The speaker was a rumpled police inspector from Leicester who had arrived to take over from the local constable when word reached HQ that a death had occurred at the home of the Earl of Riddlethorpe. He had introduced himself to Lord Riddlethorpe as Inspector Foister in a tone of obsequious respect that had evaporated the instant he spoke to any of the rest of the party. He had slightly increased the level of toadying when addressing Lady Lavinia – she was the earl’s sister, after all – and Lady Hardcastle – a title’s a title, even if one is only a knight’s widow – but the rest of us were treated with an off-hand superciliousness that was beginning rather to get on my nerves by the time he was ready to leave.
He clearly thought that a gang of moneyed fools mucking about in high-powered motor cars was a recipe for disaster. We had got far less than we deserved, and I suspected it was only the fact that Lord Riddlethorpe was involved that stopped him from telling us all so. It wouldn’t have been so bad, but it meant that Sergeant Tarpley, the local bobby, seemed to have taken the inspector’s behaviour as leave to display the same dismissive attitude. He was still as polite and deferential to Lord Riddlethorpe as he had been when he arrived, but he seemed now to think that he was at liberty to dismiss the incident as yet further idiocy from the ‘young’ earl.
The earl himself was still in shock, and had said very little. When it became obvious that the inspector was wrapping things up and readying himself to leave, it was Lady Hardcastle who took over.
‘Thank you for coming, Inspector,’ she said, gesturing towards the library door. ‘I’m sure you’ll let his lordship know if there’s anything else that needs to be done?’
‘Of course, my lady,’ he said, bristling slightly at the feeling he was being dismissed.
She led him across the room and opened the door to find the young footman lurking outside. ‘Evan will see you out,’ she said. She turned round to address Sergeant Tarpley. ‘Perhaps the inspector will give you a lift into Riddlethorpe,’ she said.
‘No need, m’lady,’ said the sergeant self-importantly. ‘I come on me bike.’
‘Of course you did,’ she said with a smile. ‘It really has been most generous of you both to give us your time and your professional reassurance.’
There was no doubt in either of their minds now that they had been given their marching orders. The inspector’s eyes flicked towards Lord Riddlethorpe before saying a curt ‘Good day to you’, and marching off after Evan. In other company, I suspect we’d have got a ‘Now look here’ or an ‘I shall decide when it’s time for me to leave’, but his snobbery got the better of him, and he decided that starting a row in the earl’s house was bad form. Sergeant Tarpley trotted obediently in their wake, and we were left once more to ourselves.
The atmosphere was understandably subdued, and once again Lady Hardcastle took charge.
‘Right,’ she said briskly. ‘At times like these, the proper English response is to have a nice cup of tea. Armstrong, dear, please pop down to the kitchens and see what you can scare up. Morgan, I think we need to retrieve the crashed motor car and bring it back to the coach house – it would put his lordship’s mind at ease to know whether there was anything wrong with the machine. Press-gang any staff you need to assist you.’
‘Who the devil put you in charge?’ said Mrs Beddows coldly. ‘Fishy should be ordering the servants about. Or Jake. Certainly not you.’
‘Lady Lavinia?’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘What?’ said Lady Lavinia absently. ‘Oh, yes. Yes, that will all be fine. Carry on, Morgan.’
Lady Hardcastle smiled, Mrs Beddows glowered, and Morgan and I beat a hasty retreat.
News of the day’s events had already reached the servants’ hall and we were all but mobbed as we entered. Mr Spinney sternly called for order, and the hubbub died down, but it was clear that we weren’t going to get out without sharing our side of the story.
As succinctly and as unsensationally as we could, we took turns to describe the events leading up to the crash. By the time we’d finished, the large, ordinarily cheerful room had fallen silent. One of the junior maids piped up. ‘My ma always said nothin’ good would come of them motor cars.’
There were murmurs of agreement.
‘Dangerous contraptions,’ said another. ‘His lordship should be ashamed of himself, riskin’ his friend’s life like that.’
‘That’s quite enough of that,’ said Mrs McLelland severely. ‘We’ll hear no more of that sort of talk, thank you very much, girls. Get back to your work now.’
‘Quite right,’ said Mr Spinney. ‘Get back to work, all of you. His lordship still has guests, and we must be as quietly efficient as ever. More so, in fact.’
Muttering, the staff dispersed and went about their business.
While I organized a tea tray and one of the junior footmen to deliver it, Morgan had a quiet word with Mr Spinney. He left a few moments later, accompanied by the groom and the boot boy. I kept out of the way while Mrs Ruddle supervised the preparation of the tea and the provision of cake, and then I, too, left the staff to their labours and went back upstairs with the footman.
He set the tray down on a table in the library, and I poured cups for everyone. I joined Lady Hardcastle, who had separated herself from the ladies and was standing by one of the tall windows, looking out on to the grounds.
‘Thank you,’ she said as she took the proffered cuppa.
‘My pleasure,’ I said. ‘How is everyone?’
‘A little distressed by events, I feel, but they’ll rally. One does, doesn’t one?’
‘I suppose so, my lady.’
‘Fishy and Monty are taking it badly, of course. They’ve been over there, deep in muttered conversation, since you left. They’re blaming themselves, but they would, wouldn’t they? Herr Kovacs attempted to intervene, but they shooed him away. He tried talking to the girls, but they gave him short shrift, too – that’s why he’s sitting on his own over there.’
I looked around as she spoke, and saw Lord Riddlethorpe and Mr Waterford sitting in armchairs on either side of a low table. They had some papers spread out upon it and were leaning in, their heads almost touching, gesturing animatedly. Meanwhile, Lady Lavinia, Mrs Beddows, and Miss Titmus were sitting gloomily around another small table, while Harry tried gamely to keep the conversation flowing. It looked to be no easy task, with Lady Lavinia fidgeting, seemingly unable to settle comfortably, and Miss Titmus fiddling with her ever-present camera. Mrs Beddows was sipping her tea and looked thoroughly bored. Herr Kovacs sat in the corner of the room furthest from the other two groups. He didn’t seem unduly put out at being pushed away. Indeed, he appeared to be enjoyably engrossed in an old book.
‘Did Morgan get his assistants?’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘Yes, my lady. He collared a couple of the younger lads and they set off to get the motor.’
‘Splendid. I’d like you to take a stroll out to the stables, if you wouldn’t mind. It shouldn’t take young Morgan long to get the motor back to the workshop, and I’d really rather like to know what he finds out.’
‘You suspect something, my lady?’
‘Call it the healthy curiosity of an enquiring mind,’ she said.
‘“The nosiness of an interfering old busybody”. Right you are, my lady.’
She raised her hand to aim a threatening flick at my ear, and I left before we were accused of a lack of decorum.