Engines roared. Tyres squealed. They were off. Four of the most powerful racing machines in the land thundered away towards the first bend, with Miss Titmus managing to get one last photograph of them through the dust and exhaust smoke before they disappeared.
Over the past few months, I had grown accustomed to the pleasant, friendly clatter of the Rover’s little engine as it pulled us along the lanes. I had heard the rumble of larger motor cars and even motor wagons in the city, but none of that had prepared me for the roar of those four monster machines. It was as though the motor cars we met in the streets of our towns and villages were the domesticated versions of some wild, ferocious beast. Somehow, Lord Riddlethorpe and his friends had captured a handful of the feral variety and were riding them around the track. They went from goddesses to tigresses in my imagination.
Even from the farthest point of the circuit, we could hear the roar of the engines, and I confess to feeling a twinge of excitement as the sound grew louder and the motor cars drew closer.
Suddenly, they were upon us. Lord Riddlethorpe was in the lead, but only just, with the silver car of Herr Kovacs almost level with his rear wheel. Dawkins, the other professional driver, was just a few yards behind the leaders as all three shot past what would soon become the finishing line.
Bringing up the rear, way off the pace, but still with an idiotic, boyish grin of glee on his face, was Harry. He gave us a wave as he passed the line and shouted something unintelligible. Miss Titmus had managed to get another couple of photographs, and I hoped that at least one of them came out.
Soon, Tail-End Harry had disappeared round the bend, and we were left waiting again for their thrilling return. The noise, the speed . . . It was intoxicating. Lady Hardcastle was standing to my left, chatting to Miss Titmus about photography, while Lady Lavinia and Mrs Beddows were deep in conversation a little way off to the right. Mr Waterford was flicking at the grass with his flag.
I turned towards Lady Hardcastle as I heard her mention my name. I was about to ask her if she wouldn’t mind repeating the question when we were all silenced by a terrible grinding screech, followed by a crash and thump. It was loud enough that we could imagine it was next to us, but we knew that it came from the woods about a quarter of a mile away, where the racing circuit snaked between the trees. We heard the other engines slow and stop, and then, almost as one, we began running towards the scene of the crash.
Morgan Coleman, the chauffeur, was the first to arrive, closely followed by Mr Waterford. He held up his arms and tried to stop the rest of us from getting any closer.
‘Oh, don’t be such a silly ass,’ said Lady Hardcastle, pushing past. ‘They need help.’
I followed her to the wrecked motor car, but the other three ladies stayed back, gratefully obeying Mr Waterford’s instructions not to look.
To our immense relief, we saw that the motor car was in reasonably good shape. The bodywork was dented and the number ‘3’ painted on its side was a little scratched, but other than that it seemed barely damaged. Our relief was short-lived, though, when we realized, from the contorted angle of his broken body, that the motor car’s driver, Ellis Dawkins, was dead.
Harry was next to arrive, with Lord Riddlethorpe and Herr Kovacs running up shortly afterwards from the opposite direction.
‘Is he . . . ?’ said Lord Riddlethorpe, trying to get closer.
‘I’m afraid so, my lord,’ said Morgan, standing up from where he had been examining the body. ‘Seems he lost control on the bend and slewed off the track. I’d say he hit his head when the motor smashed into the tree. Died instantly, I’d reckon.’
‘Why would he lose control like that?’ asked Harry, all traces of his earlier excitement and enthusiasm gone. ‘The man was a professional.’
‘He’d have had to be going at a good old lick coming into the bend to spin this far off the track,’ said Morgan thoughtfully.
‘A fault with the car?’ suggested Herr Kovacs. ‘It was your prototype, after all, Edmond. Perhaps your engineers have made mistakes.’
Lord Riddlethorpe was too shocked to speak.
‘There’s nothing we can do for Dawkins now,’ said Lady Hardcastle in a calm, businesslike tone. ‘Harry, take the ladies back to the house and call the police – they’ll need to be notified of the death. Fishy, you’ll need to contact Dawkins’s family.’
‘I’m not sure he had any family,’ said Lord Riddlethorpe absently. ‘I remember him telling me his parents were dead. I think there might be a sister in Bournemouth, but I’ve no idea how we’d reach her.’
‘Herr Kovacs—’ she began.
‘Viktor, please,’ he said with a bow.
‘Thank you. Viktor, would you look after Fishy, please? I don’t think he’s coping well with the shock.’
‘Of course,’ he said, and gently led his friend away.
‘Will you be all right, sis?’ said Harry, hesitating slightly before setting off.
‘Of course I shall, silly,’ she said. ‘Now go and be manly and masterful – I think the others might need some reassurance.’
‘Right you are,’ he said, and went back to lead the rest of the party home.
‘We’re goin’ to need to take a good look at this motor car,’ said Morgan, walking round it, examining it carefully. ‘I just can’t see how someone like Dawkins could lose control like that. Now Mr Featherstonhaugh – no offence, my lady – him I could imagine overdoin’ it a bit on the approach and skiddin’ off, but even he’d not make this much of a mess of it. It’s got to be somethin’ wrong with the motor. He came in much too fast.’
‘I’m not sure what the protocol is with motor accidents on private land,’ said Lady Hardcastle, ‘but I think we probably ought to leave everything as it is until the police and their surgeon have had a look. But then I think you should get the motor car back to your workshop and give it a thorough going over. One way or another, Lord Riddlethorpe will want to know how this happened – he’s very shaken up.’
‘Right you are, my lady,’ Morgan said, and we stood to await the arrival of the authorities.
Chapter Six
‘. . . a tragic accident. The coroner will have the final say, of course, and we’ll have to take the body to the mortuary in Leicester until he releases it, but I don’t think there’s anything else for us to do here.’