Herald of Death (18 page)

“Maybe nothing.” Cecily paused, then added, “Though there’s a possibility that all these men died by the same hand.”

Lady Marion sat up, her eyes wide with fear. “Great heavens! What kind of maniac do we have in our midst?”

Cecily did her best to reassure her. “I don’t wish to alarm you, Lady Marion. I’m quite sure that whoever killed your gamekeeper is far from here by now.”

Fanning her face with her hand, Lady Marion sank back on the davenport. “I certainly hope you are right.”

“Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt Mr. Farnsworth?”

Lady Marion’s eyes filled with tears. “He was the gentlest man I know. He had the wit of a joker and the soul of a child. All those who knew him loved him. I shall miss him dreadfully.”

Something in the way she said it made Cecily wonder if the woman’s fondness for her gamekeeper went beyond a normal relationship between an employer and a member of her staff.

In the next moment she decided she was being uncharitable and unnecessarily suspicious. “Well, thank you, Lady Marion. I will pass your comments on to P.C. Northcott in the hopes that it might help in his investigation.”

Lady Marion rose, steadying herself with one hand on the arm of the davenport. “You will let me know if this beast is caught? I shall not have a moment’s peace until I know he is safely behind bars.”

“Of course. I shall make sure you are notified.” Cecily sent a last glance at the curio. “I’ve been admiring your figurines. They are quite beautiful.”

The other woman managed a wan smile. “Thank you. They are from Royal Doulton, in Staffordshire. I started to collect them while on holiday there.”

Cecily was about to turn away when her glance fell on a photograph of Lady Marion and her husband dressed in evening clothes. “What a lovely gown! I saw one just like it at my dressmaker’s house the other day.”

“That was most likely my gown.” Lady Marion picked up the silver frame. “Was it in shades of maroon and black?”

“Yes, it was.” Cecily took another look at the photograph. “Of course, I should have known. Caroline said it was a Paris original.”

“It’s my favorite gown.” Lady Marion put down the frame and walked to the door, prompting Cecily to follow her. “Caroline is a very good seamstress. She’s a nervous little thing but has an excellent command of her talent. Most accommodating, as well. She delivered the gown herself. I must admit, when Pauline told me she would be spending the month in London I was quite dismayed, since I had torn the hem and it needed expert attention. Caroline, however, came to my rescue.” She paused at the door, one hand on the bell rope. “I shan’t be wearing it this evening, after all. I have canceled the dinner party. I just couldn’t face it with Harry gone.”

She pulled the rope, saying, “Jarvis will see you out. Thank you for your efforts in finding who did this. I hope you are successful in your quest.”

“I hope so, too.”

The door opened to reveal the butler, his face still stark with disapproval.

Cecily turned once more to Lady Marion. “Thank you for your help in this. I just have one more question. Was your husband as fond of Mr. Farnsworth as you were?”

Her question was directed at the other woman, but out of the corner of her eye she watched the butler. She thought she saw a flicker of alarm cross his face, but it was gone so quickly she couldn’t be sure.

“Of course he was.” Lady Marion’s voice had sharpened. “As I said, everyone loved Harry. Including my husband.”

Cecily nodded. “Then good day to you. I shall see that you are informed when there is any news.” She followed the butler to the door, and quickly stepped outside.

Samuel was pacing around the carriage when she reached it. Despite his hat and warm scarf, his face was pinched and his shoulders hunched against the wind.

“You would have done better to wait in the warm kitchen,” Cecily said, as she stepped up into the carriage.

“I don’t like being ordered about by a butler,” Samuel said stiffly.

Cecily could understand how he felt. Most people didn’t understand the relationship she had with her stable manager. Especially people like Lord Bellevue’s butler. She felt she owed Samuel some kind of compensation for his discomfort. “I think I’d like to stop by the Fox and Hounds for a drop of sherry.”

Samuel’s eyes lit up. “Now?”

“I don’t see why not.” Cecily glanced up at the darkening sky. “Mr. Baxter won’t be home for a while and we have time before supper. It must be opening time at the public house by now. Besides, I would like a word with Mr. Collins. As a publican, he has more access to gossip than anyone I know. We might be able to pick up a tidbit or two to help us in our investigation. Did you manage to see where Harry Farnsworth died?”

