7 Pay the Piper (15 page)

Daisy looked up in surprise. “I’m off after I’ve helped get the ballroom ready for the ball. I have to clear the tables away so they can dance.”

“Yeah, I know. I mean after that.”

“I’ll probably want to go to bed after that. I have to be up at four in the morning.”

Gertie nodded, feeling guilty. She knew how miserable it was, getting up in the dark on a cold winter’s morning to light the fires. She’d done it often enough herself.

“Did you want me to look after the twins, then?” Daisy asked, raising her voice to be heard above Lilly’s yelling.

“Well, I was going to ask you, if you wouldn’t mind. I’ll pay you thruppence to do it.”

Daisy shook her head. “Nah. I don’t want no money for it.”

“All right, then I’ll get up the next morning and light the bloody fires for you. That’s only fair.”

Daisy regarded her with her usual solemn expression. “Will you be gone all night, then?”

Gertie shook her head. “Course not. No more than half an hour, I shouldn’t think.”

Daisy looked back at the baby writhing in her arms. “You don’t have to do my job, Miss Brown. I like taking care of the babies. Besides, they wake you up in the night, and you need your sleep. I’d only have to get up the next morning to look after them if you were doing the fires, wouldn’t I?”

Gertie grinned at her. “S’pose you’re right. Thank you, Daisy. I won’t bleeding forget it. I swear I won’t.”

“It’s nothing. Like I said, I like taking care of them.”

Pulling James from her breast, Gertie handed the baby over to Daisy and took Lilly from her.

“Where will you be going, then?” Daisy asked, pushing her finger into James’s tiny fist. “That’s if you don’t mind me asking?”

Gertie hesitated. She was dying to tell someone about it, but she wasn’t sure Daisy was the person to confide in. But then, who else could she tell? Daisy was the closest thing she had to a sister, and somehow she knew she could trust her. Even if the poor sod did go around with a gloomy face all the time.

“Well,” she said with an air of imparting a confidence, “if you want to know, I’m meeting someone. Only don’t tell no one. This is our little secret.”

Daisy looked up, with the first spark of interest Gertie had ever seen in her eyes. “You meeting a man?”

Gertie felt the squishy feeling again in her stomach. “Yeah, a real nice man. We’re just going to have a chat, that’s all. But we want to have some privacy like, where no nosy bugger is going to listen in on us.”

“Where you meeting him, then?”

Gertie put a finger to her lips. “Don’t tell no one,” she
whispered. “I’m going to meet him in one of the card rooms.”

Daisy looked shocked. “In the hotel?”

“He’s staying here in the hotel, ain’t he? It’ll be bloody easy enough.”

Gertie felt uneasy as Daisy stared at her in growing horror. “You’re not going to meet that piper, are you?”

“Yeah, I bloody am. Why not?”

“After what happened to Doris? She got friendly with one of them, and he got murdered.”

Gertie managed a strained laugh. “Well, don’t you worry. No one is going to murder this one.” Glancing down at Lilly’s face, she said softly, “Well, look at that. Fast asleep.”

Thankful for the opportunity to change the subject, she laid Lilly down in the cot and held out her arms for James. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, then,” she said, trying not to let her uneasiness show in her voice. “After you’re finished with the ballroom.”

Daisy nodded, looking worried. “I’ll be here, Miss Brown. But if I were you I’d think twice about what you’re doing.”

Gertie managed a fairly decent laugh. “You worry too much, Daisy. I’ll be fine, I will. I’m old enough in the tooth to know what I’m doing, I reckon.” She jerked her head at the babies. “It’s not as if I haven’t been around, now is it? It’ll be all right, you’ll see.”

She watched the door close behind Daisy, her own words still ringing in her ears. “It will be all right,” she whispered. But the squishy feeling in her stomach had turned into something else. Something that didn’t feel half as good. In fact, it didn’t feel good at all.

CHAPTER
15

Saturday morning, the day of the Tartan Ball, dawned clear and cold. Phoebe, up with the lark as usual, had dressed with special care for the final dress rehearsal at the village hall.

Her favorite pearl-gray two-piece, which had been carefully re-tailored to meet the current fashion, fitted her to perfection, and the new peach organza collar she had sewn on to her blouse revitalized the entire outfit.

