No Clue at the Inn (Pennyfoot Hotel Mystery Book 13) (17 page)

"Yeah," Gertie said, laughing. "She asked me if I wanted to be in it. I told her I could be an Ugly Sister if we did
Cinderella."

"I offered to be the prince," Samuel said, winking at Doris.

"Well, actually, I thought we might do
Aladdin,"
Cecily said, looking hopefully at Doris. "Phoebe's dance troupe still have their
Arabian Nights
costumes. They were such a hit in the tableaux—"

"Except for the time Phoebe let a python loose on the stage," Baxter said dryly, having come up behind Cecily without her noticing. "I don't think the audience appreciated that little dramatic effect, judging by the amount of swooning ladies."

"Yeah," Samuel said with a grin. "The ballroom looked like a battlefield. After the python won."

They all laughed, greeting Baxter as if he were a long-lost friend. Cecily beamed on them all. It was so good to see her favorite people having such a wonderful time. It had been a good idea to invite everyone for Christmas, and now that the mystery of Barry Wrotham's death was solved, she could relax and enjoy the festivities.

Even so, as she preceded Baxter to a secluded table in the corner of the room, she couldn't quite dismiss the little niggling notion that Lucille had not been exactly truthful. Or perhaps she didn't want to pursue the possibility, just in case there was something sinister going on. Something that just might ruin Christmas for them all.

Right now everyone was happy and relaxed, looking forward with expectation to the big day. This was how it should be, and she could only hope that nothing would come along to spoil it all.

As for Madeline's dire warnings, she had been known to be mistaken before. Cecily decided just to put the whole thing out of her mind. Nothing was going to interfere with this Christmas Season. Not if she could help it.

The very next morning Doris called a rehearsal for the pantomime. Having appeared in a production of
Aladdin
the year before, she was well acquainted with the music and the general story line. Since most of the speaking parts were ad-libbed anyway, it was just a matter of prompting and prodding the actors.

Motor cars had been sent out to the vicarage so that Phoebe could round up her dance troupe, and various members of the staff had been invited to join in the fun. Raymond, who had been following Doris around all morning, was given the part of the genie, and Cecily agreed to juggle his duties among the footmen in order to allow him to take part. Doris herself was to play Aladdin.

Phoebe was beside herself with excitement, especially when told that her dance troupe could perform their tableaux as part of the backdrop, and even the colonel was recruited to act as a palace guard.

Despite Doris's pleas, both Cecily and Baxter declined to take part, citing their duties as being too numerous for them to spare the time. Gertie and Mrs. Chubb volunteered, however, and would be adding comic relief to the presentation. Though, as Baxter remarked in an aside to Cecily, just the appearance of Phoebe's dance troupe would provide plenty of amusement.

In all, the pantomime promised to be a spectacular addition to the Christmas events, and Cecily was well pleased with her decision. After leaving the excited cast to rehearse, she made her way to the kitchen. It had been some time since she had spoken to Michel, and she needed to go over the Christmas menu with him.

She was crossing the foyer when she spotted Percy Chatsworth entering through the front doors. He doffed
his homburg at the sight of her, greeting her with a cheery "Good morning, Mrs. Baxter!"

She answered his greeting, and was about to pass him by, when she remembered something Lucille had said.
I do not understand why he needs all this extra work and demands . . . I wish the others would leave him alone
.

At the time, Cecily had wondered who "the others" might be, and what kind of business they were engaged in that Lucille found so distressing. It occurred to her now that Lucille might have been talking about the other Benchers.

True, it was none of her business, but curiosity had always been her downfall, and she really wanted to know what Lucille had meant by those words. Perhaps then she could finally banish that annoying little feeling that she had forgotten something that still taunted her mind.

Percy Chatsworth was a good deal older than his counterparts, and probably nearing retirement. It seemed a good place to start. "I trust you are enjoying your respite, Mr. Chatsworth?" She beamed at him. "Your work must bring such pressure to bear. It can't be easy to argue whether or not a man is guilty of a crime. It's a great responsibility."

"Indeed it is, Mrs. Baxter. Indeed it is." Chatsworth nodded his head emphatically in agreement.

"I imagine you are looking forward to your retirement. Your work must not give you time to enjoy much leisure. How fortunate that you are spared the time to visit with us here in Badgers End."

