By the time we left, I genuinely was more than a little swizzled. Fortunately, so was Lady Hardcastle, and our mutual need to see the other home without letting them pitch headfirst into a hedgerow sobered us a little.

  * * *

  ‘We should have a cup of cocoa before bed,’ said Lady Hardcastle when we finally reached the front door. ‘Stave off the hangover a little.’

  ‘I’ll get the milk on,’ I said.

  Once it was ready, we sat together at the kitchen table.

  ‘We don’t do this enough anymore,’ she said as I set down the cocoa.

  ‘Get drunk and drink cocoa?’ I asked.

  ‘No, silly. We used to have adventures and then come home and sit at the kitchen table setting the world to rights. We’ve talked about a lot of things at kitchen tables.’

  ‘It’s the centre of the house,’ I said.

  ‘I’m not sure it is, you know. The geometric centre would be somewhere on the first-floor landing outside the bathroom. Near the ceiling.’

  I raised my eyebrows.

  ‘What do you make of this pendant business now?’ she continued. ‘What have we got?’

  ‘We’ve got every man in the Farley-Strouds’ social circle wearing blue worsted,’ I said. ‘And we’ve got both Sir Edward and Dr Fitzsimmons wearing impeccably maintained shoes.’

  ‘But we’ve got so many clues. So many. We’ve never had this many clues before and we’ve managed to solve much more convoluted mysteries.’

  ‘We’ve solved this one already, though, haven’t we?’

  ‘We have, but it’s really not terribly satisfying, is it? It’s obviously Julius Goodheart.’

  ‘It can’t be anyone else,’ I said. ‘It’s not any of the servants or villagers because the thread is from an expensive cloth of the sort they would never wear. Nor would they go a-burgling in smooth-soled dress shoes. It’s none of the women because it was a man’s shoe.’

  ‘Agreed,’ she said.

  ‘It can’t be Sir Hector, or Baden Beaufort – even if we could conjure up a motive, neither of them could climb that wall. It’s not likely to be Sir Edward Chambers because his left shoe doesn’t match the print – although we can’t completely rule out the possibility that he has brought more than one pair of Oxfords with him. That only leaves Mr Goodheart.’

  ‘The cigar-smoking, blue-worsted-wearing Julius Goodheart,’ she said. ‘He’s the only one it can be. He’s not a family member, he only has Sir Edward to vouch for him, and although we’ve not seen his shoes, I’d lay a tenner that the left sole has a notch cut out of it.’

  ‘I confess I’ve suspected him all along,’ I said.

  ‘Me too. So why doesn’t it feel right? What’s wrong? What are we missing?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ I said. ‘Might I respectfully suggest that we turn in and approach it fresh in the morning?’

  ‘It’s a splendid suggestion. They say that the unconscious mind can unravel the most complex mysteries. A good night’s sleep might be just what we need to help us make sense of this one.’

  FOUR

  By the time I arrived in the kitchen the next morning, Edna and Miss Jones had already arrived and begun work.

  ‘Mornin’, Miss Armstrong,’ they chorused.

  I mumbled something that was intended as a friendly greeting but which could have been interpreted as anything at all.

  ‘Overindulged a bit, did you?’ said Edna.

  ‘Of course I did. Why didn’t you?’ I said.

  ‘Oh, I did, my lover,’ she said. ‘But I gots the constitution of a horse, me. I can drink all night and be right as ninepence in the mornin’.’

  ‘You lucky thing,’ I said. ‘How about you, Miss Jones?’

  ‘I were performin’, weren’t I?’ she said. ‘Gots to stay sober when you’s on the stage.’

  I could name more than half a dozen music-hall performers I’d seen doing their acts while thoroughly bung-eyed, and at least one well-known Shakespearian actor who was so drunk he had to be helped off stage by one of his fellow thespians. But I decided not to contradict her.

  ‘How are we off for coffee?’ I said instead.

  ‘Fresh pot brewin’ now,’ she said. ‘I put some eggs and bacon on when I heard you stirrin’.’

  ‘You’re a marvel, Miss Jones,’ I said. ‘We’ve missed you terribly. I trust you both had a splendid Christmas?’

  ‘Very nice indeed, thank you,’ said Edna.

  ‘Lovely,’ said Miss Jones. ‘Our ma’s sister – my Auntie Elsie – come over from Woodworthy. She’s such a card. We had a right old time.’

