7 Pay the Piper (10 page)

Having heard more than she cared to about Fortescue’s adventures in the tropics, Cecily glanced at the clock.

Before she could speak, the colonel added, “He disappeared, you know.” He tried to click his fingers, but after failing twice, gave up the effort. “Just like that.”

“How interesting.” She really didn’t care to hear about a wounded boar running around with a saber stuck through him. “You must tell me more about it some other time. But right now I’m afraid I must return to my suite.”

She was about to make her leave when the colonel muttered, “I expected him to walk out of the door, of course. I even opened it for him.”

“I beg your pardon?” Confused, it was a moment or two before she realized the colonel was still talking about the mysterious intruder in his room.

“Yes, madam,” the colonel said, raising his voice. “I opened the blasted door for him. I was going to give him a piece of my mind as he went out, but the bastard tricked me. He vanished right in front of my eyes. One minute he was standing at the foot of my bed, the next he was gone.
Nothing there. It was as if he’d simply gone up in smoke.”

Aware that Fortescue was becoming agitated again, Cecily said quickly, “Do finish your brandy, Colonel, and I’ll have another sent in to you.”

“What? Oh, yes, very kind of you, old bean. Much obliged, I’m sure.”

She nodded and was about to turn away, when he added, “I told that young woman about it, you know.”

“Young woman?”

“Yes, you know …” He waved his hand about as if trying to grasp an elusive butterfly. “What’s-her-name. Tall, strapping girl with the loud voice.”

“Oh, you mean Gertie.” Cecily nodded. “Yes, I met her in the foyer. She told me you were upset, remember?”

“Yes, yes, I was. But she told me I wasn’t the only person to see this damn Scotsman in my room. I think you had better be on your guard, old bean. Can’t have these chappies running around willy-nilly, trespassing in other people’s private quarters, you know. Could be stealing us blind, madam.”

Determined to have a word with Gertie, Cecily sent a quick glance over at the silent men in the corner. The colonel’s comments could be enough to start a rumpus right there in her own drawing room. Happily, both men had their heads bowed above the chessboard.

“I hardly think anyone would be stealing from you, Colonel,” Cecily said firmly. “But I’ll look into it.”

The colonel nodded, and with a quick gulp drained his glass. “I remember Gertie when she was just a chit. Your late husband had just hired her, if I remember rightly. Always had a bit of a mouth on her, but very willing. Grown into a nice-looking woman, she has. Surprised some young man hasn’t snapped her up before now.”

Obviously the colonel had forgotten that Gertie had been married briefly to Ian and was now the mother of twins. There would be no point in reminding him, of course.

Cecily was almost at the door when the colonel added,
“Might be a good idea to ask her about that Scots blighter in my room. She said she knew who it was.”

Spinning around, Cecily was just in time to see one of the pipers in the corner drop his gaze back to the board. He had obviously been staring at the colonel with acute interest.

Deciding that perhaps it would be better to tackle Gertie instead of questioning the confused gentleman further, Cecily left the room. But somehow she couldn’t quite forget her brief glimpse of the piper’s sharp hazel eyes staring at the colonel with such intense concentration.

CHAPTER
10

There were days, Gertie thought as she finished stacking the glasses on their shelf in the dresser, when the hands on the bloody clock seemed to be stuck. The last hour had crawled by, but any minute now she’d hear the nine chimes that would end her long day. She was looking forward to getting to her room to enjoy the sheer luxury of taking her weight off her feet.

Not that she’d get much rest, if the babies kept her up half the night again. Gertie shook her head as she crossed the kitchen to the stove. It didn’t seem possible that two tiny babies could be so much trouble. What with the feeding, changing, rocking, and singing, it seemed all her spare time was taken up with her son and daughter.

In spite of her weariness, Gertie smiled to herself. It was
still hard for her to think of herself as a mother. It didn’t seem that long ago when she was just a blinking kid herself, starting work for the first time at the Pennyfoot. Like Doris and Daisy were now.

