Herald of Death (8 page)

“So they were bitter enemies.”

“I suppose so.” She started, as if she’d just thought of something. “You don’t think Basil threw that rock at Jimmy?” She shook her head so violently a couple of pins flew out and pinged against the doll stand. “Basil might have hated Jimmy, but I know him. He wouldn’t have done something like that. He could fight if he had to, but he’d never attack someone like that.”

Cecily inspected the spinning top in her hand. “Who knows what people are capable of when under the influence of a terrible rage.” She paused, then added quietly, “That’s a nasty bruise on your cheek. It must be painful.”

Gracie’s hand flew to her face. “It’s healing up nicely now, thank you.”

Cecily nodded. “Very well.” She held up the top. “How much is this?”

“One and fourpence, m’m.”

“I’ll take it, as well as that doll in the red velvet gown.”

“Yes, m’m.” Grace’s smile was full of relief as she reached for the doll and carried it over to the counter.

Cecily followed more slowly, her thoughts on everything she’d heard that day. Basil certainly had a motive to want to hurt Jimmy, yet both Jimmy’s mother and fiancée had assured her that Basil wasn’t capable of such a violent act.

Could both of them have known him that well yet still be wrong about him? It was possible, and she didn’t know Basil well enough herself to rule him out. For one thing, he’d lied about who had come off the worst in the fight. Of course, that could well have been pride talking, Cecily decided.

Also, there seemed to be no reason why Basil would want to kill Thomas Willow. In fact, until she knew what connection there was between Thomas and Jimmy Taylor, there didn’t seem to be any way to solve the puzzle. Small wonder Sam Northcott had asked for her help. This case was certainly intriguing. She would have to do a lot more digging if she was going to solve the puzzle in time to welcome her guests for Christmas.

 

 

“Did you hear about Jimmy Taylor?” Pansy leaned over a table to place a white candle into a brass candelabrum.

Across the dining room, Gertie paused in the act of bundling up a white tablecloth. “What about him?”

“I heard someone threw a rock at him and killed him.”

“Go on! Who told you that?”

“Samuel. He heard it from madam.”

Gertie shook her head. “I can’t believe it. He weren’t much older than you. Does Chubby know?”

“Yeah. She was there when Samuel told me. She was really upset. She liked Jimmy.”

Gertie dumped the tablecloth into a wicker basket and shoved it with her foot over to the next table. “I don’t know why. He was a miserable bugger, though I shouldn’t be talking ill of the dead.”

“No, you shouldn’t.”

“So who threw the rock?”

“I dunno.” Pansy moved to the next table. “Nobody knows. It’s all a big mystery.”

“Yeah, well, we get a lot of mysteries around here, don’t we.” Deciding it was time to change the morbid subject, Gertie added, “Guess who’s coming here for Christmas.”

Pansy twisted around, a candelabrum in one hand and three white candles in the other. “You found out who the important guests are going to be?”

“What important guests?”

Pansy looked disappointed. “Mrs. Chubb says as how some really important guests are coming for Christmas, but she won’t tell anyone who they are. She says it has to be a big secret, so no one’s supposed to know.”

“Well, nobody told me nothing about no important guests.” Gertie dropped yet another tablecloth into a laundry basket. “Anyhow, I don’t think anyone would call Doris important. Though I suppose she
is
a bit famous, having been on the stage and all.”

Pansy uttered a little cry of dismay. “Doris is coming? Daisy’s twin sister?
That
Doris?”

Gertie grinned. “Who else?” Pansy turned away, but not before Gertie saw the fear on her friend’s face. “You’re not worried about Samuel, are you?”

Pansy shrugged. “Course not.”

“Good.” Gertie dragged another cloth off the table.

“It’s just, well, you know how Samuel felt about Doris. He moved all the way to London to be near her.”

“And came all the way back when things didn’t work out the way he wanted.”

“I know, but . . .”

Gertie bundled up the tablecloth and threw it at her. “Don’t be bleeding daft. Samuel loves you now. He’s told you so, hasn’t he?”

There was a long pause before Pansy answered with a note of defiance. “He hasn’t actually said the words, but I know he does love me. He’s always telling me I’m his girl, and he likes being with me.”

