6 Grounds for Murder (15 page)

“Mercy me,” Mrs. Chubb said, hooking the door open with her foot, “what nonsense you do come up with sometimes. However could you think that child could possibly be going around murdering people? Whatever next.”

Gertie tossed her head in defiance. “It might sound like bleeding nonsense to you, but who is it what keeps losing the flipping axe? You answer me that.”

Cecily waited impatiently as Baxter fitted his master key into the lock on Lady Belleville’s door.

“There is something slightly amiss with your reckoning,” he said, as the door slid quietly open. “Lady Belleville asked me to inspect the other guests’ rooms. Not her own. I would assume she has already performed a meticulous search of her own environment.”

“No doubt,” Cecily said. “That is why I suggested starting with her suite. It will be some time before anyone will be finished with breakfast, so we are in little danger of being interrupted by Lady Belleville, at least.”

“It is those words, ‘at least,’ that I find most troublesome,” Baxter muttered as he entered the dowager’s drawing room.

Cecily followed him in and closed the door behind her. “The boudoir first, I think. I’ll look in the chest of drawers
while you search the wardrobe.” She hurried through the door to the boudoir and crossed the room to where the ornate chest stood in the corner.

“Perhaps madam would be so kind as to inform me what exactly we are looking for?” Baxter inquired from the doorway.

“Clothes, Baxter. Bloodstains. I doubt very much if murders as messy as these ones could be carried out without a great deal of blood.”

“Without question. But I would expect someone as treacherous as the murderer would also be astute enough to discard the clothing.”

Cecily pulled open a drawer and peered inside. “That’s entirely possible, of course. But he or she might have missed something, such as shoes, gloves, a handkerchief, perhaps.”

“Very well.” Baxter opened the door of the wardrobe with a loud squeak. “But I must tell you, madam, I find the task of going through a woman’s personal clothing most distasteful.”

“Then it’s just as well you have never married, Baxter,” Cecily said lightly.

Baxter loudly cleared his throat, but refrained from answering her.

Cecily worked in silence for several minutes, carefully sorting through the neat piles of underwear in a way that would leave them apparently undisturbed.

Having gone through the entire contents without finding anything unusual, she then decided to peer under the bed. Baxter, it seemed, was still engrossed in the wardrobe.

It was necessary to lie facedown on the carpet and wriggle under the bed in order to have a clear view. Spread-eagled on her stomach, Cecily eased herself under the springs until she could see the entire area.

A pair of gray kid shoes lay just beyond reach, apparently having been kicked there by an impatient foot. Wriggling in further, Cecily touched one of them with the tips of her fingers and managed to draw it toward her.

It was unlikely that anyone would wear shoes such as this to commit a murder, she thought, but she never liked to leave a stone unturned.

Finding the shoe unmarked, she wriggled further under the bed and drew the second one toward her. She could make out a dark smudge on that one, though it was difficult to tell in the dark shadows beneath the bed.

Deciding to pull the shoes out to take a better look, Cecily started wriggling backward from beneath the bed. Almost immediately she jerked to a stop when her bun caught in one of the springs, holding her fast.

No matter how she tried, she could not get her hand into a position to unsnag herself.

Finally she had to admit defeat. In a small voice she said, “Baxter? I need some assistance here.”

His voice sounded muffled as he answered. “Madam?”

Realizing he must still have his head inside the wardrobe, she spoke a little louder. “I said, I need your assistance, if you please.”

This time his answer came quite clearly. “Right away, madam.”

She could see his black shoes on the other side of the bed. They crossed the carpet and disappeared. He must have thought she was in the drawing room.

Waiting impatiently, she saw his feet come back into the boudoir. “Madam? Are you in here?”

“Yes, I’m in here, Baxter. I’m under the bed.”

The shoes hesitated for a moment, then walked carefully around the bed. “Goodness, gracious!” Baxter said. “What in heaven’s name are you doing down there?”

“Counting the orchids in the carpet,” Cecily said, losing her patience. “What do you think I’m doing, Baxter? I’m searching under the bed, of course.”

“Yes, madam. I assumed that. I was merely wondering in what way I can assist you?”

“You can unhook my hair from the springs. It’s caught up somewhere, and I can’t move.”

Baxter’s knees cracked sharply as he crouched down beside her. “You are not able to free youself, madam?”

“No, Baxter, I am not. Now, will you please reach in and unhook me? I think a hairpin must have caught in one of the springs. I can’t get free without pulling out a large clump of hair, which would be painful to say the least.”

“Very well, madam, but I can’t promise not to hurt you.”

