7 Pay the Piper (13 page)

Steeling herself, Cecily turned to face him. She’d intended to signal with her eyes that he should accept, no matter how he felt about it. She was determined to spare Gertie any hurt feelings.

To her surprise, Baxter’s face was pink, and she could tell he was pleased, even though his mouth barely moved in a tight smile.

“Thank you, Gertie,” he said, inclining his head in a small bow. “It is indeed an honor. I accept with the greatest of pleasure.”

“Oh, Gawd.” Gertie breathed a sigh. “Thank you, sir. Thank you ever so much. Oh, wait till I tell Mrs. Chubb. She’ll be tickled pink, she will.”

“Yes, well, don’t spend your day tattling about it to one and all,” Baxter said, reverting to his pompous tone again.

“Yes, sir … mum … oh, thank you.” She bobbed a curtsey. “Me babies will be in bloody good hands if anything happens to me, that they will.” She started to open the door, but Cecily stopped her with a hand on the housemaid’s arm.

“One moment, Gertie. You mentioned something about someone playing tricks?”

“Oh, yes, mum. In all the bleeding excitement I forgot about it. It’s Doris, mostly, mum. Bloody hysterical, she is
sometimes. Keeps thinking she’s seeing ghosts. She says as how it’s that Peter Stewart who got murdered what’s following her around. Course, I told her she was blinking daft, and that it was just someone playing tricks, but you know how Doris is, mum. Silly little bugger sometimes, she is.”

Cecily jumped in while Gertie paused for breath. “Yes, but what exactly did Doris see?”

Gertie shrugged, losing her strap over her shoulder again in the process. “Dunno exactly. Doris said he kept disappearing like. Anyway, I went into the conservatory to have a look.”

She paused, as if not quite sure what she had seen.

Cecily felt a small flutter under her ribs. “What did you see?” she prompted gently.

“Well, it was queer, mum, but it was like a shadow, on the French windows. I think it was someone standing outside, but I couldn’t see no one. Then it sort of … disappeared. I didn’t wait around to look anymore. I just left.”

Cecily nodded gravely. “Thank you, Gertie. We’ll look into it.”

“Yes, mum.” Again Gertie dropped a curtsey, then hurried off down the passageway.

“Well,” Cecily said, turning back to Baxter, “what do you think of that?”

“I think that the young lady has excellent taste.” Baxter puffed out his chest and stuck his thumbs inside the armholes of his waistcoat. “She has chosen the best possible godparents for her offspring, if I might say so.”

Cecily laughed. “I happen to agree, Baxter. But I wasn’t referring to her request. I was talking about Doris and her ghost.”

Baxter uttered a scornful sound in his throat. “If we were to take notice of the hysterical imagination of the younger members of our staff, we would be wasting our time constantly investigating such nonsense.”

“I hardly think it nonsense that someone is deliberately
frightening the girls,” Cecily said in mild reproof. “Upsetting someone to that degree goes beyond the bounds of innocent mischief.”

Baxter sighed. “Very well, madam. I will look into it. Where would you suggest I start?”

“Never mind, Baxter. You have enough to do at the moment wrestling with that ledger. I’ll have a word with Doris when I get back from Abbittson’s.”

“Yes, madam.”

Cecily paused at the door and looked back at him. “I think you will make a wonderful godfather,” she said softly, then quickly left the room before he had time to answer her.

CHAPTER
13

Cecily was quite disturbed to find Abbittson’s butcher shop closed when she arrived there later that day. She hoped the butcher’s wife was at home, and not at the police station visiting her husband. Taking hold of the brass door knocker on the front door, she rapped the lion’s head sharply against its base several times.

Waiting for Elsie to answer, she watched Samuel guide the chestnut and trap around the corner, no doubt heading for the George and Dragon before returning in an hour as Cecily had ordered.

Several women were shopping in the High Street, carrying loaded baskets on their arms as they hurried in and out of Wilson’s the greengrocer’s or Shuttleworth’s the grocer’s.

