by T E Kinsey
It was all over in an instant.
‘I say,’ said Mr Seddon, rather gormlessly. ‘That was most incredible. Where on earth did a little thing like you learn to do that?’
‘China,’ I said. ‘It’s none too easy in this dress, either. Thank you for noticing.’ I curtseyed.
‘I say,’ he said, blushing.
Sergeant Dobson was back on his feet. ‘James Seddon I am arresting you for theft and embezzlement and for aiding and abetting Ida Seddon in the murder of Mr Frank Pickering.’
Mr Seddon was handcuffed and our policeman friends made ready to take him and his groggy, blood-soaked wife outside.
‘Wait a moment, Sergeant,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘I believe there’s a telephone on a table by the front door. Do you think you should place a call to Inspector Sunderland and get Bill Lovell released?’
‘Yes, m’lady,’ said the sergeant. ‘Hancock, you get these two into Sir Hector’s motor car and I’ll place that call.’
By now the household servants were all very much aware of what was going on, but I went into the kitchen to explain more fully. There was consternation, of course – they were all probably about to become unemployed – but I very much felt a sense of relief, as though much that had been wrong in their lives was at last being put right.
‘I said she was a wrong ’un,’ said Mrs Birch. ‘And him not much better. Good riddance to them both, I say.’
Lady Hardcastle had joined us and gladly offered her assurance that she would do everything she could to find them employment elsewhere, offering to write references and make whatever introductions she could. They were clearly pleased and began talking about what plans they might make for the future.
She asked them what they intended to do in the meantime, and Langdon decided that, for the moment at least, they should be free to remain. It was, after all, still the Seddons’ house and they were all still, officially, in the Seddons’ employ. We couldn’t help but agree.
At length we said our goodbyes and Langdon offered Daniel’s services to take us both home in the Rolls Royce. We gratefully accepted and left them to discuss their new lives.
I slept well that night, and next morning Lady Hardcastle and I were up bright and early to make our statements at the little police station in the village.
Constable Hancock was effusive in his praise and showed us a note from Bill Lovell, thanking us both for our efforts and pledging his undying service in return for saving his life.
When we had finished, we set off to walk towards home, but the sun was shining and it promised to be another wonderful summer’s day, so Lady Hardcastle suggested instead that we take a walk.
We crossed Toby Thompson’s field and stopped briefly to pass the time of day. He congratulated us on catching the killer and I marvelled at the efficiency of the village news service which had already spread details of events which had occurred several miles away only the night before.
We crossed the lower pasture where I didn’t look back even once, then carried on into the woods where I remembered which tree was an elm and spotted hedgehog droppings on the track. The clearing was beautiful, with the sun catching the rich green leaves of the oak and I couldn’t help feeling that we were home. We were safe, and we were home in this charming part of Gloucestershire.
‘I think we stumbled through that pretty well, don’t you, Flo?’ she said as we crossed the clearing and made towards the road.
‘Pretty well for a couple of bumbling old biddies with no idea what they were doing,’ I said.
‘You speak for yourself.’
‘I should have thought, though,’ I said, ‘that after everything we’ve been through over the years, all the things we’ve survived, all the baffling situations we’ve become embroiled in, all the difficulties we’ve overcome... I’d have thought that after all that, two women as experienced and resourceful as us would have made a much more impressive fist of catching a lack-witted greed monkey like Ida Seddon.’
‘“Lack-witted greed monkey”? Flo, you do make me chuckle. Detective work isn’t nearly as easy as the stories make out, you know, we’ve a lot to learn.’
‘We certainly have,’ I said.
‘There’s a lot we should have done differently. One thing in particular...’
‘What’s that, my lady?’
‘I could really have done with a Derringer in my hat last night.’
I laughed. ‘I can see you now, fumbling and snatching at it, it going off by mistake, shooting a hole in that ghastly portrait...’
‘I’m going to get one, you know.’
‘No, my lady. No you’re not.’
