No Clue at the Inn (Pennyfoot Hotel Mystery Book 13) (12 page)

Cecily shrugged. "Mrs. Peebles appears quite able to take care of herself. I think the person who is made most uncomfortable is Lady Lucille. She pretends indifference, but I think she's wary of her husband's wrath over Fitzhammer's lechery."

"If you ask me, Gilroy seems unaware of anything amiss." Baxter gave her arm a little shake. "I think you are making far too much of all this. The four men are obviously good friends, and their wives seem happy enough. You have quite enough on your mind without concerning yourself about the private affairs of our guests."

She smiled at him. "You're quite right. Let us enjoy
this beautiful singing, and when they are finished, we'll take them down to the kitchen to enjoy some hot cocoa and shortbread. I asked Miss Bunkle to order some in. It's a shame Mrs. Chubb is no longer the housekeeper. She made excellent shortbread. Michel is a wonderful chef but he can't make pastries as well as Mrs. Chubb."

"Perhaps we should hire a pastry chef," Baxter suggested.

"It's worth considering, I suppose." Cecily sighed, thinking of the days when she could enjoy her ex-housekeeper's fluffy cream slices and chocolate eclairs.

By the time the carolers had ended their recital, the foyer had become quite crowded with onlookers. Cecily spied Miss Bunkle at the head of the kitchen stairs and made her way over there with Baxter close behind her.

"I have invited the singers to the kitchen," Cecily told the housekeeper when she'd reached her. "I thought they might enjoy some hot cocoa and shortbread."

"Very well, madam. I'll see to it." Miss Bunkle peered at Cecily's chest. "It's none of my business, madam, but are you aware you have a hat pin lodged in your bodice? It doesn't look too secure. It wouldn't do to lose it."

Cecily glanced down at the hat pin, which had worked itself loose from the folds of her shirtwaist. She had quite forgotten she'd pinned it there. Until now it had been hidden under a pleat. "Oh, thank you, Miss Bunkle. You're quite right. I should hate to lose it." She could sense Baxter's intense gaze on her as she fastened the pin securely once more.

"Funny thing, madam," Miss Bunkle said, staring at the pin. "One of our guests asked me not too long ago if I had a hat pin she could borrow since she'd mislaid hers. I
thought she might have dropped it somewhere here in the club. You didn't happen to find that one, did you?"

Cecily looked her straight in the eye. "I can assure you, Miss Bunkle, this pin was not lost in the Pennyfoot."

Miss Bunkle nodded. "Excuse me for asking, madam. I was just wondering, that's all."

"That's quite all right, Miss Bunkle. Please see that our carolers have their fill of refreshments." She turned to leave, then paused, looking back at the housekeeper. "By the way, do you happen to remember the name of the guest who mislaid the hat pin?"

She hoped that she was the only one to hear Baxter's sharp intake of breath.

"I remember very well," Miss Bunkle said, looking smug. "She's here tonight. It was Sir John Gilroy's wife, Lady Lucille."

CHAPTER

9

"It has to be mere coincidence, of course," Baxter said as he accompanied Cecily down the hallway. "I seriously doubt that the wife of a Master of the Bench would be visiting a farmhouse in this remote village. Especially since the house has been empty for a good many months. What would be her purpose?"

"What, indeed?" Cecily murmured. "Unless she had an assignation with someone there."

"Are you suggesting that Lady Lucille was meeting a lover?" Baxter demanded, obviously put out by the very idea.

"Not at all," Cecily said innocently. "As you say, it was simply a coincidence. Lady Lucille lost a hat pin. I found one. It doesn't mean it's the same one."

"But you intend to ask her about it anyway," said Baxter, a little desperately.

"Well, there is something I'd like to look at first." She paused in front of Baxter's office. "I'd like to have a peek at the ledgers."

Baxter frowned. "May I ask why?"

"Certainly." She glanced down the hallway to make sure they were alone. "I noticed there was a fairly new register on the counter this morning. I assume you have the previous one in the safe?"

"Yes, I do. Jeannette brought it into me last night."

"Good." She looked pointedly at the lock. "You do have the key, I hope?"

"Of course." He drew a ring of keys from his pocket and fitted one into the lock. "You still haven't told me why you want to examine the register."