“Well, then.” Gertie picked the tablecloth up off the floor and tossed it into the basket. “Stop worrying about Doris. Besides, Nigel is coming with her and they’re bringing their daughter, Essie. So you’ve got no need to get in a bother about Samuel taking notice of her.”

“I s’pose not.” Pansy fitted the candles into the candlestick and stood back to inspect her work. “I just wish she’d picked somewhere else to spend Christmas.”

“Well, what I’d like to know is who the important guests are that Chubby told you about.” Gertie heaved up the basket and balanced it on her hip. “I’ll have to get on to her about it. She’ll let something slip sooner or later, you mark my words.”

Pansy looked intrigued. “They must be really important if she won’t tell us. Must be a really, really big, dark secret.”

“Yeah.” Gertie trudged over to the door, the basket bouncing on her hip. “I don’t know why she hasn’t said nothing to me. Chubby knows I know how to keep a bloody secret. I’ve kept enough of ’em since I’ve been here at the Pennyfoot.”

Pansy followed her, eyes gleaming. “Like what?”

“If I told you, they wouldn’t be bloody secrets anymore, would they.” Gertie opened the door of the dumbwaiter and grunted as she dumped the basket inside. Tugging on the rope, she looked over her shoulder at Pansy. “I tell you one thing, whoever these important guests are, they’re not going to be secret for long. They’ve got to eat and sleep and go to the lav like the rest of us, don’t they. Sooner or later we’ll spot them.”

Pansy giggled. “Better not tell that to Mrs. Chubb. She’ll have a pink fit.”

Gertie wasn’t listening. She was too busy thinking about who the important guests might be. Maybe some rich toff who would take one look at her and sweep her off her feet, like the blokes in the magazines Chubby hid under her mattress.

They would all live in a posh house like the ones on the hill above Putney Downs, where Lillian and James could play and ride horses and do all the things the rich kids did.

So deep was she into her fantasy that as she rounded the corner of the hallway she ran smack into a hard body. Two strong hands grasped her arms as she bounced backward, gasping for breath.

“Where’s the fire?” a gruff voice demanded.

Looking up into Clive’s amused face, she muttered, “Sorry. I didn’t see you coming.”

“Not often someone says that,” Clive said, with laughter echoing in his voice.

She laughed with him, gently, knowing he was sensitive about his size. She never knew why. Clive was a big man with a husky build and massive shoulders, but he wasn’t fat like some of the rich dandies who visited the Pennyfoot.

There weren’t many men she had to lift her chin to look in the face. She liked that about Clive. He made her feel protected. Her and her children.

She knew that if any of them were in danger, Clive would be the first one to save them. He’d been there for all of them more than once, and she would always be grateful for that.

Remembering Pansy’s words, she felt a stirring of guilt. What if Clive wanted more than gratitude? What if he thought she had those sorts of feelings for him? How could she let him down without hurting him?

She’d married once before to have security for her kids. It wasn’t an unhappy marriage, but Ross McBride had been a lot older than she, and they hadn’t had much in common. She hadn’t loved him the way she’d loved Dan.

But then, Dan had hurt her. Badly. When she’d told him she couldn’t go to London with him, she’d nursed a faint hope that he wouldn’t be able to leave her. She’d been wrong.

She’d been hurt too many times, and she wasn’t getting involved with any man again unless she could truly love him and know, without a shadow of a doubt, that he loved her back.

“Why the frown?” Clive tilted her head back with a finger under her chin. “You look so pretty when you smile.”

Gertie’s grin spread all over her face. That was what she liked best about Clive. He knew how to lift her spirits when she was down. “The twins are looking forward to the sleigh ride,” she said, as he dropped his hand. “So am I.”

“Me, too. Tomorrow afternoon, two o’clock. Let’s hope it stops snowing by then.”

“I thought sleighs were made for riding in the snow.”

“They are. It’s the horse that has trouble with it.”

“You’ll be able to manage it.”

He looked down at her, his dark eyes twinkling. “Nice to know you have such faith in me.”

Something in his gaze unsettled her and she looked away, mumbling, “You’re good at everything you do.”

“Not everything.”

He stepped back to let her pass, and she hurried by him, wondering what he meant by that. He often said things that intrigued her.

