3 Service for Two (15 page)

For some reason her heart was bumping about in a most ridiculous manner. To her immense surprise, she heard herself say, “And I should be happy to accept, Dr. Prestwick.”

“Then may I be the first to sign your card?”

“I shall make a point of it, sir.”

He smiled at her, a slow smile full of hidden meaning. Flustered, she turned quickly to the door. “If you will come with me, Dr. Prestwick, I will see that you receive your invitation.”

Acutely aware of him directly behind her, she hurried down the hall to the lobby. As she reached the reception desk, Baxter appeared at the head of the kitchen stairs. His face was a mask of indifference, but she could tell by the rigidness of his back that he was displeased at the sight of her companion.

The presence of her manager reminded her of the latest turn of events, and she made haste to see that the doctor was issued his card before she bid him goodbye at the door.

Turning back, she saw Baxter hovering by the grandfather clock, displaying an inordinate interest in the pendulum as it swung to and fro.

Coming up behind him, she said sweetly, “I trust the clock is in working order?”

He turned his frosty gaze on her. At times Baxter could look quite intimidating. “As far as I can see, madam.”

“Well, if you could possibly see your way clear to tearing yourself away from this fascinating object, I should like a word with you in the library.”

One of his eyebrows twitched slightly; otherwise his expression remained frozen as he answered, “Very well, madam.”

Once more she led the way down the hall, no less unsettled by Baxter’s heavy tread behind her. He really was being ridiculously solicitous. She was a grown woman, for heaven’s sake, and not inexperienced. Did he really suppose she would be unable to handle someone like Dr. Prestwick? He always supposed there was a situation for him to handle.

And what business of Baxter’s was it, anyway? He really was taking this promise to James too far, particularly when it interfered with her personal life. Surprised at the sharpness of her resentment, she made an effort to calm herself as they reached the door of the library.

She waited for Baxter to open the door, then strode into the room and plopped herself down most inelegantly on the
nearest chair. She would have it out with him once and for all, she told herself. She would remain calm and rational.

She looked up at him standing by the door, his gaze fixed on a point above her head. “I would like a cigar,” she announced.

Without a word he stepped forward, extracted the package from his breast pocket, and handed it to her. Her heart gave an uneasy twist when she realized how upset he was. Whatever was the matter with him?

She wondered if perhaps he had some information about Dr. Prestwick of which she was not aware. If so, she hoped most fervently that he would enlighten her. She took a cigar from the pack and handed it back to him.

His hand was quite steady as he lit the cigar for her, and she sat back in her chair, watching him narrowly through the haze of smoke. It wasn’t like Baxter to miss the chance to argue about her smoking.

Deciding that their differences could wait, she said quietly, “Baxter, where is your set of master keys?”

His gaze finally rested on her face, though still with a decided chill in his eyes. “Where they always are, madam. Hanging in my office.”

“Are you certain about that, Baxter?”

“As certain as I can be, madam.”

She hoped he was right. Oh, how she hoped he was right. “Would you care to go back to your office and verify that for me?”

He looked at her for a long moment, his puzzlement clearly written on his face. “Might I inquire why, madam?”

“I shall explain when you return, Baxter.”

“Yes, madam.”

She watched the door close behind him and drew thoughtfully on the cigar. Shifting her gaze to James’s portrait, she murmured aloud, “Oh, James, if you had realized what a kettle of fish you were handing me when you asked for my promise to keep the Pennyfoot, I wonder if you would have been so insistent.”

It seemed as if there had been nothing but trouble at the hotel ever since James had died, she thought, watching the
ash grow long on the dark brown cylinder in her hand. Or perhaps it was because she was now responsible for the problems.

She hadn’t fully realized before what a tremendous undertaking it was to run a hotel like the Pennyfoot. She let her glance wander around the quiet room.

The dark paneling beneath the ornate ceiling was quite beautiful to look at, and the gleaming chandelier with its dozens of tiny gas lamps above the long table was most striking.

She loved this room with its rows of bookshelves, the huge marble fireplace, and of course James’s portrait above the mantelpiece, where a portrait of the Earl of Saltchester had once hung.

How sad it must have been for the earl to give up his home. She could imagine how he must have felt. Much the same as she would feel now if she had to give up the Pennyfoot. She sighed and tapped the thick wedge of ash from the cigar.