"I'm curious, that's all. I would just like to know when the Gilroys' previous visit took place."

He paused, one hand holding the door closed. "Cecily, I don't think I like this. I hope you're not imagining—"

"I'm not imagining anything, darling. I simply want to look. There's no harm in that, is there?"

He sighed and pushed the door open. "I suppose not. But I have that nasty feeling again that this is going to lead us right into trouble."

"Piffle. You worry far too much about things that might never happen."

She waited impatiently for him to retrieve the ledger from the safe. He laid it on the desk for her, and she opened it, flipping feverishly through the pages until she found what she wanted—the scrawled signature of Sir John Gilroy. Underneath, one below the other, lay the signatures
of the other three Benchers. Apparently all four were accustomed to visiting the Pennyfoot together.

Cecily pointed to Gilroy's signature and slid her finger across the line, uttering a soft exclamation of triumph as she did so.

"What is it?" Baxter asked, leaning forward to peer over her shoulder at the page.

"Look at this." Cecily tapped the spot with her finger. "They were all here three weeks ago. The same time that Barry Wrotham met with his accident."

Baxter straightened. "That doesn't mean they had anything to do with it. Cecily, I must emphatically warn you. These people are extremely influential. They are Barristers-at-Law, for heaven's sake. The governing body of the Inns of Court. Think what it would mean if you even suggested they might be involved in something as ugly as murder. Not only would their reputation suffer, they could bring the entire world down on our heads. It could even mean the end of the Pennyfoot if they chose."

"You are dashing far ahead of me," Cecily said, closing the ledger with a snap. "I'm not going to rush up to them and accuse one of them of murdering Mr. Wrotham."

"Thank heavens." Baxter took out his handkerchief and dabbed his brow. "For a moment I thought—"

"Not without proof, that is."

Baxter's groan was heart-wrenching. "Cecily, for pity's sake. This time I beg you not to pursue this line of thinking. It can only lead to disaster for all of us."

"Not if I can prove that one of them is guilty." She laid her hands on her husband's shoulders and pushed him gently down on his chair. "Just hear me out and then tell me what you think about my theory."

Once more he groaned, lifting his hands in a gesture of defeat. "Very well. But I have to admit to a certain amount of skepticism."

"That's all right. I just want to voice my ideas, to get them set straight in my mind." She seated herself opposite him and folded her hands in her lap. "Supposing Lady Lucille were engaged in a liaison with one of the other Benchers. Since they are all staying at the Pennyfoot, she could hardly conduct that kind of relationship here in the club."

"It would be rather difficult, I agree."

"Quite. So, her lover discovers the abandoned farmhouse. The perfect place for a tryst. Wrotham suspects what is going on and follows them. A Peeping Tom, so to speak. Emily Wrotham thinks her husband was cheating on her, but I think Barry Wrotham might have become enthralled with watching the lovers. Perhaps this romance has been going on for some time. So, Wrotham spies on the happy couple, and then gets caught. Perhaps he threatens to tell all. The lover has to silence him. So he pushes our nosy manager down the well. It would be impossible for Wrotham to climb out, and no one is going to hear his cries for help. No one except his murderer, of course."

"And Lady Lucille," Baxter reminded her.

"She might not have known what happened." Cecily frowned. "Though she certainly would have guessed when Wrotham's body was found."

"Surely she would have told her husband about her suspicions?"

"Not if she'd been engaged in an entanglement with one of his associates. It certainly would explain that nervous little glance she's always directing at him."

Baxter shook his head. "All this is pure conjecture, of course. You have no proof that the pin you found in the farmhouse belongs to Lady Lucille. After all, you mentioned that Emily Wrotham suspected her husband of betraying her with another woman. The pin could belong to Wrotham's unknown paramour."

Cecily withdrew the pin from her bodice and twisted it around in the glow of the gas lamps. "I sincerely doubt it. This pin belongs to a lady of wealth. Look at how the diamond sparkles in the light. Wrotham was a man of modest means. No one with whom he would associate would ever be able to afford something like this."

"Well, until you know for certain to whom the pin belongs, it is dangerous to speculate. I must insist that you proceed with the utmost caution. If you are correct in your assumptions, whoever the culprit may be, he will go to great lengths to keep his secret. He has a great deal to lose."

