7 Pay the Piper (11 page)

“I only hope it stays dry until after the ball,” Cecily said, sending a wary glance toward the end of the table. To her surprise, Madeline failed to utter one of her derisive remarks. In fact, she seemed preoccupied, staring at a spot beyond Cecily’s head.

“Oh, I certainly hope so,” Phoebe murmured. “I can’t imagine how I would get my dancers to the village hall if we should have a snowstorm.”

“How is the dancing coming along?” Cecily asked, deciding to leave Madeline to her woolgathering for the moment.

“Oh, my dear.” Phoebe shook her head in a mournful way that did not promise good news. “I don’t know how Alec keeps his patience, I really don’t. Those girls can be absolute horrors. No matter how hard Alec works with them, showing them the steps over and over again, they absolutely refuse to dance the Sword Dance in their stockinged feet.”

Cecily, watching Madeline out of the corner of her eye, nodded absently. “Well, I don’t suppose it will matter too much if they keep their shoes on, will it?”

Phoebe uttered a small gasp. “Keep their shoes on? My dear Cecily, that’s the entire point of the dance. Alec explained it all very carefully. The idea is to perform the intricate dance between the razor-sharp blades of the crossed swords without cutting one’s toes. The girls are absolutely terrified, of course.”

“I don’t blame them,” Cecily said in some alarm. The thought of Phoebe’s clumsy troupe attempting such a risky maneuver was too disturbing to contemplate.

“Oh, Alec assures me it’s quite safe, as long as the dancers are nimble.” The roses on Phoebe’s hat trembled as she uttered a loud sigh. “Unfortunately I seriously doubt that my dancers will ever begin to approach nimble. Even their version of the Highland Fling, which is quite a simple dance really, has more fling than finesse.”

“Oh, dear,” Cecily murmured. “In that case, I fervently suggest that they keep their feet shod.”

“I suppose so,” Phoebe said gloomily. “Though it does rather take away the element of suspense. If that wasn’t enough to deal with, Algie is being very difficult about this entire celebration. He despises the sound of the bagpipes, and considers it an outrage that this outlandish music, as he calls it, should be played in a place of worship.”

Cecily frowned. “They’re playing the bagpipes in the church?”

“Oh, no, my dear, that would never do. No, in the village hall. Unfortunately the sound does travel rather. One can hear it quite clearly from the vestry, I’m afraid.”

“Well, it won’t be for much longer.” Cecily glanced once more at Madeline, who had been uncommonly quiet throughout Phoebe’s chatter. The lack of barbs from Madeline’s caustic tongue was quite mystifying.

Madeline’s face wore an expression of deep concentration. Something about the way she held herself so still unsettled Cecily.

“Algie never did have much time for the Scots,” Phoebe
was saying. “Although he did quite surprise me by mentioning that he was partial to their kilts. Mind you, I could never imagine my son in a kilt. Somehow I think a vicar might not command too much respect with his bare knees displayed.”

“We have a presence in the room,” Madeline said suddenly, in a voice that sent chills racing down Cecily’s back.

Phoebe stopped talking and stared at Madeline as if she’d gone quite mad. “A presence? Whatever are you talking about?”

“I can feel it.” Madeline narrowed her eyes, peering into the dark corners of the library. “I can’t see it yet, but it’s there. Watching … waiting …”

“Waiting for what?” Phoebe asked sharply.

“For us to notice it, of course.” Madeline turned her dark eyes on Phoebe. “Perhaps it’s waiting for you.”

“Oh, good Lord, Cecily,” Phoebe said crossly, “you might be perfectly willing to listen to such nonsense, but I’m quite sure I am not. I have better things to do with my time.” She got up from her chair with a great deal of fussing, tugging at her gloves and smoothing down her skirt.

“It is an unhappy spirit,” Madeline said in the same toneless voice. “An unhappy spirit is a dangerous spirit.”

Phoebe straightened her hat with a firm tug. “I am quite sure my girls will be more than adequate with their performance at the ball, Cecily, so please do not worry. Alec will whip them into shape, I have no doubt.”

Cecily nodded, her attention still on Madeline’s trancelike expression. “Thank you, Phoebe. I have complete faith in you, as always.”