No, it did not matter what James had made her promise under great duress. With or without his request she would have felt the same way. She loved the Pennyfoot Hotel. It was her home now, and the people in it were like family to her. She would fight for the hotel now, and through all the problems that might lie ahead in the future. Not only for James, but for her own integrity.

She raised the cigar in the air and smiled at the image of James on the wall. “To us, dear James. And to the Pennyfoot. Long may we reign.”

The tap on the door jolted her, and she stubbed out her cigar before calling out, “Come in!”

The door opened, and Baxter walked in, his face grave. She knew before he spoke what he would tell her.

“I’m afraid, madam, that the master keys appear to be missing. I have no idea where they could be.”

CHAPTER
15

“Perhaps,” Baxter said quietly as Cecily continued to stare at him in dismay, “you should tell me where they are, since you appear to be aware of their disappearance.”

“I’m afraid they are probably in the hands of the police.” She pushed the ashtray away from her with a shove that sent it skidding along the table.

Baxter stepped forward and deftly caught it before it flew off the end. “And what would the police want with our master keys?”

“They were found lying by the side of Deep Willow Pond, the morning Dr. McDuff’s body was found floating beneath the ice.” She gave him a look of despair. “Though why Joe Salter didn’t tell me that when I spoke with him, I do not know.”

Baxter’s brows wrinkled. “Joe Salter?”

“He was the one who told Ethel about the keys, and she told Mrs. Chubb.”

“Who in turn told you. Well, thank heavens for the grapevine.”

She looked up at him sharply. “This is no time for sarcasm, Baxter. If the keys have been in Inspector’s Cranshaw’s possession for three days, he undoubtedly has realized there is a connection to this hotel somewhere. I expect him to come pounding on the door just about any minute now.”

“I think you might be overestimating the situation, madam. The keys would have to be recognized in order to establish their origin.”

“Well, that certainly wouldn’t take very long. I’m sure someone as observant as Inspector Cranshaw would recognize them instantly. The penny is most distinctive.”

“Perhaps, but unless the inspector had reason to examine Mrs. Chubb’s attire—and I do not recall his having had the opportunity to do so—he would not have seen them before. I am quite sure he has never been inside my office. And even the inspector would have to be quite brilliant to deduce that the penny on a ring of keys denotes the Pennyfoot Hotel. Eventually, perhaps. But not right away.”

“Baxter,” Cecily said patiently, “how many hotels are there in this area that would use a set of master keys?”

“Only one, madam, I grant you. But the inspector is not dealing with hotels. He is dealing with a murderer and possibly a gang of thieves. Would he not assume that the keys belong to the thieves? Thieves who for the past several months have successfully broken into some of the wealthiest homes in London?”

Cecily let out her breath on a long sigh. “Baxter, did I ever tell you how comforting you can be at times? Why didn’t I think of that?”

His mouth twitched in a half smile. “Thank you, madam. Most likely your concern for the hotel closed your mind to any other possibilities.”

“Undoubtedly. I do feel, however, a certain sense of urgency. It can only be a matter of time before the inspector puts something together. We must solve this case just as
quickly as possible, before he can connect the Pennyfoot to any of this.”

“Yes, madam,” Baxter agreed dutifully, though Cecily could hear the skepticism in his voice. She could hardly blame him. She was beginning to have serious doubts herself that she would succeed in uncovering the murderer, and possibly the ringleader of the jewel thieves.

Even if she were able to do so before the police closed in, the task of seeing justice served without implicating the Pennyfoot seemed remote at best. But she had to try. And if she failed, she would at least know she had done her very best. But then, if she did indeed fail, that would be very little compensation.

“You’ve got to eat something, Gertie, my girl,” Mrs. Chubb said, folding her arms across her ample bosom. “You can’t put in a day’s work on an empty stomach, that you can’t. You’ll be fainting dead away, you mark my words.”

“I ain’t hungry.” Gertie lifted the tray of silverware with a grunt. “I can’t eat if I ain’t bleeding hungry.” She stomped across the kitchen and hooked the door open with her foot, then disappeared into the hallway.

Mrs. Chubb sighed and looked at Michel, who stood by the oven, guarding a large pan. The delicious aroma of fried lobster roes and bacon made her feel hungry. It would be another hour before the staff could think about eating.

“I don’t know what we’re going to do with that girl,” she muttered, “’pon my word, I don’t. Too stubborn for her own good, that she is. She wants to marry Ian, I know she does, and he wants to marry her. I don’t know why she’s creating all this fuss. In my day we did what we were told.”