"Indeed he does," Cecily murmured, fastening the pin to her bodice once more. "But Wrotham lost his life. If someone killed him, then he should pay for it."

"Agreed. I would just prefer that someone else hand him the bill. I don't suppose you would consider talking to P.C. Northcott about your suspicions?"

Her glance of contempt was enough.

He sighed, and ran a hand over his hair to smooth it down. "Very well, but I am holding you to your promise, Cecily. I must warn you, if you violate my trust again, I shan't answer for the consequences."

"Don't worry, darling. I shall consult you before my every move. For instance, at the very first opportunity, I intend to show the pin to Lady Lucille, tell her Miss Bunkle
mentioned she'd lost one, and ask her if this one belongs to her. She might not know where she lost it and will claim it. After all, it
is
a most expensive pin."

"She could deny it belongs to her."

"True."

"That's if it is hers, of course."

Cecily smiled. "If not, then I shall have to rethink my theory."

"And I shall be vastly relieved."

She rose, and held out her arms to her husband. "I think it's time we retired for the night. I'm weary, and we have a long day tomorrow."

He had risen with her, and moved around the desk to accept her hug. "You will take care, my love?"

"Of course." She drew back to look at him. "Did you order my Christmas tree for the library?"

"I did indeed." He dropped a kiss on her nose. "It will be here tomorrow."

"That's wonderful. Madeline will be here to begin the decorating, and Phoebe has promised to stop by with Colonel Fortescue."

Baxter lifted his chin and groaned. "As if we don't have enough bedlam to confuse us. It's been two years since we last saw the inimitable colonel. His brain must be even more addled by now."

"Not according to Phoebe." Cecily laughed. "I must admit, I'm amazed at how well that marriage seems to be working. Those two people are well suited to each other. They each bring something to the marriage that the other needs. And that is how a successful marriage should be."

He tilted his head on one side and gave her a quizzical look. "Is that how you see us?"

"Of course. You give me strength and stability. I give you enthusiasm and drama in your life."

He grimaced. "Sometimes a little too much drama."

"Ah, my love, admit it. Excitement adds a little spice to life."

"You are all the excitement I need. I can manage very well without your adventures to enhance it."

Her protest was smothered by his kiss. Which, in her opinion, was a very satisfying ending to an interesting day.

It was late in the following day when Cecily found the opportunity to speak to Lady Lucille alone. Ross had arrived that morning, having spent the night in nearby Wellercombe. Thanks to the heavy snowfall, he'd been prevented from reaching the Pennyfoot when he'd arrived at the train station.

Gertie was overjoyed to see him earlier than she'd expected, and the twins raced up and down the stairs in their excitement, convinced that now Papa was there, Father Christmas would arrive any minute.

In desperation, after the midday meal, Gertie and Daisy had left Ross to rest in his room while they took the children outside to build a snowman. Mrs. Chubb had asked to be driven into town, since she was anxious to visit with some of her old friends.

Samuel, meanwhile, had requested permission to examine the six motor cars belonging to the Pennyfoot. Much to Cecily's surprise, he'd explained that he was in training to be an automobile mechanic, and generously offered his services free as practice in overhauling the vehicles.

Baxter had seemed somewhat reluctant, but uttered no objections when Cecily accepted Samuel's offer. Baxter had retired to his office shortly after, leaving Cecily to pursue her quest, though not before extracting one more promise from her to watch her step.

As luck would have it, that afternoon the four Benchers had chosen to visit the card rooms where, according to Jeannette, they were engaged in a fiercely competitive game of baccarat.

"You should see 'em, m'm," she confided, having met Cecily in the hallway after returning from the card room, where she had been serving the four men the Pennyfoot's best scotch. "Money flying everywhere. I never saw betting go so fast. Look!" She pulled three silver florins from her pocket. "They gave me this, just for pouring them drinks."

Thankfully remembering that gambling was legal now that the Pennyfoot was a club, Cecily reminded Jeanette that gossip about the guests was strictly forbidden. "The Pennyfoot has always had a reputation for keeping silent about what goes on between these walls," she told the excited young girl. "I wouldn't want that trust violated. Our guests depend on us to respect their privacy."