‘Well, I certainly couldn’t do it,’ said Harry.
‘You have trouble understanding how to fill a fountain pen, darling,’ she said. ‘But you’re a special class of mechanical duffer. You always were.’ She patted his arm affectionately. ‘But apart from you, any number of people could have worked out how to sabotage the brakes. In my imagination, they’re not wholly unlike the brakes on a bicycle, and anyone could do it. In fact, didn’t I once do that to your bike, Harry?’
‘You did,’ he said with a smile. ‘Crashed into the fish pond.’
‘I remember it well,’ she said. ‘So we’re back to everyone at the party, and everyone in the house.’
‘Except Mr Featherston-huff,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ she said, patting his arm again. ‘Everyone except Harry.’
‘I never thought I’d be so glad to be a bit of a duffer,’ he said.
‘You have other strengths, sir,’ I said.
‘Of course you do, dear,’ said Lady Hardcastle.
He looked at us expectantly.
‘Give us a moment,’ she said. ‘I’m sure we’ll think of something.’
He harrumphed. ‘I’m going to join the real ladies,’ he said, and wandered back to his seat.
Lady Hardcastle hopped up from the window seat. ‘Come, servant,’ she said. ‘We need to do some serious pondering, and I’d rather not be overheard.’
I followed her out of the library and up the stairs to her room.
‘Eyes and ears, Flo,’ said Lady Hardcastle as I shut the bedroom door behind us. ‘You need to be my eyes and ears.’
‘Of course, my lady,’ I said. ‘Always ready for that sort of thing, you know me.’
‘I do, I do. The thing is, though . . .’ She paused. ‘The thing is, I’m going to have to impose a little. I know we’re treating this as a break, and under any other circumstances I’d hate to have to ask . . .’
‘But you’d like me to get friendly with the servants and perhaps pitch in with a little work?’
‘In a nutshell. Do you mind awfully? It would be an absolute boon to have another pair of ears hovering about at mealtimes, for instance. And there’s always juicy gossip around the servants’ hall in places like this.’
‘I wouldn’t mind at all, my lady. To tell the truth, I’ve had about as much of a break as I can stand – a mission would liven things up nicely.’
‘Do you think you can swing it without arousing too much suspicion?’
‘I’m sure people will be suspicious, my lady. Your reputation as a snooper precedes you, and for some reason I seem to have been tarred with the same brush. I’m not convinced that anyone in the household – family, staff, or guests – would expect you not to show at least some curiosity in a case like this, but . . . Well, the thing is, we return to the reason you recruited me into your shady underworld in the first place: servants are invisible. There’ll be a ripple of curiosity and suspicion at first, I don’t doubt, but it won’t take long before I’m just part of the furniture again.’
‘You’re never that, dear, but you do have an undeniable knack for blending in. How shall you approach the matter? Would you like me to have a discreet word with Fishy?’
‘I don’t think so, my lady. I think telling Mr Spinney part of the truth – that I’m more than a little bored and would welcome having something to do – would be more than enough to clinch the deal. Staff are always suspicious of strangers, but I’ve never known a brigade of servants who wouldn’t welcome an extra pair of hands.’
‘A “brigade”,’ she said with a slight chuckle. ‘Is that really the collective word for servants?’
‘Probably not,’ I conceded. ‘But one does have a “brigade de cuisine”. It’s probably “staff”, or something mundane and downtrodden.’
‘An obsequience of servants?’ she suggested. ‘A toadying?’
‘It’ll be a “revolution” of servants one day,’ I said darkly.
‘I don’t doubt it for a moment,’ she said. ‘But in the meantime, you’re comfortable with the idea of inveigling your way into their ranks and making sure you get to serve at High Table?’
‘Leave it to me, my lady,’ I said. ‘I’m a mistress of inveigling when I’m pressed.’
‘Indeed you are. Then off you trot. Inveigle away.’
‘Right you are, my lady,’ I said, turning for the door. ‘Do you need anything?’
‘I wouldn’t say no to a cup of tea, if there’s one going. And perhaps some cake?’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
Below stairs, the day’s work had all but ceased as everyone gathered round poor Morgan and bombarded him with questions. He caught my eye as I entered the room, and looked pleadingly at me for rescue. One of the housemaids noticed his glance and turned towards me, nudging her friend. Within moments I, too, was besieged by chattering servants, clamouring not just for news of the crash, but for some indication of what his lordship and his guests were thinking, saying, and doing.
Under most circumstances, I’m not easily intimidated, but with so many people asking so many questions, and with me being so keen to stay on the right side of them so as to put myself into a better position to gain their trust and to work with them, I found myself a little overwhelmed. Almost all the staff were taller than I, and with nearly a dozen of them clustered around me, I felt as though I were at the bottom of a well.
I was struggling to answer them as best I could, and I’d almost regained control of the situation, but I confess to being rather relieved when Mr Spinney’s loud, clear voice firmly said, ‘That’s quite enough now, ladies and gentlemen, thank you. Get back to your work and we can harangue Miss Armstrong again later.’
There were mutters and sighs from the assembled staff, and I shrugged and smiled as if to say, ‘What can you do, eh? Tch. Bossy old Mr Spinney spoiling our fun,’ but they quickly and obediently dispersed, despite their obvious reluctance.
When the room had cleared – even Morgan had taken the opportunity to escape – Mr Spinney turned to leave and bade me follow him. He led me along a short corridor I’d not taken before and through the door at the end into what turned out to be his own rooms. His office-cum-sitting room was cosily appointed. There were two overstuffed armchairs beside the small fireplace, and a modest bookcase in the corner. Against one wall there was a sturdy oaken desk, upon which sat a mechanical decanting cradle.
He invited me to sit in one of the armchairs.
‘Please accept my apologies,’ he said, settling into the other chair. ‘You shouldn’t have had to endure that.’
‘Really, Mr Spinney, it was nothing. But thank you for your concern.’
‘Thank you. I . . .’ He paused, looking oddly uncomfortable, and not just because of the way he was sitting.
‘Is something else the matter, Mr Spinney?’ I said.
‘It’s really a little awkward,’ he said.
‘Come now,’ I said. ‘It can’t be as bad as all that.’
‘I’m reluctant to impose.’