We had spent quite a while at the police station where various officers of increasingly more impressive rank had questioned us – separately, of course – at length. We both told the same story, each of us omitting any mention of Autumn Wind or Section W, and eventually – on the word of one of Inspector Sunderland’s close colleagues – we had been released. No one would tell us what had become of Craine and Brookfield, but we were confident that enough evidence would be found at least to charge them, if not to convict them.
Lady Hardcastle drove us back to Clifton and parked the motorcar with her customary careless exuberance, at a slight angle and a ha’penny tram ride from the kerb. She helped me from the passenger seat and I hobbled behind her up the steps to the large front door.
We were greeted by Simpkins, the butler, who ushered us inside. After he had taken our hats I expected him to take us through to the drawing room, but instead he gave us both a disapproving look and said, ‘There is a gentleman here to see you both. I asked him to wait in the library.’
He led us to the library and opened the door. Stepping through, he announced, ‘Lady Hardcastle and Miss Armstrong,’ and then ushered us inside. He gave us both another look that made it very plain how much he disapproved of our receiving visitors in his master’s house before gliding out and closing the door behind him.
Our visitor stood.
‘Good afternoon to you both,’ said Mr Purcell.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Purcell,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘We were planning to get in touch with you shortly, but it seems that Section W is one step ahead of us as always.’
He inclined his head in acknowledgement.
‘The senior Autumn Wind man here in Bristol has been calling himself Brookfield,’ she went on. ‘He’s in custody at the city police station now, together with Craine, the coffee importer. You should look closely at certain investors and board members in the omnibus company. There are one or two councillors who might fit the bill, too, most especially a stocky little chap from the accounts committee who Armstrong saw talking to Günther Ehrlichmann, who, by the way, is on the run and has a .22 bullet wound to the hand. It’s even possible that Stansbridge and Hinkley are members, as well; they were offered to us with Craine as part of a double-bluff by Brookfield. And–’
‘Yes,’ interrupted Purcell. ‘We know.’
‘You know?’
‘We know.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Ah,’ he said, taking off his spectacles and polishing them on his handkerchief. ‘Well now. There’s the thing, d’you see.’
Realization dawned on us both and Lady Hardcastle’s face flushed with anger.
‘You’ve had someone else investigating while we created a diversion?’ she said.
He looked genuinely apologetic. ‘In a nutshell, yes. You’re rather well known these days, what with all your work with the local coppers and your frequent appearances in the newspapers. We knew they’d twig what you were up to the moment you started poking about, and with all eyes on you, we were able to do a bit of rootling around of our own.’
‘I see. And what are you doing about it?’ she asked.
‘At the moment, nothing. Brookfield and Craine have been released.’
‘Released?’ she said. ‘They tried to kill us!’
‘Indeed, and we really are most terribly sorry about that. But it suits our purposes to let them think they’ve fooled us for the moment. We’d rather you kept quiet, too, if you don’t mind.’
She eyed him frostily. ‘Well it’s always a pleasure doing business with our old chums in Section W,’ she said. ‘If ever you want us to act as decoys for you again, do think twice, won’t you.’
‘Wheels within wheels,’ he said. ‘Bigger picture and all that. You know how it is. I do hope you’ll forgive us.’
‘I’m sure Armstrong will forgive you just as soon as her leg is healed,’ she said. ‘But don’t count on it. Is there anything else?’
‘No, I think that’s all,’ he said. ‘I’ll see myself out.’
We stood together in silence for a moment after he had gone. At length, Lady Hardcastle said, ‘Well, that seems to be that, then. But you need to rest that leg – it’s going to have a few backsides to kick in Whitehall when you’re better. And we ought to let Georgie know we’re back; I think she had plans for tea.’
And indeed she did. We had just taken our seats at the table when Simpkins introduced two surprise guests: Inspector Sunderland and his wife.
The inspector was in fine form and Dorothea Sunderland was every bit as charming and wonderful as we had imagined she ought to be to be deserving of the love of the inspector, and it was touching to watch the patient, unfussy way she cared for her wounded husband. Tea was a very convivial affair with Sir Benjamin and Lady Bickle the most gracious and welcoming of hosts, and by the time we were fighting over the last piece of cake we were all, despite our very different backgrounds, well on the way to becoming friends. I nearly spoiled things when Lady Hardcastle’s whispered observation that Oliver and Dorothea Sunderland were “Ollie and Dolly” made me snort tea out of my nose, but I covered it well and I think we got away with it.
No one seemed in any great rush for the afternoon to end, and Sir Benjamin invited us all to retire to the drawing room and offered us brandy.
‘Do you think we’ve heard the last of these – what did you call them? – these Autumn Wind chaps?’ asked Sir Benjamin as he handed Inspector Sunderland a generously-filled brandy balloon.
‘No, I doubt it,’ replied the inspector. ‘Lady Hardcastle knows a good deal more, I dare say, but I don’t think an organization like that ever goes away.’
‘What say you, then, Lady Hardcastle?’ said Sir Benjamin.
‘I think the inspector’s quite right,’ she said. ‘A couple of them have popped their nasty little heads above the parapet, but they’re not stupid and their friends won’t expect them to expose themselves to scrutiny again any time soon. As for the rest of them… nobody knows who they are. I think they’ll bide their time as they have these past few centuries, quietly manipulating things to their own advantage.’
‘And so will we always be in danger?’ said Lady Bickle
‘I don’t think so,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘I think that by attacking you both so publicly, Autumn Wind have rather ensured that you’ll be unmolested in the future. Any attacks on your business, Sir Benjamin, or upon your person, Lady Bickle, will bring unwanted attention back upon the society, and the thing they rely upon more than anything, is to be able to go unnoticed as they weave their webs. I think your lives will be Wind-free from now on.’
‘Oh, I do hope so, dear,’ said Lady Bickle with a glance towards her husband. ‘Sprouts are the worst,’ she said in a stage whisper.
Finally, we returned home. Summer was settling in for a long stay, the garden under Old Jed’s careful ministrations was beginning to bloom, the house was entirely back to normal and both Lady Hardcastle and I were soon restored to full health.
Witnesses came forward to refute the allegations of impropriety against everyone connected with the tram company, and a free vote at the council narrowly defeated the proposal to grant the omnibus licence without further consultation.
‘You know,’ said Lady Hardcastle one morning as we sat down to breakfast, ‘we never did get away for that break I keep promising you.’