‘Obviously once the idiots in the house started shooting at you, all hell broke loose and they were surrounded by armed policemen in no time.’
‘They were arrested?’ I said.
‘Smith and Jones were, but Ehrlichmann managed to slip away.’
‘He has a talent for that.’
‘Doesn’t he just,’ she said. ‘But the thugs didn’t see any profit in protecting him and told the police everything. He was the one who murdered Morry and planned the abduction of Georgie. His next great scheme was to nab the two of us, interrogate us to make sure no one was on to his masters and then leave our bodies in a ditch.’
‘Charming fellow,’ I said. ‘Did they know anything about his paymasters?’
‘Not a sausage. But whoever they are, they’re really not messing about if they hired a fiend like Ehrlichmann to do their dirty work.’
I groaned. ‘So we still know nothing.’
‘We know that they’re Autumn Wind,’ she said.
‘We knew that before, my lady,’ I said, reproachfully.
‘Well, yes. We know they’re on the council.’
‘Once again, we had surmised as much.’
‘We know that they’re connected with the Omnibus Company.’
‘Still old news,’ I said.
‘News,’ she said. ‘News. That’s the key, isn’t it.’
‘It is?’ I said. I was beginning to suspect that there was slightly more morphine still in my system than I had first suspected.
‘Who has been yapping at our heels at every step of all this?’ she said, beginning to pace about the room.
‘You’re going to have to help me,’ I said.
‘That dreadful Brookfield fellow. He was the one who was there to keep an eye on the Morry murder. He was the one who latched onto us to make sure we hadn’t seen anything. He was the one who–’
‘He was the one who persuaded us to investigate the affair, my lady,’ I pointed out.
‘Yes, pet, but he never actually helped us, did he? What if he was only keeping an eye on us so that he could make sure we were looking in the wrong direction? If it hadn’t been for Purcell from Section W we’d have just grown weary of the whiff of Brookfield’s red herrings and returned to our embroidery.’
‘You’ve never embroidered anything in your life,’ I said.
‘Whereas Brookfield has been embroidering a tapestry of misdirection worthy of the ladies of Bayeux.’
‘Leaving aside the technical differences between tapestry and embroidery,’ I said, ‘and the crumbling fragility of your metaphor – though I give you credit for accidentally noting that the Bayeux Tapestry is embroidered – how can we be certain that Brookfield is anything other than yet another incompetent scribbler?’
‘And how can we be certain that he’s a scribbler at all?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Well,’ she continued, ‘we’ve only his word for it that he’s a journalist at all. We’ve never checked up on him. Is there anything I can get you?’
‘No, my lady, I’m fine.’
‘In that case I shall go and ask Sir Benjamin to write a letter of introduction for us.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘So that’s where I am.’
At Lady Bickle’s insistence, I spent the following week as an honoured guest, being pampered and cared for as never before. One morning, as I hobbled into the dining room on my crutches and sat down to yet another sumptuous breakfast, I tried once more to protest.
‘Really, my lady, this isn’t necessary at all. I’m quite better now and I don’t deserve all this lavish treatment.’
‘Nonsense, dear,’ said Lady Bickle. ‘If it weren’t for you I should be in a shallow grave on the Somerset Levels.’
‘I hardly think that’s true,’ I replied. ‘I got myself captured by a German psychopath and my clever escape plan resulted in my falling from a roof and breaking my leg. I could have got us both killed.’
‘Ah, but you didn’t, dear, did you? And you gave me hope that night; you let me know that people cared and that they were looking for me. I didn’t let on, but I was beginning to despair before you arrived. And your escape plan worked, did it not? Here we are, free as birds. Now shush and eat your horrors.’
I laughed at the old word, but far from being horrors, the sausages were delicious and I decided to say no more.
Lady Hardcastle had been invited to stay, too, and had been working with Sir Benjamin to uncover the truth about the recent carry on. Their progress was slow (being unable to tell him everything we knew about Autumn Wind didn't help) but he had written her a letter of introduction to Charles Tapscott, the editor of The Bristol News, and she had made an appointment for us both to visit him later that morning.
Lady Bickle and I were discussing, of all things, rock climbing techniques when Lady Hardcastle and Sir Benjamin entered the dining room, deep in a conversation of their own. He was a handsome man of middle years with greying hair and an air of quiet confidence.
Lady Hardcastle was mid-sentence as she sat down. ‘…crossed the room, put the blotting paper on the table and said, “And that, my dear, is why you should never let the Earl of Runcorn anywhere near an anvil.”’
I’d heard the story many times before and it never failed to get guffaws, though it had long since ceased to amuse me. But Sir Benjamin was one of those unfortunate gentlemen who laughs on the in-breath so that he sounded like a sea lion barking and I found his uninhibited joy to be thoroughly infectious. My own giggles set Lady Bickle off and we were soon all four of us helpless with mirth and quite unable to remember what we were laughing at.
‘Do excuse us,’ said Sir Benjamin when the laughter had finally subsided. ‘We didn’t mean to interrupt your conversation, but Emily does have such wonderful stories to tell.’
‘And at least a third of them are true,’ I said.
He laughed again.
‘I’ll deal with you later,’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘But I’m pooooorly,’ I said, and pointed to my plastered leg. Our hosts weren’t in on the private joke, but it seemed to amuse them nonetheless.
‘What were you two talking about so earnestly, anyway?’ he asked.
‘Florence was asking about rock climbing techniques, and I was giving her the benefit of my considerable experience,’ said his wife.
‘Oh?’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘How fascinating. When did you learn to climb?’
‘One of the few advantages of an outrageously expensive Swiss finishing school,’ replied Lady Bickle, ‘is that they tend to be in the mountains. I really wasn’t terribly interested in how to alight gracefully from a carriage or how properly to address the maiden aunt of a grand duchess, so I used to hop the wag and go into the village. I…’ she looked at her husband.
‘She met a handsome young Swiss boy who taught her to climb,’ he said, clearly unconcerned by his younger wife’s youthful dalliances.
She smiled fondly at him. ‘I did indeed. But as it turns out, the wilful wildness of my youth saved my life rather than ruining it as my parents feared.’
‘No one ever died from youthful wildness,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Well, maybe one or two, but not nearly so many as from falling from heights or being shot by thugs.’