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

by T E Kinsey

  ‘Is that how you left your things, miss?’ said the inspector.

  ‘I should jolly well say not,’ said Sylvia, walking towards the jumble of cases. ‘Our instruments are our livelihood, Inspector, and we treat them with the utmost respect. Even the cases we keep them in.’ She reached out to tidy them, as though the chaos were an affront.

  ‘Please don’t touch anything, miss. Our fingerprint expert hasn’t been here yet.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, pulling her hand back. ‘Sorry.’

  Until now I’d been puzzled by her reaction to the whole thing. The band all seemed to get along well and she’d not appeared to be in the least bit upset by the murder of one of her friends. Even the sight of the bloodstained floor had left her unmoved, but somehow this apparently unimportant mistreatment of the instrument cases had affected her, as though it were the worst violation of all. She looked shocked and anguished for the first time.

  ‘Please sit down, miss,’ said the inspector, taking her by the arm and leading her to one of the armchairs. ‘I did try to warn you this might be distressing.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said absently, ‘you did. I’m so sorry, Inspector, you must think me a frightful ninny. I suppose it hadn’t really sunk in until I saw what they did to our things. It wasn’t real somehow. Do you know what I mean?’

  ‘I do, miss,’ he said solicitously.

  ‘Wait a moment,’ she said, suddenly much more alert. ‘Where’s Nelson’s case?’

  ‘I beg your pardon, miss?’

  ‘Nelson’s trumpet case. Have you removed it?’

  ‘No, miss, we’ve not touched a thing at that end of the room. Like I say, we’re waiting for the fingerprint man.’

  ‘I thought you detectives did all that sort of thing yourself,’ she said, clearly having trouble maintaining her train of thought.

  ‘Some do, miss. We’re trying a new system, though. Specialists, if you get my meaning.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  ‘Mr Holloway’s case, miss?’ he said, trying to get her train of thought back on the rails.

  ‘It’s not there.’

  ‘And it was there last night? He didn’t leave it in his room, perhaps?’

  ‘No, they unpacked in here. We warmed up here.’

  ‘Warmed up, miss?’

  ‘You know, ran through a couple of things, I did my voice exercises.’

  ‘Ah, like sportsmen.’

  ‘Just like that, yes. We need to loosen up, get ourselves prepared. And we did that in here. I distinctly remember Nelson getting his trumpet out of its case and putting it on top of one of Skins’s drum cases.’

  Inspector Sunderland stepped over to the jumble of cases and peered into them all. Then he cast around the room, trying to see under the chairs for any trace of the case.

  ‘Hmm, that’s most interesting,’ he said at length. ‘It’s definitely not here now. It looks as though we might have found out what it was the thief was after. But why...?’

  ‘An empty trumpet case?’ said Lady Hardcastle.

  ‘Certainly a trumpet case without a trumpet in it,’ he said. ‘But I doubt it was “empty” if it was worth clouting someone over the head for. Did you see anything else in there, Miss Montgomery?’

  ‘In the case, Inspector? No. A trumpet, a mouthpiece. He usually had a cleaning cloth and little bottle of valve oil in there. Oh, and one of those stick things they poke into the tubes for cleaning. There might have been some brass polish. I saw him using all that sort of stuff at one time or another but I never really looked inside. It’s not the done thing, you know, poking around in another musician’s things. Not the done thing at all.’

  ‘Fair enough, miss. Thank you. Now, I think the best thing for you would be to take some air.’

  He rang the bell and a few moments later, Jenkins appeared.

  ‘Ah, Jenkins,’ said the inspector. ‘I wonder if I might ask you to find Miss Montgomery here a spot in the garden where she might relax a while in the fresh air. She’s had something of a shock. If you were able to find her a little brandy, I’m sure that would be most beneficial.’

  Jenkins looked briefly horrorstruck at the thought of having to treat a mere musician – no better than a tradesman in his eyes – as an honoured guest, but a nod of agreement from Lady Hardcastle persuaded him that it was, after all, something he should just get on with.

  ‘Yes, sir, of course,’ he said emotionlessly. ‘Will there be anything else?’

  ‘No, Jenkins, thank you.’

  He opened the door for Sylvia who went out into the passage. He made to follow her.