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ I said.

  ‘How was it up at the big house with the nobs?’ asked Edna.

  ‘I’m happy to report that we had a right old time, too,’ I said. ‘Lots of food, good company, and a mystery thrown in.’

  ‘Oh-ah,’ said Edna. ‘I heard about that. Bit of a busman’s holiday for you, then.’

  ‘Well, quite. But always fun.’

  ‘Here you goes,’ said Miss Jones. ‘Eggs, bacon and toast for two.’

  ‘Let me put that on a tray for you,’ said Edna. ‘And you can take it up to Herself.’

  The bedroom door was ajar and Lady Hardcastle was sitting up in bed by the time I arrived with the fully laden tray.

  ‘Oh, goodie,’ she said. ‘Eggs and bacon. I’m absolutely starving.’

  I set it down and sat in my usual spot at the edge of the bed.

  ‘How’s your head?’ I asked.

  ‘Absolutely fine, dear, thank you. Still a bit woolly, but nothing that this grub won’t cure. How about you?’

  ‘Much the same – no real ill effects at all. We should drink champagne all the time.’

  ‘I remember a timid seventeen-year-old girl who’d never so much as touched a drop of beer, let alone champagne. And now look at you.’

  ‘You’ve led me astray,’ I said. ‘You and your fancy, society ways.’

  ‘I’m a corrupting influence and no mistake.’

  ‘You’re an absolute shocker.’

  ‘I am. I have, though, solved our conundrum. Or at least I think I have.’

  ‘Well done,’ I said. ‘A good night’s sleep worked its magic, then?’

  ‘As predicted. We’ve not been at this sleuthing lark for long, so we don’t have much data to go on, but did you not notice something terribly unusual about this case?’

  ‘Not really,’ I said.

  ‘What about the clues?’

  ‘They all point to the one man?’ I suggested.

  ‘Well, there is that. But what about the quantity and clarity of the clues?’

  I sat and thought for a moment. She was right. There was something terribly unusual about the clues.

  ‘Oh . . .’ I said as it finally dawned on me. ‘You mean . . . ?’

  ‘I do. And I’ve an idea what we can do about it. Let’s finish this delicious spread, then we can get me dressed, make a telephone call and get ourselves up to The Grange.’

  We spent the rest of breakfast discussing the details of her plan and wondering how we could have been so dense.

  I left Lady Hardcastle to her own devices while I went downstairs to make the necessary telephone call. By the time I returned there was a little bit of lacing and buttoning to take care of, as well as brushing and pinning her hair. We went downstairs to find something to occupy ourselves until it was time to go.

  * * *

  We split up when we arrived at The Grange. Lady Hardcastle and our newly recruited accomplice went to ring the front doorbell while I slipped around the side of the house and down the steps to the servants’ area.

  Dora Kendrick, the housemaid, let me in. She didn’t seem especially pleased to see me, but then she never was. I said hello to Mr Jenkins, who actually was pleased to see me, and got his permission to seek out my friend Maude.

  I knocked on her door.

  ‘Yes?’ came the familiarly imperious voice.

  ‘It’s me, Maude. It’s Flo. Let me in.’

  The key rattled in the lock and the door opened at once.

  ‘Hello, old pal,’ she said. ‘Fancy seeing you down here with the common folk. Cup of tea?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ I said. ‘No time. I need a favour.’

  ‘Something wicked?’

  ‘Always. I need directions to Julius Goodheart’s bedroom.’

  She adopted a look of exaggerated shock. ‘Florence Armstrong!’ she said. ‘I never thought you were that kind of girl. I expect that sort of thing from Dora. But you . . . ? Well . . .’

  ‘Stop beggaring about and tell me where he sleeps,’ I said. ‘I haven’t got much time.’

  Still chuckling at her own antics, she told me what I needed to know and I set off at full pelt.

  Once upstairs, I adopted a more stealthy and circumspect approach. I didn’t want to have to spend ages explaining myself to servants or guests if I were seen charging about on the first floor of someone else’s house.

  I found Mr Goodheart’s door and pressed my ear to it. I could hear no sounds of life, so I tried the handle. The door was unlocked.

  Inside, things were much as Lady Hardcastle had predicted they would be. I cast around and quickly found the pearl pendant, sitting alone on the bedside table. I took it up and placed it in the pocket of my uniform. Leaving the room almost exactly as I had found it, save for the missing jewellery, I made my way to the stairs to await my cue.

