Chapter Three
I woke to the sound of seagulls and lay for a few moments trying to fathom out exactly where I was. Fort. Weekend. Music. Warmth. Ah, yes, warmth.
The heating was still working well and I mused for a few moments on whether some similar system might be possible at home.
There’s something comforting – almost primevally so – about gathering close to the fire on a winter’s evening, but it’s even more comforting to be able to get up and walk about the house without fear of chilblains.
Lady Hardcastle had mentioned no plans for getting up, but the antique ship’s chronometer on the windowsill told me it was already half past seven so I decided to get up and see what the day brought.
Washing and dressing in the warm room was a joy and it felt more like preparing for the day on a summer’s morning than a dreary Friday in February. Even my hands were warm as, ablutions done, I knocked on Lady Hardcastle’s door.
‘Who is it?’ came a sing-song voice from within.
I opened the door and peered in. ‘If it’s not me, then our secret knock has been compromised and we need to change all our codes at once.’
‘Flossington! Come in, tiny one.’
I entered, closing the door behind me. ‘Flossington?’
‘It’s something I’m trying out. Do you like it?’
‘Not even a little bit.’
‘Shame. You’re dressed.’
‘I thought it might scandalize JB’s pals if I were to swank about the fort in the altogether.’
‘You make a sound point. But isn’t it a little early?’
‘It’s almost eight and I can smell breakfast. I thought it was time we were up and about.’
‘But it’s supposed to be a relaxing weekend away. We’re supposed to come and go as we please.’
‘Technically, it’s only Friday so it’s not the weekend yet. And your whole life is spent coming and going as you please, anyway. You have fifteen minutes.’
I left her mumbling and returned to the corridor.
I half thought about going for a walk – but without a watch, and without knowing where I might see another clock, I wouldn’t be able to judge the passage of the quarter of an hour I’d given her.
And for the pettiest of reasons, I didn’t want to allow her more time than that.
Instead I waited in my own room, looking out of the window at the grey skies and the white-capped sea.
Just as the clock on the windowsill showed that her fifteen minutes were up, there was a knock on the door.
‘Who is it?’ I chimed.
‘It’s me, you tiny oaf. Breakfast awaits.’
We went down the passageway to the dining room together.
JB sat at the dining table with the Everetts. Rather charmingly, he stood as we entered. Rather predictably, Edgar Everett did not.
‘Good morning, Lady Hardcastle,’ said Clarice. ‘Good morning, Miss Armstrong.’
Lady Hardcastle grinned. ‘I say, well done. What gave us away? Footsteps from two sets of ladies’ shoes?’
Clarice smiled. ‘That and your perfume. It’s rather—’
‘Overpowering? Sorry about that. I got a little carried away.’
Clarice laughed. ‘I was going to say distinctive. But it’s not just that: two ladies came in, but only one perfume. I noticed last night that Miss Armstrong doesn’t wear perfume so it wasn’t much of a leap to reason it was you two.’
‘I’ve never found a perfume I could bear to have wafting up my conk all day,’ I said.
‘Ah, but after a while, one’s snoot becomes accustomed to it and just ignores it,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘One can’t smell one’s own perfume.’
JB gestured to the sideboard. ‘I hope the selection is to your satisfaction, ladies, but do holler if there’s anything we’ve forgotten. If we have it in the storehouse, Mrs Crawford can cook it up for you quick as a wink.’
‘Thank you, JB dear.’
‘I want you to be comfortable, but I’m testing the place out, don’t forget. I want to make sure we get everything right so when we open in the fall, our guests want for nothing.’
We approached the sideboard and began loading our plates. I wasn’t sure there was anything more Mrs Crawford could possibly add. Apart from kippers. Luckily, I wasn’t in the mood for kippers so I wasn’t going to complain.
JB addressed Clarice. ‘So it’s true what they say about losing one of the senses. The remaining four are intensified.’
Clarice snorted. ‘Oh, JB, I expected more of you. Of course they don’t. How could they? You have a keen scientific mind – by what biological mechanism do you imagine that would happen?’
‘Well . . . I . . . ah . . . that is to say . . .’
‘We just pay more attention to them, that’s all.
You rely very heavily on what your eyes tell you so you don’t need to give much thought to what you hear and smell.
I can’t see anything, so I get my information about who and what’s around me by the way people and things sound, by the way they smell.
It’s not a magic trick, nor is it some miracle of nature.
It’s just concentration, memory and imagination. ’
We took our overloaded plates and sat down opposite the Everetts.
‘What other details can you glean from sound and smell?’ asked Lady Hardcastle as she buttered a slice of toast.
