Herald of Death (5 page)

He rolled his eyes. “Where have I heard that before?”

She didn’t answer him, being that she was already halfway out the door, on her way to call Sam Northcott to offer her services.

 

 

Pansy trudged across the courtyard, lifting her skirts clear of the snow that covered her ankles. She’d wrapped her shoulders with a shawl, but the icy wind stung her nose and ears, and she drew the soft woolen cloth over her head.

Snow was pretty, as long as you could look at it through the window of a warm kitchen. Walking through the stuff was not much fun. Her stockings were soaked, as was the hem of her navy blue skirt. Mrs. Chubb wouldn’t be happy about that.

Reaching the door of the stables, she wrinkled her nose as the smell of horses invaded her nostrils. Samuel always said he didn’t notice it anymore, which was just as well, seeing as how he worked in there most of the day.

He was somewhere at the other end. She could hear his voice, the soothing tones he always used while grooming one of the horses.

As always, her heart beat faster at the sound. Ever since Samuel had declared her to be “his girl,” her world had grown bright with promise. Even though he’d impressed upon her that she was still too young for marriage, she was confident that one day she’d stand by his side as his bride, and she was content to wait for that day. No matter how long it took.

Samuel looked up as she drew close, his face splitting into a wide grin. “Hello, beautiful. What brings you in here?”

Pansy caught her breath. “I came to see you, didn’t I.”

“Well, that’s always a pleasure.” Samuel gave the horse a final pat and stepped away, rubbing his hands on his breeches. “Got time for a hug?”

“Always.” She ran into his arms with a blissful smile. After a moment of pure pleasure, she murmured, “Actually, Mrs. Chubb sent me. Mr. Baxter wants to see you in the library.”

Samuel let out a mournful sigh. “And here I thought you came just to be with me.”

She tilted her head back to look at him. “I always want to be with you, Samuel.”

He answered her with a quick kiss and let her go. “I’d better get over there. Mr. Baxter don’t like to be kept waiting.” He gently pushed stray hairs out of her eyes with his thumb, and then dashed off, leaving her to follow more slowly.

Somehow, the trip back through the snow seemed a lot less bothersome. In fact, Pansy practically skipped back across the kitchen yard and bumped smack into Gertie, who was on her way out the door with a coal scuttle in each hand.

“Here! What’s your bleeding hurry?”

Gertie’s scowl was fierce, and Pansy grabbed one of the coal scuttles. “Sorry. I was in a rush to help you, wasn’t I.”

“Yeah, not bloody likely. You just saw Samuel, didn’t you.”

Pansy blushed. “How did you know?”

“You got that soppy look on your face again, that’s how.” Gertie stomped across the yard to the coal shed, leaving Pansy to trail behind her.

Feeling sorry for her friend, Pansy followed her into the dark, musty shed. It was hard to be without someone to love, especially at Christmastime. She ought to know, she’d been through enough Christmases to know what it was like.

She’d watched couples kissing under the mistletoe, or standing close together at the carol-singing ceremony. She’d overheard whispers and shared laughter in the corridors. It had made the loneliness all the more painful.

How lucky she was to have Samuel. Someday, she silently vowed, Gertie would have that companionship again. It would be her Christmas wish for her friend. She’d do her level best to see that it came true.

 

 

“I have to go into town to see my dressmaker,” Cecily told Samuel when he answered the summons to her office later.

“Yes, m’m. That’s the house on Larch Lane, right?”

Cecily picked up her gloves and drew them on. “Actually, Miss Pauline Richards is out of town at present. We will be visiting her assistant, Miss Blanchard, and since her place of residence is quite close to the house where Jimmy Taylor’s family lives, I thought we would pay the bereaved family a courtesy visit.”

Samuel looked back at her, his eyes gleaming with expectation. “We’re on the trail of another murderer, m’m?”

“Ah.” Cecily edged around the desk and walked toward him. “I take it you have had a conversation with my husband.”

“I have, m’m. Mr. Baxter told me about Jimmy Taylor dying and then that other bloke, the shoemaker, being killed with Jimmy’s whip. Strange thing, that.”

“It is, indeed.”

“I was sort of surprised when Mr. Baxter told me you were going to look into it. I remember you telling me you promised him you wouldn’t do that again.”