  ‘Oh, Jenkins,’ said Lady Hardcastle. He stopped at once and turned to face her. ‘We’ll be returning to the dining room presently. Be an absolute darling and have some coffee sent in, would you?’

  ‘Of course, my lady.’ He had no complaints about helping a proper lady. ‘Luncheon will be served at one, my lady. In the garden since the inspector,’ he paused and looked pointedly at Inspector Sunderland, ‘has commandeered the dining room. Will you be joining us?’

  ‘I don’t think so, Jenkins. Would Mrs Brown make us a plate of sandwiches, perhaps?’

  ‘I’m sure she’d be more than happy to, my lady.’

  He closed the door behind him.

  ‘Of all the uppity, stuck-up, hoity-toity...’ said the inspector, viciously.

  ‘Oh, come now, Inspector,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘He’s just a little old fashioned.’

  ‘I ask him to help a girl in distress and he’s looking down his nose, you ask him to run around and bring you coffee and sandwiches and he almost trips over his shoes in his haste.’

  ‘It’s the accent and the title, dear boy,’ she said with a wink, and he harrumphed to indicate that she had entirely proven his point. ‘Oh, and...’ she glanced down at her ample chest.

  The inspector blushed the deepest scarlet and hastened from the room. I tried not to laugh and embarrass the poor man still further.

  ‘You, my lady, are going straight to Hell,’ I said as I followed him. She grinned.

  We entered the dining room to find a bewildered Captain Summers looking forlornly at the empty sideboard.

  ‘What ho,’ he said, breezily. ‘I seem to be a bit late for breakfast, what?’

  ‘A little, sir,’ said the inspector with a smile, his embarrassment almost forgotten. ‘It’s very nearly lunchtime. And you are...?’

  ‘I might ask you the same question, sir,’ said Summers pompously, eyeing the inspector’s neat but unfashionable suit disdainfully.

  ‘I do beg your pardon,’ said the inspector. ‘Inspector Sunderland of the Bristol CID.’

  ‘CID, eh? Detective, eh? What are you detectin’?’

  ‘There’s been a murder, Mister...?’

  ‘Captain. Captain Summers.’ His face had whitened. ‘A murder?’

  ‘Yes, sir, last evening at the party. Are you quite well, sir? Do you think you ought to sit down?’

  ‘I... er... yes. Do you mind, my lady?’ He looked over towards Lady Hardcastle. ‘I feel a little queer.’ He sat on one of the dining chairs, still looking very pale. ‘Funny how a chap can spend his life fighting for King and country – Queen and country, too, come to that – seeing death and carnage all around, and then be knocked for six by a death in the house. It was in the house, Inspector?’

  ‘It was, sir, yes.’

  ‘Good lord, not in here?’

  ‘No, sir, in the library.’

  ‘I see, I see.’ He looked around, still somewhat befuddled. ‘Who was it?’

  ‘One of the musicians, sir,’ said the inspector. ‘Mr Nelson Holloway, the trumpeter with the band.’

  ‘Good lord. Music wallah, eh? They were good. I mean, that’s what everyone kept telling me. Not entirely my cup of char, if I’m completely honest with you, but... I mean... a chap doesn’t deserve to die for playing American music.’

  ‘I don’t think he was killed by a music critic, sir. It’s almost certain it w
as a robbery.’

  ‘A robbery? Good lord. Good lord. What would a trumpeter have worth stealing?’

  ‘That’s precisely what we’re currently wondering, sir. Did you see anything last evening? Anything that might help us piece together what happened?’

  ‘“Us”?’ he said, looking around at Lady Hardcastle and me.

  ‘I meant the Police Force, sir, but yes, Lady Hardcastle and Miss Armstrong are helping me.’

  Captain Summers looked blankly at us. ‘Helping?’

  ‘Yes, sir. They’re by way of being amateur detectives. They have an enviable record of success around these parts. We shall be working together.’

  ‘I see. I see. Jolly good.’

  ‘Would you mind telling us about last evening, sir? Did you see or hear anything unusual, for instance?’

  ‘Not a thing, Inspector, no.’

  ‘Perhaps you could take us through the evening as you remember it?’