"Quite, quite." Chatsworth looked meaningfully at the grandfather clock. He was obviously in a hurry to be somewhere else.

"Though I suppose some of you manage to have business
interests outside of the courts, wouldn't you say?" It was a shot in the dark, but she was hoping he might shed some light on Sir John's activities.

To her surprise, Chatsworth's eyes had narrowed to thin slits, and the muscles in his jaw were so tight she could see them twitch. "That would be quite impossible, Mrs. Baxter. Masters of the Bench are prohibited from owning or being engaged in outside businesses. One would be instantly disbarred for life. Now, if you will excuse me, I am late for an important appointment."

She watched him stride off, his cape flapping around his ankles like an angry dog. It must have been something she said, though she couldn't imagine what it was. In any case, it would seem that Sir John's added demands were not connected to business affairs. Which made his lack of attention even more unreasonable. It was no wonder his wife was so upset with him. Feeling decidedly sorry for the woman, Cecily continued on her way.

Long before she reached the kitchen door, she could hear the uproar ensuing from behind it. The crashing and banging of pans sounded ominously familiar as an irate voice strove to make itself heard above the racket.
"Sacre bleu!
'Ow am I supposed to provide ze meal with ze excellence my patrons expect from me when I 'ave such incompetence from ze 'elpers
?
You are all 'elpless,
oui?
You do not know 'ow to serve ze rack of lamb,
non?
'Ow many times I tell you . . . put ze little white frills on top ze feet, not around ze bottom!"

Michel was on the warpath again. Cecily pushed open the door to the kitchen, just as a saucepan lid crashed to the floor.

Miss Bunkle emerged from the pantry carrying a huge tray loaded with hams. Moira leaped to help her and instead bumped into her. The flustered maid jumped backward, stepped back onto the saucepan lid, skidded on it, and sent it clattering across the red tile floor.

Miss Bunkle, unlike Mrs. Chubb, who would have raised her voice to scold the maid, simply sat the tray on the huge butcher table in the middle of the kitchen and said coldly, "Do try to be more careful, girl. We don't want any more broken dishes."

"Broken dishes?" Michel swung around from the stove, waving a wooden spoon in the air. "There'll be broken 'eads if I 'ave my way. I cannot work with such imbeciles—" Apparently catching sight of Cecily, he broke off, his eyes widening.
"Madame!
You are 'ere!" He swept her a flamboyant bow, sweeping yet another saucepan lid to the ground.

Cecily winced at the deafening rattle of its lopsided spin. Moira snatched it up before it could spin to a clattering stop. "Morning, m'm," she said, dipping a nervous curtsey.

"I'm sorry, madam," Miss Bunkle said, coming forward. "Things are a little disorganized this morning. One of our maids is ill and another has the half-day off and we are so busy we haven't had time to breathe."

"Oh, dear, we shall have to try to do something about that. Perhaps we should take on some extra maids over Christmas." Cecily smiled at Moira, who looked as if she were about to burst into tears. "It's all right, Moira. Get on with your work."

"Yes, m'm." The girl scurried over to the table and joined the other girls in polishing the silverware.

Cecily turned to the housekeeper. "Who is ill, Miss Bunkle?"

The housekeeper shook her head. "It's Jeanette, madam. She has a bad cold and went to bed early last night. The girl was sniffing all day yesterday. Now two of the others have started sniffing. If they go down with colds, we'll be in a right pickle."

"Has anyone attended to Jeanette this morning? Does she need a doctor?"

"I haven't had time to look in on her as yet, madam. I'll send someone to her room as soon as the midday meal is over."

"That won't be for another two hours or more." Cecily glanced at the clock. "I'll stop by there on my way out and see if she needs anything."

"Oh, no, madam, that won't be necessary. I—"

"Oh,
no, you can't!"

Both Miss Bunkle and Moira had spoken at once. Or rather, Moira's protest had been more a cry of dismay. Everyone in the kitchen suddenly fell silent, as if sensing something important was amiss.

Cecily and the housekeeper stared at Moira, who appeared to be in great distress. She twisted her apron around her fingers as she stared wide-eyed at Cecily.

"What is it, girl?" Miss Bunkle demanded. "Speak up! Do you need to go to the lavatory?"

