7 Pay the Piper (14 page)

Elsie seemed satisfied with that. “I’ll come down to the door with you,” she said, and led the way back down the dark narrow stairs to the shop below.

Standing at the door to the street, Cecily shivered in the cool wind. “One last question,” she said. “You said that something woke you up in time for you to see your husband walking up the road. What do you think it was that disturbed you out of a sound sleep?”

Elsie thought about that for a moment or two. Finally she said slowly, “I think it might have been this door closing. I remember thinking at the time that it was Tom coming back from the pub, until I looked outside and saw him walking up the road.”

Cecily nodded. “Thank you, Elsie.” She turned to leave, but paused as Elsie spoke again.

“Strange thing, now that I come to think about it. I thought I saw Peter walking away from the shop at that time. I thought perhaps he’d come to see me and had seen my Tom coming. Then, of course, he’d have to leave.”

Elsie gave a little laugh that held no humor. “But it couldn’t have been Peter, could it. Unless it was his ghost. I mean, he was dead by then, wasn’t he?”

“Yes,” Cecily said quietly, “I do believe he was.” She stepped out into the street, trying not to think about all the stories she’d heard lately about Peter Stewart’s ghost.

“Try not to worry,” she said, smiling at Elsie. “Now that I know there is another key, there’s a chance we may discover who else might have been in this shop the night of the murder.”

“The thing is,” Elsie said with a worried little frown, “where is the key now? I don’t think the constable could have found it on Peter Stewart’s body, or he would have known there was more than one key.”

“That’s a very good question,” Cecily said, “and one that I have already asked myself. Which brings up yet another question. Why do you think Tom lied about the existence of your key?”

Elsie shrugged. “I can’t imagine, Mrs. Sinclair.”

“Well, it’s something to think about,” Cecily said. Looking down the street, she saw Samuel driving the trap toward her. Steam poured from the chestnut’s nose as it halted in front of the shop, pawing the ground impatiently at this undesirable delay in getting back to the warm stables.

“Thank you, Elsie,” Cecily said, giving the other woman an encouraging smile. “You’ve been very helpful.”

“You will do your best to find out who done it, Mrs. Sinclair?” Elsie asked anxiously.

Cecily patted the woman’s arm. “Don’t worry, I shan’t rest until I find out the truth. You can be assured of that.”

Bidding Elsie goodbye, Cecily stepped across the pavement to the trap.

Samuel sprang down and offered her his hand. She took it and stepped up into the draughty compartment. Settling down in the corner of the seat, she ordered Samuel back to the hotel as quickly as possible. The wind seemed to have grown considerably colder since her visit to the butcher’s shop.

As the trap drew away, Cecily looked out through the narrow slit in the back of the canopy. Elsie Abbittson was still standing in the doorway, staring after the trap as if she was waiting to make sure it moved out of sight.

Settling back in her seat, Cecily thought about her
interesting conversation with the butcher’s wife. She couldn’t help but wonder if Elsie had been completely honest with her. After all, she had lied before.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, the words of Dr. Prestwick echoed persistently.
His throat was neatly slit with a butcher’s knife. Much as a butcher would slaughter beef
. After all, who would know as much as a butcher about slitting throats and hanging carcasses if not his wife?

The carriage jogged at a smart pace along the Esplanade, past the lonely, windswept beach and the deserted gift shops. Deep in thought, Cecily hardly noticed the tiny flakes of snow drifting from a leaden sky.

If Tom didn’t have the missing key, she silently reasoned, and neither did Elsie; if that lady was telling the truth, and it wasn’t found on Peter Stewart’s body, then, as Elsie so succinctly put it, where was it now?

Looking up, she saw the solid white walls of the hotel waiting for her at the end of the Esplanade. As always, the sight comforted her. There the security of her home and her friends waited for her.

As for Peter Stewart, if the rumors that abounded were to be believed, that poor man could not find rest even in death. It was a very sobering thought.

CHAPTER
14

A short time later Cecily sat in an armchair in the library, allowing the heat from the glowing coals in the fireplace to thaw out her bones. Mrs. Chubb had brought her a pot of tea and some warm scones, together with her homemade lemon curd, while Gertie had been in to stoke up the fire so that the flames roared up the chimney.