“Yes, well, I did, but then I received a telegram canceling a booking because of the murders. Fortunately Mr. Baxter saw the necessity of solving this case before we endured more empty rooms for Christmas.”

“It’s not too late to invite someone else, m’m.”

Alerted by his tone, Cecily narrowed her eyes. “You had someone in mind?”

Samuel shrugged. “I got a letter from Doris the other day. She seemed sort of down-in-the-mouth. She was talking about how she missed us all at the Pennyfoot, and I just thought, since the room is going to be empty anyway . . .” His voice trailed off as he looked hopefully at her.

“Samuel! That’s a wonderful idea! I’ll have Philip send her a note before we leave.”

“She’ll like that, m’m. She misses the days when she was a maid here, and now she’s not on the stage anymore, she has more time to think about it.”

“Daisy will love to see her, too. I know she misses her twin. It will be good for them to be together for Christmas. Although Daisy has her hands full being nanny to Gertie’s twins. I hope she can find time to be with her sister.”

“I’m sure they’ll manage, m’m.”

“Good. Well, we’d better be off. I’m anxious to get on the trail of our murderer.”

Samuel gave her a sly look. “Mr. Baxter gave me all sorts of warnings, m’m.”

“I imagine he did.” Cecily regarded her stable manager, her head tilted to one side. Samuel had, at times in the past, been obliged to ignore Baxter’s warnings. “I trust we understand each other in this matter?”

Samuel grinned. “You can count on me, m’m. As always.”

“Thank you, Samuel. I never doubted it for a moment.” She sailed out the door, leaving him to close it behind them.

The assistant dressmaker’s house lay on the far side of town. Normally Samuel would have taken the shortcut over Putney Downs, but since the snow had made the path along the cliffs somewhat treacherous, he’d insisted on the long route, taking them through town.

At first Cecily contented herself with watching the shop windows they passed along the Esplanade. The merchants had decorated for Christmas a month earlier, and their displays were a sight to behold.

Glistening snowflakes and stars hung from silver strings, while sparkling colored balls slowly twisted on invisible threads. Toy soldiers in bright red coats marched across one window, jostling for space among stuffed bears and dolls in pretty lace gowns. Another one harbored a dozen snowmen holding lengths of silks and satins, while behind them wide-brimmed hats covered in baubles and ribbons hung from the branches of a leafless tree.

Soon, however, too much bumping and rattling over the frozen streets took its toll, and by the time they reached Caroline Blanchard’s cottage Cecily felt as if her neck were trapped in a vise.

She winced as Samuel helped her down from the carriage, and tried to stretch her back while they waited for Miss Blanchard to answer the door.

The seamstress greeted them with a rather stiff smile, as if she wasn’t used to stretching her lips. She ushered them into the sitting room, which seemed to have been overtaken by numerous dogs and cats. She had to push two of the cats off armchairs before offering them to her guests.

Cecily’s hesitance must have been noted, since Caroline was quick to apologize. Shooing the rest of the animals from the room, she murmured, “Please excuse the disorder. I occasionally pick up stray animals and try to find them a good home.” She looked hopefully at Cecily. “I don’t suppose . . . ?”

“Thank you, no,” Cecily said hurriedly. “Animals are not allowed in the country club.”

“The cats are good mousers.” Caroline picked up a ginger striped cat and cradled it in her arms. “This one is very good at catching mice and killing them.”

Cecily shuddered. “I’m sure it is, but no, thank you all the same.”

“I think that’s very commendable, what you’re doing with the strays,” Samuel assured the seamstress, much to Cecily’s surprise. Her stable manager wasn’t usually so forthcoming with strangers.

Caroline seemed unaffected by the compliment, however, and barely acknowledged him. In fact, she seemed discomforted by his presence and kept her distance.

With her auburn hair and creamy skin, she would have been a comely young woman were it not for her constant squinting, which Cecily attributed to a problem with the young woman’s eyesight.

Even so, Samuel seemed quite taken with her, and put himself out to be at his most charming.

Since her stable manager rarely showed interest in female acquaintances, at least when in her company, Cecily found his behavior rather intriguing.