Thinking of Daisy, Gertie looked once more at the clock. The young housemaid had offered to stay with the babies again, giving up a precious evening off. She had nothing else to do, she’d insisted, when Gertie had halfheartedly said she could manage.

It was a load off her mind, Gertie thought, not having to run back and forth making sure the twins were still peacefully sleeping in the cradle. Although, as Mrs. Chubb had said, once they were awake they made enough noise to wake the dead.

Gertie lifted the heavy pot of hot water off the stove and carried it to the sink. She’d just have time to clean the bugger before finishing for the day. She reached for the scrub brush, and almost dropped it as a deep voice spoke behind her.

“I knew this would be my lucky night.”

She didn’t have to turn her head to know it was Ross McBride standing in the kitchen. She hadn’t heard him open the door. Glancing at him over her shoulder, she said tartly, “If you’re looking for Mrs. Chubb, she’s not here.”

“Ay, I can see that. As I said, it’s my lucky night.”

Gertie felt her stomach quivering, the way it always did when he spoke to her like that. She’d better watch it, she thought grimly, or she’d be getting herself into more trouble than she could handle.

Reminding herself that he was a hotel guest, and therefore had to be treated with respect, she turned to face him. “Is there something I can do for you, sir?”

“Ay, you can stop calling me sir and call me Ross instead.” He stood just inside the doorway, looking at her with a funny expression in his eyes. She couldn’t tell if he was cross with her or if he was teasing her.

“I’m not allowed to call the guests by their Christian names,” she said primly.

To her surprise, Ross burst out laughing. “Come off it, Gertie. What’s the harm between two friends?” He moved farther into the kitchen, making her nerves jump.

“You’re not supposed to be in here. You’ll get me into bleeding trouble,” Gertie said a little desperately.

“You said yourself Mrs. Chubb isn’t here.” He pulled out a chair from the table and sat down. The kilt barely covered his knees.

Gertie hastily snatched her gaze back to his face. “She’ll be back any minute. She’s just gone to inspect the dining room.”

“Then I’m sure she won’t mind if I sit here and have a cup of tea, now will she?”

Gertie stared belligerently at his face, but he continued to look at her with that strange half-serious expression. “I’ll get it for you,” she said at last, knowing she’d be in for it if the housekeeper knew she’d refused a guest a late-night cup of tea.

Turning her back on him again, she reached for the kettle and stuck it under the tap. The cold water gushed into the pot, and she filled it almost to the top.

“Will ye no’ join me with one?” Ross said as she carried the kettle to the stove.

It was time, Gertie told herself. He had to know sometime. Maybe it was just as well, then he’d leave her alone and she wouldn’t be getting all these funny feelings in her stomach.

“I haven’t got bleeding time,” she said, dumping the kettle with a loud bang on the stove. “I have to get back to me babies.”

She could feel the silence grow heavy behind her as she bent down to grasp the poker. Shoving it violently through the bars, she raked the coals until sparks flew in all directions.

“I dinna know you were married,” Ross said at last.

“I’m not.” Gertie straightened, her face flushed more from the conversation than the heat from the fire. “Not anymore, anyhow.” She avoided looking at him as she crossed to the china cabinet. Opening the door, she took down a bone china cup and saucer.

“Widowed?” Ross asked softly.

She shook her head. “Nah. I never was married proper like. I found out he was already bloody married to someone else. Went back to her, he did. Course, it were too bleeding late for me, then. I already had a bun in the oven. Two of them, in fact.”

“I’m so very sorry.”

He sounded so sincere she couldn’t help looking at him. He had a different look in his eyes now. Sort of soft, like he really cared. Dragging her gaze away from him, Gertie put the cup and saucer on the counter next to the sink. “I’ll be back in a jiff. Got to get some milk for the tea.”

She was glad of the brief respite. It gave her a chance to cool her face and gather her senses. Leaning up against the wall of the pantry, Gertie gave herself a good talking-to.