Moira's face flamed and she shot an embarrassed glance at Michel. "No, Miss Bunkle, it's just that, Jeanette, well . . ."

Cecily moved toward her, holding out her hand. "It's all right, Moira," she said soothingly. "What's the matter with Jeanette?"

"I don't know . . . that is . . . she's . . . " She sent a wild glance around the kitchen. Three of the maids stared back as if hanging on her every word, while Michel stirred a cauldron of soup with one hand and glared at the hapless girl.

"Perhaps we'd better step outside," Cecily said quietly.

At that Moira seemed even more agitated. "No, no, it's nothing, m'm, honest it isn't. Jeanette is quite all right, I know she is. She doesn't need nothing right now." She aimed a scared look at Miss Bunkle. "I can go and see her in a little while. She'll be all right until then. Honest. She'd rather be left alone."

Miss Bunkle walked right up to the maid and scowled at her. Although her voice was deadly calm, the knitting needle in her hair quivered as though attached to a rumbling volcano. "All right, my girl.
Where is Jeanette?"

Tears welled up in Moira's frightened eyes. "I don't know, Miss Bunkle. Honest I don't."

"I assume she's not lying down in her room."

"I don't think so, Miss Bunkle."

"You share the room with her, don't you?"

The girl nodded, dabbing at her nose with the back of her hand.

"Then you know where she is."

"No, I don't, Miss Bunkle. She never told me where she was going." Once more she sent a worried glance at the other curious girls.

"Stop your gawking and get on with your work," Miss Bunkle ordered, jerking a hand in their direction. "We're behind enough as it is. Moira, you come with me." She grabbed the girl's hand and marched her out of the kitchen, with Cecily following close behind.

Once outside in the hallway, Miss Bunkle pushed her face into Moira's, nose to nose. "Now you're going to tell me where Jeanette is and what she is doing, or I'll have you scrubbing floors every night for a week."

Moira promptly burst into a storm of weeping, making it impossible to get anything out of her.

"Perhaps I should talk to her," Cecily suggested. "I'm sure you need to be back in the kitchen taking care of your chores."

Miss Bunkle hesitated, then gave Cecily a sharp nod. "Very well, madam. But I have to tell you, I am not happy with the way the staff behaves here. The maids are impertinent, and as for Michel, he's a drunken lout with a filthy temper. The staff have been allowed too many liberties if you ask me. Discipline, that's what these people need. They need to be treated like servants, not like members of the family. It's no wonder the whole place is so disorganized."

Cecily suppressed her resentment as best she could, saying evenly, "I'm sorry you feel that way, Miss Bunkle. Please return to your work. I'll take care of this matter with Jeanette."

Miss Bunkle muttered her begrudging thanks and disappeared into the kitchen. Moira still sobbed into her apron and Cecily patted her on the shoulder. "Come along with me, Moira. We'll talk in my suite."

Moira gulped and sniffed, and blew her nose into her apron, making Cecily wince. She made a mental note to supply all the maids with handkerchiefs. No wonder they were passing colds around to each other.

"I'd better not, m'm," Moira said, her voice quivering. "Miss Bunkle is really cross with me. I don't want to make her any more cross."

"Very well." Cecily smiled encouragingly at her. "You can go back now if you feel better."

"Yes, m'm. I do. Thank you, m'm." She turned to go, but Cecily laid a hand on her thin shoulder.

"But first, I think it might be a good idea if you tell me when you last saw Jeanette."

Moira gulped again, then whispered, "I gave my solemn promise I wouldn't tell."

"When was that?"

Moira's lips trembled. "Last night, m'm."

Cecily felt a pang of apprehension. "Last night? That was the last time you saw her?"

Moira gave her a reluctant nod of her head.

"And she didn't say where she was going?"

"No, m'm. She didn't. She said as how it were a secret."

"She stayed out all night?"

"Yes, m'm."

Now Cecily was really worried. "Did she say anything else that might help us know where she is? Did she give you any idea she planned on leaving for good?"

"Oh, no, m'm. She told me she was meeting someone and she couldn't tell me who it was, but that she'd tell me all about it later. I think she meant to come back, m'm. That's why I'm so worried." Her bottom lip trembled again and she caught it under her teeth.