Herald of Death (7 page)

“Oh, of course.” Phoebe got up slowly, mindful of her hat rocking on her head. “I see that Madeline hasn’t started the decorating for Christmas. Rather late, isn’t she? Or is she not participating this year?”

“Madeline has promised to start work on them tomorrow.” Cecily led the way to the door, speaking over her shoulder. “She has been occupied with the baby, who has been quite poorly lately.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Phoebe caught up with her in the corridor. “I do hope little Angelina feels better soon.”

“I understand she’s recovering nicely.” Cecily caught sight of Samuel waiting for her in the lobby and raised her hand at him. “When will you begin rehearsals, then?”

“As soon as Clive has the stage set.” Phoebe peered down the hallway leading to the bar. “I had better find my husband while he can still walk home.” She waved a gloved hand at Cecily and scurried off.

Samuel waited for Cecily to cross the lobby before approaching her. “I have the carriage ready, m’m,” he said, as he reached her.

“Good. Then let’s make haste. I would like to be back here before it grows dark.”

“Yes, m’m.”

Samuel opened the door for her and she marched outside, all her thoughts now on the coming conversation with Basil Baker.

Gertie hummed to herself as she climbed the stairs to the third floor. It was her responsibility to inspect the bedrooms and make sure that the beds had been made, the chamber pots emptied, the furniture dusted, and the windows opened to air out the rooms.

It was a task she enjoyed. She had too many memories of when she had to do all those things herself, and it felt good to just sail from room to room, looking things over, instead of slaving away at the jobs herself.

The Christmas season was always a good time at the Pennyfoot. Lots of things to look forward to, all the lovely smells of sugar, herbs, and spices coming from the kitchen, and Mrs. Prestwick’s decorations making everything look colorful and bright.

She was still thinking about the decorations as she hurried down the stairs, and almost bumped into Phoebe Fortescue, who was hovering at the bottom.

“Oh, there you are!”

The woman looked a little agitated, and Gertie wondered what she’d done wrong. “S’cuse me, m’m? Is there something I can do for you?”

“Oh, I do hope so.” Phoebe looked around the empty lobby, and leaned forward. “I badly need children for the
Peter Pan
pantomime. I was wondering if your twins would like to be part of it. It would be a wonderful experience for them.”

Gertie hesitated. James wasn’t known for his patience and had trouble concentrating on anything for any length of time. As for Lillian, she was a bit of a crybaby, and would run away from anything that could upset her. “I dunno,” Gertie said slowly. “I don’t know how they’d behave.”

“I’m sure they would behave beautifully.” Phoebe clasped her hands. “I’ll have lots of people around to make sure they do what they’re supposed to do. I know they would have lots of fun, and think of the pride you’d feel, seeing them up on the stage in one of my famous presentations.”

Gertie frowned. She didn’t know about pride. More like worry, considering how Mrs. Fortescue’s events never went without something awful happening. “I’d have to ask them,” she said at last. “If they want to do it, then I’ll allow it, but I wouldn’t want to force them into doing something they don’t want to do.”

“No, no, of course not.” Phoebe looked relieved. “Ah . . . would you mind if I did the asking? They might consider it more if I’m the one to ask them.”

Gertie wasn’t fooled for a moment. No doubt Mrs. Fortescue would make it sound like a grand adventure, possibly even bribing them with promises of a reward of some kind. “I’d rather ask them myself, m’m, if you don’t mind.”

Phoebe looked disappointed. “Very well, then. Just be sure to tell them what a tremendously exciting experience this would be for them.”

“I will, m’m.” Gertie bobbed a curtsey and headed for the kitchen. She wasn’t sure how she felt about letting her babies perform onstage. True, it would be an experience for them, and it would be exciting to watch them up there with all the toffs watching them and clapping for them.

Gertie smiled as she imagined the cheers and applause as the twins took their bows at center stage. Yeah, what harm could it do? She’d talk to them just as soon as she got off work. Humming again, she shoved the kitchen door open and went inside.

 

 

Arriving at the address Mrs. Taylor had given her, Cecily stepped down from the carriage, wincing as melting snow seeped over the rims of her boots. The wind whipped at the scarf she had tied over her hat, and she was grateful for the fur collar on her heavy serge coat.

