‘Silly shows, my lady? I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.’
‘What was that thing you and Harry dragged me to last year? “Whoops! Oh Crikey! I’ve Fallen in Love with the Flower Girl Again”? I love my brother dearly, but he’s got the most appalling taste in… well in most things, actually.’
‘You, my lady, are a frightful old snob,’ I said, and went to make a pot of tea.
The morning passed without further incident while Lady Hardcastle caught up with her correspondence and even tinkled a little at the piano – something she had not done very much since the shooting – and I got on with a few chores I’d been putting off. Lunch came and went and we were just deciding upon our plans for the evening when there was a ring at the doorbell.
I answered it to see an ashen Lady Farley-Stroud on the doorstep. I’d begun to think of her as a bit of a mischievous old lady with an ever-present glint in her eye, but the glint was gone, replaced by a look of panic and despair.
‘Oh, Armstrong,’ she said. ‘Thank goodness you’re here. Is Lady Hardcastle at home?’
‘She is, my lady. Please come in. You look like you could do with a sweet tea. Whatever’s the matter?’
She stepped in, looking curiously about at our somewhat Spartan decor. I took her hat and coat and conducted her through to the drawing room.
‘Who’s that at the door, pet?’ said Lady Hardcastle as I opened the door. ‘Oh, Gertie what a delight. Do come in, I was just–’
Lady Farley-Stroud fainted. I managed to get my shoulder under her arm to stop her from falling to the ground, but I was having trouble manhandling her towards a chair. Lady Hardcastle leapt up when she saw her guest falling, and winced visibly as the wound in her stomach gave a twinge.
We got the older lady into an armchair and she began to return to her senses.
‘I was just about to offer sweet tea, my lady,’ I said. ‘For the shock.’
‘Sweet tea be beggared,’ said Lady Hardcastle, firmly. ‘This lady needs brandy.’
‘Very good, my lady,’ I said, and went to fetch both.
I returned with a tray of tea, cognac and biscuits to find Lady Farley-Stroud returned to consciousness, but looking little better. Lady Hardcastle was fussing around her friend.
‘Here you are, dear,’ she said. ‘Flo’s brought some tea and brandy. Let’s get some of that down you and you can tell me all about it.’
Lady Farley-Stroud sipped at the proffered glass and began to look a little embarrassed.
‘So sorry, m’dear,’ she said. ‘Don’t know what came over me. Haven’t swooned since I was a girl. Feel very foolish.’
‘Nonsense, darling,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘You look like you’ve had a terrible shock. Whatever’s the matter.’
‘Oh, Emily, it was terrible. Went to the market on my own. Left Denton behind – she’s been such a wet blanket lately, don’t know what’s got into her. Having lunch in the Hayrick, chatting to Mr Carmichael about the cattle he bought from us last week. Poor old chap was looking very ill but he said it was just a spring cold. He looked jaundiced to me, though, I’ve seen that before. So I took pity on the old chap and was just about to offer him a drink when he keeled over, face-down in his pie.’
‘Gracious,’ said Lady Hardcastle and I together.
‘They tried to revive him, but he was dead as a door knocker.’
‘Gracious,’ we said again.
‘We called the doctor and he said it looked like… like he’d been poisoned,’ said Lady Farley-Stroud as she fainted again, tipping the remains of the brandy over her dress.
We brought Lady Farley-Stroud round with some old smelling salts that I found at the back of Lady Hardcastle’s dressing table, and then let her sit quietly while I went to talk to Bert who was sitting outside in the motorcar. I asked him to drive up to The Grange to fetch Maude, and to stop off in the village on the way back and collect Dr Fitzsimmons.
Back inside, I freshened the tea while we waited for Bert to return. Lady Farley-Stroud was slowly restored to her usual self (I still maintain it was the tea and not the cognac which did the trick) and was soon admonishing us for making such an unseemly fuss. We were wary of distressing her again so we had to keep our curiosity in check, but it was a hellish task. How did they know it was poison? What sort of poison was it? When was it administered? Who could have done such a thing? Why would they do it?
By the time the doctor had examined her and given her into the care of her maid, I for one was definitely beginning to struggle to find things to say that weren’t connected to the sudden death of Spencer Carmichael. But we wished her well, promised to visit the next day, and sent them all on their way.
‘Things are definitely back to normal now,’ said Lady Hardcastle as we settled back in the drawing room to finish off the tea.
‘Murder and mischief, my lady?’ I said, brushing biscuit crumbs from my pinafore.
‘Mayhem and… and…’
‘Malarkey, my lady?’
‘Doesn’t have quite the same ring to it, does it, pet?’ she said.
‘Monkey business?’ I said.
‘You’re not helping, Flo,’ she said. ‘I think we shall have to settle for “misdemeanours”.’
‘Mucking about?’
‘Remember who protected you from the evil cows with her trusty walking stick, my girl,’ she said menacingly. ‘I might leave it at home the next time we face a terrifying bovine menace. But a mystery might be just what I need.’
‘Mystery, my lady.’
‘Yes, a mystery. Oh, I see what you mean. Yes. Mystery. Mayhem and mystery.’
We raised our tea cups. ‘To mayhem and mystery,’ I said.
The doorbell rang again.
‘Oh, who can this be?’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘I was just about to indulge in some wild and ill-informed speculation upon the murder of Spencer Carmichael and some inconsiderate soul comes ringing at the doorbell. Send them away with a flea in their ear for their impudence. Both ears, I say.’
The doorbell rang yet again.
‘Go!’ she said. ‘Be maid-like. Answer the blessed door.’
I went and answered the blessed door.
‘Ah, Miss Armstrong,’ said the bowler-hatted man on the doorstep. ‘Is your mistress at home?’
‘Inspector Sunderland,’ I said. ‘What a pleasant surprise. Please, do come in.’
‘Thank you, miss,’ said the inspector. We had been friends since the murder at The Grange, and although I had a strong suspicion that his call was not a social one, it was still a pleasure to see him.
I led him to the drawing room and showed him in.
‘Inspector Sunderland is here, my lady,’ I said, somewhat superfluously.
‘I can see that, pet,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Inspector. How delightful to see you. Do please come in and make yourself at home. Flo, I think we might need another pot. Tea, Inspector?’
‘That would be most welcome, my lady,’ he said. ‘I hear you’re up and about again.’
‘I am, yes. And quite relieved to be so. One can’t stay moping about forever,’ she said.