The Spirit Is Willing (Lady Hardcastle Mysteries #2)
T E Kinsey
ONE
The Farmer's Revenge
It had been a difficult winter. Lady Hardcastle had recovered very slowly and it was only now that the spring of 1909 was approaching that both body and mind had healed sufficiently for her to feel able to recommence our regular walks through the fields, lanes and woods around our Gloucestershire home. She was never one to be easily rattled, but even she was more than a little shaken up by being shot and left for dead by an assassin the previous autumn.
The assassin had been led to her by a network of German spies at the heart of our own government which our own actions had eventually unmasked. And so, bundled up in a cloak and blanket, Lady Hardcastle had been a witness at the top secret trial at the Old Bailey. Actually, we both had. For reasons of national security and to protect the identities of some of His Majesty’s most important agents (Lady Hardcastle and me to name but two) the trial had been held entirely in camera. I’m still bound by the Official Secrets Act not to reveal further details but it’s no longer a secret that the ringleader was hanged shortly before Christmas. What’s not so well known is what happened to the network of spies and informants, but I can comfortably reveal by now that the knowledge gained about that network during the course of the trial was of immeasurable help in the ensuing years.
But after all that, and the almost inevitable melancholy that followed the shooting, I was pleased as Punch on that glorious spring morning when she finally said, ‘Come on then, Flo, what about a nice Wednesday walk?’
‘I should be delighted, my lady,’ I said, getting up. ‘I shall fetch your coat.’
‘And boots, hat, gloves and stick, please, pet,’ she called as I went out into the hall. ‘And a flask of brandy. And…’
I returned with the required items. ‘Would you like me to carry you as well, my lady?’
‘I say, what a good idea,’ she said. ‘But if you’re doing that, could we pop into the village, too - we could pick up a few things from the shops.’
It was good to have her back.
We settled on the idea of a stroll into the village and set off down the lane towards the green. The trees were already in bud and I was still blissfully incapable of identifying any of them. The sunshine was weak and the temperature was struggling to reach the bearable side of chilly, but there was a definite promise in the air of the summer yet to come.
We walked slowly, with Lady Hardcastle relying rather more on her stick than I thought she would. Her wound had been healed for quite a while and we had been doing the gentle exercises that we had learned in China to try to return the strength and flexibility that she could so easily have lost for good.
‘Might I ask you a personal question, my lady?’ I said as we rounded the last bend and the village green came in sight.
‘What an odd thing to say,’ she said. ‘Of course you may.’
‘That stick,’ I said. ‘How much do you really need it?’
‘For walking? Hardly at all. Fit as a flea, me, dear thing, fit as a flea.’
‘And yet…?’ I said.
‘Ah, yes. Well. Now. You see, there’s the thing. I still sort of feel I need it. For show, you understand.’
‘Not entirely, my lady, no. If it’s not helping you to walk, what use is it?’
‘I’m not sure, dear. It’s like… I don’t know, it’s like a badge. People have been so kind and solicitous over the past months and I would feel something of a fraud to go skipping into the village like a schoolgirl. I felt I needed something that might reassure people that their concerns were well founded and that I really was as poorly as they thought.’
‘You nearly died. Isn’t that poorly enough?’ I said, indignantly. I could still vividly remember the long bedside vigils I shared with her brother Harry while we wondered whether she would ever wake.
‘Yes, dear, of course,’ she said, patting my arm with her free hand. ‘But they didn’t see the immediate aftermath, they just heard what had happened. I just feel they need a little visual clue that all was once rather serious but that it’s getting slowly better.’
‘I’m still not sure I understand, my lady,’ I said. ‘But if it makes you feel better, then by all means carry on. It makes progress a little slow, but I suppose it will make an excellent cudgel if things cut up rough.’
‘That’s the spirit. Though I doubt we’ll meet any footpads at the butcher’s.’
‘I don’t know, my lady,’ I said. ‘Them’s strange folk in they rural villages. They can turn on strangers.’
She laughed. ‘We’re still strangers, do you think?’
‘I really don’t think we are any more, my lady, no.’
‘I don’t think so, either. But just to be on the safe side, we shall avoid Mr Spratt’s butcher’s shop and make instead for the pub. I wonder if Old Joe would make us a cup of tea.’
‘Tea, my lady? At the pub? What a peculiar notion. If you fancy tea, perhaps we should see if we can rustle up a lift from someone to go to the tea shop in Chipping Bevington?’
‘You’re probably right, but it’s a bit of a trek just for tea. How about some nice fresh buns from Mr Holman and you can make the tea when we get home?’
‘Very well, my lady.’
‘Splendid. Come then, servant. To the bakery.’
We made our slow progress around the green, which was still too dew-damp to walk across at our slow pace, and were just about to enter Mr Holman’s bakery when we were hailed.
‘I say, Emily! How wonderful to see you up and about.’
It was Lady Farley-Stroud, the local landowner’s wife.
‘Good morning, Gertie,’ said Lady Hardcastle with a smile.
‘It’s a joy to see you, my dear,’ said the older lady, kissing Lady Hardcastle’s cheek. ‘And you, too, Armstrong. Is she treating you well? Don’t forget there’s always a job for you up at The Grange if you tire of the dangerous life.’
‘Passing well, my lady,’ I said. ‘She can be cruel and demanding at times, but a maid has to do her duty.’
Lady Farley-Stroud gave a throaty chuckle. ‘Jolly good. But now that you’re back on your feet, m’dear, you really must come for dinner at The Grange. Could do with some company. Hector and I just rattle about the place. Do say you’ll come.’
‘I should love to, Gertie, really I should.’
‘Splendid. I shall consult “the lord of the manor”.’
Even I could see the ironic quotation marks hanging in the air as she said it, but there was affection in her voice. There was no doubt who really ran The Grange, but they were a charming old couple and still obviously terribly devoted to each other.
‘Thank you, dear,’ said Lady Hardcastle with a warm smile. ‘I shall look forward to it.’
‘Splendid, splendid. I say!’ she said abruptly as a thought struck her. ‘I’ve had the most wonderful idea. Have you ever been to a cattle market?’