3 Service for Two (6 page)

“I already have more debts than I care to handle.” She turned her back on him and gazed along the row of books stacked on a shelf above the roll-up bureau. “And you may be right about Martin Campbell, but I am certain there is a more pleasant way to do business. I just do not like the man.”

“Yes, madam. I am sorry.”

“I see you have the latest Sherlock Holmes,” she said, changing the subject. She took down the slim volume to examine it.

“Yes, it was delivered from London last week. I haven’t had a chance to read it as yet.”

“I’d like to borrow it when you have finished with it, if I may?”

She twisted her head in time to see him purse his lips. Knowing what was coming, she kept her gaze on him.

“It isn’t the kind of book I’d recommend, madam.”

“I’m well aware of that, Baxter. That’s why I want to read it.”

His eyebrow twitched, but he merely gave a stiff nod of his head. “I will be happy to lend it to you.”

Satisfied, she put the book back on the shelf. “I presume you will be attending Dr. McDuff’s rescheduled funeral in the morning?”

“Yes, madam. I shall be pleased to accompany you, if you wish.”

“That would be very nice, Baxter. Thank you. I will be ready shortly before eleven.” She turned to leave, but he stopped her with a polite cough.

“Excuse me for asking, madam, but I was wondering if you learned anything more about the matter with the menu?”

“No, I’m afraid I didn’t.” It was Cecily’s turn to frown. “I questioned both Michel and Mrs. Chubb. I didn’t tell them why, of course, but neither of them has talked to anyone about the menu. In fact, Michel was quite offended that I should even consider the possibility.”

“If I may say so, madam, Michel gets offended rather easily.”

Cecily smiled. “Yes, he does, I have to agree. But in this case I admit he was justified.”

“What does the constable think about it?”

“I haven’t told him. In the first place, it could have nothing to do with the murder at all. And in the second place, if it does, I want to know the connection before I tell the police anything.”

A gleam appeared in Baxter’s eye, a look that Cecily knew
well. “If I’m not mistaken, madam, that could be construed as concealing evidence. A criminal offense, I believe?”

“Not,” Cecily said firmly, “unless it has been established as evidence. And we won’t know unless we establish that fact ourselves, is that not so?”

He stared at her for several moments, appearing to turn over suitable rejoinders in his mind. Having apparently failed, he said in a resigned voice, “I trust you will observe the proper procedures when attempting to establish such a fact?”

Cecily grimaced. “Why, Baxter, you know very well you can trust me to follow proper procedures. How could I not with such a stalwart observer constantly at my side?”

“I am only fulfilling my promise to your late husband, madam. Somewhat unsuccessfully, I’m afraid, which isn’t entirely my fault.”

She studied his hurt expression for a moment, then relented. “You are quite right, Baxter. I’m sorry I’m such a burden to you. I will do my best to be less adventurous, though I can’t promise. Sometimes things happen to me without my provocation.”

“If I might say so, madam, it might help if you allowed events to take their proper course instead of attempting to resolve them yourself.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Someone has to take the initiative. People are mistrustful of the police; they will tell them nothing for fear of being involved. Whereas they know me, and will talk to me.”

Baxter smoothed a hand over his thick dark hair, a gesture that always betrayed his tension. “With whom are you proposing to discuss this business of the menu?”

“I haven’t decided yet. If we are to discover more about this bizarre case, however, I do think it might be helpful to talk to Bernie Briggett, the boy who discovered Dr. McDuff’s body.”

Obviously realizing the futility of argument, Baxter sighed. “Would you like me to talk to him, madam?”

Cecily shook her head, pleased with her small victory. “No, thank you, Baxter. I shall pay a visit to the family to inquire about the boy’s health, which will give me an excuse to be
there. I would like you to talk to Joe Salter, though. He was at the scene when Dr. McDuff was pulled from the pond. Perhaps we could learn something useful from him.”

“Very well, madam.”

Looking at his unhappy face, Cecily said quietly, “I don’t like the thought that someone from this hotel could be involved in murder, Baxter. But if there is a connection, I want to be forewarned, so that I might know how best to protect the Pennyfoot name. That is my primary concern.”

“Yes, madam, I understand.”

“And as soon as possible. Mrs. Chubb is already muttering about vampires and such. I don’t want rumors like that to start a panic in the village.”

