PH02 - Do Not Disturb (16 page)

The door opened abruptly, startling Cecily. For once, Baxter had neglected to knock. He stood in the doorway, his thick hair ruffled by the wind. Smoothing it back with his palm, he stepped into the room.

“Well?” she demanded before he could utter a word. “What did you find out?”

“Not a lot, I’m afraid, madam. The body has been taken into the parlor while they await the arrival of the police. Apparently Police Constable Northcott has handed the case over to Inspector Cranshaw. It will be some time before he arrives at the pub to make his inspection.”

“What about Dr. McDuff? Has he determined the cause of death?”

“The doctor is up at the Manor House. I understand Lord Withersgill has a nasty case of the gout, and the doctor is treating him.”

Frustrated, Cecily stared at him. “Does no one know when the dead man arrived in Badgers End?”

Baxter shrugged an apology. “Not that I could ascertain, madam.”

Pushing back her chair, Cecily stood. “Then, in that case, Baxter, you and I shall go to the George and Dragon, and I will endeavor to find out the facts myself.”

As she expected, a look of stubborn disapproval swept across Baxter’s face. “Madam, I cannot allow—”

“It is not your business to allow or disallow anything,” Cecily reminded him quietly. “I intend to go there, Baxter, with or without you. This might be the only chance we have of clearing Madeline of suspicion. I cannot imagine how distressing all this must be for her, and the sooner we get this cleared up, the better.”

“Madam, in all conscience, I cannot—”

“Yes, you can.” Cecily stood firm. This was no time to listen to Baxter’s objections. That could come later, and probably would. “Order the trap for me at once. I want to be there in time to make my own inquiries before the inspector arrives. If you refuse to accompany me, then I shall go on my own. But I am going. I’m afraid that nothing you can say or do will stop me.”

Cecily sat in the trap facing Baxter, her hat held down by a thick mohair stole tied under her chin. Even so, the night air chilled her, or maybe it was nerves, she thought as the steady clop of the bay’s hooves disturbed the quiet peace.

The sea mist curled around the gas lamps that lined the Esplanade, forming odd, glowing circles of orange light at the top of the poles. Beyond them the darkness swallowed up the sea, leaving only the soft swish of waves on the cold, hard sand to indicate its presence.

The tiny stores had long been closed for the night, and the road stretched up the hillside ahead of them, black, lonely, and deathly quiet. Cecily glanced at Baxter’s stern face, which was almost hidden by the brim of his homburg.

She was very glad he’d decided to accompany her, though
she had never doubted him for one moment. Poor Baxter. Little had he known what he was taking on when he’d made that last promise to James.

She looked back at her manager’s face. He actually looked quite dashing in that hat. So much more fashionable than the bowler he wore in the daytime. She’d never pass a comment, of course, because it would embarrass him dreadfully.

He chose that moment to turn his head, and found her studying him. Disconcerted to have been caught, Cecily covered her momentary confusion by saying, “I am so glad it isn’t raining.”

He looked at her as if she had said something outrageous. “I imagine the George and Dragon will be closed when we get there,” he said stiffly.

“Yes, I do believe it will be.”

“And locked up, I would suppose.”

“Undoubtedly.”

Leaning forward, so as not to let Samuel hear his words, Baxter said quietly, “I do wish you would reconsider, madam. The public house is not a seemly place for a lady to pay a visit. I cannot imagine what people will say when you arrive there.”

“The George and Dragon is not just a public house,” Cecily muttered. “It’s an inn, and respectable people, including women, stay there.”

“It is, nevertheless, still a public house. It will seem most improper for you to enter it.”

“Piffle! You worry too much. Who is going to see me, pray, now that the establishment is closed down for the night?”

He stared at her for a long moment. “Perhaps you could explain to me how you intend to ask questions without being seen?”

“I am not going to ask questions. I am going to search the body.” In spite of her strong tone, she felt a shiver of apprehension as she spoke the words.

Baxter was so shocked he began spluttering. “That’s
preposterous! You simply cannot interfere in this manner. It’s unthinkable.”

