7 Pay the Piper (12 page)

She saw him swallow, as if trying to rid himself of something stuck in his throat. “My concern stems from my deep respect for your welfare and your standing in this community.”

She was about to speak, when he added as an afterthought, “Madam.”

She didn’t know whether to feel grateful for his consideration or insulted by his lack of trust in her ethics. “Might I suggest, Baxter,” she said at last, “as I have mentioned just a short while ago, that you are living in an age that no longer exists. Women are working in offices with men, working alongside men in factories, waiting on men in shops and restaurants, and even, in too few instances, performing surgery on men.”

He refrained from answering, his expression unyielding.

Irritated by his rigid beliefs, she added crossly, “I wish now that I had gone inside the doctor’s cottage, if only to prove that it was perfectly safe and proper for me to do so. There are times, Baxter, when I find your attitude quite tedious. When are you ever going to relax that moral code that is so hopelessly outdated?”

She was startled when fire suddenly blazed in his eyes. “You tend to forget, madam, that I also have feelings. I can
assure you, were you anything but my employer, I would be more than willing to modernize my behavior.”

Try as she might, she could find no answer to that volatile statement.

After a short pause, Baxter muttered rather bitterly, “Please forgive me, madam. I am afraid I overstepped the boundaries of protocol.”

Still flustered, Cecily wished she had a fan to cool her warm face. His apology had been offered halfheartedly, to say the least. She had the distinct impression he was not in the least sorry for what he had said.

“That’s all right, Baxter,” she said when she finally recovered her voice. “I owe you an apology, too. I have no right to criticize you for your beliefs, no matter how unpopular they might be.”

His raised eyebrow told her that he was not happy with her apology either, but she adroitly changed the subject. “Anyway, as I said, Dr. Prestwick did give me one piece of useful information about the murder. It would seem our theory of the key having been taken from Tom’s pocket while he lay unconscious will not hold water. Dr. Prestwick assures me that Peter Stewart was killed inside the shop.”

Baxter’s chin relaxed just a little. “The key could still have been taken and returned. Maybe the victim was merely unconscious when Abbittson arrived on the scene. The killer could then have taken the key, dragged Stewart inside the shop, finished him off there, and left the shop again, returning the key to Abbittson’s pocket.”

“Why would anyone go to all that trouble? Unless he was deliberately trying to make it look as if Tom was the killer.” Cecily tapped her fingernails on his desk. “If so, he’s certainly succeeding. It would seem that Peter Stewart died just about the time Tom arrived home from the George.”

She shook her head in a gesture of despair. “Moreover, as I’ve mentioned before, I don’t understand how someone could have done all that without disturbing Elsie. I’m afraid
that the more I learn about this matter, the more Tom appears to be guilty.”

“In which case, his wife is most likely inventing lies in order to protect him.”

Cecily gazed up at him. “Indeed,” she murmured. “I had arrived at the same conclusion. I think the time has come for me to call on Elsie Abbittson. I shall do so this afternoon. Perhaps if she is not too busy, I shall have an opportunity to talk to her.”

Baxter looked down at her with an odd expression on his face. She waited for a moment or two, and when he didn’t speak she said with a frown, “What is it?”

He cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back, but still said nothing.

Watching him with faint suspicion, Cecily said quietly, “If you have something to say to me, Baxter, please get it out before you drive me crazy with your inane pantomime.”

He raised his chin. “I was merely going to caution you, madam. Since you tend to get somewhat peevish if I do so, however, I thought it prudent to keep my council to myself.”

“Peevish?” She pursed her lips. “If I get peevish, Baxter, it is because you fail to trust my common sense. When have I ever given you good cause to fear for my safety?”

Baxter looked as if someone had just handed him a tasty cream bun. He opened his mouth, but Cecily hastily forestalled him.

“Don’t answer that. I admit there might have been a time or two when you might have had cause to worry, but you have to agree, it was through no lack of prudence on my part. One cannot always foresee the pitfalls, particularly when conducting an investigation into murder.”

“Precisely, madam.”

She made a sound of impatience deep in her throat. “What would you have me do? Trust Stan Northcott to ferret out the truth?”

Knowing how he felt about the local constable, she was fairly certain of his reaction. To her immense satisfaction,
his expression altered at once. “Had we left matters to that dolt in the past, we might very well have lost a great deal of business.”