She reached the door and looked back at him. “Don’t worry, Baxter, I have no intention of crossing swords with Inspector Cranshaw again. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

His “Yes, madam,” sounded skeptical, and she climbed the stairs to her suite on the second floor, hoping fervently that she’d be able to keep that promise. She tried not to think about Mrs. Chubb and her vampires. Something told her, however, that this was one time when she would need to be very careful. Very careful indeed.

CHAPTER
6

Tuesday morning turned out to be a much more pleasant day as far as the weather was concerned. The sky looked washed clean, with golden-edged white clouds scudding across the pale blue surface. The crisp cold air formed little clouds of steam in front of Cecily’s mouth when she spoke to Baxter on their way down the front steps.

Although the snow still covered the pavement, the constant pounding of horses’ hooves had churned up the layer on the road, reducing it to a muddy-looking slush. Cecily lifted her skirts above her ankles when she stepped up to the waiting trap. The chestnut snorted, stamping his feet as steam poured from his nostrils.

To her surprise, Ian sat in the driver’s seat, his cap tipped jauntily to one side, his narrow face split into a wide grin.
“Morning, mum,” he called out, touching the peak of his cap. “Mr. Baxter.”

Cecily returned the greeting, echoed by Baxter. “Where’s Samuel?” she asked, pausing with one boot on the step. “Is he not well?”

“Took ill in the night by all accounts, mum,” Ian said cheerfully. “Stomach pains. Too much ale and cockles if you ask me. Not to mention the jellied eels. He was stuffing them down his throat when I left him last night at the George.”

Baxter cleared his throat. “We should be getting along, madam.”

“Yes, of course. Are you all prepared for your wedding, Ian?”

“Not getting cold feet yet, mum. I reckon I’ll make it to the altar.”

“I’m very glad to hear it.” Smiling, Cecily allowed Baxter to support her arm as she climbed into the trap.

“That young man has far too familiar a manner when speaking to his betters,” Baxter said, his voice mildly reproving. “He’s allowed to get away with too much.”

“Oh, come now, Baxter, he means no disrespect.” Cecily withdrew a lace-edged handkerchief from her fur muff and dabbed at her nose.

“If you’ll pardon me for saying so,” Baxter said, fixing his gaze on her, “familiarity breeds contempt. Once you begin relaxing the standards, the rot will quickly set in.”

“Piffle! If you ask me, the standards need relaxing. I find some of the rules quite stuffy and pretentious.” She challenged him with her eyes, refusing to back down.

“Rules are necessary, madam, in order for the staff to understand what is expected of them. We cannot have them running willy-nilly all over the place, neglecting their duties and being cheeky to their superiors.”

“Quite,” Cecily agreed quietly. “But I really don’t think it is necessary for the housemaids to drop a curtsey every time I pass by. All that bobbing up and down gets on one’s nerves after a while. Heaven knows how the Queen put up with it all those years. It would have driven me batty.”

“One gets used to the protocol appropriate to one’s station.
A curtsey is a mark of respect and serves as a reminder of one’s place. I fail to see anything wrong with that.”

Cecily thought about Gertie and her clumsy attempts which more often than not set the housemaid off balance. A smile twitched at her lips. “Baxter,” she said softly, “the old ways are rapidly disappearing. Some day it will be difficult to tell which of us are the employers and which of us are the staff.”

“I’m afraid you might be correct in that thought,” Baxter sighed. “And more’s the pity. I just hope it doesn’t happen in my time.”

The clip of the chestnut’s hooves slowed, and the trap jerked to a halt, bouncing Cecily on the hard seat. She waited for Baxter to climb down, then followed him, ignoring his outstretched hand. Her point made, she glanced up as she stepped by him. “Thank you, Baxter. I will see you after the service.”

In the sunlight his eyes looked the color of silver. “Very well, madam,” he answered, his voice stiff and formal. Then, very slowly, he gave her an exaggerated deep bow from the waist.

Resisting the urge to give him an equally deep curtsey, she lifted her chin, and for the second time in two days, marched into the church to attend Dr. McDuff’s funeral.

This time the service went off without a hitch. Phoebe arrived promptly, apparently having recovered from the vapors of the day before. Even Madeline was punctual for a change. Algie was his usual dithering self, taking twice as much time as needed to deliver the eulogy, most of which was lost to the greater portion of the congregation.