She couldn’t bleeding ignore him or she’d get into trouble. But she didn’t have to be bloody friendly to him either. Just treat him like she treated all the bleeding others. Except that none of the other guests had nice hazel eyes with a look in them that made her go all warm and soft inside.

Grabbing hold of the milk jug, Gertie did her best to pull herself together. He was just another blinking man, after all. And she was off men for good. None of them could be trusted, except for Mr. Baxter, and he was a bleeding stuffed shirt.

Men like Ross McBride were another kettle of fish altogether. Him and his blooming bedroom eyes. The further she kept out of his way, the better.

Ross McBride still sat where she’d left him, staring into space as if he were far away. Gertie headed for the sink and
poured milk into the cup. “You take sugar?” she asked as she carried the jug back to the pantry.

“Ay, just a spoonful, if you please.”

She could feel his gaze following her when she crossed the room once more. Taking down the heavy teapot, she poured some of the hot water from the kettle into it and swished it around for a moment. Then she carried the teapot to the sink and emptied the water.

“I had two children myself,” Ross said, his voice sounding a little strained.

Surprised, she glanced at him as she set the warmed pot on the side of the stove. “You married, then?”

“Widowed.”

A long pause followed while Gertie digested that. “I’m sorry,” she said awkwardly at last. She didn’t like to ask how his wife had died, or what had happened to the children. Carefully she measured a level spoonful of tea leaves into the pot.

The kettle started singing on the stove, and she stood watching it, waiting for the steam to pour in a steady stream from the spout.

“My wife and bairns were killed in a house fire,” Ross McBride said, so quietly she barely heard him above the singing kettle. “I wasna there at the time.”

For once Gertie didn’t know what to say. She could feel a knot in her throat as big as a fist. All she could think about was how she would feel if something like that happened to her twins. “Oh, Gawd,” she whispered.

Just then the steam burst through the spout, and she lifted the kettle to pour the boiling water on the tea leaves. Settling the kettle back on the stove, she wondered desperately what to say to him. To just say she was sorry seemed so bloody useless, yet there wasn’t anything else she could think of.

Very carefully, she fitted the lid of the teapot in place. “I’m sorry,” she said, without looking at him. “That must have been bloody awful.”

“Bloody awful,” Ross McBride agreed. “Your bairns must be of some comfort to you.”

She looked at him then. “They’re me whole bleeding life,” she said simply.

“Ay, I imagine they are.”

She couldn’t seem to look away from him.

They might have gone on staring at each other half the bleeding night, she told Daisy later, if Mrs. Chubb hadn’t chosen that moment to come bustling into the kitchen, full of concern in case one of madam’s guests might not be taken care of properly.

Gertie had left the kitchen then, with Ross McBride’s firm assurances to Mrs. Chubb that he’d been taken very good care of still ringing in her ears.

She sat now on the edge of the bed, recounting the entire episode to Daisy. She wasn’t sure why she was confiding in the younger girl, except that she was bursting to tell someone, and somehow she didn’t think Mrs. Chubb would take too kindly to her being so familiar with the guests.

Daisy sat in the rocking chair, a baby sleeping in each arm, and listened quietly as Gertie described the way Ross McBride had looked when he told her about losing his wife and children.

“It gave me quite a turn, it did,” Gertie said, her heart aching at the thought of it. “It must have been a bloody terrible experience.”

“It can’t bother him too much anymore,” Daisy said. “Not if he wants you to go out with him.”

“I think he’s just lonely, that’s all.” Like she was, she thought, though she didn’t say it out loud.

“Well, lonely or not, I wouldn’t go out with him. Like I keep telling Doris, you can’t be too careful. Not with blokes, you can’t.”

Gertie smiled. “Wait until you get to my age, Daisy Hoggins, you’ll change your tune. You’ll be glad of a bit of attention by then.” One of the babies stirred with a faint
whimper, and she held out her arms. “Here, I’ll take them now. You must be tired of holding them.”