Setting her feet on the fender, Cecily hoped she wouldn’t get chilblains. The itchy sores on one’s hands and feet seemed to be a constant nuisance for some people during the cold winter months. Fortunately Cecily had remained immune to the condition. She had always maintained that plenty of exercise kept the circulation moving.

A light tap on the door made her lift her head expectantly.
The door opened, and she smiled as Baxter poked his head around it.

“Ah, there you are, madam. I thought I might find you in here. May I come in, or would you prefer some privacy?”

“Do come in, Baxter, and please, close the door behind you. I am absolutely frozen, and I don’t want the heat escaping from the room.”

“Yes, madam.” He stepped inside and gently closed the door, but remained standing with his back to it, watching her with a slight look of concern on his face. “You must take better care of yourself during the winter, madam. It is so easy to catch a chill in this weather.”

She gave him another smile. “Don’t worry, Baxter. I shall soon warm up now. These scones are excellent. Would you care for one?”

He gave a negative shake of his head. “Thank you, madam. I have not long eaten two of them. Mrs. Chubb was kind enough to give them to me hot from the oven.”

Cecily shook her head at him in mock disapproval. “Very bad for the digestion.”

“Yes, madam.”

“But delicious, I grant you.” She took a bite out of the scone, relishing the tangy flavor of lemon curd and clotted cream.

Baxter waited for her to finish the tasty morsel before asking, “I trust all went well at the butcher’s shop this afternoon?”

“Yes. Very well, as a matter of fact.” She drained the last of her tea and replaced the cup in its saucer. “Baxter, do move closer to the fire, for heaven’s sake. This room is so large you can’t feel the warmth of the fire unless you are standing on top of it.”

Baxter hesitated for a moment, then slowly edged over a few steps.

“There,” Cecily said happily, “that’s better, isn’t it? Much more cozy, don’t you think?”

He gave her an inscrutable look and said quietly, “Indubitably, madam.”

Sighing, Cecily leaned back in her chair. “I must admit, I find the cold weather rather tiring. It’s so much easier to get around in the summer, without having to wrap oneself in a ridiculous amount of clothing to keep warm.”

“Yes, madam.”

He’d sounded uncomfortable with the course of the conversation, and she took pity on him. “I talked to Elsie Abbittson,” she said, changing the subject. “I do believe she was telling the truth when she said she saw her husband walk up the street then fall down in a drunken stupor outside the shop.”

“Then that leaves the question of how someone else managed to take possession of the key.”

“Well, that’s the point. As a matter of fact, there are two keys after all.” Quickly she recounted the gist of the conversation that had taken place between her and Elsie. After she had finished, Baxter was silent for a long moment, apparently digesting everything she had told him.

“According to Samuel,” Cecily went on, “Peter Stewart fought with Tom Abbittson in the George and Dragon the night he was murdered. Peter then left the pub, apparently to meet with Elsie.”

“Someone followed him, do you think?”

“If Elsie is telling the truth, yes, I think someone might have followed Peter Stewart to the shop. He waited until his victim was inside the shop, then followed him inside and killed him there. He then took the key from the piper, let himself out of the shop, and locked the door behind him. No doubt he intended that Tom Abbittson should be suspected of the murder.”

Baxter clasped his hands behind his back, lifting his chin in contemplation. Finally he said, “It is a valid theory, I agree. Isn’t it possible, however, that Tom Abbittson followed Stewart back to the shop? Then, realizing that the
piper intended calling on Elsie, he could have killed him in a jealous rage.”

“He could have,” Cecily agreed, “but he didn’t. I’m quite sure that Peter Stewart was already dead when Tom arrived back at the shop.”

Baxter raised an eyebrow. “You are certain that Elsie was not lying in order to protect her husband?”

“I am certain she was telling the truth about Tom’s innocence. You see, if there were two keys, why would Tom lie and insist that there was only one? It’s the most damaging piece of evidence against him. He had nothing to gain by insisting he had the only key.”

“It does seem a strange thing to do.”

“Unless, that is, he suspected the murderer to be the only other person who could have been inside the shop at the time.” She leaned forward to make her point. “His wife, Baxter. He lied to protect her.”

“Good Lord,” Baxter said, looking impressed. “In which case, if he suspected his wife, he could hardly have done the murder himself.”