Apparently gratified, Phoebe moved to the door. “Good day, Madeline. I do hope your return to our world is imminent. We should hate to lose you to your hallucinations.” With a final toss of her head, Phoebe disappeared through the door.

Cecily hardly saw her go. Her gaze was on Madeline, but
in her mind she could hear Colonel Fortescue’s rambling voice.
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
.

CHAPTER
11

“I tell you, Gertie, it’s far too cold to take those babies outside.” Mrs. Chubb shook her finger in Gertie’s face. “Why, it snowed last night, remember? Little mites like that don’t have the lungs to breathe in that cold air. It could kill them both, it could.”

Gertie wiped her hands dry on a kitchen towel and stared defiantly at the housekeeper. “Dr. Prestwick said that fresh air will do them good. As long as they’ve wrapped up warm enough. He says as how the babies are breathing all the bleeding dust and smoke from the fires, and they need fresh air to clean out their lungs.”

“Well, how are you going to carry them, that’s what I want to know.”

“I don’t have to bleeding carry them, do I. Madam is
lending me her pram that she had for her boys. It’s a bloody big one, it is, so there’s plenty of room for little Lilly and James.”

Mrs. Chubb jerked her chin in the air. “Lilly? You’re calling her Lilly?”

Gertie sighed. “Well, Lillian is such a bleeding mouthful for a tiny baby. Sometimes I have trouble getting me bloody tongue around it.”

“And how will she feel if everyone calls her Lilly when she grows up?”

“Then I suppose she’ll have to decide what she wants people to call her, won’t she.”

“It might be too late then.” The housekeeper opened a cupboard door and peered inside. “I don’t know what Michel does with the sugar, I really don’t. It’s nearly all gone again. I only ordered it last week.”

Gertie pulled a face at Mrs. Chubb’s back. It didn’t seem as if she could do anything nowadays without the housekeeper jumping on her. Mrs. Chubb turned around at that moment and Gertie hastily straightened her face.

“Have you asked madam and Mr. Baxter about being godparents yet?” Mrs. Chubb asked.

“No, I haven’t. I’m going to today, after I take the babies for their first walk.”

The housekeeper shook her head. “I do wish you wouldn’t take them out just yet, Gertie. Wait another month or two until the weather warms up a bit.”

“They’re nearly bleeding three months old and they don’t know what the sky looks like yet. I won’t have them out for long. Besides, they’ll have to go out for the bloody christening, won’t they?”

Burying her resentment, Gertie crossed the room to the door. Mrs. Chubb meant well, she knew, but sometimes her constant fussing over the babies drove Gertie crazy.

Give her Daisy’s sensible attitude anytime, she thought as she opened the door. Leave it to Mrs. Chubb and she’d have both babies so mollycoddled they’d grow up horrible
spoiled brats, like that fat Stanley Malton who had given her such blooming trouble last summer when he was here with his parents.

“Just make sure you wrap them up well,” Mrs. Chubb called out as the door closed behind Gertie. “It’s almost midday, and the sun will be going down again soon. Wrap a wooly scarf across their little mouths …”

Her voice faded away as Gertie hurried down the hallway to her room. It was time for the babies’ feeding, then she had about half an hour before she had to be back for the midday meal. And Gertie wasn’t about to miss a minute of precious time she was able to spend with her twins.

She was almost at the door of her room when she saw one of the housemaids coming toward her. She couldn’t see too clearly in the dim light of the passageway, and she wasn’t sure if it was Doris or Daisy who halted in front of her, with a scared look that made her eyes look huge in her white face.

For a second or two Gertie’s heart stopped. “Daisy? Is something wrong? Not my babies, is it?” Her hand was on the door handle, already turning it when the young girl shook her head.

“No, Miss Brown, I’m Doris. I just come from the conservatory. I was watering the plants in there, and I saw him again.”

“Saw who?” Gertie demanded, her relief making her voice sharp.

“Peter Stewart He was standing by the windows, as large as life.”

Gertie’s stomach gave a little jump. “You’re bleeding seeing things again, Doris ’Oggins. Not been at Michel’s brandy, have you? He’ll cut your bloody tongue out if you have.”

“No, I haven’t. And I’m not seeing things.” Doris reached out a shaky hand and clutched Gertie’s apron. “I don’t know what to do, Miss Brown, honest I don’t. It’s like he’s
following me around, watching me all the time. Fair gives me the creeps, it does.”

