‘It seems it’s all in hand, then,’ he said. ‘I shall take my leave. Good afternoon, my lady, and thank you again.’
I stood, too, and went to see him out. When we were in the hall, I spoke quietly. ‘Thank you, Inspector,’ I said. ‘I don’t know if you really do need our help, but this is the most animated she’s been since the shooting. You’re something of a breath of fresh air yourself.’
He shook my hand and I opened the front door for him.
‘You really were my first thought when I realized I needed help,’ he said. ‘But I’m glad I could be of some small service in return. I shall be in touch presently.’
He walked down the path to the waiting police car in the lane.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ said Lady Hardcastle as we enjoyed breakfast together in the kitchen. ‘What we really need, is a telephone.’
‘We do?’ I said, picking up another crumpet.
‘We do,’ she said. ‘Think how much more quickly the inspector could have contacted us yesterday if we had a telephone. And think how easy it would be to ask him questions and give our reports.’
‘True, my lady,’ I said. ‘But it was lovely to see him in person again.’
‘Oh, telephones won’t stop people paying calls on each other,’ she said, dismissively. ‘But think of the convenience, the immediacy, the…’
‘The bills, my lady? And the intrusion?’
‘Oh, Flo, you are a fuddy-duddy. No, I have made up my mind. We shall have a telephone. I shall write to… to… Actually, to whom does one write?’
‘They have a telephone at The Grange, my lady. Sir Hector will know.’
‘Sir Hector is the sweetest old buffer in the West, dear,’ she said. ‘But we both know he won’t know anything of the sort. Gertie’s the girl to go to for information about the household. I shall ask her. Perhaps we could pop up there this morning to see how she is.’
‘I think we should, my lady,’ I said. ‘Should we take her a gift?’
‘How very thoughtful. What have we got?’
I thought for a while. ‘I made a cake this morning,’ I suggested.
‘We’d offend Mrs Brown,’ she said. ‘Now there’s a cook I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of.’
‘Some brandy?’
‘She is partial to a little brandy.’
‘A little?’ I said.
‘Do we have any to spare?’
‘An unopened bottle, my lady? Actually, I don’t think so. The vintner’s order is due at the end of the week.’ I sat for a moment in contemplation. ‘Oh, I know. A caricature. She loves your drawings. We must have an old frame somewhere that we can use.’
‘What a splendid idea,’ she said enthusiastically. ‘At the cattle market, I think. Give her an uplifting image of the place so she’s not always dwelling on poor Mr Carmichael. I’ll get sketching; you find the frame.’
‘Right you are, my lady,’ I said, and gathered up the breakfast things.
She worked fast, and by eleven o’clock we had a framed pen-and-ink sketch of Lady Farley-Stroud surrounded by cows, entitled “Cattle Market”.
‘There,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘That should put a smile back on the old girl’s face. I’m rather pleased with that.’
‘And rightly so, my lady,’ I said. ‘You have a rare gift.’
‘Then let’s get our hats and coats and take a stroll up to The Grange where we can give the gift created by my gift to–’
Thankfully, the doorbell rang before she could get too far with that particular out-of-control thought.
It was Constable Hancock from the village police station.
‘Mornin’, Miss Armstrong,’ he said, touching the peak of his police helmet with a fingertip. ‘Is Lady Hardcastle at home?’
‘She is, constable, she is. Do come in. She’s in the dining room.’
‘Oh, I hope I haven’t interrupted her lunch,’ he said.
‘Not at all, she was sketching. Come through.’
I led him to the dining room.
‘Constable Hancock is here, my lady,’ I said as I ushered him in.
‘My dear constable,’ she said as she put her pens and pencils into the lacquered box on the table. ‘To what do we owe the pleasure? Would you care for some tea?’
‘Never been known to refuse the offer of tea, my lady,’ he said with a smile. ‘That would be most welcome.’
‘Do the honours, would you, pet,’ she said, and I took myself off to the kitchen.
By the time I returned with the tray, Lady Hardcastle was leafing through the contents of an official-looking manila folder.
‘Admirable diligence from the city detectives, constable, but it doesn’t appear they were able to discover much,’ she said as I set the tray down on the table.
‘No, m’lady,’ said Hancock. ‘I took a look at the reports and I reckon they must have asked everyone as was there that lunchtime. Don’t look like no one saw a thing.’
‘Any report from the police surgeon?’
‘Not yet, m’lady, but that’ll go to Bristol CID with a copy to the station at Chipping Bevington. We’ll not see it ’less we asks. And even then I don’t reckon as they’d let us. Not much love lost ’tween us and the boys in the town. Sergeant Dobson reckons they’s a bunch of idiots, and I can’t say as I disagrees with him. And they thinks we’re nobodies ’cause we’re based over here in the village, like it makes us second class coppers or somethin’.’
‘We know the truth though, eh, Flo?’ she said.
‘We do, my lady. Finest police officers in the West we’ve got here.’
‘You’re both very kind,’ said Hancock, taking the tea that I’d poured for him. ‘Don’t suppose you’d mind if I helped myself to one o’ they biscuits? I’m famished.’
Lady Hardcastle invited the constable to help himself to biscuits and invited me to take a look at the report from the Bristol detectives. She picked up a small notebook and a mechanical pencil from the table and made some notes while I read the file. The notebook and pencil had been a “get well” gift from Inspector Sunderland after the shooting. He was never without his own trusty notebook and she took it as a sign of his approval of her detective skills that he had chosen to give her a notebook of her own.
The pub had been packed, as was usual for a Thursday, and Inspector Sunderland’s men had interviewed them all. Dismayingly, though, not one of the several dozen witnesses had witnessed anything at all. No one was behaving oddly, there were no arguments, no one was seen with a bottle made of dark glass bearing a skull and crossbones and the word “Poison” in shaky writing. No one knew of anyone with a particular grudge against Spencer Carmichael. Although there was a carefully written note to the effect that the detectives couldn’t be sure that this was definitely the case. “It is usually noted in cases of recent death that no one cares to speak ill of the deceased nor to suggest that there might be any reason for anyone to dislike him. In cases of murder, no one wishes to say anything which might be construed as an accusation.” They made a good point. Unless folk had grudges of their own to be settled, most people would tend to keep mum.