“Yes, m’m. I found the bloke that found Harry dead. I looked all around but couldn’t see nothing but stones and twigs and trodden-down bushes. The constables must have trampled around quite a bit. It was all flattened down around where he was killed.”

Cecily nodded. “I rather thought the constables would have searched the area pretty thoroughly. You never know, though. Sometimes they miss something.” She looked up at the sky. “We had better make haste to the Fox and Hounds if we are to be home before dark.”

Samuel needed no further encouragement. He slammed the door shut and leapt up on his seat before Cecily could draw another breath.

The ride down to the village pub seemed to take forever with the bumping and swaying of the carriage. At times it rocked from side to side, causing Cecily to grasp the door handle to steady herself.

The reason for it was clear as she made ready to step down into the courtyard of the Fox and Hounds. The thaw had begun to set in at last, and as usual for that part of the coast, the westerly winds had brought warm rain to melt the packed snow.

The sheen of water lying on top of ice made walking even more treacherous, and Cecily was glad of Samuel’s hand under her arm as they made their way gingerly to the door of the private bar.

Barry Collins, the publican, greeted them with a cheery bellow. Waving his arm around the empty room, he added, “You’re the first customers I’ve seen in here all day. This weather is killing my business.”

Listening to the clamor of voices above the piano chords next door, Cecily smiled. “It sounds as though you are making up for it in the public bar.”

Collins nodded. “Darts match going on. They’d march through fire to get here for that.”

“Well, I’m glad it’s quiet in here. I was hoping you’d have time to talk.”

Without being asked, Collins reached for a small glass and a bottle of cream sherry. “I thought you might be calling in here. I heard about the Christmas Angel. Nasty goings-on, that. We’re trying to keep it quiet around here. Business is bad enough, what with the weather and all.” He put down the bottle and carried the brimming glass over to her table.

“I don’t blame you.” Cecily accepted the sherry with a smile. “A serial killer is not to be taken lightly. This man is extremely dangerous and unpredictable.”

Collins raised his eyebrows at Samuel, who promptly ordered a mild and bitter. The publican stuck a pint mug under the spout of the beer barrel and pulled the brass-tipped handle. Watching the white foam rise halfway up the glass, he asked, “Do you have any ideas who might be behind all this?”

“Not as yet.” Cecily sipped the sherry, closing her eyes as the dark liquid slid down her throat to warm her stomach. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything that might help?”

“Sorry, Mrs. B. From what I’ve heard, and it isn’t much, there seems no reason for it all.” The publican switched the glass to another barrel and topped it up, allowing some of the foam to pour over the edges of the glass.

Samuel got up to fetch it, nodding his thanks before taking his seat again.

Collins poured a small glass of light ale and brought it over to the table. “All right if I join you?”

“Oh, please do!” Cecily waved a hand at the empty chair.

Sitting down, Collins murmured, “I might as well, seeing as the place is empty.” He glanced at Samuel. “How’s it looking out there?”

“Slushy,” Samuel said, picking up his glass. “The carriage was all over the road.”

“Well, at least it looks like it’s thawing fast.” He looked back at Cecily. “Good job, too, I reckon, seeing as how you have a hotel full of guests for Christmas.”

“Indeed.” Cecily took another sip of the sherry. “I must say I’m most relieved to see the weather warming up. Now, if only I could find the Christmas Angel, my troubles would be over.”

Collins nodded. “Bad business, that’s for sure. I heard that Harry Farnsworth bought it this morning. Nice chap, he was. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to do him in.”

“Yes, I’m afraid that’s the whole point.” Cecily sighed. “It’s all very puzzling. I just can’t seem to pinpoint a motive for all this. It all seems so senseless. None of the victims have anything in common. They are young and old, married and unmarried. Two were known for their bad temper, the other two were gentle as lambs according to the people I spoke to, and they came from all walks of life. It’s quite the most challenging crime I’ve ever come across.”

“Ah, but you have a great reputation for catching criminals, Mrs. B.” Collins raised his glass. “I have great faith in you. You’ll find him. I’m sure of it.”