Samuel opened the gate for her, and she trod her way carefully up the narrow pathway, mindful of the slippery surface beneath her feet.

The porch was dry, and she stamped her feet to remove the worst of the snow from her boots. Meanwhile, Samuel lifted the door knocker and smacked it down.

At first no one answered, and he had to rap again, louder this time.

“It seems as if no one is home,” Cecily murmured. “We shall have to call another time.”

She was about to turn away when the door creaked open, and a young man with a drooping mustache and stubble on his chin looked at her with sleepy eyes.

He was wrapped in a blanket that covered a dressing gown and nightshirt, the robe bunched closed by a tattered cord. “Whatcha want?” he demanded, not even bothering to put a hand over his mouth when he yawned.

“Here,” Samuel said, stepping forward, “mind who you are talking to. This is Mrs. Baxter from the Pennyfoot Country Club and she’s here to ask you some questions about Jimmy Taylor.”

The young man’s eyes sharpened at once, and his voice lost its drowsy tone. “What about him?”

Cecily forced a smile. “Mr. Baker? May we come in? Just for a moment? It’s terribly cold out here.”

Basil Baker looked over his shoulder, then back at her, his eyes now wary. “The place is in a mess.”

“That’s all right. I don’t mind that at all. I’m sorry to disturb you, but this is rather important.”

Losing patience, Samuel put a foot on the threshold. “Where’s your manners, letting a lady stand out in the cold? Let her in, right now.”

“I already told the bobby everything I know,” Basil muttered, but nevertheless stood back to allow them to enter.

He hadn’t exaggerated the condition of the living room. Clothes and shoes littered the room, a half-eaten sandwich sat on a plate on the couch, and empty beer glasses lined the mantelpiece. No coals burned in the fireplace, and it didn’t feel much warmer inside the house than it had outside.

“I was sleeping,” Basil said, picking up the remains of the sandwich. “It’s my day off, and I like to sleep late.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Cecily felt a pang of guilt for disturbing the young man’s rest. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.”

“I don’t know what I can tell that I didn’t tell the bobby,” Basil said, tilting his head at the couch as signal for them to sit.

Cecily lowered herself gingerly on the edge of it, while Samuel contented himself with leaning against the fireplace. “I understand you were good friends with Jimmy Taylor,” she said, doing her best to smile.

“Used to be, yeah.” Basil hunched his shoulders. “Until he stole my girl. We was enemies after that.” He coughed, and added quickly, “I wasn’t the one what threw that rock at him, though. I swear it. I’ll admit, I didn’t like the bloke. We had a big scrap over Gracie. It was Jimmy what started it, though. I only finished it. I never went near him after that.” He swiped his thumb in a cross on his chest, almost losing his blanket in the process. “I swear on the Bible I didn’t.”

He sounded sincere, and Cecily was inclined to believe him. “Do you remember where you were the day Jimmy died?”

“I was working, wasn’t I. In the paper factory in Wellercombe. Twelve hours a day, hauling bloody big bundles of paper into the warehouse.”

“It sounds like hard work.”

“Yeah, it is. I hate the job.” Basil dragged the slipping blanket closer over his shoulders. “I used to work on a farm, and I liked that a lot, but I can’t get jobs on a farm no more. That’s why I’m stuck doing factory work.”

“It must have made it difficult for you to spend time with Gracie,” Cecily said, digging her freezing hands deeper into her muff.

Basil gave her a sharp look. “What does that mean?”

“Oh, I was just wondering if that’s why Gracie chose Jimmy, because you didn’t have much time to spend with her.”

Basil’s brows drew together. “I don’t know why she went with him. He was a nasty-tempered, ill-mannered pig, and I don’t know what she saw in him.”

“I imagine you were furious when she left you for him.”

“Course I was. After the fight, though, I reckoned they deserved each other. I heard that he was slapping her around a bit, but she chose to stay with him. More fool her, that’s what I say. Never did have no brains, that girl.”

Cecily got up from the couch, wishing she could feel her toes. “I’d like to have a word with Gracie. Do you know where can I find her?”

“She lives where she works, over the toy shop in the High Street.” Basil yawned again. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to bed.”

