‘And what do you use?’ I said, returning his stare.
‘Arsenic.’
‘Thank you,’ I said.
‘Yes, Mr Alford, thank you,’ said Lady Hardcastle.
We stood in silence for a few moments.
‘I got to be getting on,’ said Alford. ‘Good day.’
And with that, he opened the gate, walked through and then closed it behind him without giving us a second look.
‘Well that told us,’ said Lady Hardcastle as we walked back towards the motorcar and the ever-patient Bert. ‘Nice job rattling him at the end there. Caught him off guard.’
‘Didn’t help us much, though,’ I said, disappointedly.
‘Oh, I don’t know, pet. You goaded him into giving you a defiant and definite answer.’
‘I suppose so,’ I said as we clambered into the car.
‘Where to now, m’lady?’ said Bert as we settled into our seats.
‘Let’s go and see Noah Lock,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Audrey Carmichael’s forbidden love.’
We hurtled along the lanes towards Noah Lock’s farm. Well, perhaps “hurtled” is overstating it a bit. Bert had little regard for the twenty miles per hour speed limit, but the little car was hardly a racing model. Still, we made good time and we arrived at the farmhouse gate just as Lock was coming out of his front door.
He was a tall man, built like a sportsman – a rugby player, perhaps – and he looked as though he might be in his early fifties. He smiled a greeting when he noticed us standing at his gate.
‘Come on in, ladies,’ he said with a smile. ‘Mind the mud, the path needs a sweep.’
I opened the sturdy wooden gate and stepped aside to allow Lady Hardcastle to enter.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Lock,’ she said as we approached him. ‘I’m Lady Hardcastle and this is Miss Armstrong.’
‘I know,’ he said, still smiling. ‘I’ve been expecting you. Would you like some tea?’
‘If we’re not interrupting your work,’ she said, ‘that would be splendid.’
He led us into the farmhouse and through into the kitchen. It wasn’t as neat and prim as Audrey Carmichael’s kitchen, but it was tidy and clean. He waved us to chairs at the large, oak table and we sat.
‘You were expecting us, you say?’ said Lady Hardcastle.
He laughed, his smile illuminating his face once more. ‘Word travels fast, my lady, even out here. They say you’re investigating the death of Spencer Carmichael. Old Sergeant Boyce down in Chipping Bevington is none too pleased about it, I can tell you.’
Lady Hardcastle frowned. ‘No, I didn’t expect he would be. Still, it can’t be helped; we’re doing a favour for a friend.’
‘He doesn’t speak too kindly of Inspector Sunderland, either,’ said Lock.
‘Poor man. He must feel quite humiliated by the whole thing,’ she said, thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps we should try to make peace.’
‘It’s an admirable sentiment, but you’d be wasting your time. He likes to feel hard done by. Thrives on it, you might say. Best to leave him to stew – he’ll be happier in the long run.’
Lock put a kettle on to boil and prepared the tea things.
‘You don’t sound like a local man, Mr Lock,’ said Lady Hardcastle as Lock placed cups and saucers on the table.
‘No, my lady,’ he said. ‘My people are from Hertfordshire.’
‘And how did you end up here, if you don’t mind my asking?’
‘Resigned my commission, took my pension and went looking for a farm somewhere nice and quiet.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Where did you serve?
‘Here, there, and everywhere,’ he said. It was apparent that he didn’t really want to talk about his military service and he said nothing else as he filled the teapot and set it down on the table. He pulled out a chair and sat down.
‘Have you seen Audrey Carmichael since her husband’s death?’ asked Lady Hardcastle.
He looked at her appraisingly.
‘I shan’t insult your intelligence, Lady Hardcastle,’ he said, ‘by trying to pretend that I have no idea what you’re talking about. Of course I’ve seen Mrs Carmichael, and I’m sure you know exactly why.’
‘More than once?’ she said.
‘More than once a day, most days,’ he said, regarding her levelly. ‘Look, half the county knows how we feel about each other. I have no desire to see her name sullied by grubby rumours and insinuations, but I also see no profit in denying that I’m in love with Audrey Carmichael and that I fully intend to marry her as soon as it’s seemly.’
‘It’s very convenient that Mr Carmichael has finally died,’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘There’s a sense it which it very much is, yes. And I know that that makes me a suspect in his murder–’
‘We’re not yet certain that it is murder,’ she interrupted.
‘That’s true,’ he said. ‘But the Bristol CID wouldn’t have loosed their favourite hounds on the case if they didn’t at least think there was a possibility that it might be.’
‘You flatter us,’ she said.
‘Nonetheless, I had nothing to do with his death. You’ve met Audrey; do you think she would consent to spend the rest of her life with a murderer? Killing him might have brought us together all the sooner, but once she found out it would have pushed us further apart than ever.’
‘You make a good case,’ she said.
Lock poured the tea.
‘Which poison do you use for your rats?’ I asked as he offered me the sugar.
‘For my what…? Oh, I see.’ He smiled. ‘I use strychnine. There’s a jar in the shed.’
‘Thank you, Mr Lock,’ I said with a polite smile.
‘My pleasure, I’m sure,’ he said. ‘Does that make me more suspicious, or less?’
‘To be perfectly frank, Mr Lock,’ said Lady Hardcastle, ‘we have absolutely no idea. The police surgeon is dragging his heels and no one yet knows what killed Mr Carmichael. For all we know it could be natural causes and we could have been sent on a wild goose chase by Inspector Sunderland, upsetting our neighbours and wasting everyone’s time into the bargain.’
‘But you don’t really think so,’ he said, taking a sip of his tea.
‘Honestly?’ she said. ‘No, I don’t. The witness statements all seem to point to unnatural causes. What did you see on Thursday?’
‘I’m afraid I didn’t see anything. I was on the other side of the room.’
‘Had you seen Mr Carmichael earlier in the day?’
‘No, I was busy selling a few sheep. I didn’t even know Carmichael was there until all the kerfuffle in The Hayrick.’
‘And so when did you last see him?’ she asked.
‘To speak to?’ he said.
‘Or at all. I get the impression that few people spoke to him. At least not without some sort of quarrel ensuing.’
He laughed. ‘You have that right,’ he said. ‘I last spoke to him on Monday afternoon when I called round to ask him if he needed any feed. I’d over-ordered and I was happy to let a neighbour have some.’
‘How did he seem?’
‘Ill-tempered and ungrateful as ever.’
‘Did he take the feed?’
‘Like a shot. He was a grumpy old codger, but he wasn’t stupid.’
‘And did you see him after that at all?’ I asked.
‘I saw him across the field on Wednesday as I was… ah…’