Gertie could feel the girl’s hand trembling. She must have been really frightened. Curbing her impatience, Gertie said briskly, “It’s just someone playing tricks on you, that’s all. All them Scotch blokes look alike when they’re wearing them kilts. You know it can’t be Peter Stewart. He’s bleeding dead, isn’t he?”

“It’s his ghost,” Doris said in a soft moaning voice that gave Gertie chills. “I see him everywhere. He’s following me, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

Determined not to be spooked by the jittery girl, Gertie squared her shoulders. She didn’t believe in ghosts, not in any way, shape, or form. There had to be a simple explanation for everything that happened. It was just that sometimes things weren’t always what they seemed.

“You sound as daffy as that bleeding Colonel Fortescue,” she said, gently dislodging Doris’s frantic grip on her apron. “He kept on about seeing a ghost, too. Scared me silly, he did, until I remembered all the other times he’d seen things. All in his mind, it were. Same as you.”

She ignored the emphatic shake of Doris’s head. “You’re all upset ’cause you liked Peter Stewart, that’s why you keep thinking you can see him.” She took hold of Doris’s frail hand and started down the hallway. “Come on, I’ll go back with you. I’ll show you there’s no ghost in the conservatory.”

“No, no, I’m not going back there. You can’t make me.” Doris snatched her hand away from Gertie’s and flew off in the opposite direction.

Gertie watched her go, her face grim. Someone was bleeding playing jokes on the poor girl, and it weren’t funny. Maybe the bugger was still there. If so, she’d give him a piece of her mind.

Hurrying up the stairs to the conservatory, she hoped and prayed the twins wouldn’t wake up and start screaming for their blinking milk before she got back to them. Bugger
those Scotchmen, they were more trouble than they were worth. Even Ross McBride spelled trouble. He seemed to be on her mind far too bloody much lately.

She’d be bleeding glad, she decided, when the Robbie Burns celebration was over and done with and they all went back to bleeding Scotland, where they belonged. Then maybe she could stop thinking about Ross McBride and his blooming come-hither eyes.

Gertie smiled as she reached the conservatory door. Come-hither eyes. She’d been fascinated by that phrase ever since she’d first heard it. She’d never really known what it meant until now.

Still smiling, she pushed the doors open and went inside the cool conservatory. In the summer the glass walls on the outside kept the narrow room hot and moist, but in the winter it was always cold in there. In fact, Gertie thought as she stood shivering in her thin white linen blouse, it was bloody freezing in there now.

Unwilling to spend a second longer in there than she needed to, she cast a quick look around then turned to go. As she did so, a slight movement near the glass doors that led to the outside caught her eyes.

For a moment she thought she was seeing things. Outlined against the glass she could see what looked like the shadow of a piper. Blinking, Gertie stared harder. She could actually see the bushes and trees outside right through him.

For a moment she froze in shock, then her common sense took hold. It had to be a reflection of someone standing outside, probably bloody hiding around the corner where she couldn’t see him.

Even so, she couldn’t make herself go closer to look. As she watched, the shadow grew fainter, until it disappeared altogether. Gertie wasn’t totally surprised to feel her teeth chattering. Whoever it was, he was doing a good job of frightening everyone, she thought grimly. Maybe she should have a word with Mrs. Chubb about it. Or even madam.

Making up her mind that she would speak to madam
about the shadow when she went to see her that afternoon, Gertie hurried back to her room and the solid comfort of her babies.

Cecily paused in the act of tapping on the door of Baxter’s office. He would not be happy to know that she had been to see Dr. Prestwick, yet she needed to discuss the information she had learned from the doctor. Wishing things didn’t have to be quite so complicated, she gave the door a sharp rap, waiting a moment before opening it.

Baxter looked up from the desk and immediately rose to his feet. “I suppose there is no point in reminding you that we have staff who will bring me a message that you wish to see me,” he said, struggling into his morning coat. “Thus eliminating the necessity for you to visit me in my office.”

She had heard the slight rebuke so often she hardly listened to it. “I sometimes think, Baxter,” she said mildly as she seated herself on a deep leather armchair, “that you have things to hide from me in this office.”

He looked down his nose at her, his mouth drawn in a tight line of resentment. “That, if I may say so, madam, is pure poppycock.”