His request for everyone to stand took several people by surprise, including Madeline, who appeared to have her head somewhere in the clouds. Cecily had to give her a sharp nudge, while Phoebe tutted audibly enough for Algie to hear. His guilty start caused him to lose his place, giving the rest of the mourners time to rise to their feet while he found it again.

By the time he looked up, the shuffling of feet on the cold stone floor had ceased, and he was able to deliver his short sermon in silence, except for a few sniffles from the ladies.

Cecily felt like crying herself as the service came to an end
and the coffin was lifted from its large resting place at the altar. She had known Dr. McDuff all her life. He had been more than a doctor; he had been a friend and advisor. For a moment she concurred with Mrs. Chubb’s conviction that the new doctor would be a poor substitute.

Then she scolded herself. That was an outdated attitude, and the poor man deserved better. She, for one, would accept the new doctor with open enthusiasm and hope that his initiation into the village life would be brief and as pleasant as possible.

Out of the corner of her eye she watched the procession bearing the coffin until it was out of sight. She was among the first to file out after them, and as she did so, followed by Madeline and Phoebe, she saw P.C. Northcutt enter from the side door and make his way down to speak to Algie. He carried a bundle under his arm, done up in a crude wrapping of newspaper.

Burning with curiosity, Cecily was forced to keep walking out of the church and into the graveyard behind. For a moment she forgot about the constable as she passed the end of the path that led to James’s grave. She planned on visiting it after the burial, since she hadn’t done so the day before.

Resolutely she kept on walking, determined to save her tears for James’s eyes only. She didn’t really believe Madeline’s assertions that James could see her when she stood by his grave. But the notion gave her a small measure of comfort nevertheless.

The mourners waited for several minutes by the grave, stamping their feet in the snow-covered grass amidst some muttered speculation, before Algie eventually trotted out from the church. Cecily was frustrated to see the constable leave, then forgot about him again as her dear friend was laid to his final rest.

Algie’s voice faltered to a stop, and at last the funeral was all over. Trying to shake the heavy depression that had settled upon her, Cecily made her way to the comer of the graveyard where James lay beneath a gnarled elm. In the summer the leaves had sheltered him from the sun, but now the bare
branches allowed the golden rays to slice across the gleaming white headstone.

Even now, she found it difficult to look upon that raised mound of earth, knowing James lay beneath it. Her gaze strayed to the headstone, where the black lettering seemed to jump out at her.
James Richard Sinclair, beloved husband and father, taken from us before his time. In death, as in life, we shall be united
.

She had wanted death to come to her at first. It hadn’t seemed possible to go on without him. And now? The ache had eased, returning only when she relived those wonderful moments of their life together. As she did now.

The tears felt cold on her face when she finally rose to her feet. With numb fingers she carefully unpinned the sprig of mistletoe from her lapel and laid it gently at the base of the headstone. “A kiss from me, James,” she whispered, and straightened again.

Turning, she squared her shoulders. Most of the mourners had left the graveyard, and only the three men from Dr. McDuff’s family still stood by the grave. Looking across the snow-covered mounds, Cecily saw Baxter standing by the trap, one hand shading his eyes against the sun as he watched her.

She gave him a little wave, then pointed toward the church. There was something she had to do before going back to the hotel. Baxter would just have to wait. Thankful that at least the sun shone today, she trudged across the crisp white snow to the portal.

Inside the church and out of the bright sunlight, the dim shadows clouded her vision, and it took several moments for her eyes to adjust. When she could finally see clearly, she realized that Algie was talking to someone.

The man had his back to her. Even so, his regal bearing made an impression on her. She thought at first he was fair-headed, but as she drew closer she saw it was merely the slant of sunlight through the stained glass windows casting a yellow hue across his dark brown hair.

Catching sight of her, Algie started fluttering his hand in front of his face. “Oh … ah … Mrs. Sinclair. We were
just … ah … talking about you—” He broke off, sending a nervous glance at the stranger, as if afraid he might have said the wrong thing.

Before Cecily could speculate on the gentleman’s conversation, the stranger turned.

He was not quite as tall as Baxter, but still tall enough for her to look up at him. He appeared to be about her age, or perhaps a little younger. His mouth, curved in a smile, was partially hidden beneath a luxurious mustache, and his bushy eyebrows gave him a heavy-lidded, almost languorous look.

There was nothing languorous about his eyes, however. They were dark brown, with a warm gleam of interest as he looked down at her, which quite disturbed her, though she wasn’t sure why.

