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

"Oh, I respect it, all right, m'm. I'm very good at keeping me mouth shut about what goes on here." She glanced over her shoulder as if making sure no one could overhear her, then in a conspiratorial whisper added, "You wouldn't believe half of the goings-on I see, and that's a fact."

Well aware of what many of the "goings-on" entailed, Cecily hustled the girl back to the kitchen, again reminding her that it was none of their business.

In the days when the Pennyfoot had been a hotel, the illegal card rooms, hidden below in the wine cellar, had been bustling with notables. The boudoirs were notorious for entertaining the lewd assignations of various members of the aristocracy and the upper crust of London. Although the card rooms were no longer an embarrassment, the boudoirs had apparently lost none of their former notoriety.

The list of guests named Smith, Jones, or Brown was endless. In fact, as Cecily was well aware, it had become so common for such names to be used to conceal one's true identity, that persons with the legitimate name of Smith made up another one so as not to be suspected of philandering.

She was on her way to the library to inspect the new Christmas tree when she encountered Lady Lucille who, it seemed, was heading in the same direction.

The lady seemed disinclined to talk, making it clear she felt it beneath her station to be caught conversing with the hired help. Cecily had to remind herself that she was no longer the owner of the Pennyfoot, and was therefore relegated to the realm of the employed. Bearing that in mind, she was overly solicitous when she addressed the woman.

"I wonder if I might have a word with you, your ladyship," she said as she stood back to allow Lucille to enter the library ahead of her. "I have something that might be of importance to you."

Lucille looked at her with the expression of one who seriously doubted that such a lowly being could have anything to say that would be remotely worthy of her time. "And what might that be?"

Following her into the library, Cecily caught sight of the Christmas tree in the corner of the spacious room. She had
no time to dwell on it now, however. Thankful to see they were alone in the room, she carefully removed the pin from the pocket of her skirt. "Miss Bunkle informed me that you had mislaid a hat pin when you were here last. I found this one and wondered if it might belong to you." She held the pin up to the light, so that the diamond glittered as it spun in her fingers. "It's awfully pretty. I'm quite sure anyone would hate to lose something as appealing as this."

She had been watching Lucille's face carefully as she spoke. The other woman's eyes had widened just a fraction, and she blinked rapidly as she raised a delicate hand to her throat. "It is indeed
très magnifique
, Madame Baxter. It is not mine, however. I found my missing hat pin later. I did not lose it after all."

"Well, how fortunate for you." Cecily replaced the pin in her pocket. "I shall have to ask the other ladies if the pin belongs to them. I was thinking perhaps it had been stolen, since I found it in rather an unusual place. It was on the floor of a bedroom in an abandoned farmhouse."

Lucille's eyelashes fluttered again and a slight flush spread over her cheeks. "Is that so." She'd managed to put a great deal of disgust into those words, obviously hoping to imply she wouldn't be caught dead in a farmhouse. Abandoned or not. She turned away, and moved toward the bookcases, indicating that the conversation was over.

Cecily was not that easily dismissed, however. She followed Lucille to the racks of books. "Strangely enough, it was the same farm where poor Mr. Wrotham met his end."

Lady Lucille kept on moving down the shelves, but Cecily noticed that the woman's hand shook quite visibly as she reached for a book.

Pressing home her point, Cecily said quietly, "One has
to wonder if Mr. Wrotham wandered into a situation he wasn't supposed to see. Two lovers enjoying a secluded hideaway, perhaps. Having witnessed a scene that could cause a great deal of trouble for the pair involved, it could well have become necessary to make sure Mr. Wrotham did not pass on his discovery to anyone else. After all, when one is in a position of eminence, one can sometimes be forced to go to extraordinary lengths to protect one's image, wouldn't you say?"

Lady Lucille spun on her heel so sharply a hairpin slipped from her tightly bound hair and bounced off her shoulder. "Madame Baxter, I have not the least idea what your babbling means. I have many excellent works of fiction from which I can choose right here on these shelves. I have no interest at all in your stories. If you will excuse me, I should like to examine these shelves without you here to bother me."