  ‘Of course, of course. I’d been staying at The Grange for a couple of days, d’you see. Friend of Sir Hector. So I was one of the first at the party. Bit early for my taste, but I tried not to fuss. So many things have changed here since I’ve been away.’

  ‘Here, sir? You’ve been to The Grange before.’

  ‘No, I mean yes, I have, but I meant Blighty. Gone to the dogs if you ask me. But there I was, best bib and tucker–’

  ‘Military dress, sir?’

  ‘What? No, mess jacket still in India. Travelling light, what? Be back there soon. No point hauling all me traps halfway round the world then hauling them all the way back.’

  ‘Quite, sir. Please, continue. What did you do?’

  ‘I was trying to circulate, do the sociable thing, what? Trying to get back into the swing of it all. Society, and all that. Hoping to be married soon, want to start a new life back in Blighty in a year or two. Doesn’t hurt to make a few friends.’

  ‘Oh, congratulations, sir,’ said the inspector, amiably. ‘Who’s the lucky lady?’

  Captain Summers smiled ruefully. ‘There’s the rub, what? Not quite asked her yet. Colonel’s daughter and all that. Got to play it a bit carefully, what? Need to woo her. Impress her, what? Can’t rush at these things like a bull at a gate.’

  ‘I see, sir, yes. Were you in the ballroom all evening? You didn’t nip out for some fresh air?’

  ‘Can’t say as I did, no.’

  ‘And did you notice any of the other comings and goings? Did anything strike you as odd?’

  ‘Not really, Inspector. Folk come and go all evening at a shindig like that.’

  ‘Did you see Mr Holloway leave the room?’

  ‘The dead chap?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Can’t say as I did.’

  ‘So you wouldn’t have noticed, say, if someone followed him out?’

  ‘No, Inspector, not at all. I’m not really much help, I’m afraid, am I?’

  ‘Everything is helpful in an investigation like this, sir,’ said the inspector, patiently. ‘I can see you’ve had a shock, though, so I shan’t detain you further. Thank you for your time.’

  ‘Free to go, what?’

  Inspector Sunderland laughed. ‘Free to go, sir. Although I should be obliged if you were to stay at The Grange until this is cleared up. We may need to ask you some further questions when we know a little more about the events of the evening. We might be able to jog your memory a little.’

  ‘Certainly, Inspector, certainly.’ He stood to leave. ‘Lady Hardcastle,’ he said with a bow, and walked round the table to the door.

  As he closed the door behind him, Inspector Sunderland rolled his eyes. ‘What a buffle-headed ass,’ he said. ‘Nice to see the Empire is in the hands of such bright and brave individuals.’

  ‘He’d had a shock,’ said Lady Hardcastle reproachfully.

  ‘A shock, my Aunt Fanny. Man’s a soldier; he’s seen death before. Said so himself.’

  ‘Maybe so. But as a friend of mine pointed out not so long ago, there’s a difference between chaps dressed up as the enemy pointing their guns – or spears, or what have you – at you across a battlefield, and some ne’er-do-well sneaking about in the night doing folk to death in an English village.’

  ‘You’re right, of course, my lady. I shouldn’t be so harsh. But the man’s a buffoon.’

  ‘Oh, he’s a buffoon of the first water, no question about it. And so terribly old fashioned with it. Quite the relic. But we should perhaps make allowances. England isn’t all he remembers it to be. I think he has a rather romantic notion of what “Blighty” should be like, and all this has quite shattered his illusions.’

  ‘I dare say,’ said the inspector distractedly as he made some notes in his notebook.

  There was a knock on the door and Jenkins entered with a tray of coffee, sandwiches, and some shortbread biscuits.

  ‘Your luncheon, my lady,’ he said, pointedly ignoring the inspector. ‘Mrs Brown thought you might appreciate some biscuits, too.’

  ‘She’s very thoughtful, Jenkins,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Please thank her for us.’

  ‘Yes, my lady. Will there be anything else?’

  ‘No, Jenkins, thank you.’

  ‘Very good, my lady,’ he said with a slight bow. He left as quietly as he had entered.

  Inspector Sunderland seemed to be on the verge of another tirade, but Lady Hardcastle’s warning glance forestalled him. He went to pour the coffee.

  ‘Please,’ I said, stepping forward. ‘Allow me.’