“Hear, hear!” Samuel said, raising his glass.

Cecily stared at her sherry. “I’m not so sure. I have a horrible, hopeless feeling that this time a madman will go on killing innocent victims and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop him.” She looked up into Barry Collins’s worried face. “If that’s so, God help us all.”

Panting and gasping for breath, Gertie stumbled up to the sleigh. Clive waited for her, clutching Lillian in his arms with James tugging at his coat.

“Get in,” he said, as she reached him. It was an order, not a request. Normally Gertie would have told him what to do with his orders, but something in his voice scared her so much she scrambled up onto the seat without a word.

Clive thrust Lillian onto her lap and picked up James, tossing him onto the other seat like a sack of grain. Before she could draw breath to protest, the janitor leapt up onto his seat and flicked the reins.

Stamping its feet, the chestnut snorted, then took off, sending Gertie back against the cold leather seat. The jolt snapped her teeth on the tip of her tongue.

Eyes watering, she yelled, “What the bloody hell is the matter with you? Why are you in so much of a blinking hurry?”

Clive said something over his shoulder, but she couldn’t hear what he’d said. Lillian had started crying, and James was hanging over the edge of the sleigh, shouting at Clive to go faster.

Gertie hugged Lillian closer and yelled at her son. “Sit back! You’ll fall out and break your bloody neck!”

“No, I won’t!” Still hanging over the side, James turned his head to grin at her. Just then the sleigh hit a bump.

Gertie cried out and clutched Lillian tighter as she felt her seat rise up in the air. Clive called out something, but at that moment the sleigh thumped down hard on the ground.

Gertie looked around just in time to see James disappear over the side. She screamed, making Lillian yell louder.

Clive shot a startled look over his shoulder and reined in the horse. The sleigh came to a sliding halt, and before it had stopped, Gertie was scrambling off it.

She landed on her knees in the snow and struggled to her feet. Clive jumped down and came slipping and sliding toward her. Together they ran back to where a huddled heap lay on the side of the road.

“James!”
Gertie’s desperate cry scared the seagulls. They fluttered up from the beach, screeching their indignation as Gertie dropped to her son’s side.

To her soaring relief he had his eyes open, and the moment he saw her he started crying—quiet sobs that tore at her heart. “Are you hurt, luvvy? Tell Mama where you hurt.”

“My—my arm hurts!” His sobs grew louder.

Clive bent down by her side and ran his hands over the boy. When he touched James’s right arm, the boy let out a scream. “It looks like it’s broken.” He looked at Gertie and she was shocked to see tears in his eyes. “I’m so very sorry.”

Struggling against tears herself, she said roughly, “It’s not your fault. I told him not to hang over the side.” She shuddered as the wind whipped her scarf against her cheek. “What do we do now?”

“Give me your scarf.” He unwound his own scarf and held out his hand for hers.

She gave it to him, aware of her heart pounding in her chest. She couldn’t bear to see her little boy in so much pain. She would give anything to take his place. It was her fault. She should have been more strict with him. She was a rotten mother. Daisy would never have let this happen.

Somehow Clive must have sensed what was going on in her tortured mind. He put an arm about her shoulders and hugged her against his big body. “Cheer up, luv. We’ll get him to the doctor and he’ll take care of him.”

He let her go and turned to the boy. “Now, James, this is going to hurt a little, so I want you to be really, really brave, all right? Let’s show your mama what a brave boy you are.”

James gave him a scared nod, tears still running down his cheeks.

Gertie watched in awe as Clive eased the broken arm against her son’s chest and tied the two scarves tightly around him to hold it in place.

Apart from a whimper or two, James hardly made a sound, though he couldn’t stop the tears from soaking the collar of his coat.

Gertie ached to hold him, but she was afraid of hurting him more. Instead, she stood back and let Clive pick him up. Stepping carefully through the slushy snow, he carried the boy to the sleigh and sat him down next to his sister.

Lillian was shivering and crying, and Gertie quickly scrambled onto the seat and put her arm around the little girl. Being careful not to touch her son’s injured arm, she hugged him close, and held on to them both as Clive drove the sleigh carefully down the path to the town below.