She peered up at him. He did not appear to be in too good a humor. Hazarding a guess as to the cause of his tension, she asked softly, “Problems with bills again?”

“There are always problems with bills, madam.”

“But more so in the winter, I would say.”

“Yes, madam.”

She tried a smile. “Never mind, Baxter, spring is just around the corner.”

“Unfortunately, madam, I’m afraid there will be even more bills waiting around that corner. Samuel informed me that a portion of the ceiling has collapsed in room two, the roof is leaking again, and the chimney in suite four is smoking quite badly. I imagine it needs refacing.”

“Oh, dear. We have that suite booked for this weekend.”

“Yes, madam. I doubt if the work can be done before
then, so I have suggested that the Halliwells take room five. It’s not as spacious as the suite, but it is the largest of the rooms.”

“Lady Halliwell will not care for that. She has always insisted on a suite.”

“Yes, madam. I shall attempt to be diplomatic when they arrive.”

“Thank you, Baxter. I’m quite sure you will handle things beautifully.”

“I will do my best, madam.”

“Tell me something. Do you believe in ghosts?”

He looked startled at the swift change of subject. “Ghosts? I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Ghosts, Baxter. Those transparent ethereal beings who haunt old castles and scare everyone to death.”

“I haven’t given it much thought, madam.”

“Well, give it some thought. And please, do sit down. I have a crick in the neck from peering up at you.”

He stretched his neck above his collar. “You know very well my views on that subject.”

“I also know that you have been attempting to relax your strict ethics of late.” She smiled sweetly at him. “I was hoping that might include being seated in my presence. After all, I have left the door ajar to satisfy your unnecessary concerns. Our discussions would be so much more comfortable if I could look at you eye to eye.”

“Yes, madam. But …”

“But what?”

“I’m not sure if I would be comfortable, madam.”

Cecily sighed. “Try it, Baxter. You can’t live in the Victorian age forever. However are we women going to be accepted as equals if we are constantly dealing with outdated modes of behavior?”

“I do not want to give the staff the wrong impression.”

She studied his flushed face for a moment before asking, “Which wrong impression?”

He cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to
the other. “I do not want to give the impression that I am becoming too familiar with my superiors.”

“Piffle.” She leaned forward. “I don’t care what the staff think. Let them think what they want.”

“Yes, madam.”

He looked so uncomfortable, she gave up. “Very well. So tell me if you believe in ghosts.”

His expression relaxed slightly, though his gray eyes remained wary. “I have heard stories about people who have encountered apparitions, yes. While I haven’t exactly studied the subject, I understand that the theory of spirits being able to communicate with people has never been authenticated. On the other hand, neither has their presence been refuted. Therefore, since I prefer to base my judgment on matters that have a logical explanation, I prefer not to pass an opinion.”

Cecily stared at him, then shook her head in disbelief. “For a man of few words, Baxter, you have a remarkable propensity for taking the longest way around of saying no.”

“I did not say no, madam. Merely that I had no opinion either way.”

She could tell by the sparkle in his eyes that he was beginning to enjoy himself. Now, perhaps, was the time to mention Dr. Prestwick.

“I paid a call this afternoon,” she said, rearranging the folds in her skirt. “I went to see Dr. Prestwick about the murder. He was quite helpful, actually, though of course there’s so much he’s not able to tell me. I really don’t know why everything has to be such a secret. The truth comes out eventually, doesn’t it?”

Aware of the growing silence, she peeked up at his face. To her dismay, his expression had hardened considerably.

“I cannot imagine why you insist on exposing yourself to gossip in this manner,” he said stiffly. “It is well known that Prestwick’s reputation with the ladies is questionable—”

“Through no fault of his own,” Cecily felt compelled to point out.

“—and I find it deplorable that you should feel perfectly at ease when visiting such a man alone in his home.”

Stung by his tone, she said fiercely, “I did not go inside, Baxter. Even if I had, it is not up to you to question my morals. Just because James asked you to watch over me, that does not give you the right to dictate my every movement.”

“Damn it, Cecily, let us please leave your late husband out of this. My promise to James Sinclair has nothing to do with my concern over your inappropriate activities.”

Stunned, Cecily stared at him, aware of the sound of his harsh breathing in the quiet room. After a tight pause, she said very quietly, “May I ask what your concern does have to do with?”