Not for the first time she wondered about his past. She knew so little about him. He’d told her he’d been married, but she didn’t know what had happened to his wife, or if he had children, or why someone who seemed so clever would want to be a maintenance man at a seaside hotel.

Clive was a mystery, and the longer she knew him, the more she wanted to know about him. Tomorrow, she told herself. Tomorrow she’d try to find out about his past.

Feeling surprisingly excited at the prospect, she ran down the steps to the kitchen.

Madeline arrived the next morning, prepared to start work on the decorating. It took two footmen to unload her carriage, carrying huge baskets of greenery and flowers, boxes of ribbons and garlands, and tubs filled with colored glass balls and a variety of ornaments for the tree.

Cecily met her in the lobby, disappointed that Angelina wasn’t with her.

“I left her at home with the nanny,” Madeline explained, floating across the carpet in her bare feet. She’d kicked off her boots the moment she’d stepped through the door. Her simple frock of pale green cotton, dotted with white daises, looked more suitable for summertime instead of the bitter cold outside.

Then again, Madeline defied convention in every possible way. She wore her long, black hair down her back instead of pinned up on her head, she wore no stockings or gloves, and the closest she ever came to a hat was a colorful scarf tied under her chin.

She was both loved and feared in the village. Her remedies, concocted from various herbs and wildflowers, cured everything from a cold to pneumonia, and more than one man had benefited from her “passion” potions.

There were those, however, who questioned her powers, convinced she was a witch. Even Cecily, who had seen Madeline upon occasion perform somewhat implausible deeds, wasn’t entirely convinced they were wrong.

Today, however, Madeline was all smiles and sweetness as she directed the footmen to take her supplies to the ballroom. “This is my favorite time of the year,” she exclaimed, as she watched the young men struggling under the weight of her boxes. “I just adore decorating the Pennyfoot.”

“You always create such a wonderful setting for us,” Cecily said, leading her friend up the stairs. “How is little Angelina? I do hope she’s feeling better?”

“She’s much better, thank goodness.” Madeline pulled a face. “Kevin and I kept arguing over whose medicine would do her the most good, so it’s quite a relief to be done with it.”

Cecily gave her an anxious look. Kevin Prestwick, the respected village doctor, had great difficulty in coming to terms with his wife’s healing powers. Although it was obvious to everyone that he loved Madeline dearly, it was equally obvious that he dismissed her beliefs as useless and potentially dangerous.

Cecily, on the other hand, relied a great deal on Madeline’s perception and couldn’t wait until they were in the suite and she could ask once more for her friend’s help.

“I suppose Kevin told you about the incident that killed Jimmy Taylor,” she said, as they settled themselves in front of the fireplace. “Such a tragedy to lose someone so young.”

“Yes, Kevin was very upset about it all. He kept saying how senseless it was. If the lad hadn’t fallen from the wagon, he’d be alive today.”

“So he does think Jimmy’s death was unintentional?”

Madeline gave her a shrewd look from under her long lashes. “Someone threw a rock at him. That was surely intentional.”

“But perhaps that person didn’t intend to kill Jimmy.”

“Perhaps.” Madeline paused, staring into the flames. “Then again, there’s no doubt that someone meant to kill Thomas Willow. According to Kevin, the killer did a thorough job of it.”

In spite of the warmth from the fire, Cecily shivered. “How awful.”

“I knew Thomas Willow quite well,” Madeline said, after another long pause. “I was shocked to hear of his death, though not exactly devastated. He was not a pleasant man, by any means.”

Cecily raised her eyebrows. “Is that so? I hadn’t heard that about him.”

Madeline hesitated. “One shouldn’t speak ill of the dead. All I will say is that he was a most unhappy man and tended to take out his misery on those around him.”

“And Jimmy Taylor? You knew him, too?”

“I don’t think we’d ever met.”

“Jimmy was the young lad who delivered for Rickman’s Dairy.”

“Ah, well, I buy my milk, butter, and cheese at the market.” Madeline frowned. “I find it strange that Thomas was killed with Jimmy’s whip. Kevin told me about the missing locks of hair and the angel stamps. How bizarre. It seems likely they were killed by the same person, doesn’t it. Did they know each other? Thomas and Jimmy, I mean.”