Cecily lowered her gaze before the other woman saw the resentment smoldering there. "My apologies, Lady Lucille. I shall go in search of the other ladies and ask them if the pin belongs to any of them. I'm sorry to have disturbed you."

She headed to the door, and had reached it when Lady Lucille said sharply,
"Attende, s'il vous plaît!"

Cecily turned, waiting expectantly as Lady Lucille moved toward her, her hand outstretched.

"The pin. Give it to me," she said, obviously making an effort to sound more amicable. "I will ask my companions if it belongs to any of them. I am quite sure you have enough to do with the work of running such an excellent establishment,
non?
I will be happy to relieve you of an extra burden."

Cecily smiled. "That is most kind of you, your ladyship. But I couldn't possibly trouble you with any of my duties. Enjoy your reading. Good day."

Just before she escaped through the door, she glimpsed Lady Lucille's narrowed eyes, and the expression in them sent a nasty chill down her back. There was no doubt in her mind that, given enough reason, the elegant lady could be a formidable foe.

What also seemed apparent, Cecily reflected as she hurried down the hallway, was that Lady Lucille was vastly disturbed by the discovery of the pin and where it was found. Either the pin did, indeed, belong to her, or she knew who was the owner.

What's more, Cecily was convinced her theory was on the right track. It seemed highly possible that one of the ladies was engaged in an illicit alliance with one of the Benchers, and that Wrotham found out about it. It also seemed feasible to assume that Lady Lucille was the lady involved, since she had mislaid her hat pin when she was visiting the Pennyfoot the same week Wrotham died. Which left one large question looming in Cecily's mind: Which of the Benchers would be foolish enough to dally with Sir John Gilroy's wife?

She broached the question to Baxter when she joined him in his office a short while later.

Her husband seemed distracted, and was rather short with her. "You are assuming all this, Cecily. You don't have an ounce of justification for your suspicions. It's no wonder Inspector Cranshaw becomes so incensed when you interfere in his investigations."

"Inspector Cranshaw is a fool," Cecily said mildly. "He wouldn't leave a dunderhead like P.C. Northcott in charge
if he had any brains. Here we have a situation fraught with unanswered questions and ominous possibilities, and Northcott is ignoring the whole thing."

"Well, while I have to agree with your assessment of the police constable, have you considered at all the possibility that you are simply overreacting to an unfortunate circumstance simply because there is an element of mystery about it?"

Cecily leaned two hands on his desk. "Baxter, dear, I love you dearly, but sometimes you can be deliberately obtuse. Wrotham's body was found floating in a well on abandoned farmland where he had no good reason to be, several yards from a farmhouse that is supposed to have been uninhabited for at least a year, yet the magazine I found there was dated just a month ago, and a very expensive diamond pin, which no farmer's wife would ever be able to afford, was found lying next to a fine, pure wool blanket that showed no sign of wear. Not only that, I'm convinced that Lucille was lying when she denied the pin was hers. If that doesn't add up to ominous possibilities, then you are right, I am overreacting."

Baxter blinked. "Well, when you put it like that . . ."

"Thank you. I'm pleased that you see my point. Now, as I said before you so loudly voiced your skepticism, which one of the Benchers would you suppose would risk his career to spend an afternoon with Lucille in a deserted farmhouse?"

"If it were Lucille who had been there, her lover could be anyone. It doesn't necessarily have to be one of her husband's associates, does it?"

"No, but it seems the most likely answer. If it were someone else entirely, why meet him here with so many
witnesses about? Why not meet him in London, which after all, has a great many more places to offer seclusion and a great deal more comfortable at that. No, I think that Lucille and her lover took the opportunity where they could, when they could seize the moment to slip off together without being missed. Or perhaps the whole affair exploded into passion for the first time while they were here at the Pennyfoot together, and their assignation was purely on impulse."

"Well, we all know where impulses tend to lead us, don't we."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Come now, Bax. If you had to choose one, which Bencher would you select for Lady Lucille's lover?"

"I haven't the slightest idea. By the way, did you happen to notice if the Christmas tree had arrived in the library?"

"Yes, it has. I caught a glimpse of it but I didn't have time to examine it closely. Don't change the subject. I really would like to know your opinion. It's important to me."

