‘Disappointing not to get anything helpful about Mr Pickering. And lunch was lacklustre.’
‘That’s a shame, my lady,’ I said with a smirk. ‘Still, it does mean we’re home somewhat earlier than planned. Perhaps I should use the opportunity to try to talk to some people in the village? Fetch out those thumbscrews?’
‘A splendid notion. From what Constable Hancock said yesterday, I think your first task will be to get to the Dog and Duck and speak to... what was his name... “old Joe Arnold” and see what he’s got to say for himself. But first I want a cup of tea; there’ll be time for thumbscrews later. And you must tell me everything you found out from the Seddons’ servants.’
I told her about the delicious lunch, and Mrs Birch’s reason for it.
‘You got champagne, you lucky thing? I didn’t get any flipping champagne. I had to make do with an indifferent white burgundy.’
I went on to describe the servants’ general contempt for their employers and Mrs Seddon’s stern ruling of the Seddon roost.
‘I definitely got the impression that he’s slightly in awe of her,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘She has a taste for the more expensive things in life, too, I noticed, white burgundies notwithstanding.’
‘Not perhaps the most elegant or refined things, though,’ I added.
‘Oh, Flo, you snob,’ she laughed. ‘But yes, you’re right. Opulence without elegance seems to be her motto. I’m glad to know the “shop girl” history, though. Her accent is atrocious.’
‘Who’s the snob now, my lady?’ I said.
‘Touché.’
‘What happened before I arrived?’
‘Nothing of note. They twittered on about people they knew, dropping names and titles at such a pace that even I couldn’t keep up, and then as soon as I mentioned Pickering’s death, the whole mood of the table changed. Mrs Seddon feigned an air of delicately swooning propriety, but it was more like she was trying to avert a scandal.’
‘She does seem the type that wouldn’t want that sort of attention. Not quite the elegant sophistication she aspires to.’
‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘To be fair, I don’t think any of them wanted the firm to be dragged into a murder investigation. Understandable, I suppose. Reputation is everything in the business world.’
We drank our tea together in the kitchen and it was with some reluctance that we left the table, with me still feeling far too full from lunch. But we hauled ourselves up, put hats and gloves back on and walked the half mile into the village together. I left Lady Hardcastle to call upon Constable Hancock to find out if there were any new developments while I made my way round the green to the village inn.
To judge from the architecture, the Dog and Duck had been serving food, ciders, ales, wines and spiritous liquor to the people of Chipping Bevington for at least a hundred years, possibly longer. It was a small country inn with a yard to one side filled with barrels and crates awaiting the drayman’s next visit. There was also a stout handcart, tipped up and propped against the wall of the building.
I went into the snug and coughed delicately to attract the attention of the landlord. Old Joe Arnold was, indeed, rather old, but he was spryly alert and fairly skipped across the bar to greet me.
‘I was wondering when we might see you in here, my love,’ he said, toothlessly.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Arnold, it’s a pleasure to meet you.’
‘And you, m’dear. What can I get you? A nice glass of sherry? A small cider? On the house, of course. It’s not often we get new folk in the village and you and your mistress are the talk of the town.’
‘You’re very kind, Mr Arnold, very kind. What a charming inn. Have you been here long?’
‘Family business, my love. My old dad ran it afore me and his dad ran it afore him, back four generations.’
‘You must see all the village life in here. Everyone must come in sooner or later.’
‘We’re the heart of the village, miss. The very beating heart of it. I’n’t that right Daisy?’
Daisy, the young barmaid, was wiping the public bar with a dirty rag. ‘The beating heart, Joe,’ Daisy agreed, with only the tiniest trace of weary sarcasm.
I recognized the name. ‘Daisy Spratt?’ I asked.
‘That’s right,’ she said suspiciously. ‘How’d you know?’
‘You’re engaged to Bill Lovell.’
‘What if I am?’
‘It’s just that I’d heard both your names recently. What with the... er... the goings on.’
‘I bet they’re all talking about us now. Well, he didn’t do nothing and neither did I and don’t you go thinking we did. He didn’t do for Frank. Not my Bill.’
I hadn’t fully thought through how I was going to go about questioning Mr Arnold but both bars were empty so it seemed as good a time as any for my interview. I still wasn’t sure quite how to broach the subject, but with Daisy there too, I thought I might have an opening. I didn’t want to create false hope but I wondered if I might start with a little bit of openness to see if I got any in return.
‘Would you both mind talking about that night a little?’ I asked. ‘Lady Hardcastle and I don’t think Mr Lovell guilty, either, but Inspector Sunderland is going to need a little more to convince him than the opinion of a newcomer and her lady’s maid.’
They looked briefly at each other before Mr Arnold said, ‘I never seen a copper in such a hurry to get gone. We usually has to chase old Sergeant Dobson out with the brush and bolt the door behind him to get him to stop talking once he gets going, but this feller from Bristol was in and out afore I could tell him anything. He heard what he wanted to hear and was off to collar young Bill afore you could say ninepence.’
Mr Arnold’s toothlessness made it very difficult for him to convincingly say “ninepence” at all, but I suppressed my smirk. He led me over to a table in the corner of the bar and beckoned to Daisy to join us.
As we sat, he continued talking. ‘See, I told him about the argy-bargy ’tween Frank and Bill, but that weren’t the only row Frank got into that night.’
Daisy interrupted. ‘No, it weren’t. Arthur Tressle near started actual fisticuffs right there in the Public,’ she said, indicating the other bar.
‘What about?’ I asked. ‘Was Mr Pickering walking out with his fiancée, too?’
Daisy glared at me. ‘No one,’ she said, indignantly, ‘was walking out with anyone, most ’specially not me, and I’ll thank you to keep your insinuations about my character to yourself. Frank was sweet on me, that was all, and I walked out with him once – in public, mind – to set him straight about me and Bill.’
‘My apologies,’ I said, ‘I didn’t mean any offence. But your Mr Lovell got to hear about it?’
‘Well, yes. He’s protective is all. He just wanted to set Frank straight. He wasn’t even going to hurt him, much less kill him. He just has this way of talking. He can be a bit...’
‘Fiery?’ I suggested. ‘Hot tempered?’