As always, her pièce de résistance was her purple hat, upon which she had labored for hours sewing into place the pink velvet rosebuds, several yards of pale green tulle, and, at great expense, three white doves.

Well satisfied with her appearance that morning, Phoebe pulled on her elbow-length gray kid gloves, placed her
slightly moth-eaten fur wrap around her shoulders, and set off for the village hall.

Arriving somewhat out of breath several minutes later, she was irritated to find her young ladies, who were supposed to set an example of grace and elegance, engaged in a riotous version of a vulgar dance known as “Hands, Knees, and Bumps-a-Daisy.”

The movements, as far as Phoebe could see, consisted of partners slapping each other’s palms, then their own knees, and finally an utterly disgraceful “bumping” against each other’s hips. All this accompanied by a shrill, tuneless rendition of the song, punctuated by annoyingly hysterical shrieks of laughter.

It did not improve Phoebe’s frame of mind to discover Alec McPherson watching this shameful display with a certain amount of attention.

“Really!” she said to him, after having restored a somewhat tenuous order to the proceedings. “I would have thought that someone of your standing would have discouraged such uncouth shenanigans.”

“Och, dinna fash yourself, Phoebe. The young ladies were only letting off a bit o’ steam.”

“Steam!” Phoebe emphasized this with a vigorous and quite magnificent toss of her head, which set the large brim of her hat wobbling up and down. “These young ladies, as you call them, were acting like hooligans.”

She couldn’t imagine why he had not supported her. Thoroughly disappointed with her companion’s sudden and inexplicable lack of sympathy, Phoebe turned on the girls, who were standing in a group whispering and giggling together. “Ladies!” She clapped her hands to add emphasis to her command. “Give me your attention,
please
!”

The girls nudged each other and shuffled obediently around to face her. “Gawd,” one of them whispered, loud enough for Phoebe to hear, “cast your peepers on them blooming sparrers.”

Phoebe stiffened her back and flung out her bosom.
“They are not sparrows, Marion. They are doves. Not that you would know the difference, of course.”

“Ooh, do-o-o-oves,” Dora chanted in a singsong voice. “The birds of true lo-o-o-ove—”

“Shut up, Dora,” Marion said, giving her a hefty shove that sent her into the next girl. “You sound like a blinking lost goat.”

“You look like a blinking lost goat,” Dora retorted, shoving back.

“Ow,” someone complained. “Get your bony elbow out of my face.”

“You need something there to improve it.”

“Is that so? Well, Miss Big Mouth—”

“
Girls!
” Phoebe clapped her hands again sharply. “I will tolerate no more of this outrageous behavior. Either we have complete cooperation from each and every one of you, or I shall—” She broke off, staring in horror at one of the dancers who until now had been largely hidden behind the others.

Phoebe had spent some time discussing potential costumes with Alec, who served as chief advisor, as well as Madeline, who had volunteered to work on the outfits.

They had finally decided on ankle-length black skirts and white blouses, provided by the girls themselves. Madeline had hemmed several yards of tartan cloth with a white wool fringe to be draped across the back and over one shoulder. The stole was then dramatically secured in the front with a very large safety pin.

The young lady standing at the back of the group, however, was not wearing the long black skirt as decreed by Phoebe. She was, it was true, wearing the white blouse. The tartan strip, that had been designed to drape becomingly over one shoulder, was somehow draped over her hips instead, leaving a quite appalling expanse of lily-white leg.

Phoebe shot a horrified glance at Alec, who appeared to be enjoying the spectacle. Now she knew why he had been
so engrossed in the girls’ crude capers earlier. No wonder he had turned traitor on her.

“Isabelle,” Phoebe demanded, in a voice that would have made Goliath tremble, “where, pray, is your skirt?”

Speaking above the suppressed giggling of her companions, Isabelle said with a look of hurt innocence, “I thought this was supposed to be my skirt.” She tugged at the tartan cloth, while Phoebe briefly closed her eyes.

“Why,” she demanded, “would you form that assumption when all the other girls are correctly dressed?”

“ ’Cause she’s stupid?” someone suggested.

“You mean blinking barmy,” Dora said helpfully.

Isabelle held up her hands in a gesture of bewilderment. “I thought we was supposed to wear kilts.”

