The road to Tuesday is paved with good intentions. We had intended that Monday should be a busy day, a productive day, and had begun that day suffused with a resolve to crack the case. But coffee with Inspector Sunderland turned into lunch with Inspector Sunderland which turned into an afternoon of chatter and gossip with Inspector Sunderland which turned into a piano recital from Lady Hardcastle where we also discovered that the inspector was a rather accomplished baritone who had sung in the Bristol Cathedral choir as a boy. By the time he left to walk into the village to find someone to give him a lift to the station in Chipping Bevington, it was too late to do anything very much but prepare supper and sing more silly songs until bedtime.
Tuesday morning saw us both up with the blackbird (there being no sign of my newfound friend, the robin) but now that we had learned that the poison was unknown and that not even an experienced professional policeman had any idea how to proceed with the case, we were once again at a loss for something to do.
‘There was a don when I was up at Girton,’ said Lady Hardcastle, looking out of the window at the bright spring morning. ‘Taught me physics. He used to say, “Miss Featherstonhaugh, whenever I find a problem intractable, I like to go for a long walk. Hills are best. Or Forests. A forested hill is absolutely ideal. It’s a shame our founders saw fit to build the university in Cambridgeshire. Very short on hills and forests. But the lanes suffice. Walk, Miss Featherstonhaugh. It will clear your mind and the solution will come.” And over the years, his advice has repeatedly been proven sound. What do you say, Flo? Combe Woods? We haven’t ever properly explored there. Perhaps the fresh air will inspire us.’
‘Perhaps it will at that, my lady. Would you like to go now?’
‘Why not, pet. We’re just going to mope about here otherwise. Let us find appropriate foot coverings and vestments and hie us to the forest.’
‘Boots and coats, my lady. Right you are.’
‘And my stick.’
‘Really, my lady? You’re sticking with the stick?’
‘Possibly not in the long term,’ she said. ‘But a stick is always handy on a sylvan perambulation.’
‘Very good, my lady,’ I said, and we prepared ourselves for our walk in the woods.
As we walked into the village we were greeted by the postman, and Hilda Pantry waved to us from across the green as she gave the windows of her grocer’s shop a wipe down with a piece of damp scrim.
We set out on the other road, up towards the woods, and found our way into the clearing where we had found Mr Pickering hanging from the oak tree the previous summer. Then, instead of heading back down the familiar path towards Toby Thompson’s dairy farm, we took the path on the other side of the clearing which we imagined would take us deeper into the woods.
‘I say,’ said Lady Hardcastle as we tramped along the still-muddy path. ‘This is more like it, eh, Flo? I’ve missed our little walks.’
‘Me too, my lady,’ I said. ‘I think I’ve learned a few things, too. Is that a beech tree?’
‘No, pet, that’s a sycamore.’
‘I was close though, eh?’ I said with a grin.
‘No, dear, not really. But you get marks for trying.’
We laughed and strolled on.
After a few more minutes we came to another, smaller clearing and had a choice of paths. We took the left one and I soon saw something that would definitely improve my standing as a nature spotter. With birds and trees I stood no chance, but I prided myself that I knew a thing or two about food, and when I saw a clump of mushrooms growing in the shade of an unidentified tree I strode boldly forwards and said, ‘Chanterelles.’
Lady Hardcastle laughed delightedly and I was bending down to gather some when I was stopped in my tracks by a booming parade-ground voice yelling, ‘Stop!’
Startled, we both turned to see who had shouted. A small, trim, elderly man was striding towards us. His clothes and cap were worn but meticulously well-maintained, and his lined face was red with rage.
‘What the blue blazes do you think you’re doing?’ he barked. ‘Don’t you stupid people know nothing?’
‘I don’t think we’ve met,’ said Lady Hardcastle, calmly. ‘I’m Lady Hardcastle and this is my maid, Armstrong.’
‘One more step and she’ll be your former maid, the late Miss Armstrong,’ he said, moving to grab my arm.
I stepped to one side and grasped his wrist, pulling it up and back into one of the pleasingly effective holds I’d learned during our time in China.
‘Please don’t do that, sir,’ I said, just as calmly as Lady Hardcastle. ‘It makes me anxious when people do that.’
He laughed. ‘It’s all right, Miss Armstrong,’ he said. ‘You can put me down. I were trying to stop you harming yourselves, that’s all.’
I released the hold and stepped away, alert for retaliation.
‘That’s quite a talent you have there, miss,’ he said, rubbing his shoulder. ‘Quite a talent.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Would you care to explain yourself, Mr…?’
‘Halfpenny,’ he said with a nod. ‘Jedediah Halfpenny. Folk round here call me Old Jed. Can’t say I care for it overmuch, but it seems to please ’em.’
‘How do you do, Mr Halfpenny,’ I said. ‘And how were you saving us from harm?’
‘Thy’s the second damn fool I’ve seen round here this past fortnight pickin’ them damn mushrooms,’ he said. ‘They’re deadly webcap, Miss Armstrong, not blessed chanterelles. If thy wants chanterelles get to a fancy bloomin’ greengrocer, or learn the difference.’
I was stunned. ‘I take it from the name that deadly webcap aren’t terribly good for you.’
‘No, miss, clue’s in’t name, just as you say.’
‘I say,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Oh, I say!’ she said again more forcefully.
‘What, my lady?’ I said.
‘Mushrooms, dear, don’t you see? Poisonous mushrooms.’
Realization dawned on me slightly more slowly, but I go there. ‘An unidentified, deadly poison,’ I said. ‘Do you think this is it?’
‘Do you know who it was that was picking the mushrooms, Mr Halfpenny?’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘Can’t say I know many of the folk round here by name,’ he said. ‘I try to keep meself to meself.’
‘But could you describe him?’
‘Can’t say as how I could, no,’ he said, thoughtfully. ‘He were over here, helpin’ ’imself, then he were off ’fore I could get a proper look or even say owt. Stupid beggar.’
‘He harvested some of these?’ she said.
‘Aye. Took a few by the look,’ he said, frowning slightly.
‘Are they dangerous to touch?’ I said.
‘Touching them won’t do you no harm, but if you get even a tiny bit on your fingers and then it gets into your mouth from there, you’ve ’ad it.’
‘Instantly?’ asked Lady Hardcastle.
‘What? No, takes a while. Up to a week sometimes.’
‘Up to a week, Flo. Don’t you see what this means?’ she said, turning to me.