“Possibly the hotel as well.” She smiled sweetly at him. “I’m so happy you agree with me, Bax.”

His face was inscrutable as he gave her a stiff little bow. “How can I venture to do anything else, madam?”

How indeed, she thought smugly. Chalk up one more victory to her.

CHAPTER
12

Gertie lifted her nose in the damp chilly air as she pushed the pram along the Esplanade. It was bleeding cold, she thought. At least Mrs. Chubb had been right about that. She could smell bloody snow in the wind.

Glancing down at the two small bundles in the pram, she hoped they were warm enough. They bleeding should be, the way she’d wrapped them up in woollies. It was a wonder they could breathe with all that lot on them.

The hoarse cry of a sea gull disturbed her thoughts, and she lifted her face toward the sky. The bird wheeled in slow circles beneath the dark gray clouds, watching her. He was waiting for a few crumbs, she reckoned. He’d have a bloody long wait.

There was a time when she might have shoved a slice of
stale cake or a dry crust in her pocket for the hungry birds. But feed one and the bloody lot descended on her, and she didn’t want blinking bird shit all over her clean covers, thank you.

The sea looked angry, spitting white froth as it pummeled the beach. Higher up the sand the waves had strewn limp seaweed in a straggly line beneath the tall cliffs. She could smell the salty tang of the stuff in the cold wind.

She was the only one on the Esplanade. All the little shops, usually crowded with eager visitors in the summer, were closed now, their windows shuttered against the winter storms. A few shriveled dried-up leaves leapt and swirled as the stiff breeze drove them along the pavement.

A strip of paper, torn by the wind from one of the summer posters advertising the pier, had wrapped itself around one of the railings. It looked so forlorn, like the ragged remnants of better days.

The seaside could be a lonely place in winter, Gertie thought, feeling a sudden rush of melancholy. She didn’t know why she should feel so bloody lonely. She had her friends at the Pennyfoot, and her two precious little ones. Though they’d be a lot better company once they’d bleeding grown up a bit. All they seemed to do now was eat, cry, and sleep.

It could be a lot worse, Gertie told herself as she watched the sea gull swoop low over the water then soar with graceful ease up and over the cliffs of Putney Downs.

She could be on the street, she reminded herself. Out in the cold with nowhere to go and two hungry mouths to feed. There were too many people like that, without a home and a fireplace to keep them warm. She had the best home in the world—the best bleeding hotel in England.

Marching along with grim determination, Gertie tried to outpace her gloomy mood. No matter how much she counted her blessings, however, the fact remained: She was bloody lonely.

It wasn’t easy being responsible for two little ones. The
older they got, the harder it was going to be. There were times when the enormity of her situation almost overwhelmed her.

Deeply engrossed in her troubled thoughts, she paid no attention to the swift footsteps approaching her, until the man reached her side, then spun around and fell in step alongside her.

Looking up into the face of Ross McBride, Gertie could feel her spirits rising. There was just something about those bedroom eyes that made a girl feel all warm and cozy inside.

“I can hardly believe my luck,” Ross McBride said cheerfully. “Here I was, walking back from band practice, and suddenly there you are in front of me, looking just like a page out of my favorite picture book.”

Determined not to let her foolish fancies sway her common sense, Gertie kept her gaze on the cliffs ahead. All she could seem to think about was how bloody cold his knees must be in that blinking kilt. She just hoped he was wearing warm drawers underneath it.

Thin columns of smoke rose from the fishermen’s cottages dotted along the harbor. She wished she was inside one of them, warm and snug, instead of out there in the blinking freezing wind trying to ignore a man she just knew was up to no good.

In spite of her good intentions, the question slipped out. “What picture book?”

“
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
.” Ross laughed, a warm rich sound that helped chase some of the chill out of her bones. “That’s who you remind me of, you know.”

“I do?” Caught by surprise, she looked up at him. It was sort of nice, looking up at a man. Ian had been the same size as her. Shorter if she wore her fancy shoes with the heels.

“Ay, lass, you certainly do. I can just imagine you chasing rabbits down a hole or arguing with the Queen of Hearts. I’d put odds on you winning and all, right enough.”

“I wouldn’t let no bleeding bugger chop my bloody head off, that’s for certain.” Thinking about chopping heads off
made her think about Peter Stewart and the shadow she’d seen on the windows. Perhaps it were Ross McBride who was playing tricks, she thought. He seemed the type what would enjoy a bloody good joke.