Cecily sighed. “That’s quite all right, Baxter. You can’t hurt me any more than I’m hurting right now. But, please, do try not to leave the major part of my hair hanging on the bedsprings.”

“Yes, madam.” There was a slight pause, then a cough. “Madam?”

Cecily closed her eyes. Any movement was painful, and she preferred not to crane her neck to look at him. “Yes, Baxter?”

“I shall have to … er … lie down in order to reach your head.”

“Baxter, just do whatever you have to do, but please hurry. I should really hate it if Lady Belleville were to return and find me in this position.”

“Yes, madam.”

It really felt most peculiar to be lying there on the floor with Baxter wriggling alongside of her. She could hear his breath. He sounded as if he’d been running uphill. Then she couldn’t hear him breathe at all as he slid his fingers over the top of her head.

“Ouch,” she said as a sharp prick of pain stabbed through her scalp.

“I do beg your pardon, madam, but I have almost got it. If you would just hold still …”

“I am holding still,” Cecily said crossly. “I cannot do much else while I’m held fast like this.”

The door opened without warning, allowing whoever had entered to hear the latter part of the conversation. Beside her, she felt Baxter go rigid, as a shocked gasp erupted from the doorway. Then a soft voice said breathlessly, “Please excuse me. I’ll come back later.”

The door closed with a firm thud.

CHAPTER
15

“Who do you suppose it was?” Baxter whispered urgently.

Cecily eased her head sideways to look at him. His face was quite close to hers, and she could see his look of anguish. “One of the maids, I presume,” she whispered back. “Most likely here to clean the room.”

“I’m aware of that, madam. But which one? Good Lord, if it was Gertie—”

“I don’t think it was Gertie. It sounded like Doris.”

“Do you think she recognized us?”

Cecily couldn’t answer, except to give a slight shake of her head. The resulting tug on her hair brought tears to her eyes.

“Madam? You are trembling. Are you all right?”

She struggled valiantly for several moments, then could hold it in no longer. Her laugh exploded, spilling the tears on her cheeks.

After a long pause, in which she did her best to control her mirth, Baxter said in a strange voice, “This really is no laughing matter, madam. Heaven knows what the child will say to spread gossip around the staff.”

“Maybe so, Baxter, but you have to admit it must have been quite a sight to see the two of us sprawled beneath the bed.”

“I would hazard a guess that your words served to confuse the issue even more.”

“If taken out of context. I have to agree with you there.”

“Yes, madam.”

He made an odd sound, and she peered at him, trying to see his expression more clearly. “Did you say something, Baxter?”

He shook his head, his lips pressed together.

“That wasn’t a laugh I heard, was it?”

To her great delight, he answered her with a soft chuckle.

“There you are,” she said, feeling very pleased with herself. “It does one good to laugh once in a while, don’t you agree?”

“Perhaps. I do feel somewhat concerned, however, about the possible repercussions. I should release you from your bondage before someone else discovers us in this most compromising position.”

She lay still while he worked at her hair, and breathed a sigh of relief when he finally released the painful hold. She waited a moment or two while he slid out from the bed, then followed him out.

Dusting herself down, she felt a little self-conscious. “Thank you, Baxter. I don’t know how I should have
managed without you. I would have had to wait until someone came to rescue me.”

“We can only hope that our reputations are not sullied beyond salvation,” Baxter said soberly.

“I doubt if our intruder recognized us in that position.”

Baxter shuddered. “I sincerely hope not, madam. I loathe to dwell on the tale that could evolve from this incident, once embellished by gossiping tongues.”

“Probably no more than any other time.” She gave him a wicked grin. “This isn’t the first time we have been discovered in a compromising position. Though I must admit, this was the most painful.”

Baxter’s morose expression changed swiftly. “I do hope I didn’t hurt you, madam? Your hair was in quite a tangle.”

“You were very gentle, Baxter. Thank you.”

“Yes, madam.”

His gaze warmed, and she raised a hand to her head, aware that she must look quite frightful. “I think I had better do something about this,” she said, moving over to Lady Belleville’s dressing table. “If someone sees me like this, there will be more fuel for the gossip.”

She peered into the mirror, doing her best to repair the damage done by the bedsprings. After securing the bun once more, she tucked all loose strands inside and pinned them. Finally satisfied, she patted her handiwork, saying, “This is the best I can do, but it will have to suffice for now.”

“If I might be permitted to say so, madam, you look impeccable, as always.”

Meeting his gaze in the mirror, she felt her cheeks warm. “Why, thank you, Baxter. That’s one of the nicest things you’ve ever said to me.”

“Yes, madam.” He fidgeted for a moment, then cleared his throat. “I think it might be prudent to leave this suite, before Doris returns.”

