‘More so, I’m afraid.’
‘How’s that?’ I asked.
‘I have one or two, shall we say, suspicions about her methods. I shall need to speak to one or two people before I can fully make up my mind, but I’m becoming increasingly convinced that our Madame Eugénie is just another charlatan.’
‘Oh,’ I said, not a little disappointed.
‘Sorry, pet,’ she said, kindly. ‘But the evidence is stacking up against her. That’s not to say that I’m prepared to declare that all mediums are fake, of course, but I’m almost sure that Eugénie isn’t quite the genuine article.’
I pondered this revelation for a moment. I knew there was no point in pressing her for details before she was ready, but it was still a blow. A strong part of me refused to let go, though, and in my heart I remained convinced that The Dog and Duck was, indeed, being haunted by the vengeful spirit of Emmanuel Bean.
‘Still,’ I said brightly, keen to return to jollier thoughts, ‘at least we’re going on a jaunt tomorrow.’
‘I really rather think we ought,’ she said. ‘And on our way I want you to drop in on Joe Arnold and ask if you can stay the night at The Dog and Duck.’
‘On my own?’
‘Yes, please. I want a reliable witness in the place in case the ghost comes back again.’
‘Crikey,’ I said.
‘What?’
‘Well… I mean… you know… the ghost.’
‘Frightened, pet?’ she said with a smirk. ‘I thought only cows had the power to frighten my Florence.’
‘Wary, my lady. Respectfully wary.’
‘Ah yes,’ she said. ‘Just as with the cows.’
‘If you insist, my lady,’ I said, resignedly.
‘I say,’ she said. ‘Imagine how “wary” you’d be of a cow ghost.’
‘A bovine bodach, my lady?’
‘A bodach, by George. No wonder you’re such a whizz at crosswords.’
‘It’s a Scottish ghost, my lady,’ I said.
‘I surmised as much,’ she said. ‘But fear not, dear heart. We are attempting to pin down a human spirit and your night shall be entirely cattle free.’
‘That’s something, at least.’
‘And my evening appears to be entirely sweet-free. What’s for pudding, chef?’
‘Cake,’ I said, sadly.
‘Ah,’ she said. ‘In that case, might I respectfully suggest that we skip pudding and move straight to brandy and the piano? Is there cheese?’
‘There’s cheese, my lady, and some cream crackers. I might be able to rootle out some chutney.’
‘Cheese and biscuits it is, then,’ she said. She wiped her mouth with her napkin and stood. ‘I shall go and find something fun to play, and you bring the coagulated curds. Any requests?’
‘Something fun, I think,’ I said. ‘A little ragtime? I could fetch my banjo.’
‘That’s settled then. I shall see you presently.’
She left me to tidy up and put together a modest cheeseboard while she went into the drawing room to search for some appropriate music.
Getting ready for the drive into Bristol had been something of a palaver. Unlike the motorcars we had been used to in previous months, Lady Hardcastle’s new transport was a tad… open. It had a hinged folding “roof” such as one might find on a perambulator, and a substantial windscreen, but not much by way of what one might call “doors”. There were half-doors (presumably to conceal our sinful ankles) but precious little protection from the elements as the wind whipped through from the sides. In consequence we were forced to dress in brand new heavy coats, gauntlets (gauntlets!), and with our hats secured by robust, broad ribbons. There were goggles, too, for warmer days, but with the windscreen up we had deemed them superfluous.
As the younger, stronger member of the team, I had been charged with the task of turning the starting handle and after only three goes, we were on our way into the village. The car itself drew a small amount of attention, mostly, I think, because of its striking, pillar box-red paint, but what really caught people’s eye was the sight of Lady Hardcastle at the wheel. I’d been working for her for almost fifteen years and I had grown accustomed to the censorious stares and mutters of those people (mostly men, it must be said) who thought that a woman just shouldn’t be doing that (where “that” was pretty much whatever Lady Hardcastle happened to be doing at the time) and so the shocked glances from the villagers were nothing new. But a motoring lady was a new source of disapproval and I confess I felt a childlike glee in their collective dismay.
We pulled up outside The Dog and Duck and I hopped out while Lady Hardcastle stayed at the wheel with the engine running and the handbrake yanked firmly on. The pub door was still locked so I rapped loudly on it with my leather-clad fist. Joe eventually opened it.
‘Oh, mornin’, m’dear,’ he said when he saw who I was. ‘What can I be doin’ for you?’
‘Good morning, Joe,’ I said. ‘Might I come in for a moment? I have a favour to ask.’
He stood aside. ‘Certainly, Miss. In you come. ’Scuse the mess, I’m just moppin’ the floor.’
I stepped inside and he shut and bolted the door behind me.
‘Just in case anyone thinks we’s open,’ he said. ‘Leave the door open and they’ll all be in here demanding morning refreshment.’
‘We did say that morning tea would be a big seller,’ I said.
‘Oh, I’m sure it will once we gets started on it, miss,’ he said. ‘Soon as we gots our new china, I’ll be startin’ that. I already got old Sep Holman ready to make us rolls and pastries. But no, ’s not that, it’s they farmers – they sees a pub door open and they’ll be in and suppin’ cider ’fore you can say, “Sorry, gents, we’re closed.” I’d never get any cleaning done.’
I laughed. ‘Well I shan’t hold you up,’ I said. ‘I just wanted to ask a favour.’
‘Anything for you, miss, you knows that. Just name it.’
‘I wonder if I might have a room for tonight.’
He looked concerned. ‘A room, miss? Here?’
‘Yes, please,’ I said. ‘I’ll pay the full rate, of course.’
‘There’ll be no need for that, miss, not for you. But what’s wrong? Has Lady Hardcastle kicked you out?’
I laughed again. ‘Oh, I see what you mean. No, nothing like that,’ I said. ‘Although, in a way, perhaps she has. She wants me to spend the night in the pub to get a first-hand view of your haunting.’
Realization dawned. ‘Ohhhhh,’ he said. ‘Well to be honest, m’dear, I’d quite like a witness to it meself. It were quiet last night, but I’d like to get another opinion on it all ’fore Madame Eugénie leaves at the weekend.’
‘She’s still here, then?’ I said.
‘Ar,’ he said with a nod. ‘She been doin’ readin’s and private consultations these past two days. Up in ’er room. All sorts of folk come in, people you’d-a never thought. They comes in, and I sends ’em up. Then they comes down again all shaken and dazed.’
‘Shaken and dazed?’ I repeated.