‘I bally well am, and there’s nothing a slip of a thing like you can do to stop me.’
‘You’d be a danger to yourself and others, my lady.’
‘No, my mind is made up. I shall make an appointment with a hatter in the morning.’
‘Foolish and irresponsible.’
Down the lane we went, bickering amiably, and on into the house. I even left the front door unlocked once we were inside.
We took tea in the dining room while I helped Lady Hardcastle clear up the “crime board”.
‘Not such a bad idea, this,’ she said. ‘Needs a bit of work, but it might come to really help us.’
‘Help us, my lady?’
‘Oh, you know, future cases.’
‘There will be cases in the future?’
‘Oh, Flo, I do hope so. Don’t you? Tell me that wasn’t absolutely the most fun.’
‘That wasn’t even slightly the most fun, my lady.’
‘Oh, you.’
We were interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell.
I left her unpinning her sketches and went to the door. It was the boy from the Post Office.
‘Telegram for her ladyship, miss.’
‘My lady hasn’t got a... oh, never mind. Is there to be a reply?’
‘No, miss. Morning, miss.’ And he scampered off.
I took the telegram through to Lady Hardcastle. She tore it open and read it, her face turning white. She dropped the paper on the table and hurried from the room.
I picked it up. It was from her brother Harry in London.
HONEST - MAN - NO - LONGER - WHERE - YOU - LEFT - HIM - STOP - SEEN - THIS - AM - IN - LONDON - STOP - YOUR - CURRENT - WHEREABOUTS - STILL - UNKNOWN - TO - HIM - STOP - STAY - OUT - OF - SOCIETY - PAGES - STOP - WILL - CONTACT - WHEN - HAVE - MORE - NEWS - STOP - LOVE - HARRY
The “Honest Man” was their name for a German killer called Günther Ehrlichmann, and Lady Hardcastle had left him in a the hallway of a rented house in Shanghai with a bullet through his heart in 1898. We had believed him dead these past ten years and thought that we were safe at last. So what made Harry so sure he was alive and well and once more posing a threat? And why the admonition to stay private? Was he after her? If he was, then things didn’t look good for a woman whose name was due to be in tomorrow’s newspapers as the daring detective who saved an innocent man from the gallows.
TWO
The Circus Comes to Town
‘Emily! Darling girl! What the devil are you doing here?’ called the handsome man as he strode across the village green to greet Lady Hardcastle.
‘George?’ said Lady Hardcastle, equally surprised.
‘Of all the... fancy meeting you in a place like this,’ he said, kissing her cheek in greeting.
‘I could say the same about you. How are you, my darling?’
‘Passing well, mustn’t grumble.’
The whole village had been abuzz for the past week because...
The circus was coming to town.
On the previous Tuesday, the village had awoken to discover that posters had appeared over night on the church hall noticeboard, on trees, on lampposts, on, indeed, pretty much anything that stood still long enough to have a poster pasted to it. They had all proclaimed that, “On Monday, the 20th day of July, for five nights only, Messrs Bradley and Stoke will present t
heir most magnificent, most spectacular, most incredible circus and carnival on the village green at Littleton Cotterrel. Come one, come all!” The posters further promised, “Lions, Elephants, Dancing Horses, Acrobats, Jugglers, Clowns and featuring Abraham Bernbaum, England’s Strongest Man.” How could we not be excited?
The first wagons had begun to arrive on Saturday morning, some of them absolutely enormous, and by nightfall the green had become a giant entertainment encampment.
We had risen early on Sunday as usual and Lady Hardcastle was trying to decide how most profitably to spend the day, when my pestering about the circus finally overcame her. We could hear the roaring of the lions even from as far away as our house and so, of course, I was desperate to investigate. Breakfast plans were abandoned and we had dressed in walking clothes and set off to be nosy.