“Yes, you are right, of course.” Giving herself one last glance in the mirror, she headed across the room to the door. “Well, at least we shan’t be disturbed in the other two rooms. The maids have finished cleaning that floor by now.”

“Yes, madam.”

He sounded unhappy, and she knew he was concerned about the risks they were taking. Poor Baxter, she thought as they trudged up the stairs, he really did have to put up with a lot from her. She should take more care to avoid embarrassing him in front of the staff.

Even so, it was his chuckle that stayed with her throughout the rest of the day, and the intimate moments they had shared lying together beneath the bed in Lady Belleville’s boudoir.

“Are you sure the axe is gone again?” Mrs. Chubb asked, staring at Gertie in dismay.

“That’s what Doris says.” Gertie rolled up her sleeves in order to attack the dishes. “She says there was the two of them there, and now there’s only one again.”

“Mercy me.” Mrs. Chubb dropped the tray on the table and clutched her throat. “Makes me go cold again, it does. What if it’s the murderer who’s taking it to kill those poor women? What if he decides to turn on us here at the hotel? We could have a mad killer lurking about waiting to chop off our heads.”

“That would certainly help to make things quieter around here,” Michel muttered, slamming a pot down on the stove.

“Don’t be daft,” Gertie said as she plunged her hands into the soapy water. “He only kills bleeding gypsies, don’t he? And what makes you think it’s our axe he’s using? It would be all bloodied, wouldn’t it?”

“Not if he washed it all off, it wouldn’t.”

“Well, then, why would he go to all that trouble to put it
back, if he’s going to use it again? Seems to me he’d be blinking stupid to take the chance of being caught. Why doesn’t he just keep it? Don’t make bloody sense, does it?”

“I don’t know.” Mrs. Chubb opened a cupboard door and brought out a tub of flour. “All I know is it gives me the creeps, what with the murders and all, and our axe coming and going like it has legs. It must be someone in the hotel taking it, or else we would see someone strange walking around.”

Gertie sniffed and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. “Well, if you ask me, I don’t think the blinking axe is missing at all. I think it’s that bleeding Doris what’s playing games. She’s bleeding barmy, that girl.”

“I told you why she’s like that,” Mrs. Chubb said, banging the flour bin down on the table. “Sometimes I think I’m talking out the back of my head. You don’t hear half of what I say, you girls. Where is Doris anyway?”

“She’s cleaning the rooms. She started late this morning. Said she had a cold and didn’t feel well.” Again Gertie sniffed. “Bleeding gave it to me, an’ all, I shouldn’t wonder. I feel bloody horrible today.”

Mrs. Chubb gave her a quick look of concern. “You all right, duck? You do look a bit peaky. Not having any pains, are you?”

Gertie shrugged. “I’m all right,” she said gruffly. “Just tired of lugging all this weight around on me stomach, that’s all.”

Mrs. Chubb started to answer, but just then the door opened, and Doris walked in, a sullen look on her face.

“All finished, are we, then?” the housekeeper said, busily measuring flour into a large earthenware bowl.

“No, I didn’t do Lady Belleville. Someone was in the room with her when I got there so I said as how I’d go back later.”

Mrs. Chubb stopped measuring and stared at her. “Someone was in the room? Who was it, then?”

“Dunno. All I saw was their feet.”

Gertie put down the soapy plate she was holding. “Their feet? That old hag had someone in bed with her? Cor blimey, what’s she say when you went in?”

“Nuffing. And they wasn’t in the bed. They were under it.”

Doris crossed the kitchen and went into the scullery to put away the brooms and brushes.

Mrs. Chubb and Gertie exchanged a long glance. “See? I told you she was blooming barmy,” Gertie whispered.

Mrs. Chubb shook her head, as if trying to make sense of everything. “Well, you’d better go in there and tell her she has to go back and clean that room before noon. The guests will be arriving tomorrow for the weekend, and we have to keep those fires going. It will take her all afternoon to keep an eye on them, that it will.”

Gertie sighed and dragged her arms out of the water. Drying them on her apron, she trudged across the floor to the scullery.

When she reached the door she saw Doris standing by the shelves, holding a large black cat in her arms. She was speaking to it in a low soft voice, her fingers gently stroking its ears.

“Here!” Gertie said sharply. “Whatcha doing with that cat? That’s a bleeding stray, that is. You know we’re not supposed to make a fuss of them or we’ll never be bleeding rid of them. Mrs. Chubb’ll have your blinking head.”