“No, she didn’t,” someone piped up from the back. “Dora dared her to come dressed like that.”

Dora spun round on the unfortunate girl who had spoken so recklessly. “Shut up, you tattling twit, or I’ll sock you one in the eye.”

“And I’ll box your ears, young lady, if I have one more word out of you!” Phoebe’s shrill voice echoed all the way to the rafters. Mortified by her outburst in front of Alec, she turned a beseeching eye on him.

Shaking his head, he held up one of his large hands. “All right, ladies, settle down. We have a lot of work to do before tonight. You are nowhere near ready to perform the Sword Dance yet.”

“What about the Highland Fling?” Marion demanded. “We’re getting good at that.”

Alec picked up his bagpipes and stuck them under his arm. “What you term as good would never be tolerated in Scotland,” he said bluntly. “Just thank your lucky stars you’re performing in this puny little village, instead of a Scottish town. You’d all be stoned, right enough.”

Phoebe, somewhat affronted at Alec for referring to Badgers End in such a derogatory manner, clapped her hands once more for attention. She had no idea what had got
into the burly Scotsman that morning, but it was apparent that he was vexed about something.

In fact, Alec’s unpleasant mood became even more apparent as the long morning wore on. The girls, suffering from the usual performance-day nerves, leapt when they should have stepped and flung when they should have twirled.

By the time Alec despairingly pronounced them as ready as they were going to be, Phoebe was quite exhausted. Left alone with the Scotsman after the girls had left the hall, she breathed a sigh of relief in the merciful silence.

“I do wonder sometimes why I take on such thankless tasks,” she murmured as Alec helped her replace the chairs in their original position. “Thank heavens the whole thing will be over after tonight.”

“Ay, I heartily agree. I’ll be glad myself when the concert is over, then I can concentrate on the contest.” Alec carefully placed his pipes in their case and closed it.

“I must admit, though,” Phoebe said, brushing a speck of dust from her impeccable skirt, “I am rather looking forward to hearing your little group play for us this evening. I only hope the death of that poor man doesn’t put a damper on the festivities.”

“I wouldna worry yourself about it,” Alec said as he led the way to the door. “No one will miss the sorry bugger. He was tone-deaf, that man. Couldn’t play a note worth listening to for the life of him. I think he only came down here for the fun of the thing. He certainly wouldna have stood a chance in the contest.”

“Well, we’ll never know now, will we,” Phoebe said soberly. Shivering, she stepped out into a chill gray mist that had rolled in from the sea. Even her fur wrap seemed inadequate protection against the damp cold. Hurrying to keep up with Alec’s long stride, she hoped that the girls would put on a good display, after all the help the Scotsman had given them.

Even as the thought formed, she knew it was a forlorn
hope. Perhaps, for once, they could at least get through the performance without disgracing themselves. With that small consolation in mind, she gave up worrying about it for the moment, and concentrated on enjoying what could very well be her last moments alone with Alec McPherson.

After settling the twins down for their evening nap, Gertie hurried down to the kitchen, trying desperately to ignore the sensation of squirming worms in her tummy.

She could hear the crashing and banging of Michel’s pots and pans long before she reached the door. It sounded as if the chef was in one of his right royal moods that evening. Taking a deep breath, Gertie pushed open the door.

She was just in time to see a large saucepan crash to the floor. Michel stood by the stove, his arms flailing the air, his tall chef’s hat bobbing furiously as he yelled, “
Sacre bleu!
One hour to go before dinner is served and I am still waiting for ze herrings. Where is that girl?”

One of the twins flew out of the pantry with a large square pan in her hands. “Here they are, Michel. I had trouble finding them. Sorry.”

“Everyone will be sorry, Daisy, if the roes fricassee are not on ze table before the pheasant gets there. Then it will be Michel who gets the bad name,
oui
?”

“Yes, I mean no, and I’m not Daisy. She’s in the dining room setting up the tables.”

Michel slapped the pan on the stove, causing the fish to jump in the air. “Doris … Daisy, what does it matter? As long as you answer to one of them.”

Catching sight of Gertie, the chef waved a spatula at her. “Ah, there you are, Gertie. At least I know who you are. Where is that Mrs. Chubb? She is not in her room taking ze nap, I hope?”