A motorcar pulled up with a great deal of noise and
smoke in front of Botham’s Chemist Shop on the corner. Cecily watched the driver hurry into the chemist’s, his head heavily swathed in cap and scarf and his face hidden behind a pair of large goggles.

Farther down the street she could hear the bell jingling on the door of Dolly’s Tea Shop as the primarily female customers jostled for a space in the crowded dining room, all eager for their afternoon tea.

The door of the butcher’s shop opened with a loud jangle, taking Cecily by surprise. She turned to see the worried face of Elsie Abbittson peering at her through the crack in the doorway.

Upon seeing her visitor, Elsie opened the door wider. “Why, Mrs. Sinclair! This is a surprise.”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Elsie,” Cecily said, thankful to find the woman at home. “I wonder if I might have a word with you?”

Elsie’s face turned white, then pink. “Have you found out who done it?”

Regretfully Cecily shook her head. “I’m sorry. I wish I had better news.”

Elsie clutched her throat. “It’s not Tom, is it? I mean, they haven’t … he’s not … ?”

“Oh, no, this has nothing to do with Tom,” Cecily hastened to reassure the woman. “Well, it has, I suppose—” She broke off as Elsie made a little moaning noise. “Perhaps if I could come inside? I promise I won’t keep you long.”

“Oh, forgive me, Mrs. Sinclair. Don’t know what I was thinking of, really.” Elsie stepped back and allowed Cecily to step through the doorway.

The odor inside the shop was unpleasant, and Cecily gladly followed Elsie as she hurriedly led the way up a narrow staircase to the flat above.

The drawing room into which Elsie ushered her was quite spacious, with two very large windows that looked down upon the busy High Street. The steady clop of hoofbeats
outside could be heard quite clearly in the quiet room as Cecily took a sat on a worn padded armchair.

Resting her elbows on the wooden arms, Cecily smiled at Elsie, who hurriedly snatched her fingers away from her mouth.

“Can I get you some tea?” Elsie offered, looking as if she’d faint away if Cecily accepted.

“Thank you, no. I have not long finished my lunch.” Cecily looked around the shabby room. One wall was dominated by the fireplace, a rather glamorous affair in black marble edged in gold.

The High Street had once consisted of quite elegant Victorian homes. With the advent of the tourist trade in Badgers End, most of the houses had been converted into shops on the lower level, leaving what would have been the bedrooms at one time to serve as the living quarters of the shop owners.

Glancing up at the high ceiling, Cecily admired the ornamental rose in the center. The heavily decorated centerpiece must have been quite spectacular at one time, with perhaps a gleaming chandelier to softly light the room.

Now the ceiling was bare of any fixtures, the room apparently lit by the small gas lamps on the pedestal tables in each corner. The rose-patterned carpet, once quite luxurious, had worn through almost to the backing in some spots.

“What did you come to tell me?” Elsie said, her voice pitched high with nervous strain.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Cecily said hastily. “I was admiring this room.”

“Thank you,” Elsie murmured, looking taken aback.

“Have you seen your husband since he was taken away?”

Obviously unnerved by this unexpected question, Elsie sat down a little too abruptly in a heavy oak rocking chair. The chair rocked back sharply, and Elsie clutched the arms with a little gasp.

Righting herself, she said breathlessly, “They won’t let
me see him. Not until he’s properly charged, that is. P.C. Northcott is waiting for Inspector Cranshaw to come from Wellercombe. He said that could take days.”

Cecily sighed. “I’m afraid that it usually does take the inspector some time to get here. He always seems to have something more important to take care of in Wellercombe.”

“Well, he’d better hurry up and get here soon. I can just imagine my Tom, shut up in that awful dark room in the police station. Though I daresay prison’s worse.”

“Infinitely worse,” Cecily said quietly. “I’m sorry, Elsie, but I’m afraid that things do not look too encouraging for Tom. It seems the evidence is piling up against him.”

She paused, watching the other woman’s face closely. “It’s the fact that he had the only key to the door in his possession, you see. The police are quite convinced that there was no forced entry into the shop. It just doesn’t seem possible that anyone else could have entered the shop, committed the murder, then left again, locking the door behind him.”

“I suppose it doesn’t,” Elsie said miserably.