“The world is changing, Mrs. Chubb. It is … ’ow you say? … liberating.”

“Liberating, my foot. If you ask me, all this stuff and nonsense about women’s rights causes nothing but trouble. Look at all the havoc those suffragettes have caused. And where’s it going to get them, I’d like to know? Thrown into prison for the most part, that’s what.”

“They have a cause, these ladies. And Gertie? She has the cause, also. To say how she feels. That is so terrible, yes?”

Amazed that Michel should be so supportive of a cause that most men bitterly condemned, Mrs. Chubb could only shake her head.

Michel shook the pan, making the roes sizzle in a puff of blue smoke, then began turning them with a knife. “I will have a word with her,” he said. “She might listen to a man’s opinion, yes?”

“If you can get through that thick head of hers, then good luck to you, that’s what I say,” the housekeeper muttered, still taken aback at this sudden display of understanding. Something must have happened to Michel recently. He’d always been so standoffish before, as if he were above the rest of them. Not like him, it wasn’t, to take on the problems of the kitchen staff.

“Well,” she said, taking off her pinafore, “I don’t have time to stand here and gossip. I’m off to do my inspection.”

She reached the door just as Gertie arrived back with the empty tray. “For gawd’s sake, girl, set your cap on straight, will you! Fancy going into the dining room looking like a guttersnipe. And get a move on. The serviettes have all got to be folded and set on the tables yet, and it’s almost twelve.”

Gertie mumbled something under her breath, but with an exasperated sigh Mrs. Chubb rushed off to do her inspection.

And good riddance, Gertie thought. She’d just about had enough of her nagging. She wasn’t in the mood to listen to it no more.

Feeling more miserable than ever, she picked up the top serviette from the pile on the table and began folding it into a tulip shape.

“Mrs. Chubb, she tell me you have a spat with your
amor
, yes?” Michel said from across the room.

Startled, Gertie glanced up, then back at the folds of linen taking shape in her hands. “I told him to get lost,” she mumbled. “I don’t want no bastard telling me what to do.”

“He is only thinking of you,
ma petite
. He does not want you to work too hard, that is all.”

“That’s a load of cod’s wallop and you know it.” Gertie
stood the folded serviette on the tray and tackled the next one. “All he’s bleeding thinking about is himself. Worried about what people think, that’s all it is. Don’t matter about me, what I want.”

The roes sizzled loudly as Michel shook the pan again and removed it from the hot plate. “Your lover, he cares. He is frightened, that is all. If he does not ’ave the control, he does not keep the woman. This man, he does not want to lose you.”

“He’s already bleeding lost me, ain’t he.” Gertie looked at Michel, still unable to believe he was talking to her like this. “How do you know so blinking much, anyway? You ain’t even married.”

“Ah, but I was,” Michel said, tipping the steaming roes onto a large silver platter. “Once I had a beautiful wife. We were very much in love … and to a Frenchman, love is everything,
n’est ce pas?
”

“Go on,” Gertie said, forgetting her own troubles in her fascination. “What happened, then?”

“I lost her.” Michel shook his head, his big hat wobbling from side to side. “Over something so simple. So silly. Just a little quarrel. But I was stubborn … I was so certain I was right. I took another lover, just to show her how independent I was.”

Gertie stared as a large tear appeared in the corner of the chef’s eye. “She drowned herself,” he said mournfully. “In the Seine. It was so tragic. I was heartbroken. She was the only woman I ever loved … and I lost her because I wouldn’t listen. Never a day goes by I don’t wish, with all my heart … that I had not been such a stubborn fool. If I had only swallowed my pride, I would not have the broken heart now.” He swiped at his face with his sleeve and turned away.

“Gawd,” Gertie whispered. For the proud Michel to show his feelings like that, he must be awfully miserable. That’s how she’d be. Miserable, like the way she was feeling right now without Ian.

After a moment Michel appeared to pull himself together. He turned back to look at her, and she felt terrible seeing the agonized look on his face. “Go to him, Gertie,” he said,
spreading his hands out to her in appeal. “He loves you. Don’t spend your life with the broken heart like Michel. Explain to him how you feel, talk it over with him one more time, without anger, without shouting. This could be your very last chance at happiness. Do not throw it away.”

She stared at him, the folded serviette forgotten in her hand. “I will,” she said earnestly. “Oh, I bloody will, Michel. Just as soon as I get me tea break. I’ll find him and patch things up somehow.”