“I quite agree,” Cecily said with a sigh. “I must admit I have certain qualms about it. Apart from the physical revulsion I shall no doubt feel, there is also the matter of interfering with due process of the law. But I really see no other option. As I said, the inspector is extremely unlikely to take me into his confidence, so what else can I do?”

“You can let the police handle it in the proper manner, as I have begged you to do.”

“If I could be sure they would handle it in the proper manner, I would be glad to do so.” She shook her head. “We have been over all this before, Baxter. I see no point in repeating it all. Don’t worry, I will leave everything as I found it. They will have no idea I have been there. Unless someone sees me, of course.”

Baxter managed to look even more forbidding. “Inspector Cranshaw will be most displeased if he finds you there.”

“I’m sure he will,” Cecily said grimly, “but I do not intend to leave anything to chance. I want to ensure that Madeline is treated fairly, and I can only do that if I know as much as the inspector does.”

“I’m quite sure the inspector will obey the letter of the law—”

“Baxter, you know how people feel about Madeline. She is treated with suspicion wherever she goes, by a good many people, simply because she is different Because of her special talents, the villagers believe she is a witch, while the police believe she is a gypsy. And we all know how the police treat gypsies. I’m afraid that Madeline may be prejudged and will be helpless to defend herself. I know how intimidating Inspector Cranshaw can be.”

“May I suggest, madam, that you have never been intimidated by anyone in your life.”

Surprised by this personal comment, Cecily smiled. “That’s where you are wrong, Baxter. I’m often intimidated by you.”

He straightened abruptly, as if shocked by her answer.
Apparently at a loss for words, he turned his head toward the sea, presenting his strong profile.

Yes, Cecily thought, tucking her gloved hands beneath the folds of her cape, she was very glad he’d decided to accompany her.

The lights in the public and saloon bars were doused when Samuel reined in the bay a short distance from the George and Dragon. With a whispered word to the young footman to wait for them, Baxter dismounted from the trap and waited to help Cecily down.

Placing her hand on his arm, she stepped onto the quiet road and glanced a trifle apprehensively at the darkened inn. “Did you say the dead man was in the parlor?” she whispered, standing as close to Baxter as propriety allowed.

“Yes, madam.” He looked down at her, his face expressionless beneath the brim of his hat. “I don’t suppose you would consider waiting in the trap while I investigate the area first?”

“We have no time for that. We must be quick, before the inspector arrives.”

“As I thought.” He looked up at Samuel, who sat with his face averted and his back ramrod stiff in the front seat. “Perhaps it would be better if you moved to the shadows of the trees over there,” he told the young man. “We shall not be long.”

Samuel touched his cap, flicked his whip lightly on the bay’s back, and walked it over to the trees at the edge of the field.

“Come on, then,” Cecily said, starting off for the inn. She reached the main door with Baxter close behind her. Looking back at him, she whispered, “It’s locked.”

“Yes, madam.”

“Is there another way in without disturbing anybody?”

“I doubt it, madam. Not without breaking the law.”

“Baxter, we are most likely breaking the law just by being here investigating the scene of a crime, before the police have arrived. I do believe it might be a little late to worry about it now.”

“I am not at all happy about this,” Baxter muttered. “Not at all.”

“I take note of your objections, Baxter. However, I insist that you try a window or something. If I can sneak in and out again without being seen, we can avoid getting into any trouble.”

“There is a possible entrance that might not be locked, but it would be taking a grave risk,” Baxter said, glancing back at the trees where the trap now stood hidden from the road.

“Show it to me.”

“I would prefer that you wait here while I investigate.”

He really could be most stubborn, Cecily thought, beginning to lose patience. “No, Baxter. I will investigate while you keep watch.”

“But, madam—”

“We do not have time to argue. If someone should arrive before I can leave, it would be better for you to be standing outside. You can offer some explanation, giving me a chance to escape.”

She waited, nerves tingling, while he struggled with indecision, then she let out her breath when he gave a brief nod.

“Very well. Though what kind of explanation I can offer is beyond me.”

“You’ll think of something,” Cecily assured him. She followed him around the corner of the stone building to the back, across the uneven cobblestones to a small door set low in the wall.