Cecily waited a moment or two, while a horse pulled a loudly creaking carriage down the street. The sound faded, and she folded her gloved hands in her lap. “I’m very much afraid, Elsie, that Tom is almost certain to be convicted of murder.”

Elsie uttered a sharp cry. “No, he can’t be. I can’t let them take him away.” She started to cry, causing Cecily to regret the necessity of her harsh words.

She swiftly rose and patted the weeping woman’s shoulder. “There, there, my dear. Can I get you something?”

Elsie shook her head. She poked her fingers into her sleeves and came out with a large white handkerchief. Cecily waited while the butcher’s wife blew her nose, then tucked the handkerchief back in her sleeve.

For a long moment she stared into her lap. Then she looked up again, with a look of defiance on her flushed face. “There is another key.”

“I see.” Feeling somewhat more justified for her ruthlessness, Cecily returned to her seat. “Perhaps you had better tell me about it.”

Elsie nodded and started nibbling on her thumb. After a moment, she looked at Cecily, tears still glimmering in her eyes. “I couldn’t say anything before, Mrs. Sinclair. I wanted to, but I was afraid Tom would kill me. He’s got such a temper and …” She gulped as a sob took her breath away.

Cecily nodded, her face creased in sympathy. She said nothing, waiting for the woman to regain her composure.

Finally Elsie went on. “I knew Peter Stewart, you see. I met him when he came into the town.” Fishing in her sleeve again, she pulled out the handkerchief and once more loudly blew her nose.

“He was in Dolly’s Tea Shop,” Elsie continued, her voice quavering. “He was in such a state, Mrs. Sinclair. He’d overslept, you see, and he’d missed the first day of the band practice at the church hall. He was feeling sorry for himself, and he wasn’t looking what he was doing. He knocked his hot cup of tea all over me.”

She pulled back her sleeve and showed Cecily a red stain on her arm. “Scalded my arm, he did. Of course, he was full of apologies. Such a gentleman he was.”

Tears filled her eyes again, and she blinked them back. “He never meant any real harm, Mrs. Sinclair. We got to talking, and one thing led to another, like it does sometimes.”

Cecily pursed her lips. “Is that the reason Tom was fighting with Peter Stewart in the George and Dragon?”

Elsie lifted her shoulders in a gesture of despair. “I don’t know. I haven’t been able to talk to either of them since … since …”

She gulped, and Cecily said quietly, “Take your time, Elsie. Take a few deep breaths, and go on when you feel ready.”

Elsie nodded and blew her nose again. “Anyway, it was
partly Tom’s fault really. He was always down the pub, leaving me alone every night. I mean, there was nothing to do except sit and wait all by myself for him to come home.”

She sniffed loudly. “It wouldn’t have been so bad, you see, if we’d had babies. But the good Lord hasn’t blessed us with any, and I was so lonely. When I met Peter, he was so nice to me. He was such a handsome man, younger than me, he was, and he made me feel like a beautiful woman when he looked at me with those big admiring eyes of his.”

She paused for a moment, half smiling at the memory, and Cecily felt a stirring of pity for the neglected woman.

“Anyway,” Elsie said after a moment of silence, “when I told Peter how Tom was always off, leaving me alone all the time, he suggested he come over and see me. While Tom was down the pub, like.”

“So Peter was coming to see you the night he was killed,” Cecily said, beginning to understand at last.

Elsie nodded her head. “I suppose he must have been, otherwise why would he have been in the shop? I don’t really know for sure, of course. But he did come the night before he was killed. I know I shouldn’t have done it, but I sort of lost my head. It’s been a very long time since anyone made me feel like a real woman.”

Once more she seemed on the verge of tears. Cecily leaned forward and said quietly, “I do believe I will take that cup of tea, Elsie. I think it might do us both good.”

Elsie nodded and jumped to her feet. “I’ll get it right away, Mrs. Sinclair.”

She disappeared into a small room off the living room, while Cecily mulled over in her mind what she had heard. Apparently Tom had a violent temper, judging by Elsie’s fear of him. If he had learned about Peter Stewart’s visit to his wife, it would give him a very strong motive for murder.