  As we had planned, the family and their houseguests were beginning to assemble in the hall. I heard the voices of a few of the servants, too. There was an expectant murmur, as though at the beginning of a play. Mr Goodheart and Sir Edward were the last to arrive.

  ‘Good morning, everyone,’ began Lady Hardcastle. ‘I expect you’re wondering why I’ve called you all here. Do you know, I never get tired of saying that. It always makes one sound like a proper detective. I’m sorry, where was I? Oh, yes. It seems that there has been a dastardly robbery. On Christmas morning, Gertie enjoined me and my trusty right hand, Miss Florence Armstrong, to solve a puzzle. A precious jewel had gone missing, she said. We couldn’t involve the police, we were told, because the scandal would hamper the career of a promising young banker. But I’m sorry to have to say that what we have uncovered has so shocked and horrified us that we have had to involve the police. Gertie and Hector already know Inspector Sunderland from the Bristol CID.’

  There was a gasp from the assembled onlookers, followed by some urgent muttering.

  ‘We followed the clues wherever they led us, but we needed one last piece before we could declare the puzzle solved. Armstrong, are you there?’

  That was my cue. I began walking down the stairs.

  ‘Yes, my lady,’ I said.

  ‘Was it there?’

  ‘Everything was exactly as we predicted,’ I said, and produced the pearl pendant from my pocket. I held it aloft as I completed my journey and stood by her side.

  ‘Inspector?’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘It’s in your hands now.’

  ‘Julius Goodheart,’ said Inspector Sunderland solemnly, ‘I am arresting you in the King’s name on suspicion that on the night of Christmas Eve you did steal into the bedroom of the sleeping Mrs Beaufort and purloin her pearl pendant. I shall also be questioning you in connection with a series of similar burglaries that have taken place in London over the past six months. Anything you say may be taken down in writing and may be used against you at your trial.’

  The hall erupted. Everyone began clamouring at once, and the small group surged towards the inspector with waving hands and wagging fingers. I was braced to defend us if things got rough but it wasn’t needed. Amid the cries of ‘now look here’, ‘wait just a moment’ and ‘you’ve got it all wrong’ was the sound of laughter. Lady Hardcastle was giggling, fit to burst.

  ‘All right, all right,’ she eventually managed to say. ‘Settle down. Calm down.’

  The hubbub subsided.

  ‘You really are the most frightful bunch of ninnies,’ she said. ‘And I’m very disappointed in you. Disappointed most of all that you thought you could pull the wool over our eyes with this shabby load of old guff. I thought we were pals.’

  ‘I told you it wouldn’t fool her,’ said Sir Hector from the back of the crowd. ‘Too damn clever by three-quarters, our Emily.’

  ‘Quite right,’ said Lady Farley-Stroud. ‘I think it’s about time for tea in the drawing room, don’t you?’

  Lady Hardcastle nodded her agreement.

  ‘Inspector?’ said Lady Farley-Stroud. ‘I take it “Julius” isn’t really under arrest?’

  ‘No, my lady,’ said the inspector. ‘Can’t arrest a man who doesn’t exist.’

  ‘Jolly good,’ she said. ‘You’ll join us for tea and cake, of course. I’m sure you’ll want to hear Emily taking us down a peg. Or three.’

  ‘That would be most agreeable, my lady,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’

  * * *

  The household servants reluctantly retreated downstairs while the rest of us trooped into the drawing room. The table by the wall was already set for tea and people began helping themselves while they waited to hear what Lady Hardcastle had to say.

  Eventually everyone was settled and Lady Hardcastle clinked the side of her cup with her teaspoon.

  ‘I suppose I ought to thank you all first,’ she began. ‘For going to so much trouble to provide us with our own private Christmas entertainment.’

  There was a little ripple of applause at this.