Michel’s smile changed his face. “That is wonderful. You make me so happy. What better day than this, the day of Saint Valentine, to make things right with your lover, eh? Now perhaps you should make haste with the serviettes.”

The door opened as Gertie nodded, and Mrs. Chubb bustled in. “Madam wants you,” she said to Gertie. “She’s going out and needs you to fetch her boots. She left them down here to be cleaned. You go on up with them, and I’ll finish the folding.”

Gertie nodded and rushed from the room, anxious now for the time to pass until she could go in search of Ian. She had to patch things up with him, she just had to, or she’d die of a broken heart.

Mrs. Chubb watched the door swing to behind her, then turned to the chef. “I couldn’t help hearing what you said to Gertie. I was at the door, but I didn’t want to come in and disturb what you were saying. What a tragic story. It must have been so painful for you to talk about it.”

To her surprise, Michel threw back his head and laughed. “Do not waste your sympathy, Mrs. Chubb. It was all a fantasy … a little story I made up to … how you say? … persuade Gertie to think again about her wedding to Ian.”

“But … you sounded so … I thought you … Lord luvaduck, Michel, you had me going, you did.”

“It worked, no? She will be rushing off to see her beloved Ian, and
voilà
, there is a wedding after all, yes?”

“You’re a right marvel, Michel,” Mrs. Chubb said warmly. “Madam is going to be so happy about this. That was very nice of you to do that for Gertie. Very nice.”

Michel shrugged. “I do it for the hotel. And for Michel. I have the menu planned, all the food ordered, the wedding cake decorated. What you think happens to all that work if no wedding, huh?”

“Crafty bugger,” Mrs. Chubb said as she started to fold the serviettes, but she was smiling when she said it.

Cecily spent a very busy afternoon, and it was almost the dinner hour when she finally returned to the hotel. She made straight for Baxter’s office, without bothering to take off her hat and cape.

Tapping on the door, she opened it and stuck her head around it. Baxter stood at the bookshelf, reaching for a large ledger. He looked over his shoulder at her as she walked into the room, then turned to face her, the ledger in his hand.

“Madam?”

“Baxter, I know you’ll be busy with the Valentine’s dinner tonight, but I would like you to give me a few hours of your time afterward, if you will?”

Very carefully he laid the ledger on the table. “I do hope you don’t want me to search someone’s room,” he said, staring down at his hands as if afraid to look at her.

Cecily unpinned her hat and removed it. “No, of course not, Baxter. I think we have done quite enough searching for one week.”

“I am very glad to hear it.”

He sounded quite relieved, and she smiled as she laid her hat on one chair and sat down on the other. “There is something I want you to do for me, however. Actually, it should be rather fun.”

This time he did look at her, with both his eyebrows raised. “I am almost afraid to ask, madam.”

Her smile widened. “Oh, come, Baxter, it’s time you had a little fun. You are much too solemn, you know. A change of pace will do you the world of good.”

“A change of pace, madam? Pray what task have you in mind for me that will prove so invigorating?”

Cecily settled back in the chair, feeling immensely pleased with herself. “I have a plan. It took a while to get the entire
procedure organized, but I’m delighted to say I have accomplished it.”

Baxter straightened, wearing his forbidding look. “And what have you accomplished, madam?”

“The means of being able to ascertain which one of three men is the ringleader of this deplorable organization infesting my hotel.”

“I have given some thought to that. Perhaps we should let well enough alone. After all, now that the jewels have been recovered, and the police alerted to the situation, it is extremely unlikely that the thieves will use this hotel again to transport their ill-gotten gains.”

“That might well be true, but you are forgetting something. A man was murdered because of activities that were going on in this hotel, with or without our knowledge. If we do nothing, sooner or later the police will know the Pennyfoot is involved. The fact remains, it cannot help but smear the reputation of the hotel, and as I have mentioned before, give the inspector a very good reason to close us down.”

“I cannot dispute that. But I felt compelled to make one last effort to dissuade you from continuing on this course.”

“Don’t worry, Baxter, I have it all worked out, and it should all go without a hitch. It’s really quite a simple plan.”

“I can hardly stand the suspense, madam.”

Ignoring his sarcasm, Cecily slipped off her warm cape, allowing him to take it from her and hang it over the back of his chair. “Here is what I have arranged. We know the three men who booked rooms that night, but we have no way of knowing which one of them occupied the room with the trap door.”