Death around the Bend (Lady Hardcastle Mysteries #3)

I gave my apologies for rushing off, and hastened to Lady Hardcastle’s bedroom, expecting to find her impatiently and inexpertly fiddling with her hair in an ill-advised attempt to ‘try something new’. Previous attempts had resulted in disasters of varying seriousness, and I felt it was always wise to be on hand to forestall any meddling.

I knocked and entered, and found, once again, that her room was deserted. I took the opportunity to lay out her evening clothes and to make sure everything was ready for the party. I found that her favourite blue evening dress was a little wrinkled and there was a slight mark on part of the embroidered decoration on the skirt. I wrote a note to let her know what I was up to, and took the dress downstairs to see what I could do about it.

There was much frantic activity in the servants’ hall, and it took me a few moments to track down Mrs McLelland, the housekeeper. I thought she might be the best person to ask where, other than the kitchen, I might find a source of steam.

She was busy making notes on a list of some sort, but she looked up as I entered her room and greeted me politely. When I asked about steaming the dress, she waved towards the little stove in the corner of the room and said, ‘Please help yourself. I’ve a kettle in here that I use.’

‘Are you sure I shan’t be in the way?’ I said. ‘You must have a mountain of things to do now that the guests are starting to arrive.’

Her expression darkened momentarily at the mention of the guests, and I saw an opportunity to test my impressions of Mrs Beddows.

‘Does Lady Lavinia bring guests often?’ I asked.

‘She does, yes,’ Mrs McLelland said, not looking up from her work.

‘The same ones?’ I asked. ‘I mean, does she have a tight circle of close friends?’

‘Yes, the same ones. Just Mrs Beddows and Miss Titmus. They were at school together.’

I waited patiently for the kettle to boil as I examined the dress to decide where best to begin my de-wrinkling. ‘That must be nice,’ I said.

‘Nice?’ she said, looking up. ‘Well, I suppose it might be, but I’d not have chosen them as my friends.’

‘Why not?’ I asked.

The kettle, into which I had put only the smallest amount of water, had begun to boil, so I began work on the dress. With my attention on the silk, I couldn’t see the expression on Mrs McLelland’s face, but I could hear something odd in her voice as she said, ‘I don’t think it does to talk about the family and their choice of friends, do you?’

I politely agreed, and we returned to innocuous small talk as I finished bringing the wrinkled dress back to life. I offered my thanks and said my goodbyes, leaving her to her list-making.

On the way back towards the stairs, I bumped into Mr Spinney.

‘Is everything to Lady Hardcastle’s satisfaction?’ he asked.

‘It is, thank you,’ I said. ‘She seems to have everything she needs, and more besides.’

He beamed proudly. ‘I’m delighted to hear it,’ he said. ‘Will you be joining us for supper this evening? Please don’t feel obliged, mind you.’

‘It’s going to be a bit hectic down here, isn’t it? What with the party and all. Are you sure you wouldn’t be offended if I kept to myself again?’

‘Most certainly not,’ he said. ‘You enjoy your leisure time while you can. Miss Buffrey usually takes supper on her own when she can, too. We’ll send someone up with a tray for you both, and you can spend an evening gossiping together.’

‘If you’re sure that would be all right, then that would be lovely.’

‘Are you partial to champagne?’

‘As a matter of fact, Mr Spinney,’ I said with a grin, ‘I really rather am.’

He winked. ‘I’m sure his lordship wouldn’t notice if a bottle should find its way upstairs. I’ll see what I can manage.’

‘You’re very kind. Thank you.’

‘Think nothing of it,’ he said. ‘We all deserve a little treat once in a while. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to brief one of the new footmen in the ways of Codrington Hall. We’re not so very different from other houses, I shouldn’t say, but it never hurts to make sure newcomers are familiar with the local customs.’

My mind boggled briefly at the thought of what strange customs the people of Rutland might feel the need to warn new staff about, but he took my amused smile as a sign of assent and went on his way.



When I returned to Lady Hardcastle’s room, I found her sitting at the dressing table.

‘Ah, there you are, Flo,’ she said, turning round. ‘I wondered where you’d got to.’

‘I was downstairs getting the creases out of your gown,’ I said. ‘I left you a note.’

‘You did?’ She looked around. ‘Oh, so you did. Good thinking.’

I hung the dress up without comment.

She continued to examine herself in the glass. ‘Not bad for forty-one, eh?’

‘Not bad at all, my lady,’ I said. ‘You could easily pass for thirty-nine in a dimly lit room.’

‘Cheeky wench. What about the barnet?’ she said, prodding her hair. ‘Do you think I should do something new with it?’

‘I think you should leave your hair as it is, my lady.’

‘What about the grey ones?’

‘They make you look . . .’

‘Old?’ she suggested.

‘I was actually going to say “distinguished”, my lady, but you may have “old”. How about “venerable”?’

‘Anything but “distinguished”. It’s the sort of word one uses to make chaps feel better about being past their prime.’

I went into the adjoining bathroom to draw a bath for her. ‘Were you ever in your prime, my lady?’ I called.

‘I can picture tomorrow’s newspaper headline already,’ she said, arriving suddenly in the doorway. ‘“Maid Mysteriously Drowns in Bath at Codrington Hall”.’

I ducked out of her way and left her to bathe. She continued to chatter through the half-open door as she slipped into the warm water.

‘Any gossip from below stairs?’ she said.

‘Not really. The junior footman is a bit of a handful and the housekeeper is rather . . . I was going to say “cold”, but that’s not quite right. A little formal, perhaps. Stiff. Proper. Nothing you could hold against her, but I didn’t warm to her. Other than that, it seems like a very ordinary household.’

‘Housekeepers are always odd. I think it’s a requirement.’

‘Possibly, my lady. What about the upstairs folk?’

‘They’re an unusual bunch, too,’ she said. ‘Fishy you’ve met, of course. Then, let’s see . . . His sister seems nice enough.’

‘Jake?’ I said.

‘Yes, “Jake”. What an odd name to adopt voluntarily.’

‘I’ve known more than one Jake in my time.’

‘Yes, but they were all chaps, I’ll warrant. This is because her name is Lavinia.’

‘I’m not with you, my lady,’ I said, puzzled.

‘Evidently it was shortened to “Lav” at school, and it didn’t take the wags long to get from “Lav” to “Lavatory”, then to “Jakes”, and finally to “Jake”. The poor woman’s named after a water closet.’

I chuckled. ‘What about the others?’

‘The closest of school chums, it seems. Rosamund Beddows is a difficult one to fathom. I can’t quite work out whether her condescending sneer is real or just an affectation to keep people at arm’s length. Although from the way she talks to Helen Titmus, I suspect that it might be the genuine article and she might be an honest-to-goodness nasty piece of work.’