‘Ar,’ he said. ‘They all says they’s pleased they went, but they none of ’em looks like it was a calmin’ experience.’
‘I promised Lady Hardcastle I’d arrange a reading for her,’ I said. ‘But I’m not so sure it would be a good idea if that’s the effect it has on people. She’s had a difficult time of it these past few months, I shouldn’t want to expose her to more unpleasantness.’
‘If you asks me, I’d say you was absolutely right. She’s best off out of it.’
‘I agree, Mr Arnold, I agree. And so I shall be her eyes and ears here tonight, if that’s agreeable.’
‘It will be a delight to have you here, miss,’ he said. ‘You can have our second best room and I’ll make you a nice big breakfast an’ all.’
‘How wonderfully generous of you, thank you. It’s been a while since anyone made me breakfast.’
‘I reckoned as much,’ he said with a toothless chuckle. ‘It’ll be like a little holiday for you.’
‘With added ghosts,’ I said.
‘Don’t remind me,’ he said.
We said our goodbyes and I left him to his mopping.
Back outside, I hopped back into the motorcar and we sped off towards the Gloucester Road. Well, I say “sped” but it was more of a sedate potter, if I’m honest. Still, it was quicker than walking.
We clattered our way into the city and parked the car near the city library. I was still slightly awed by the sight of the magnificent cathedral (which I have since learnt was not medieval at all, but had only been finally completed in the 1870s – a 700-year construction project that made the delays on our garage seem a mere trifle by comparison), sitting beside the new library, and both of them backing on to the floating harbour.
We went inside and after a brief, hushed conversation with the librarian at the front desk, weaved our way past shelves and shelves of books to the periodicals section. We found the Gloucester newspapers for early 1908 and began our laborious research.
By lunchtime, I was bored almost beyond endurance. I love to read, and am ordinarily fascinated by the lives of others, but provincial newspapers have a peculiar knack of turning even the most interesting story into something turgid and dull. I was glad when Lady Hardcastle finally passed me a note which read, “Shhhhh. But I’ve had quite enough of this. Lunch?”
I nodded my hearty agreement and we put away our newspapers and returned to the world of chatter and noise.
‘Did you find anything?’ she asked as we walked back to the motorcar.
‘Nothing to contradict anything in the police report,’ I said. ‘How about you?’
‘No, not really. There was some speculation about financial difficulties at the company and a concerted attempt at discrediting Snelson and painting him as the villain of the piece, but it stopped short of libellous accusation.’
‘I did find one account which mentioned what good friends the two owners were. Inseparable, apparently. It makes the claims of murder seem all the more unlikely.’
‘Quite so,’ she said. ‘Unless anyone turns up any actual evidence, I think our ghost might be on entirely the wrong track.’
‘It does seem that way, my lady, yes. What now, then?’
‘I think we should leave the motor here, and take a stroll to that hotel that Gertie loves. After lunch I might pop in to the solicitors and see if they can dig up anything about Hardwicke Timber from the company records. Then home for tea and to prepare you for a night in the haunted pub.’
‘Right you are, then, my lady, let’s go. You do remember where the hotel is, I take it.’
‘Of course I do,’ she said, entirely unconvincingly. ‘It’s… this way.’
We set off for lunch.
Lunch was as splendid as the last time, cementing the hotel’s reputation in our minds as one of our top choices for lunch in town. Lady Hardcastle had declined the sommelier’s wine recommendation, insisting that she needed a clear head to drive us home, and we had emerged into the afternoon gloom replete but entirely sober.
There were a few chores to take care of at home while Lady Hardcastle retired to her study. We ate a light supper at around eight o’clock and then I packed some overnight essentials into my trusty Gladstone bag, received my final instructions from Lady Hardcastle, and slipped out into the chilly spring night to walk to the pub.
After a couple of days of calm, the weather was becoming boisterous again, and there were a few spots of rain in the strengthening wind as I skirted the green. The pub was full and there was a lively sing-song in progress around the battered, poorly-tuned piano in the corner. I could hear the clonk and rattle of the wooden ball in the skittle alley in the other bar, and the roars and raucous laughter of the players. The air was thick with tobacco smoke whose aroma mixed with the beer and cider to produce a smell that instantly took me back to dodgy back street pubs in the East End where Lady Hardcastle and I, dressed down for the occasion, had been to meet weasel-willed informants, flat-nosed thugs, cocksure villains and assorted other ne’er-do-wells for the good of King and country.
Joe broke into my reverie. ‘Evenin’, miss. Can I get you a drink ’fore you goes up?’
‘Oh, good evening Joe. I’m sorry, I was miles away. A brandy would be most welcome, please. May I take it up to my room?’
‘Course you may, m’dear. I’ll just show you where ’t is and I’ll bring it up to you. On the house, of course.’
‘You’re most kind, Joe, thank you.’
‘Come with me,’ he said. ‘Let’s get you out of this madhouse.’
He led me through the bar to the door at the back and then up the stairs to the first floor. There were four doors off the landing.
‘Here you goes, m’dear,’ said Joe, indicating the door to our right. ‘This un’s yours. Bathroom is there at the end, and Madame Eugénie is in the room opposite.’
‘Thank you, Joe. And the door next to hers?’
‘That’s the stairs up to mine and Our Ma’s rooms up in the attic. We keeps it closed, give ourselves a bit of privacy like.’
‘Lovely, thank you,’ I said with a smile. ‘Just getting the lay of the land, you know how it is.’
‘Oh ah, miss, yes. They say you done a fair bit of the old cloak and dagger stuff in your time.’
‘People say a lot of things, Mr Arnold,’ I said, still smiling. ‘I should take no notice.’
He looked at me shrewdly. ‘Right you are, miss. Mum’s the word.’ He winked and then opened the door to my room and gestured me inside.
The room was slightly larger than I was expecting, with a comfortable looking bed, a nightstand with a drawer, a washstand with jug and basin, a chair, and a small wardrobe. It was plainly decorated, but clean, and the bedlinen looked crisp and fresh. The lamp was already lit and there was a candlestick beside the bed.
‘I hope it’s all right for you,’ he said, tentatively. ‘There’s more candles in the nightstand if you needs ’em.’
‘Oh, Joe, it’s marvellous,’ I said.
He beamed. ‘Not quite what you’re used to, I don’t s’pose, but I’m glad you likes it.’
‘It will do splendidly,’ I said. I looked back at the door. ‘Is there a key?’