Algie coughed, then managed to stammer, “Mrs … ah … Sinclair. I’d like you to meet Dr. … ah … Postwick … no … Prestwick….” He stopped and mopped his forehead with the folds of his sleeve. “Oh, dear … I am not managing this very well….”

“Dr. Kevin Prestwick,” the stranger said, ignoring Algie’s mumbled apologies. “At your service, madam.” He inclined his head in a slight bow, then shifted his bowler to the crook of his elbow and extended his hand.

More than a little flustered, much to her dismay, Cecily put her hand in his. His firm grasp warmed her as he raised her gloved fingers and touched them to his lips, his eyes never leaving her face.

“How do you do, Dr. Prestwick,” she said, sounding a little breathless. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

“Yes, yes,” panted Algie. “And so am I. As … ah … I’m sure everyone will be.”

Cecily glanced at the vicar. He seemed even more bumbling than usual this morning. Then her heart gave a little skip when she realized her hand was still in the warm grasp of the doctor’s. Hastily she withdrew it, trying not to be distracted by the smile playing around his mouth.

“Forgive me, Mrs. Sinclair,” he said in his rich, mellow voice, “but I did not catch your Christian name.”

That was because Algie hadn’t managed to get that far. She
paused to make sure she had enough breath. “My name is Cecily Sinclair,” she said distinctly.

“Cecily,” he repeated. “A charming name for a most charming lady.”

Annoyed that she was succumbing to such blatant flattery, Cecily ignored the compliment. “You were talking about me?”

The doctor raised an amused eyebrow at her bluntness. “I saw you standing by a grave out there. I was in the act of inquiring of the Reverend Carter-Holmes as to your name, when you appeared on the scene. Much to my very great pleasure.”

“My late husband’s grave,” Cecily informed him, determined not to be put off-guard again.

“Please accept my sincere condolences,” Dr. Prestwick murmured, looking not at all sincere. “Not too recent, I hope?”

She gave him a cool look that failed to dim the gleam in his eye. “Not too. I understand you are taking over for Dr. McDuff?”

“Yes, that is so. On a temporary basis.” His smile deepened. “Regrettably.”

Cecily had the distinct impression she was losing the battle. “I hope you have found suitable accommodation?”

“I have made arrangements to occupy the McDuff house until it is sold. By then I imagine the permanent doctor will be appointed, within the next few weeks at least.”

“I expect your wife will miss you. Unless she will be staying with you?” Not that it was any of her business, Cecily inwardly chided herself.

Dr. Kevin Prestwick bowed his head. “Unhappily I am in the same situation as yourself. My dear wife died more than three years ago.”

“Oh, I’m so very sorry.”

“Thank you.” His gaze rested briefly on her mouth. “I appreciate your sympathy.”

“Ah … if you will excuse me …” Algie sputtered. “I … ah … have to take care of some duties….”

“Please do,” the doctor murmured. “I must be getting along also.”

Pulling herself together, Cecily remembered why she had returned to the church. “If you can spare a moment, vicar,” she said hastily, “I would like a word with you.”

“Oh, yes! Of course.” Algie’s eyes swiveled toward Dr. Prestwick. “That is … ah …”

The doctor looked a little disappointed, but engineered a smile at the bobbing clergyman. “I must be off. So nice to have met you, vicar. I look forward to attending your services while I am here.”

Algie’s pale hands fluttered nervously, then clung together in front of his chest. “I shall … ah … enjoy that also … Dr. … ah … Post—Prestwick … very much. Yes, indeed.”

The doctor turned back to Cecily and gave her another of his snappy bows. “Mrs. Sinclair? It was indeed a great honor to meet you. I trust we shall meet again in the not too distant future?”

“Possibly,” Cecily murmured, deciding not to offer her hand again.

For a moment his gaze warmed her face; then with a nod he left them to stride rapidly down the aisle to the doors.

The church felt cold after he’d gone. Dismissing the absurd notion, Cecily smiled at Algie. “He seems a pleasant man.”

“Oh, yes … most charming, most charming.” Algie stared for a moment at the closed doors, then blinked and shifted his gaze back to Cecily. “There was something you wished to … ah … discuss with me?”

“Oh, yes.” She had to think for a moment. “I happened to see P.C. Northcott just before I left to go out to the graveyard. I was wondering if by chance he had any news about the unfortunate young man found in Dr. McDuff’s coffin.”