“Thank you for your help.” Cecily nodded at Samuel, who was directing a stern glare at Basil. “Come, Samuel, we must leave this gentleman in peace.”

Samuel snorted rather rudely and hurried to open the door for her.

Pausing on the doorstep, Cecily looked back at Basil. “How well did you know Thomas Willow?”

Basil frowned. “The shoemaker? Everyone in the village knows who he is, but I wasn’t that friendly with him, if that’s what you mean. What about him?”

“He was found whipped to death up on Putney Downs,” Cecily said, keeping a close watch on Basil’s face.

At first Basil’s features seemed frozen in shock, then he looked scared. “I didn’t know.”

“Did Jimmy know him well?”

“Not that I know of. Jimmy couldn’t afford to get his shoes custom-made. He bought his where I bought mine, at the market. What does all this have to do with me?”

“Nothing, I hope. Just as a matter of interest, though, someone used Jimmy Taylor’s whip to kill Thomas Willow.”

Basil’s jaw dropped open. “Blinking heck. Who would be crazy enough to do something like that?”

Thoroughly chilled now, Cecily bid him good day. Climbing up into the carriage, she wished she’d brought a blanket herself as she sat down on the cold leather seat.

Frost had settled on the windows, painting a silvery pattern as they made their way to the High Street. All along the curb horses stamped impatiently, steam rising from their nostrils while they waited for their owners to return.

Samuel found a spot around the corner from the toy shop, and it was a short walk back for Cecily. Shop owners had cleared the pavements of snow, and it was quite a pleasure to tread on firm ground instead of slippery ice.

Customers filled the little shop, but it was blissfully warm inside, thanks to the large stove in the corner. Samuel made his way to the counter to ask about Gracie Petersen while Cecily paused by the stove, waiting for the blood to return to her extremities.

Glancing around, her gaze fell upon a display of Christmas cards. It wasn’t the colorful pictures of decorated trees, snow scenes, and Father Christmas that caught her eye, however. It was a large box filled to the brim with shiny gold stamps.

Just at that moment a young lady approached her, asking, “May I be of help?”

Cecily gave her a quick smile. “I was just looking at these gold stamps.” She picked up a sheet of them and studied it. “Angels, I believe.”

“Yes, m’m. They’re for sticking on the flap of Christmas card envelopes.”

“Indeed.” Cecily put the stamps back in the box. “Do you sell many of them?”

“Oh, yes, m’m.” The assistant beamed. “That’s the second box we put out today. Would you like some?”

“Perhaps later. Thank you.”

The assistant melted away, just as Cecily spied Samuel hurrying toward her, followed by a young woman with bright red hair piled high and held in place with a black ribbon.

Her black frock was trimmed with lace and hung loosely on her slender frame, suggesting she had recently lost quite a bit of weight. She seemed nervous, and her curtsey was a trifle wobbly when she paused in front of Cecily. “You asked to speak with me, m’m?”

“Yes, dear, I did.” Cecily glanced around the crowded shop. “Is there somewhere we can speak in private?”

Gracie looked frightened. “I don’t know, m’m. I’m not supposed to leave the counter.” She sent a worried glance over her shoulder. “I should be getting back there.”

Cecily reached out to pick up a large spinning top. “Perhaps if I buy this, we could retire to a quiet corner to discuss the price?”

Gracie hesitated a moment longer, then nodded. “Over here, then, Mrs. Baxter.”

She led the way to a corner of the shop that was partially hidden by a large display of dolls. Standing back in the shadows, Gracie poked a stray strand of hair underneath the ribbon. “Your footman said you wanted to talk about my Jimmy,” she said, tears beginning to fill her eyes. “I don’t like talking about it, him just being killed and all. What is it you want to know?”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Cecily said quietly. “Actually I wanted to talk to you about Basil Baker. I talked to him a short while ago. He said he and Jimmy exchanged blows, and you were the cause.”

Gracie gulped, struggling to control her voice. “Yes, they did. Basil kept pestering me to go back to him, and Jimmy told him to get out of town. He said he’d beat Basil up if he didn’t leave and Basil said he wasn’t going to leave and the next morning Jimmy waited for him to come home and jumped on him. They had a terrible fight, and Basil got the worst of it. Jimmy had a bit of a temper when he was crossed.”