The cat sprang from Doris’s arms at the sound of Gertie’s voice and vanished through the door. “I was just comforting it,” Doris muttered. “I tripped over it and I thought it might be hurt.”

“You can’t hurt them bleeding cats. Any rate, serves them
bleeding right for coming scrounging in here, bringing their flipping fleas with them.”

Remembering why she was there, Gertie added belligerently, “And Mrs. Chubb says you got to clean Lady Belleville’s room before noon, ’cause you have to watch the fires this afternoon.”

Without a word, Doris gathered up the brooms again and pushed past Gertie, who stood scowling after her. She never would understand that girl, she thought as she went back to the sink to finish the dishes.

Mrs. Chubb looked up from the table as she passed. “Doris go to clean that room, then?”

“Yeah.” Gertie swished her hands in the water and came up with a stack of saucers. “She’s in one of her bleeding moods again.” She paused as a thought struck her. “You know what, it’s a bleeding funny thing, but Doris never could get near a cat without sneezing. Now all of a sudden she’s in there cuddling one and not sneezing at all.”

“Maybe it was just her cold coming on before,” Mrs. Chubb said. “Anyhow, we can’t stand here gossiping about the poor child all day. Get on with those dishes or you’ll still be standing there when Michel gets back.”

Bleeding heck, Gertie thought, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. She couldn’t do nothing right, and that bleeding Doris couldn’t do nothing wrong.

One by one she stacked the saucers onto the draining board, her mind still on the vision of Doris holding the cat practically under her nose without so much as a sniffle.

“Nothing,” Cecily said in disgust as she and Baxter left Ellsworth Galloway’s room. “I thought we should find at least some small spot of blood somewhere to give us the identity of the murderer.”

“I believe we have learned something, at least,” Baxter said as he followed her down the stairs.

“What’s that?” Cecily had only half her mind on the conversation. She was still thinking about Baxter’s chuckle as he lay beside her on the floor. She had heard him laugh so rarely. If only he would shed that reserve that restricted him, and allow himself to relax and enjoy life.

He could be such wonderful company. He was so dependable, loyal, and completely trustworthy. How she adored his dry sense of humor and the intelligence that enabled him to give her a good argument now and again. She could enjoy life so much with a man like that, she thought wistfully.

“I would venture to say,” Baxter said from behind her, “that the lack of evidence would indicate that none of the three persons whose rooms we have searched are guilty of these murders.”

Dragging her mind back to the discussion, Cecily sighed. “It would appear that way. I can’t imagine how anyone could commit such a gruesome crime without leaving some trace of blood on their belongings. Particularly if they are staying in the hotel.”

“There is one more possibility, of course,” Baxter said as they reached the foot of the stairs. “It is one that I have the utmost regret in considering, of course.”

“Yes.” Cecily looked at him, knowing exactly how he felt. “I have also come to that conclusion. There is the possibility that the murderer could be one of our staff here at the Pennyfoot.”

“Yes, madam. Either that, or the person writing the notes.”

“I have a theory about those notes, Baxter. Perhaps we can go to your office, where I’ll explain without fear of being overheard.”

Baxter looked up the stairwell, as if expecting to see a flowerpot come hurtling down on them. “Of course, madam.”

He led the way down the hallway, while Cecily followed, feeling subdued now that her manager was back to his former controlled self.

The delightful times when he allowed himself a brief respite from his dutiful attitude toward her were all too infrequent. And as always, his retreat to normal left her with a feeling of frustration and disappointment.

She shook off her melancholy when she sat down at his desk a few moments later. “I think this is the perfect time to enjoy one of your cigars, Baxter,” she said, giving him her wide smile. “If you would be so kind as to offer me one of them?”

“If I may say so, madam, I think you are smoking entirely too much lately,” Baxter said, giving her a stern look. “It is most harmful to your health.”

“Smoking is not beneficial to your health either, but you continue to enjoy the habit,” Cecily reminded him. “Besides, anything that can relax me as well as a cigar does, can’t be that hazardous for my well-being.”

“I have a very strong sense of guilt every time I light up one of the pesky things for you. It just isn’t proper for a lady to smoke. I can’t help feeling that had James not died—”

“Had James not died,” Cecily cut in before he could finish, “a great many things would be different.”

Seeing his hurt expression, she changed her tone. “As I am constantly pointing out, Baxter, we are living in a changing world, where women are doing all sorts of things they wouldn’t have dreamed of a few years ago.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s fitting, or even beneficial. I fear that one day women will achieve the independence they crave, only to find themselves no longer cherished and
protected by the men they have scorned. What will they do then?”

“Live their lives the way they see fit, instead of being governed by tyrants and bullies who believe that women are merely chattel.”