Hoping to catch him off guard, she said abruptly, “Dreadful thing, that murder of Peter Stewart, wasn’t it? Poor sod, it must have been awful for him. Shouldn’t wonder if he doesn’t come back and haunt whoever killed him.”

She didn’t really think he would take that much notice of what she said. But he surprised her by saying sharply, “Whatever makes you say that?”

Unsettled by his tone, she shrugged. “Oh, I dunno. Sometimes people do come back as ghosts, don’t they?”

“That’s rubbish. I’ve certainly been in enough Scottish castles to meet one, I can tell you, and I’ve never seen one.”

Well, that settled one bloody question, she thought. If he’d been the one playing tricks, he would have told her the ghost was real. Still, it was bloody funny the way he got upset about it.

She was about to change the subject when Ross said quietly, “I dinna like to speak ill of the dead, but I never liked the bloke. He was too familiar with the ladies, always leading them on, until he got bored with them and went looking for someone new.”

“You knew him, then?” Gertie said in surprise. “Before you came here, I mean.”

“Ay, I knew him. But I dinna want to talk about him. He’s dead, and he can’t hurt anyone else now.” He looked down at her, the twinkle back in his eyes. “I’d much rather talk about you.”

Gertie tossed her head. “Seems as if Peter Stewart wasn’t the only bloody flirt around.” She gave the pram a firm push, sending it bowling along ahead of her.

Before she could grab the handle again, Ross had taken hold of it. Pushing it easily with one hand, he gazed down at the two little mounds beneath the blankets.

“These are very young bairns,” he said, his voice sort of hushed.

“Almost three months.” Gertie felt a fierce rush of pride. All of a sudden she wanted to show off the babies to him.

“I had no idea.” He looked at her then, his eyes full of warm sympathy that made her stomach go squishy. “It must be very difficult for you, having to take care of two wee bairns all by yourself.”

She managed a casual shrug. “Nah, it’s not so bad. Mrs. Chubb and the twins, Doris and Daisy, help me take care of them. It’s handy having the babies near me when I’m working. I can hear them when they’re crying, and when it’s time to feed them I can just—”

She broke off, her face growing hot.

Ross paused, bringing the pram to a halt. “I bet you don’t get out much at all, do you?” he said gently.

Gertie shook her head. For some strange reason, she felt like crying. “I don’t mind. I have the babies now, you see, and they take up all me time. Don’t know what I’d bleeding do with meself if I did go out, anyhow. Not much to do down here, ’specially in the winter. In the summer we’re too bleeding busy to go anywhere.”

“I’m going to be playing the pipes at the Tartan Ball tomorrow night.”

“Yes,” Gertie said awkwardly. “I know.”

“I’d like it fine if you could be there to hear me play.”

She shook her head, furious with herself for wishing so bad that she could be there. “I’m not allowed to go. Not unless madam invites me, and she’s not bloody likely to do that. The only time I went to a ball was after my blinking wedding, when everyone went back to the hotel after the service.”

“I see.”

She daren’t look up at him. She was afraid that one look into those wicked eyes and she’d agree to anything.

“Well, how about joining me for a drink afterward? We could go down to the George, or perhaps there’s somewhere
in the hotel we could go? Somewhere where we could have a spot of privacy?”

She made the mistake of looking at him then. “I have to go back,” she said abruptly, and whisked the pram around before he had a chance to protest.

“Please, Gertie.” Once more he fell in step beside her, keeping pace with her furiously marching feet. “I get awful lonely here. I don’t know a soul, except for one or two of the pipers, and none of us really get along. I really would like some company.”

“I can’t bloody get away just like that,” Gertie said desperately.

“I miss my wife and bairns, Gertie. Just like you must miss your husband. What’s the harm with a wee drink or two? Just between two lonely friends, that is.”

Gertie gritted her teeth.

“I promise that’s all it is, Gertie. I swear, on God’s honor, I willna lay a hand on you.”

She had reached the steps of the hotel. All she had to do was wheel the pram down the path along the wall to the kitchen yard. He could hardly follow her into the bleeding kitchen.

“Can I at least push the pram for you across the yard?”

She shook her head, refusing to look at him again.