“She’s in the bleeding dining room with Daisy.” Gertie winced as Doris picked up a loaded tray of silverware and tipped half of it back onto the table with a deafening clatter.

“
Mon Dieu!
” Michel muttered. “That girl has fingers of butter.”

“Here, give it to me,” Gertie said, pushing the girl to one side. “You get the bloody serviettes out for me to fold. I’ll take this lot to the dining room.”

“Yes, Miss Brown. Thank you, Miss Brown.” Doris scampered over to the dresser and pulled open the drawer.

Ignoring Michel’s expression of amazement, Gertie loaded the silverware back onto the tray and carried it from the kitchen. It was none of the chef’s business if she wanted to be nice to Doris for a change, she thought as she hurried up the stairs. Though she was bloody surprised at herself lately. Must be getting bleeding soft. Smiling at the thought, she strode swiftly down the hallway to the dining room.

Daisy was placing the silver salt and pepper shakers on the tables when she arrived there. Mrs. Chubb loitered in the corner of the ballroom speaking to Madeline, who was arranging the last of the bouquets for the centerpieces.

Dumping the tray on the table next to Daisy, Gertie said cheerfully, “Here’s the silverware, Daisy. Let me know if you need any more.”

Daisy nodded, her usual scowl plastered across her grim face.

Gertie watched her for a moment or two, then edging nearer, whispered, “You won’t forget about tonight, will you? Right after the entertainment’s finished. All right?”

“Course I won’t forget,” Daisy muttered. “I said I’d come, didn’t I?”

“All right, keep your bleeding hair on. I just wanted to make sure, that’s all.” Gertie picked up a fork and pretended to polish it with the corner of her apron. “After all, I don’t want to take off unless I know my littl’uns are going to be looked after, now do I?”

“I’ll be there.” Daisy picked up a handful of knives from the tray. “I keep my word, I does. Just you be careful, that’s all. I don’t want nothing bad happening to you.”

Gertie grinned. “Aw, go on, I didn’t know you bleeding cared.”

She had hoped to get a glimmer of a smile out of Daisy, but the housemaid merely sent her a dark look and muttered, “I just don’t want to be lumbered with the babies all night, that’s all.”

Sighing, Gertie gave up. “Don’t you worry about me, Daisy ’Oggins. I’m bleeding old enough and ugly enough to bloody take care of meself. I’ll be back in half an hour, and that’s a promise.”

Daisy nodded without even bothering to look up.

Gertie took one last look at the housemaid’s dismal expression and left the dining room. One day, she told herself, if it bleeding killed her, she’d see a smile on Daisy Hoggins’s flipping face.

Right now she had better things to bloody worry about. Like her rapidly approaching rendezvous with Ross McBride. Although she didn’t really believe that he would try anything, she couldn’t help thinking about Daisy’s warning.

After all, she didn’t really know too much about the bloke. Then again, he just didn’t seem the type who would want to do her any harm. Besides, she had promised Daisy she’d only be gone half an hour, so she’d have a good excuse to leave if he got too fresh.

All the way back to the kitchen she battled with indecision. She was half-tempted to ask Mrs. Chubb’s advice, except she knew what the housekeeper would say. She’d tell her she was bleeding crazy and practically forbid her to go down there alone.

No, Gertie thought as she deftly folded the serviettes, the decision was entirely hers. And she bleeding knew what she was going to do. A chance like this might never come her way again. Anyhow, not much could come of it in half an hour.

Not that she wanted anything to come of it, she assured herself. After all, he lived in Scotland, and she lived in the
south of England. Almost four hundred miles between them. It was like bleeding living on the other side of the world.

Still, it would be nice, just for a little while, to be treated like a proper lady. That’s what she liked best about Ross McBride. He treated her like a bleeding lady. And that was the reason she was going to keep her appointment with him this evening. No matter what Daisy Hoggins thought about it.

Cecily stood on the balcony overlooking the ballroom and cast a critical eye over the floral decorations. Madeline had achieved her usual spectacular display, and Cecily couldn’t have been more pleased with the results. The striking bouquets of red and bronze chrysanthemums made a dramatic centerpiece for each table, and the tartan ribbons added a festive touch.