise. I trust we find you well?’

  ‘Passing well, miss,’ he replied, touching the brim of his helmet with his right index finger. ‘I wonder if I might have a word with Lady Hardcastle.’

  She had, once more, arrived silently at my shoulder. ‘You may have whole sentences, my dear constable,’ she said as I opened the door wider to allow him in. ‘Do come inside and tell us your news.’

  He took off his helmet and placed it on the hall table.

  ‘Tea, constable?’ she said, genially. ‘We were just finishing lunch; perhaps you’d care to join us in the kitchen? I hope you don’t mind but I don’t want Armstrong to miss anything and if we all gather in there, she can make the tea while we talk.’

  ‘That would be most agreeable, m’lady,’ he said, and we walked through to the kitchen together.

  She bade him sit at the large kitchen table and sat opposite him while I busied myself with the kettle, teapot and cups.

  ‘I gather you two have been asking a few questions, m’lady,’ he said once he was comfortable.

  ‘Not nearly enough, it seems,’ said Lady Hardcastle, dejectedly. ‘I had such high hopes. I thought it was all going to be so easy. But since your visit on Monday we’ve managed to speak to just two witnesses. Or Armstrong did, at least, and they told us nothing much of interest. We wasted yesterday playing with my new crime board–’

  ‘Your what, m’lady?’ he interrupted.

  ‘Oh, yes, sorry. I’ll show you later. We also had a frankly bizarre luncheon with the victim’s employer which I thought was going to give us some important background but which actually turned out to be just a mediocre meal with some social-climbing snobs.’

  ‘My meal was excellent,’ I said, smugly.

  ‘Well, at least someone enjoyed herself,’ she said. ‘And here we are two days later, no nearer the truth and no idea where to go next.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Hancock, slightly uneasily. ‘Then my news won’t come too welcome.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘The coroner's court reconvened today, m’lady. The police surgeon’s evidence showed that Mr Pickering had been strangled first with something broad and soft, perhaps a scarf, and that the body had only then been hung up by the rope we found. Based on Dr Fitzsimmons’s measurements – whatever they might be – they put the time of death at around midnight. I’m still not quite certain how they knows that.’

  ‘Body temperature and the ambient temperature at the scene,’ Lady Hardcastle interrupted. ‘The body cools at a known rate once a person is dead so it’s possible to estimate how long ago that was. Then there’s rigor mortis, of course, but that doesn’t set in for about twelve hours. Since we found him the following morning, that wouldn’t have helped.’

  Constable Hancock seemed impressed. ‘I knew you was the lady for the job. Anyway, they weighed all that up and brought a verdict of wilful murder. Inspector Sunderland has charged William Lovell and he’ll be up before the magistrate tomorrow. Most likely they’ll refer the case to the next assizes.’

  ‘And when are they?’

  ‘That’s the problem, m’lady. Assizes is nearly upon us. Judge is due on Monday and depending on how many cases there is, Bill might be up before him by the middle of next week.’

  ‘Oh dear lord,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘That poor man. And we’ve done nothing to help.’

  ‘Not exactly nothing,’ he said, trying his best to console her. ‘No one else was doing nothing at all. At least you tried to find out something.’

  She sat a while in dejected thought but then snapped up, suddenly resolute. ‘Not “tried”, my dear constable, “are trying”. We’re not going to give up. He won’t be on trial for his life until the middle of next week and we’re going to find something. Armstrong, we’re redoubling our efforts.’

  ‘Yes, my lady,’ I said, pouring the tea.

  ‘Redoubling them,’ she said.

  ‘Consider them redoubled,’ I said, joining them at the table.

  Constable Hancock was trying to suppress a smirk.

  We sat quietly for a few moments.

  ‘We’re back to the beginning, then,’ I said at length.

  ‘We are. But perhaps that’s a good thing. Let’s get back properly to the beginning. Constable, would you care to accompany us to the dining room?’

  ‘Er, certainly, m’lady. Whatever you wish.’

  I put the tea things onto a tray and followed the others through to the dining room.

  ‘You see, Constable,’ said Lady Hardcastle, indicating the blackboard, ‘this is my crime board. I thought it would help me think, but mostly it’s been a diverting way of procrastinating while I draw pictures.’

  ‘I see,’ said Hancock, closely examining the board and reading the notes. ‘Forgive me, m’lady, but why do you not have sketches of all the suspects?’

  ‘I’ve not met either of them. I don’t know what they look like.’

  ‘Either of them, m’lady? I counts three suspects.’

  ‘Three?’ she asked, somewhat perplexed.

  ‘I’d been wondering about that myself just this morning,’ I said. ‘Surely Daisy is a suspect, too. She has a quick temper and one could conceive of reason enough for her to want to do away with her unwanted suitor. Her reputation around the village is shaky enough without him causing trouble.’

  ‘I’m so stupid,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Of course she’s a suspect. Does she have a scarf?’

  ‘Most people have scarves, my lady,’ I said. ‘I don’t think we’re likely to get a fresh arrest based on ownership of a scarf.’

  ‘I suppose not,’ she said, defeatedly.

  ‘So that’s one more suspect for the board,’ said Hancock. ‘You haven’t spoken to Arthur Tressle, you say?’

  ‘No, we...’ she trailed off.

  ‘It hadn’t really occurred to us,’ I said. ‘Are we even allowed to speak to suspects?’

  ‘Not sure as he’s a suspect as far as the police is concerned, miss. You can talk to whoever you likes far as we’re minded.’

  ‘Then perhaps we should go round to him now,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Find out what his side of the story is. Where in the village does he live?’

  Hancock chuckled. ‘He don’t live in the village, m’lady. He lives down in Bristol.’

  ‘Bristol?’ she exclaimed. ‘
Doesn’t anyone involved in all this actually live here? I thought he played for the local cricket team.’

  ‘That he does, m’lady. He grew up round here, went to the village school over Woodworthy, but soon as he got hisself a job he moved down to the city. Been down there near ten years. He comes up here for cricket matches. Loyal to his old club, see. It was unusual for him to be in the village on a week night but they had their special club meeting or whatever it was.’

  ‘Do you have his address?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m sure I could find it for you, m’lady.’

  ‘Thank you, constable.’ She turned to me. ‘Is it worth speaking to Daisy again, do you think?’

  ‘Not unless you’ve got something solid to confront her with, my lady,’ I said. ‘Her “I a’n’t done nothing” routine is well rehearsed and very steadfast. She’d just irritate you, I think.’

  ‘Very well. Constable, you’ll get the address for Mr Tressle. Armstrong, you’ll take my note to The Grange asking Sir Hector if we can borrow his motor car and chauffeur to take us into Bristol. We must go this evening and catch Tressle after work, there’s no more time to waste.’

  ‘Yes, m’lady,’ Hancock and I said together. We laughed and got up from the table.

  Sir Hector hadn’t been at home when I called but Lady Farley-Stroud had been only too delighted to oblige Lady Hardcastle with a car and driver once she read the note and realized what it was wanted for. Jenkins, their butler, had shown me to the garage where I waited beside the car for Bert, the chauffeur.

  The car was much less luxurious than the Seddons’ but no less practical, and after a brief stop at home to pick up Lady Hardcastle we were on our way into Bristol.

  It took the best part of an hour to reach the terraced street on the outskirts of the city. There were children playing in the street as we drew up outside the address Hancock had given us and they came rushing over, noisily exclaiming over the gleaming motor car and bombarding poor Bert with a cacophony of questions about it. Fortunately for us, this meant that the lady and her maid in the back were of no interest at all and we slipped quietly out, and then up to the front door of the small house.