  ‘Oh, I... er... yes, miss. If you insist.’

  ‘Thank you, Inspector,’ I said as I poured coffee for the two of them. ‘Just doing my duty.’

  ‘Don’t show off, Armstrong,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Pour yourself one, too.’

  I curtseyed. ‘Thank you, m’lady. You’re very generous to a poor servant girl, you are. Very kind and generous. I doesn’t deserve it, m’lady, really I doesn’t.’

  ‘Are you two a music hall act?’ said the Inspector.

  ‘No, Inspector, we’re just good friends,’ said Lady Hardcastle and motioned for me to sit with them at the table.

  ‘Well that told us nothing we couldn’t have guessed for ourselves,’ said the inspector, still gazing thoughtfully at his notebook.

  ‘I wouldn’t say that, Inspector,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘I think it gave us quite an insight into the man’s character.’ She rose and made a few quick notes of her own on the Crime Board.

  ‘Showed us that he’s a buffoon, you mean? I suppose it did at that.’ He snapped his notebook shut and tucked in to the coffee and sandwiches.

  We ate together, making small talk. We’d all noticed that the house had seen better days, that there was a shabby air of faded opulence about it, and Lady Hardcastle explained the rumours about the Farley-Strouds’ shaky financial state.

  ‘They’re not exactly impecunious,’ she said, ‘but there doesn’t seem to be a lot of spare cash around for decoration and modernization.’

  We finished the sandwiches and moved on to the biscuits.

  ‘I say,’ said the inspector. ‘These are rather nice. Mrs Sunderland makes a lovely shortbread, but nothing like this.’

  ‘I’m sure Armstrong could get you the recipe if you like.’

  The inspector laughed. ‘Tell me, my lady, if you were a policeman’s wife, waiting anxiously for him to come home, never knowing what danger he’d got himself into that day, and you’d made some delicious shortbread for him to have with his cup of tea by the fire, how would you feel if he came home and said, “Here you are, my beloved, I thought you made the finest biscuits in all the land, but I have found a far better recipe. Take these inferior things back to the kitchen and make me some of these others, as prepared by a servant in a manor house I’ve been visiting.”?’

  ‘You build a convincing argument, Inspector,’ she said. ‘Armstrong, keep that recipe a secret. Do not divulge it to anyone, most especially not the inspector.’

 
‘Right you are, my lady,’ I said.

  ‘You two...’ said the inspector, sipping his coffee. ‘Now then, to business. Let us cleanse our investigatory palates by interviewing someone who might actually tell us something. What do you say we talk to someone else from the band. I got the impression that Miss Montgomery wasn’t all that close to them. Let’s see what one of his fellow musicians has to say.’ He consulted his notebook. ‘Let’s go straight to the top; let’s try Roland Richman. He might be able to tell us a little more.’

  ‘He might, he might,’ said Lady Hardcastle.

  The inspector nodded. ‘There’s another reason for talking to Mr Richman.’ He flipped back a few more pages in his notebook. ‘One of the servants says she saw him in the passage outside the library. She can’t remember when and didn’t think much of it at the time because the musicians were supposed to be there, but it does place him near the scene of the crime.’

  ‘Would you like me to fetch him, sir?’ I said.

  ‘That would be grand, miss, thank you.’

  I had found Roland Richman in the ballroom, tinkling away on the piano. Actually, that’s not entirely fair; he had been playing a rather beautiful piece which had turned out to be one of his own compositions. He had followed me somewhat reluctantly to the dining room and after the usual introductions, Inspector Sunderland had plunged directly into the questioning.

  ‘You’ll forgive my directness, sir, but I do need to get to the bottom of all this as swiftly as I can. I have a witness who says she saw you...’ he flipped ostentatiously through his notebook, ‘...“hanging about in the corridor outside the library”. She can’t remember when, but perhaps you can?’

  Mr Richman laughed. ‘I suppose it did look like I was just hanging about, yes. I was waiting for someone.’

  ‘Who, sir? And when?’

  ‘I was waiting for Nelson. I don’t know the precise time, there are so damn few clocks in this place. But it was during our break.’

  ‘...“during the break”,’ said the inspector, making a careful note. ‘And did you meet Mr Holloway?’