Daisy shook her head, but carefully handed the babies over all the same. Getting to her feet, she smoothed the wrinkles out of her skirt. “I like looking after them,” she said as she moved to the door. “I like taking care of things what can’t take care of themselves.”

Holding her babies close to her breasts, Gertie stared at the closed door. Funny one, that Daisy, she mused. Sometimes she talked as if she was an old woman. It didn’t seem possible that two girls who looked so alike could be so bloody different inside.

Doris was so easy to get along with, always willing to do anything you asked her, and always with a smile. Yet in spite of Daisy’s sullen moods, Gertie felt more at ease with her than her twin. Maybe because she reminded her of herself when she was that age.

If only she could fetch a smile to the girl’s face, Gertie thought as she gently rocked her babies, she’d feel like she’d achieved something worthwhile. She owed Daisy a lot, she did, her taking such good care of her James and Lilly.

Settling down in the chair, Gertie closed her eyes. It was very pleasant to sit there with the warm weight of two tiny bodies in her arms and let her thoughts drift back to a roguish, smiling face and a pair of warm hazel eyes.

The snow started falling during the night, leaving a light dusting on the sweeping lawns of the hotel grounds. There wasn’t enough to coat the streets for long, however, and by mid-morning the clopping hooves and rolling wheels had dried out the road, much to Phoebe’s relief.

Normally she didn’t mind the walk along the Esplanade. It was excellent exercise, and helped to keep her waist from expanding, as it was wont to do during the winter months. There were times when she had quite a struggle to lace her
corset tight enough to get into her favorite wasp-waisted frocks.

It was Algie’s fault, of course, she told herself as she pranced briskly alongside the wrought-iron railing that divided the street from the sands. The vicar was entirely too fond of rabbit stew and dumplings, not to mention the roly-poly puddings smothered in treacle.

As it was, Phoebe had even more reason nowadays to watch her figure. A smile flitted across her face as she thought about Alec McPherson. Such a charming man. Quite well-educated, all things considered. The last few days had dawned considerably brighter, with the prospect of such gracious companionship.

She crossed the street to the hotel, looking carefully each way in case one of those dreadful motorcars should come charging at her. They traveled so fast one hardly saw them coming. Twelve miles an hour, so she’d heard. The thought of it made her feel quite dizzy.

Of course, most of the time they made so much noise one could hear them coming long before they were in sight. Nasty, noisy, dirty things with all that black smoke belching out everywhere. Enough to make one choke.

Phoebe waited for a horse and trap to pass before crossing over to the steps of the Pennyfoot. Nothing, she told herself with assurance, would ever take the place of the nice, clean, steady pace of a horse and carriage.

Inside the hotel, Cecily waited with Madeline in the library for Phoebe to arrive.

“I do think it would be fun to decorate the balconies for the Tartan Ball,” Madeline said, drawing arcs in the air with her expressive hands. “Something dramatic, like masses of pure white chrysanthemums, with perhaps arches of thick green pine, absolutely covered with red and white roses.”

“Very dramatic,” Cecily said dryly. “And horribly expensive, I daresay.”

Madeline sighed. “I’m afraid so. If only we poor mortals were not bound by the necessity of pounds, shillings, and
pence—just think how much more creative we might be. It is the dire lack of wealth that holds many an artistic soul in bondage.”

“Who is in bondage?” a light voice trilled from the doorway.

Cecily smiled at Phoebe, who held her graceful pose in the doorway just long enough for the other two women to admire her burgundy two-piece with its fox collar and her magnificent rose-trimmed hat.

“Women,” Madeline muttered, in answer to Phoebe’s question. “Unfortunately most of them are too stupid to realize it.”

Luckily her comment went over Phoebe’s head. She settled herself on the brocade seat of her chair and smiled at Cecily. “I’m so thankful the snowfall was light last night. I do hate trudging through snow. So inelegant.”