With Lady Hardcastle’s customary casual disregard for the rules of polite conduct, we had slipped under the rope cordon and were just beginning to explore the site when an athletic, dark-haired, handsome but decidedly angry-looking man in khaki shirt, riding trousers and boots came striding towards us to intercept us and, presumably, to eject us from the camp. It was only as he drew closer and recognized Lady Hardcastle that his expression had changed to one of surprise and pleasure and he had greeted her with the warmth of an old friend.
‘What an absolute delight,’ said Lady Hardcastle, holding both his hands in hers and looking appraisingly at him. ‘You’re looking frightfully well, George dear.’
‘You too, old girl, you too. But what are you doing here? I say, you’re not staying with the Farley-Strouds are you? You poor thing.’
‘No, silly, I live here. Just up the road. Jasper Laxton’s house. You remember Jasper? Manages a tea plantation in Assam. Got stuck out there another year and let me have the house.’
‘Well I never. Last I saw you, you were in London. That was, what, four years ago? And the time before that... must have been Calcutta.’
‘Good lord,’ she said. ‘Do we really only see each other every four years?’
‘The fates seem determined to keep us apart,’ he said, holding the back of his hand to his forehead theatrically. ‘And is that the lovely Florence I see there, trying her damnedest to remain invisible?’ He stepped over and hugged me.
‘Lovely to see you again, Major,’ I said.
‘Major no longer, my dear girl,’ he said. ‘I attained the dizzy height of Lieutenant Colonel before I finally managed to retire. Still officially on the strength, too, don’t you know. So just you be careful and salute when I pass by.’
I offered him my best impression of a military salute and he rolled his eyes.
‘But what,’ asked Lady Hardcastle, ‘are you doing here?’
‘I, my dear Emily, am the manager of this spectacular entertainment,’ he said, gesturing expansively to indicate the sprawling chaos of the circus camp.
She laughed delightedly. ‘A circus manager? How enchanting. But what of Messrs Bradley and Stoke? The posters promise that this is their circus, not yours.’
‘The Walrus and The Carpet Bag? They’re more by way of being producers, directors and figureheads, really. Someone has to get on with all the day-to-day drilling and marshalling, and that pleasant duty falls to yours truly.’
‘The who and the what?’ said Lady Hardcastle, laughing again.
‘Mr Aloysius Bradley is an immensely fat man with simply gigantic moustaches who takes care of the business side of things, while his business partner Mr Philbert Stoke is the flamboyant showman, given to dressing in garish suits that look as though they’re cut from Persian rugs, and he looks after artistic matters. Together they are The Walrus and The Carpet Bag.’
‘But not to their faces.’
‘Crikey, no, I should say not. But I’m so thrilled to see a familiar face so far from home. And that it should be yours of all the most welcome faces...’
‘It’s wonderful to see you, too, George, darling. But are we interrupting? I do hope we’re not keeping you from your work.’
‘My work at the moment seems to consist mainly of keeping inquisitive townies off the camp until the fence goes up.’
‘Sorry,’ she said, sheepishly.
‘Ah, but for you there’s always an exception. But you’re right, I should be getting on. The lion tamer says his cages are too close to the fence, the trapeze artists are complaining that their costumes have gone missing, one of the Chinese acrobats has an upset stomach, and you don’t even want to know about the matrimonial dispute between the fat lady and the dwarf. And I need all that sorted out in time to get the parade ready for Chipping Bevington this afternoon. Can’t have a circus without a parade through the local big town.’
Lady Hardcastle laughed again. ‘You’ve more than got your hands full, then, poppet; we’d better go. I say, would you care to join me for lunch? We could have a proper chat. Flo cooks a devilishly good ham pie.’
‘No can do I’m afraid, old girl,’ he said, sadly. ‘Got to stay on the site today; lots to do before we open tomorrow night. But perhaps you could both join me for dinner instead. It’ll be plain fare, served at benches in our mess tent, but the company will be convivial and the beer plentiful.’
‘That sounds absolutely marvellous. Thank you, George, we’d be delighted. How does one dress for dinner in the circus?’
He laughed. ‘Nothing fancy, old thing. Riding togs would be least conspicuous, but anything other than an evening frock will be fine.’