When Miss Blanchard grudgingly offered to bring a tray of tea and scones, Samuel leapt to his feet and insisted on carrying the tray for her. Although she thanked him, she seemed none too pleased by the gesture, though Samuel appeared not to notice.

Well aware of Pansy’s passion for the young man, Cecily began to feel somewhat concerned. It seemed as though her stable manager wasn’t quite as committed as Pansy would like.

She felt relieved when Miss Blanchard invited her to retire to another room where she could be measured for the alterations. Leaving Samuel huddled by the fire, Cecily picked up her gown and followed the slender Caroline down the hallway.

The seamstress led her into a room where several ball gowns hung from the picture rail. One in particular caught her eye—a marvelous creation of shot silk, in shades of maroon and black. Gleaming silver beads traced an intricate pattern down the bodice, and the neckline was trimmed in black lace. It was quite the most spectacular gown Cecily had ever seen.

“That gown is breathtaking,” she said, as Caroline prepared to leave.

The seamstress nodded. “It’s an original from Paris. Unfortunately it had a torn hem and was quite difficult to repair.”

“I imagine it was, though I have no doubt you managed it.” Cecily laid her gown on a chair. “Pauline tells me your needlework is quite extraordinary.”

“Ms. Richards is very kind.” Caroline opened the door. “I’ll leave you to change into your gown,” she said, and quietly closed the door behind her.

Left alone, Cecily took a moment to look around. The small parlor, with its poky little fireplace, tiny windows, and low ceiling, felt oppressive. An unpleasant odor reminded her of something, but she couldn’t quite place it. Maybe it was the kitchen, late at night, when Mrs. Chubb burned chicken bones in the stove. The ashes did wonders for the rose garden in the spring, but the smell was atrocious. This smell, however, was more likely the dogs’ wet fur, no doubt heated after running around in the snow.

A rather unusual sculpture graced the wall over the fireplace. It looked like a wooden wagon wheel, with brightly colored jewels in the shape of cats studding the rim where the spokes met. Captivated by the whimsical design, Cecily smiled as she moved over to another wall.

Several portraits hung there, and she moved closer to study them. Almost all of them were of cats or dogs, though one of them showed a fine-looking horse standing proudly in a field, head held high. A lover of horses herself, Cecily admired the picture for a moment or two before hurriedly donning the ball gown.

Caroline entered just as Cecily finished buttoning the bodice. Gazing at the ivory silk folds trimmed with coffee-colored lace, the seamstress murmured, “It’s a lovely gown.”

“Thank you. It does need a tuck or two taken out, though, as you can see.”

Caroline frowned. “Maybe a smidgen at the waist, and the bodice does appear to be a little tight. I can let out the side seams to correct that.”

“Thank goodness.” Cecily patted the skirt. “I love the gown and I really don’t have time to order another. I seem to have grown in all the wrong places this last year.”

“Unfortunately age has a way of doing that to us.”

Cecily raised an eyebrow, but refrained from commenting. Someone as young as Caroline Blanchard had no idea what it was to battle the changes the years wrought on a woman.

After the young woman had taken the measurements she needed, Cecily was once more left alone to change clothes. Fully dressed again, she made her way back to the living room, where Samuel was engaged in a somewhat one-sided conversation with the seamstress.

Seated across from him, the young woman’s cheeks were flushed, though her expression when Cecily entered was more of relief than interest in Samuel’s opinions.

Samuel, on the other hand, looked disappointed as he rose to his feet.

Cecily smiled at Caroline. “We must be on our way. I have another call to make before returning to the Pennyfoot.”

“Oh, of course.” She got up and led them to the door. “I will have your gown ready in a few days.”

Samuel glanced at Cecily. “I can come by and pick up the gown for you, m’m.”

Cecily hesitated, reluctant to foster what appeared to be a budding attraction for her stable manager. Then, deciding it was none of her business, and Pansy would simply have to fend for herself, she said lightly, “We shall see. Thank you, Miss Blanchard. Good day to you.”

Samuel failed to comment as he handed her back into the carriage, and Cecily wisely held her tongue as well. If the young man was smitten with the seamstress, so be it. Though judging from what she had seen, Caroline Blanchard did not seem eager to reciprocate. If that were so, Samuel was doomed for disillusionment.