Perhaps, Cecily thought uneasily, for once she was mistaken in her judgment. Perhaps this time P.C. Northcott had been right for a change.

Within a few minutes, Elsie was back with the tea. Taking
the cup and saucer from her shaking hand, Cecily thanked her. The room was quiet for a minute or two, while both women sipped at their tea. Then Elsie put her cup down in her saucer with a clatter.

“I gave Peter my key, you see,” she said, as Cecily put down her own cup and saucer. “I thought it best. Peter wasn’t sure if he could come, and I didn’t want to have to wait all evening for him in the shop. I couldn’t have him knocking on the door, or the neighbors would have heard him. Nosy lot, our neighbors. More likely than not they would have asked Tom who it was who was visiting his wife while he was away down the pub.”

“So Peter took your key?” Cecily prompted, after another long moment of silence.

Elsie nodded. “He let himself into the shop and came up to the flat. We spent a lovely evening together. He made me laugh a lot, that’s something I haven’t done in a while. We danced a bit, and he kissed me a few times, but that was all. I wouldn’t let him do anything else.” She looked up as if remembering to whom she was speaking. “Oh, forgive me, Mrs. Sinclair. I didn’t mean to sound vulgar.”

“That’s all right, Elsie. Go on.” Cecily reached for her cup and saucer again.

“Well, anyway, when he left, Peter asked if he could take the key with him again. He wanted to come back the next night, you see. We’d both had such a lovely time, and he said the pub wasn’t much fun, what with all the fighting and everything.”

“So he did plan on coming to see you the night he was murdered?”

“Yes. He said he had to go down there first, so it wouldn’t look strange him not being there, but he’d slip away as soon as he could.” Elsie’s voice was so soft, Cecily had to strain to hear it. “I waited all evening for him,” she said. “When he didn’t come, I thought maybe he couldn’t get away from the pub. Instead of that, someone had cut his throat
and … left him hanging on a hook … in our cellar. Poor Peter.”

Dissolving into a flood of tears, Elsie sat rocking herself back and forth, while Cecily did her best to comfort the distraught woman. Finally Elsie seemed to get herself under control again.

“I need to know something,” Cecily said, when the tears had finally dried on Elsie’s drawn face. “And I must insist that you tell me the truth this time.”

Elsie nodded. “I’ve told you everything now. Honest I have.”

“I need to know,” Cecily said firmly, “if you were speaking the truth when you said that you saw your husband walking up the street from the George and Dragon, and that you saw him fall down in front of the store, apparently unconscious.”

“I swear it, Mrs. Sinclair. On the Bible, I swear it. I saw him fall down. I was upset, you see, about not seeing Peter, and that’s why I didn’t go down at first. Let him sleep it off, I thought. It was his own bloody fault if he caught cold. Always coming home drunk. But then after a while I felt sorry for him. I went down there just as he was waking up. Just like I told you.”

“And you heard nothing in between the time you saw Tom fall down and when you went down to bring him back up to the flat?”

“Nothing. I tell you, Mrs. Sinclair, if Tom, or anyone else for that matter, had come into that shop after I woke up and saw my husband coming up the road, I certainly would have heard him. I didn’t go back to sleep until after Tom came back to bed with me.”

Cecily finished her tea and put down the cup and saucer. “If there had been a fight while you were asleep, would you have heard it, then, do you think?”

Elsie took her time thinking about that. Finally she said slowly, “It’s possible, I suppose. I sleep pretty soundly at times. The cellar is two floors below this one. There could
have been a fight down there without me hearing it, but I would have to be sound asleep.”

Cecily smiled as she rose to her feet. “Thank you for being honest with me, Elsie.”

“You won’t have to tell Tom about Peter Stewart, will you?” Elsie sprang up from the chair, leaving it rocking furiously behind her. “I don’t want Tom to go to prison for something he didn’t do, but he has such a temper on him …”

“I can’t promise anything,” Cecily said gently. “I’m sorry. I can only say that if it’s at all possible to keep your relationship with Peter Stewart a secret, I will do so.”