Clarice thought for a moment. ‘Less than you’d hope, but more than you’d think.
Fabrics make different sounds, for instance, so I can usually tell whether a lady is wearing satin or linen.
Someone who has very recently come in from outdoors will have a crisp, outdoor smell about them, but only for a minute or two.
It’s more pronounced in cold weather, but it’s still noticeable in the summer. ’
‘Fascinating. Sorry if I’m boring you. You must have to talk about this a lot.’
Clarice smiled ruefully. ‘Not as much as you might think. People are dismayingly incurious for the most part. Mostly I have to endure sympathy and the assumption that my blindness makes me feeble-minded. When people realize my musical accomplishments, I become “an inspiration”.’
‘Are you not an inspiration, though?’ said JB. ‘Despite your . . . your handicap, you’re one of the greatest musicians of the age. How can that not be inspirational?’
Clarice spun her head and looked directly at him. ‘How does my blindness affect my ability to make music?’
‘Well . . . you can’t read the score, for one.’
‘I use the Braille music notation system. What else?’
‘Well . . . I . . . ah—’
He was saved from further floundering by the arrival of George Wilson.
‘Good morning, one and all. I was afraid I might be late.’
‘No such thing as late here, young ’un,’ said JB. ‘Come and go as you please. Mi casa es su casa, as they say down in Mexico.’
‘Do they, indeed?’
‘They surely do. My house is your house. I want all my guests to feel comfortable. If you want breakfast at four in the afternoon, we’ll accommodate you.’
‘I say. Very generous, JB, very generous. But there’s hardly any need for that. I just didn’t want to miss spending time with everyone.’
‘Well, help yourself from the sideboard there and come and join us.’
While George was doing that, Bridgewater and Sidwell-Plant came in together.
‘Morning, all,’ said Bridgewater. ‘Glad we’re not late, after all. The memsahib will be here presently. I left her fussing with her jewellery box.’
‘I have no idea what Patience is doing,’ said Sidwell-Plant. ‘I’m sure she’ll be with us soon enough. She does love a good breakfast.’
We joined the chorus of good mornings.
I was about to ask Clarice more about Braille music – as someone who could read music but preferred to play by ear, I was keen to hear the opinion of a professional. My question was put to one side, though, when Dorothy Bridgewater burst into the room in a state of some agitation.
‘My ruby necklace. It’s gone.’
‘Course it isn’t,’ said Bridgewater. ‘You’ve just mislaid it. Or that dull-witted lady’s maid of yours forgot to pack it. It’s not like you don’t have other jewellery with you.’
Dotty huffed. ‘I packed it myself. And checked it twice. I wanted to wear it to the St Valentine’s Day dinner tonight. Rubies are very romantic. But now it’s gone. The case is empty.’
‘That’s most frustrating,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘But it might simply have fallen out of the case. We’ll help you look for it after breakfast.’
Dotty was already skilfully constructing an impressive pile of food on one of JB’s elegantly decorated breakfast plates. ‘Oh, I’m not sure I can eat much breakfast. But thank you, dear. That would be most comforting.’
She sat down and Lady Hardcastle patted her arm. ‘We specialize in finding lost jewellery.’
‘Do you, dear? I thought you specialized in catching murderers.’
‘Well, we do that, too, but we found a missing pearl necklace a couple of Christmases ago.’
‘How exciting. I don’t think that one made the newspapers.’
‘No, it was a private affair.’
‘We recovered a stolen emerald, as well,’ I said.
Lady Hardcastle grinned. ‘Oh, we did, didn’t we? That was when we first moved to Littleton Cotterell in ’08. So, you see, Dotty dear, we’re quite the dab hands at finding missing gems. You’ll be ready to beat Patience in your little competition in no time.’ She winked.
‘It’ll be quite easy to beat me,’ said Patience Sidwell-Plant from the doorway. ‘Someone’s stolen my diamond brooch.’ She glared at Dotty.
Breakfast proceeded somewhat frostily.
Dotty and Patience glared at each other.
Bridgewater seemed uncharacteristically flustered by the news and, presumably to cover his obvious discomfort, attempted to lighten the mood with his customary banter.
Sidwell-Plant, meanwhile, endured his weak witticisms with less than his usual patience.
In truth, neither man seemed quite as relaxed about the disappearances as they were pretending.
JB and I talked stiltedly about the differences between British and American English.
Lady Hardcastle and Clarice talked animatedly about music as though oblivious to the atmosphere around them.
George Wilson seemed uncomfortable, and slightly bewildered, and kept to himself.
Edgar Everett said nothing and just glowered at his food.