“Baxter, it is so comforting to join forces with a man of intelligence.”

“Thank you, madam.”

Cecily wiggled her slowly warming toes inside her house shoes, enjoying the smug look on Baxter’s face. “Now that we have eliminated Tom as the suspect, either someone else did indeed follow Peter Stewart and take the key from him, or we are left with Elsie. She could have had an argument with Peter, I suppose. Perhaps he threatened to tell her husband about their little tryst.”

She paused, staring thoughtfully up at him. “In any case, it would seem that whoever has the key is mostly likely to be the murderer. In other words, Baxter, find the key, and we find the killer.”

“There is one small problem that might arise,” Baxter said, rubbing his hands together as if to warm them.
“Knowing that the key could incriminate him, the killer could well have thrown it away by now.”

“That is entirely possible.” She stared into the flames for a moment or two, then said quietly, “In which case, we shall have to give him a reason to use the key again, won’t we?”

“Cor blimey, Doris, there you bloody go again.” Gertie stared at the broken pieces of china sitting in a puddle of milk, which spread rapidly across the pantry floor.

“I’m sorry, Miss Brown, really I am.” Doris wrung her hands together as she stared at the mess. “It were those blessed cats again. One of them was hiding under the shelf. I sneezed, and it jumped right across my feet. It startled me so, I dropped the jug.”

Gertie tutted and lifted the hem of her skirt out of the way of the white rivulets. “Well, don’t stand there bleeding dithering, get something to clean this mess up.”

“Yes, Miss Brown.”

Doris scuttled out of the pantry, and Gertie leaned over to pick up the jagged pieces of china. Mrs. Chubb would be good and bleeding mad about this one, she thought. The third jug this week, smashed to bloody smithereens. Doris won’t half bleeding cop it this time.

The timid housemaid rushed in carrying a mop and bucket of water. “Don’t cut yourself, Miss Brown,” she said, squatting down in the puddle. “I’ll pick this up.”

“You’re getting your blinking skirt all wet.” Gertie reached for another piece of broken china, lifted the corners of her apron, and dropped the piece inside the fold. “You’re more bloody likely to cut yourself than I am. I never seen no one as nervous as you. You’re getting bleeding worse, you are.”

“It’s the ghost, Miss Brown. He keeps following me around, he does.”

“There ain’t no such thing as bloody ghosts,” Gertie said, wishing she could feel as convincing as she sounded. “I keep telling you, it’s someone playing tricks on you.
Anyhow, I told madam about it, so whoever it is better bloody watch out.”

“Ooh, ’eck, I hope he doesn’t get mad at me for telling on him,” Doris muttered.

“Telling on who?” Gertie picked up the last of the broken pieces and dropped it in her apron.

“Peter. He might get mad at me and do something terrible.”

Gertie sighed. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you—”

She broke off as Mrs. Chubb’s voice rang out from the kitchen. “Doris? Where is that girl?”

“In here, Mrs. Chubb.” Doris jumped guiltily to her feet. “I’m going to catch it now,” she said miserably. “This being the third one and all.”

Gertie felt a stab of sympathy for the girl. It wasn’t so long ago when she was terrified of the housekeeper herself. “Tell you what,” she said quietly, “I’ll tell Mrs. Chubb it were my fault this time. She won’t yell at me as loud as what she’d yell at you.”

Doris’s mouth dropped open. “Go on! You really mean it? Why would you do that?”

Gertie shrugged. “Let’s just say I’m feeling in a good mood today. But you’d better bloody get out of here quick like, before I change me bleeding mind.”

“Thank you, Miss Brown,” Doris whispered, looking as if she was about to cry. “I won’t forget this, on me honor I won’t.”

“Go on with you,” Gertie muttered, her face growing hot. She hated anyone making a fuss of her. But after Doris had gone to find out what Mrs. Chubb wanted, Gertie had to admit to feeling all nice and warm inside. Sometimes it felt really good to do something nice for somebody.

Smiling to herself, she finished mopping up the floor. Tomorrow night she would be alone in a card room with Ross McBride. Her stomach went all squishy again when she thought about it. Tomorrow night. She would never
bloody sleep tonight thinking about it. Not that she slept much with the babies, anyway.