“It leads to the coal cellar,” Baxter whispered, “but there is also a passageway to the left of the stairs that leads to the main hall. The door on the right is the parlor, where they have laid out the dead man.” He lifted the latch quietly, and the door opened with a quiet squeak.

“Well done, Bax,” Cecily whispered. “Now keep watch out here. I shall be as quick as possible.”

“There is a window in the parlor, overlooking the vegetable plot. If I hear the police arriving, or any signs of you being disturbed, I’ll tap on the window three times.”

“Yes. That’s a good idea.”

“You must leave immediately. If you come out this way, you should be undetected. It’s doubtful anyone will come around the back of the inn.”

“Don’t worry, I shall be perfectly fine.” She opened the door farther and stepped into the narrow space beyond it.

“It’s very dark,” Baxter whispered behind her. “You will have to feel your way along. Please, madam, I beg you to be careful. Remember, the stairs are on the right, the passageway is on the left.”

Feeling her way along the wall with her hand, Cecily shuffled first one foot forward, then the next. She should have brought a lamp, she thought a little belatedly. But then she ran the risk of the light being seen.

Her fingers brushed against a doorway on her left, and she slipped through it into a wider passageway with a sharply sloping ceiling. At the end of it a door stood ajar, and light spilled through the opening. At last she could see.

She stood very still, listening intently. Overhead the floor creaked as someone walked across it, and she held her breath. She hoped no one was standing guard over the body, though she couldn’t imagine why someone should do so.

Very slowly she edged toward the door and looked out into the hall. It was empty. Opposite her, she saw the securely bolted main door of the inn. The two doors on the left were closed, as was the right, which Baxter had said was the parlor.

Looking up, Cecily realized she had emerged from a door beneath the staircase. Again the floorboards creaked, and she froze, praying that whoever was causing the noise was not coming down the stairs to the hall.

After a moment the creaking subsided, and she relaxed. She quickly crossed the hallway to the parlor door and turned the handle.

To her immense relief, it wasn’t locked, and she pushed the door open and stepped inside the parlor. Her eyes went at once to the body lying on the chaise longue. Someone had
covered it with a sheet. Even so, her stomach rebelled at the sight.

She had seen a dead body before, but that experience didn’t make viewing this one any easier. A small lamp burned on a table nearby, and Cecily gently closed the door behind her before crossing the floor to the chaise.

The dim light cast the corners of the room in darkness, but she could see the body quite clearly. For a moment she faltered. No matter how strong the reason, one did not break the law easily. Not unless one was criminally minded, that is.

Then she thought about Madeline, perhaps hung for a crime she did not commit. Bracing herself, Cecily lifted off the sheet.

Deliberately keeping her gaze from the dead man’s face, she searched the pockets. She found a small coin purse and several folded pound notes. In another pocket she found a folded slip of paper. Resisting the urge to look at it right away, she continued her search. She found a comb and an opened packet of pipe tobacco in his jacket pocket.

Digging her fingers into the pocket of his waistcoat, she felt a small piece of card and drew it out. Holding it under the lamp, she read the face of it. A surge of triumph ended in a satisfied sigh.

In her hand she held a train ticket from London to Wellercombe. It bore today’s date, and there was only one train from London. The victim had arrived in Badgers End after the police had taken Madeline in for questioning.

With such clear evidence, she felt sure the police would arrive at the same conclusion. She would replace the ticket in the pocket, where the inspector was bound to find it.

Feeling a great deal easier in her mind, Cecily quickly replaced the items she’d removed from the dead man’s pockets. She was about to replace the slip of paper, then decided to take a quick peek.

She leaned forward with the paper in her hand so that the light from the lamp fell across it. She could make out three names scribbled on it.
Colin Bickley. Billy Donaldson.
She
felt a little thrill of excitement as she stared at the names. This was far better than anything she’d expected. This could lead her to the solution of the puzzle, making sure that Madeline’s name would be cleared.

Then her gaze moved down to the third name. For a moment she stared at it. Then she spoke the name aloud in a shocked whisper. “Ian Rossiter.”