‘Riding togs it is, then, dear boy. When shall we arrive?’
‘Dinner is served prompt at nine. We should have the perimeter fence up by then – keep trespassing townies like you out – so I’ll leave word with the box office that you’re expected. Come about eight and I can show you round before it gets too dark.’
‘Eight o’clock then, darling. We’ll see you then.’ They kissed their goodbyes and we sneaked back under the rope and went home for breakfast.
Back at the house I prepared a lavish morning feast which we ate together at the kitchen table. Lady Hardcastle was the brightest I’d seen her for a while; she had been anxious and subdued since the news of Ehrlichmann’s apparent resurrection a few weeks before. Her brother Harry had said nothing more since the alarming telegram, but she had convinced herself that it was only a matter of time before he tracked her down again. He was a deadly figure from the past, involved in the murder of her husband, Sir Roderick, and until he was safely locked away, or properly dead, she knew she would always be in danger.
‘Fancy dear George working for the circus,’ she said, helping herself to another poached egg.
‘It does seem rather an eccentric career move,’ I said.
‘Oh, he was always wild and impetuous like that. I always imagined him running off to join the circus.’
‘Wild, impetuous and devilishly handsome.’
‘All of those. I had quite a crush on him when we were younger. Dashing young army officer and all that.’
‘I find out new things about you every day,’ I said. ‘Did nothing come of it?’
‘Sadly not. I’m not his type.’
‘You, my lady? Surely not.’
‘How shall I put this delicately? My, ahh... my coat buttons up the wrong way.’
‘Gracious me, I would never have guessed. He keeps it well hidden.’
‘It’s the safest way. But alas it meant that my passions were unrequited.’
‘You poor old soul.’
‘Cheeky wench. But he’s been a loyal friend despite not desiring me as he should have. I feel simply awful that I see him so infrequently.’
‘I’ve always liked him,’ I said. ‘And I’m not sure what we’d have done without him in Calcutta.’
‘Indeed.’
‘And now we get dinner at the circus,’ I said.
‘We do indeed. And what do you intend to do with your day off until then? I shall be catching up with some correspondence, I think.’
‘I have no
special plans, my lady. A day of indolence and sloth seemed most appealing.’
‘Very good. I shall leave you to it. Perhaps we might meet here for a light lunch at about one o’clock?’
‘That would be splendid, my lady.’
At a quarter to seven that evening we convened once more in the kitchen. There had been a certain amount of conspiratorial chuckling while we chose our outfits earlier in the afternoon, but now that the moment had come to set off, it didn’t seem like such a clever idea.
Lady Hardcastle had taken Colonel Dawlish’s dress code somewhat more literally than I should have and had decided that “riding togs” meant jodhpurs, loose blouses and riding boots. I had no riding clothes of my own (I was, and remain, thoroughly terrified of horses) but Lady Hardcastle had spares. The difference in our heights made things a little interesting, but her second-best boots hid the excess length in the jodhpurs and the rolled-up sleeves of the blouse gave me something of a raffish air, so I was declared to have passed muster.
I opened the front door and peered out, trying to make sure that no one would see us dressed in so unladylike a fashion, but Lady Hardcastle was in more mischievous mood and gave me a hearty shove to get me out onto the garden path. She locked the door behind us and we set off down the lane to the village.
We passed no one on the lane, but my relief at having gone unnoticed was short-lived. The usually tranquil village green had been transformed in just the few hours since we’d last seen it and there, where the most excitement one might usually expect on a Sunday evening would be the dying moments of a genteel cricket match, was the brash excitement of a travelling circus. A fence, six feet high and formed of colourful canvas panels stretched taught between tall poles, surrounded an encampment that filled almost the entire green. Brightly coloured pennants flew from the fence poles with bunting fluttering between them. There were glimpses of tents and cages within, but the enormous Big Top dominated the encampment, red and white striped and bedecked with yet more bright pennants and bunting.