Baxter leaned back in his chair, a perplexed frown marring his face. "Oh, very well. Though I can't say that I've paid much attention to the group. That handsome chap, I suppose. The one with the flame-haired wife."

"Ah, you managed to pay some attention, I see." She grinned at his expression of discomfort. "It's all right, I'm teasing. Roger Peebles is certainly a possibility. The sort of man a woman like Lucille would enjoy conquering. Then there's Fitzhammer, who is obviously infatuated with the lovely Lucille. Though I do believe she regards him with contempt. I wonder—" She broke off as a sharp tap sounded on the door.

After a short pause, during which Baxter raised his eyebrows at her in question, he called out, "You may come in!"

The door opened and Miss Bunkle's head appeared in the gap, the knitting needle in her hair scraping against the doorjamb. "Oh, I'm sorry to disturb you, sir . . . madam. I thought you'd be alone. That is . . . "

"Come in, Miss Bunkle," Baxter said impatiently. "You're not interrupting anything important." He ignored Cecily's meaningful look of indignation at his comment. "Is there something that needs my attention?"

"Yes, sir." Miss Bunkle edged into the room and stood wringing her hands for a moment before bursting out, "It's my pearls, Mr. Baxter. I'm afraid they've been stolen. There's a thief somewhere in the Pennyfoot and I believe it's one of the staff."

CHAPTER

10

It had taken quite a while to calm down the normally unflappable Miss Bunkle. After questioning her closely about where she had last seen her pearls, Cecily had promised to look into the matter. As she remarked to Baxter after Miss Bunkle had left, it wouldn't do to bring in the constable until they had at least attempted to solve the problem themselves. The last thing the Pennyfoot needed was for word to get out that a thief was loose in the building.

Much disturbed by the latest turn of events, Cecily began questioning the staff. Jeannette and Moira seemed vastly upset at the thought they might be accused of stealing the pearls, and Cecily had to assure them that she was simply exploring all avenues before calling in the constables.

Jeannette, especially, was quite beside herself. "No one's never called me a thief before," she declared, her cheeks red with indignation. "I never stole nothing in me life. I swear I didn't."

"No one is accusing you," Cecily told her, "or anyone else for that matter. We must ask everyone if they have seen or heard anything that might help us find the pearls."

"I reckon the old biddy lost 'em," Jeannette said, nodding her head at the parlor, where Miss Bunkle was fortunately out of earshot. "What's an old bird like her doing with pearls anyway? They'd look pretty daft strung around her scraggy neck."

"They were a family heirloom and of great sentimental value to Miss Bunkle. It isn't up to you to question why she has them, Jeannette. The point is, we need everyone to keep their eyes and ears open, just in case you should see or hear something that might help us find the pearls. If they are not found soon, we shall have to call in the constables."

"Yes, m'm." The girl stared down at her shoes, her bottom lip jutting at a stubborn angle. "All I know is, I didn't steal them."

Sighing, Cecily left the kitchen and made her way up the stairs to the first floor. It pained her to think that a trusted member of the staff had committed theft on the premises. The staff of the Pennyfoot had always been treated well, with generous pay and free time.

According to Baxter, Edward had been even more charitable than she had, thanks to the thriving business he had worked hard to build. To discover a miscreant among the carefully chosen workers saddened her as much as if it had been a member of her own family.

Deep in thought, she came close to colliding with the tall figure who had stepped out from the card room in front of her in the narrow hallway. She recognized Sir John Gilroy, and the handsome Roger Peebles hovering right behind him, as well as the older Bencher, Percy Chatsworth. Fitzhammer, the lecherous one as Cecily had dubbed him, apparently was still engrossed in a card game.

Cecily greeted the three men and added, "If you should happen to be looking for Lady Lucille, Sir John, I left her in the library about an hour ago."

Gilroy nodded, his expression somewhat forbidding. "Thank you, Mrs. Baxter. I believe she planned to take a book back to our suite. She has more than likely returned there by now."

He was about to move on when the impulse struck her. She pulled the hat pin from her pocket and held it up to the light so all three men could plainly see it. "I found this hat pin yesterday. I was wondering if any of you gentlemen recognized it as belonging to your wife."