‘Tempting, but I think not. I’d best get off and write that letter, then we can post it on the way to see the sergeant.’
‘Jolly good. I’ll get this lot tidied away and then sort out the chaos you left on the floor last night.’
‘Already done, dear girl. You shamed me into it.’
I was still grinning as I started the washing up.
By the time the kitchen was shipshape, Lady Hardcastle had written her letter, so we dressed for the outdoors and walked to the village post office together. With the letter posted, we called in on the police station where we found Constable Hancock engaged in some cleaning and tidying of his own. He told us that Sergeant Dobson had indeed telephoned a detective in Gloucester that morning and that he had been told that they would look into the matter.
There was nothing to do now, but wait.
And so wait we did.
The day passed in pleasant enough fashion, with a light lunch, a walk in the woods, and an afternoon of chores and correspondence. We rounded it all off with a very pleasant supper of coq-au-vin, cooked in, and accompanied by, an extremely pleasant red Burgundy which the new vintners had delivered the previous week. We rounded the evening off with cheese and port while Lady Hardcastle played some exquisitely melancholy music at the piano.
Two days later, we were settling down to elevenses at the kitchen table when the doorbell rang. It was Sergeant Dobson and I invited him to join us.
‘Thank you kindly, miss,’ he said, dropping his helmet on the hall table and following me to the kitchen.
‘Sergeant Dobson, my lady,’ I said, and went to the dresser to fetch a cup, saucer and plate for him.
‘My dear sergeant,’ she said warmly. ‘Always a pleasure to see you. Please, take a seat. Cake?’
‘Thank you, m’lady,’ he said, and helped himself to a large slice of Victoria sponge.
‘And what can we do for you today?’ she asked once he’d finished his first mouthful.
‘This is a grand cake, miss, thank you,’ he said. ‘As to my visit, I thought you’d be interested to know that I have this very morning arrested Mr Nelson Snelson on a charge of murdering his former business partner, Mr Emmanuel Bean.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Why ever did you do that?’
He looked slightly nonplussed. ‘Orders from Gloucester, m’lady. Seems they went to Long Lane Farm and searched the place for the strongbox. They found it, they opened it, and inside it they found certain evidence that implicated Mr Snelson in the murder. They telephoned me this morning to tell me to arrest him. They have one or two things they want to check on and then someone will be travelling down on the train tomorrow to pick him up.’
‘Dear, oh dear,’ she said. ‘This will never do. Never do at all.’
The sergeant and I exchanged puzzled glances, but we both knew that nothing would come of asking her to explain herself. I was saved from having to pursue it further by the clatter of the post on the mat.
‘Go and fetch that for me, would you, pet,’ she said. ‘I’m expecting some replies.’
I went out to the hall and returned with four letters.
‘Hand them over, pet, quick sticks,’ said Lady Hardcastle impatiently. She immediately discarded two, muttering, ‘Bills,’ but eagerly opened the first of the remaining two. She read it intently, smiled and moved on to the next. At length she refolded both letters and tapped them thoughtfully on the table.
‘That makes things a great deal clearer,’ she said. ‘Now, Sergeant, we shall have to leave you to your duties – we have some errands to run. Please convey our good wishes to Mr Snelson. I’m hopeful that we’ll have enough information to release him before tomorrow morning.’
The sergeant looked at her quizzically. ‘I’ve known you long enough now not to doubt you, m’lady, but I think it would be an unkindness to tell him that. I have every confidence in you, but I’d not like the man’s hopes dashed. We’ll treat him with our usual courtesy but I’ll keep that little nugget to myself for the time being.’
‘Of course, Sergeant,’ she said. ‘I think that would be for the best, too. Nevertheless, we’ll have him freed before lunch tomorrow.’
‘As you say, m’lady,’ he said. He stood to leave. ‘Thank you for the tea, m’lady. And thank you for the delicious cake, miss.’
I stood.
‘Don’t trouble yourself, miss,’ he said. ‘I can see myself out. You just mind you find what you need to find. I confess I’ve quite warmed to Mr Snelson and I’d not like to see him hanged.’
He knuckled his forehead and left the kitchen. A moment later we heard the front door close.
‘Righto, Flo dear, we need our driving togs; I have an appointment in the city.’
‘You do, my lady?’ I said. ‘Something in one of your letters?’
‘Indeed. You can keep me company on the drive, but I’m afraid I shall have to leave you in the motorcar during the meeting.’
‘Very good, my lady,’ I said.
We got up from the table and I cleared the cups and plates away.
‘Would you like to drive?’ she said from the door.
‘Do you know, my lady, I rather think I would. Can I have a peaked cap?’
She laughed. ‘We shall visit a milliner at the earliest opportunity. But don’t get used to it, I rather enjoy driving; we’ll have to share.’
We were ready within a quarter of an hour and after a couple of failed attempts to start the Rover, we were on our way into Bristol.
I’d driven the car around the lanes a few times when it had first been delivered, but this was my first proper journey. I loved it. Being in control of such a powerful and sophisticated machine was a thrill beyond imagining and we puttered down the Gloucester Road and into the heart of the city. Lady Hardcastle was navigating and directed me towards Old Market where I was instructed to pull up outside the Empire, Bristol’s most famous music hall.
‘I’m so sorry to have to leave you out here, pet,’ she said as she got out of the motorcar and adjusted her coat on the pavement. ‘But he has agreed to see me only on the condition that I come alone.’
‘He who?’ I said.
She smiled. ‘All in good time, pet. Just wait here like a good chauffeuse. Polish the car or something. Isn’t that what they do?’
I muttered mutinously, suggesting that she could bally well polish it herself, but she was already on her way down the alleyway beside the theatre, heading for the stage door.
As it turns out, being a chauffeuse is a rather pleasing occupation. I had brought my journal with me and spent a pleasantly relaxed hour bringing it up to date in the comfort of the tiny motorcar. I was sure I’d have had less fun if the weather were any cooler, but it was another mild, spring day and I was almost disappointed when at last Lady Hardcastle emerged once more from the alley and clambered aboard. I put away my journal and pen and got out to start the engine.
‘All done, my lady?’ I said.
‘All done,’ she said.
‘Where to now, my lady?’ I said, climbing back into the driving seat.
‘Home, I think.’
‘Right you are, my lady.’