“Very well, I can see I’m wasting my time. I’m sorry I bothered you, Gertie. Never fear, I willna bother you again. God bless you, lass.”

She watched his back as he slowly climbed the steps. He had almost reached the door when she called out. “I could meet you in a card room.”

She didn’t think he’d heard her, but after a slight pause he turned around and came back down the steps. She almost cried at the look of hope on his face.

“A card room?”

She nodded, eager now that she’d made up her mind. “We’ve got six of them, down in the cellar. No one’s
supposed to know about them except for the ones what pay to play down there, so don’t tell no one, all right?”

Ross grinned, showing his even white teeth. With a swift movement of his hand he made a sign of the cross across his chest. “Swear to God. Where do I find this card room?”

“I’ll have to take you down there. Meet me in the conservatory after the entertainment tomorrow night.”

“Ay, I will that.”

She nodded, her heart pounding so hard she felt sure it was going to come right through her chest. “All right, then. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

Ross lifted his hand and touched his forehead. “Until tomorrow night, Gertie.” He seemed to spring up the steps this time. Reaching the top, he turned and blew her a kiss. Before she had fully recovered, he’d disappeared inside the doors.

Cheeky bugger, she told herself, but she smiled at the thought. It was bleeding funny, but now she didn’t feel cold at all.

“I think,” Cecily said as she rose from her chair in Baxter’s office, “that I shall have lunch in the dining room for a change. I have been taking my meals in my suite of late, but that can be a little lonely at times.”

“Yes, madam. I am quite familiar with that feeling.”

She gave him a quick glance, but he seemed to be preoccupied with the open ledger on his desk. “Would you care to join me, Baxter? I should enjoy your company for lunch.”

She expected him to appear shocked, and perhaps utter a faint rebuke. Instead, he surprised her by saying mildly, “Thank you, madam. I would enjoy your company, also. Unfortunately I have a pressing engagement with an expense ledger. I regret I shall be unable to join you in the dining room.”

She was still wondering how to answer that when a light tap was followed immediately by Gertie’s voice saying,
“Excuse me, mum, could I have a word with you, if you please?”

Cecily smiled at the housemaid, who stood in the doorway looking unsure of herself for once. “Of course, Gertie. I was on my way to the dining room. We can talk on the way.”

“As a matter of fact, mum,” Gertie said, casting a quick glance at Baxter, “I wanted to talk to Mr. Baxter as well. To you both, I mean.”

Cecily frowned. “This sounds serious, Gertie. You had better come in and close the door.” She watched the housemaid edge inside the door and close it behind her. Noticing the dark shadows under the girl’s eyes, she felt a twinge of anxiety.

Gertie stood with her back to the door and pushed the strap of her apron higher over her shoulder. She’d tied her black hair back in a knot, and her prominent cheekbones seemed to stand out above the hollows in her cheeks. “Mrs. Sinclair, Mr. Baxter, I wanted to ask you a favor, like.”

“You are not well, Gertie?” Cecily laid a hand on the housemaid’s shoulder. “If you need more rest—”

“No, no, mum. It’s nothing like that. I’m all right, honest I am. Bit tired, that’s all.”

“Well, then, girl, what is it?” Baxter demanded, sounding impatient.

Really worried now, Cecily continued to study the nervous girl. This wasn’t like Gertie at all. Usually she had no trouble saying what she wanted to say, often to the point where it was difficult to shut her up.

“Well, it’s two things, actually, mum.” Gertie visibly straightened her back when Cecily dropped her hand. “First, I wanted to report that someone is bleeding playing tricks on the housemaids. One of the bloody pipers, I think, mum. And the other thing is that I wanted to ask you and Mr. Baxter if you would like to be godparents to my twins.”

The words had come out in such a rush it took Cecily a
moment or two to absorb them. “Oh, my,” she said as she met Gertie’s beseeching look. “This is a surprise.”

Behind her, Baxter cleared his throat.

Cecily dared not look at him. Instead, she said warmly, “Thank you, Gertie. I am very flattered that you wish to entrust the care of your babies to me. Of course, I would love to be their godmother.”

A smile of relief lit up Gertie’s face. “Oh, thank you, mum, I don’t know what I would have bleeding done if you’d said no. There ain’t no one else to ask, and I—”

Again Baxter cleared his throat. Louder this time.

Gertie snapped her mouth shut and sent him a nervous look.