‘Well,’ I said when I’d finished reading. ‘That doesn’t tell us much.’
‘No, pet, not really,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘There are a few names to follow up, I think, but I do wonder if it’s just because I’ve heard them before. Gertie pointed out a few of them to us, do you remember? They were all neighbours, though, so perhaps it might be worth speaking to them. And the widow… what’s her name?’
I looked at the file. ‘Audrey,’ I said.
‘Audrey,’ she said. ‘Yes, that’s it. It will be awkward, but I think we ought to start with her.’
‘Should we clear it with the Chipping Bevington police?’ I asked.
‘I shouldn’t bother if I were you, miss,’ said Constable Hancock. ‘They’s a bunch of idiots and they’ll only give you a hard time if you tries. You’ve got the go-ahead from Inspector Sunderland so I suggests you just does what you wants and treads lightly round they Chipping Bevington lot. That Sergeant Boyce is a right one. I’d give him a wide berth if I were you.’
‘Very well, Constable, we shall,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘There’s just one problem we need to overcome.’
‘What’s that, my lady?’ I said.
‘Transportation,’ she said, dejectedly. ‘How the devil do we get to all these blessed farms?’
‘Aha,’ said a triumphant Constable Hancock. ‘I have the answer to that one.’
‘You do?’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘Indeed I do, m’lady,’ he said, and produced a letter from his tunic pocket.
Lady Hardcastle read the note.
‘Oh, what a splendid woman dear old Gertie is,’ she said, beaming. ‘Bert and the motorcar are at our disposal. She’s sending him over at noon and I am to treat him as though he were my own. Well, that’s just perfect. We shall go and visit the Widow Carmichael first, then call on Lady Farley-Stroud on the way back.’
We gossiped a little with Constable Hancock while he finished his tea, catching up with the goings-on in the village, but soon he bade us good morning and went on his way.
Just as he reached the gate at the end of the short front-garden path, Bert drew up in the Farley-Strouds’ motorcar. I waved to Bert and hurried inside to finish getting ready to leave.
Without Lady Farley-Stroud in the motorcar, Bert was a far more adventurous driver and we made much more rapid progress than I had been expecting. The hedgerows rushed by and I was rather enjoying the sensation of speed.
As we rounded a bend and began to climb the hill to Top Farm we caught sight of a man leaning against a gate and watching the progress of the car.
‘I say, Bert,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Who’s that?’
‘That’s Larry Dougal, m’lady. He owns Bottom Farm.’
‘Just down from Top Farm?’ she said.
‘You got it, m’lady,’ he said with a smile.
‘Can you stop the car, please. I’d like a quick word with him.’
‘He’s not on the list, my lady,’ I said. ‘He wasn’t at The Hayrick when Carmichael died.’
‘No, I know. But he’s their next door neighbour; he might have seen something.’
Bert had stopped as soon as he’d been asked and had already reversed the car back down the road to the gate. We climbed out and Lady Hardcastle introduced herself.
‘Not many folk round here don’t know who you are, m’lady,’ said the chubby man at the gate. He was in his forties, I estimated, and with his ruddy face, his flat cap and his rumpled jacket, he looked exactly how I imagined a farmer should look.
‘You might be right, actually,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘I’m not certain whether fame becomes me, but it does save time on introductions.’
‘Reckon it does at that,’ said Dougal. ‘And what can I do for you?’
‘You’ve heard about the unfortunate death of Mr Carmichael?’
‘I have at that, m’lady. Though there’s not many who’ll be thinking of it as “unfortunate”.’
‘No?’ she said.
‘No, m’lady. He wasn’t well liked, our Spencer.’
‘Oh? And why was that?’
‘No one likes to speak ill of the dead, but in the case of old Spencer Carmichael, it’s pretty much all that’s left you. There’s not much nice you can say about him. He was a miserable old codger who never had a good word for anyone. Well, actually that’s not true; he had plenty of good words for most of the people he met, but not ones I can repeat in front of ladies. He could start a fight in an empty room, that one.’ He seemed almost wistful at the memory.
‘I see,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘The thing is, there’s a suspicion that he might have been murdered, and the Bristol CID have asked us to ask around and see if we can find out a little bit more about him and what might have happened to him. So did you know him well, even though perhaps you didn’t get along?’
‘Well enough, I suppose.’
‘Did you see him often? Speak to him?’
‘We passed the time of day, like. You know how it is.’
‘When did you last see him?’
‘Early in the week, I s’pose,’ he said, after a pause. ‘Must have been Monday or Tuesday.’
‘What did you talk about?’ she asked.
‘This and that, you know. Nothing of any consequence.’
‘I see,’ she said. ‘And you didn’t see him again?’
‘No, that was the last.’
‘You weren’t at The Hayrick the day he died, were you?’
‘No, m’lady. Didn’t have no cause to be up at the market last week and I had matters to attend to elsewhere, so I didn’t bother with it.’
‘Oh?’ she said. ‘Anything interesting?’
‘Just a bit o’ business up in Gloucester.’
‘That must have made a nice change.’
‘Anything to get away from this place for a bit,’ he said, looking round at the field behind him.
‘You’re not keen on the farming life, then?’
He laughed bitterly. ‘I inherited this place from my brother when he passed away five year ago. Been trying to get shot of it ever since.’
‘Oh,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘What did you do before that?’
‘I’m a chef, m’lady. Worked in some of the finest hotels in Europe I has. Now look at me. ’Stead of roastin’ pigs I’m chasing round after the little beggars. ’T’i’n’t no life for a skilled man.’
‘Surely there must be people willing to buy a profitable farm, Mr Dougal,’ I said.
‘You’d have thought so, miss, wouldn’t you. There’s some interest. But there’s always something in the way, some reason they back out of the deal.’
‘That’s a terrible shame, Mr Dougal,’ I said. ‘It must be awful to be trapped in an occupation you have no fondness for.’
‘True enough. But in the end you just has to get on with it, I suppose. A fella’s got to eat.’
We all fell silent for an awkward moment.
‘Well you’ve been most helpful, Mr Dougal,’ said Lady Hardcastle eventually. ‘Thank you. You’ve been most generous with your time, but we mustn’t take up any more of it. We should leave you to get on.’
‘No trouble at all, m’lady. Nice to see a friendly face.’
We both thanked him again and returned to the car. Bert had been watching and was already out of his seat and cranking the engine to life.
‘Thank you, Bert. On to Top Farm as soon as you’re ready, please.’