  ‘Now, ordinarily, I’m expected at this point to lay out the clues one by one and explain how I tied them together to find the answer. But in this case, I’m afraid – for reasons that you all know – it has to be a two-part explanation. So let’s start with the “crime”. Footprints on the flowerbed, on the wall and on the windowsill indicated that someone had entered Hattie’s room in the night and made off with her necklace. A thread from an expensive cloth and the details of one of the footprints indicated that it must be someone from above stairs. The cloth was blue so in the end that didn’t help much. It was a nice touch making sure that everyone was wearing a blue suit last night, by the way. Well done on that one. We knew it was neither of the older gentlemen – no offence, Hector and Baden, but we couldn’t imagine you shinning up drainpipes. We eliminated you, Edward, when Armstrong managed to examine the edge of the sole of your shoe.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Sir Edward, ‘so that’s what the trip was all about. You’re dashed clever, the both of you. Never occurred to me for a moment that I was being sleuthed while Miss Armstrong was lying prostrate on the floor.’

  ‘I have my moments, sir,’ I said.

  ‘She does. She’s an absolute marvel,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘But that left us only with jovial Julius. In case we were in any doubt, the cigar ash on the carpet sealed his fate. Julius was the only one of you smoking cigars. So I sent Armstrong up to his room and, lo and behold, there was the pearl pendant, plain as . . . as . . . Help me out, dear. I want a plain thing beginning with “p”.’

  ‘I know you do, my lady,’ I said. ‘But it’s much funnier to watch you flounder.’

  ‘Hmm,’ she said. ‘It was in plain view, anyway. So it was confirmed that Julius Goodheart had stolen the jewellery, and we invited our good friend Inspector Sunderland to make the arrest.’

  ‘But how did you . . . ?’ began Hattie Beaufort.

  ‘I’m coming to that, dear,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘That much is what we were supposed to see, and the puzzle we were expected to solve, but it didn’t quite ring true. The first thing to trouble us was the abundance of clues. Footprints, threads, cigar ash. It was almost as if someone had sat down and wondered what evidence a burglar might leave behind. In one way it was far too thorough. In another, though, it was far from thorough enough.’

  ‘What did we forget, then?’ said Sir Hector. ‘I was quite proud of all that.’

  ‘You only showed us how the burglar got in,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘But how did he get out? I checked the flowerbed quite thoroughly and the only footprints led towards the house. How did he get away without leaving a fresh set of prints? If we were to assume that even a guest at the house would burgle a room through the window, rather than slipping in through the door when no one was looking, then we had to assume he wouldn’t use the door to leave.’

  ‘I told you,’ said Hector’s sister. ‘I mentioned it quite early on, but no one listened. No one ever listens to me.’

  ‘The ash was a step too far, too,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘What sort of burglar would sneak into a room smoking a cigar? And of course there was Gertie’s passionate plea that we were not to involve the police. The “scandal” story never quite rang true, but if there was never an actual burglary and nothing was missing, then of course the police mustn’t be troubled. It had to be a put-up job.’

  ‘That’s all very well,’ said Sir Edward. ‘And I have to applaud you for not only solving the “crime” but also for seeing through our little ruse, but I’d be willing to bet you don’t know who Julius really is.’

  ‘He’s Cornelius Beaufort,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘I thought that was obvious.’

  ‘Well, dash it all,’ said the man we’d been calling Julius Goodheart. ‘I thought I’d played that one to perfection. How the dickens . . . ?’

  ‘You were magnificent, dear,’ she said. ‘And as far as we noticed, you only slipped up twice. Or perhaps three times. Once was last night just before the show in the ballroom. We were queueing to get out of the library and you went out before Hattie. Julius was a lively cove, but he had always been a gentleman. He would have let Hattie go before him. Between husband and wife, though, all bets are off. Things get a little less formal and they tend not to bother about that sort of thing. It was always first come, first served with Roddy and me when it came to doorways.’

  ‘You oaf,’ said Sir Edward, punching his cousin in the shoulder. ‘Schoolboy error.’

  ‘Armstrong noticed the other inconsistency. Prudence Beaufort is absolutely the sweetest tempered little thing, but she howls like a banshee whenever a stranger touches her. Flo saw you holding her in the ballroom during the bean-feast yesterday, and she was as calm and placid as anything. Neither of those things would stand up in court, you understand, but for our purposes they did rather point to you being Cornelius rather than Julius. The third possibly wasn’t your fault, but that of your co-conspirators. When Armstrong went to search your room for the missing pendant she found the room, as we had predicted, to be bare and unoccupied. There was an old sponge bag by the washstand, and the pair of incriminating shoes on the floor, but none of the little things that would indicate that someone had been staying there for a few nights. Clearly “Julius Goodheart” was sleeping somewhere else. Blame the set designers for that one, dear.’