But somehow that didn’t seem to matter anymore. Nothing mattered, except that she had twenty-four hours to get through before she could slip away to meet the most fascinating man she’d ever known.

Hearing the light tap, Cecily opened the door of her suite to find one of the twins waiting outside. The housemaid bobbed a curtsey and said in a nervous, high-pitched voice, “Mrs. Chubb said as how you wanted to speak to me, mum.”

“Yes, Doris.” Cecily peered closer. “It is Doris, isn’t it?”

The young girl nodded. “Yes, mum. Daisy’s in Miss Brown’s room with the babies.”

Cecily stood aside to allow the girl to enter the room. “Daisy seems to like taking care of the babies, so Gertie tells me.”

Doris, who was standing in the middle of the Axminster carpet gazing around at the walls, dragged her gaze back to Cecily. “Yes, mum. Daisy likes taking care of helpless things. She was always getting in trouble for bringing strays home when we lived with our aunt.”

Cecily’s smile faded, reminded of the cruel treatment the girls had suffered at the hands of their spinster aunt. “Well, I’m happy that your sister has found an outlet for her need. I’m sure Gertie appreciates the help.”

“Yes, mum.” Doris’s eyes grew wide as she spied the huge elephant tusk hanging over the fireplace.

“Doris,” Cecily said patiently, “Gertie tells me someone has been playing tricks on you. She seems to think you are quite frightened by them.”

Doris jerked her face around, a look of terror in her eyes. “It’s no one playing tricks, mum. It’s Peter Stewart, come back to haunt me.”

“Now why would he want to do that?” Cecily asked gently.

Doris’s thin shoulders jerked up and down. “P’raps he’s
cross with me, ’cause I wouldn’t go for a walk with him.”

Cecily sighed. “Doris, Peter Stewart is dead. He can’t hurt anyone now.”

“He might be dead, mum, begging your pardon, but he’s not gorn. I’ve seen him. Lots of times. I always know when he’s around ’cause it gets really, really cold. Freezing cold. Even if there’s a fire in the room. That’s when I see him.”

Cecily could feel a chill right then. Now that she thought about it, the hotel had seemed uncommonly cold of late. Shaking off her absurd thoughts, she said a trifle sharply, “You really must stop this nonsense, Doris. If you insist on talking about ghosts, the word could spread to our guests. I really don’t want my guests upset any more than they are already by this dreadful murder.”

Doris chewed her bottom lip and nodded. “Yes, mum. I won’t say nothing more, mum. Only—”

She broke off, and Cecily frowned. “Only what, Doris?”

“I just hope he stops following me around, that’s all. He’s driving me bonkers, he is.”

“Perhaps you’d better tell me exactly what it is you see.” Cecily moved closer to the fire, seeking more comfort from its warmth.

“It’s him, all right. I know what he looks like—I talked to him often enough. He stands there just looking at me. I touched him once, and me hand went right through his arm. I swear to God it did.”

“It could be a trick of the light, a reflection of someone standing out of sight. In the shadows we can often mistake what we see.”

“I touched him, mum. I went right up to him. He weren’t there, and yet he was.”

Seeing that the child was thoroughly convinced, Cecily gave up. “Very well, Doris. I don’t quite know what I can do about this, but I’ll try to find out what is happening. In the meantime, I would appreciate it if you didn’t talk about it to anyone else.”

“Yes, mum. I mean no, mum, I won’t.” Doris bobbed an awkward curtsey and headed for the door.

Long after she had gone, Cecily was still trying to convince herself that Doris’s fears were nothing more than an active imagination.

Belowstairs, Gertie reached her room just in time to hear a lusty howl from the babies. She’d timed it just about right, she thought grimly as she opened the door. Daisy was walking up and down holding one of the twins in her arms, while the other one yelled in outrage at being neglected.

Scooping up the baby in her arms, Gertie muttered a few soothing words. Immediately the baby turned its small face toward her, seeking a breast.

“Bloody always hungry, these two,” Gertie mumbled as she sank onto the side of the bed. She peered into the red face of the baby as it drew strongly on her milk. “Can tell you’re a boy, all right. Never bleeding satisfied.”

She looked up at the housemaid, who sat quietly murmuring to the squalling baby in her arms. “You doing anything special tomorrow night?”