No Clue at the Inn (Pennyfoot Hotel Mystery Book 13) (29 page)

Fitzhammer had already killed one of the partners. Could he possibly be planning on killing the others, in order to gain sole ownership of Cureagambler? It was something she hadn't thought of before, but now it seemed a distinct possibility.

"Lady Lucille," she said, advancing uninvited into the room. "I must speak with Sir John as soon as possible. It is a matter of great urgency. His life might very well be in danger."

Lucille's eyes opened wide, and she clutched her throat. "Whatever do you mean?"

"The accident that took the life of Roger Peebles." Cecily drew a deep breath. "I have reason to believe that it was not an accident. I must warn you to be on your guard. Your husband, too. It is imperative that I speak with him about this. Do you have any idea how long he plans to be in the card room?"

Lucille's face looked white and drawn. She shook her head, and her lips trembled when she whispered, "About an hour,
madame
. No longer, I should think. He plans to dine with me in the dining room." She gestured at her ankle. "I am not feeling well, and I still cannot walk far on my own. In any case, my husband prefers to accompany me when I am in public."

"In that case, perhaps you would be good enough to ask him to meet me. I have to pay a visit to the kitchen, but I shall be in the library after a while. I shall wait there until Sir John can join me."

"I will be happy to pass on your message." Lady Lucille limped to the door and held it open. "Thank you for your concern, Mrs. Baxter. I pray that you are mistaken in your fears. I cannot imagine anyone wishing to hurt my husband, or Mr. Peebles for that matter."

"Or Jeanette and Barry Wrotham, either. Nevertheless, someone did."

Lucille's lips were colorless. "Barry, too? No, I cannot believe . . . "

She swayed on her feet and Cecily looked at her in alarm. "Lady Lucille, if you are feeling faint, I can send for some salts . . . "

"No,
madame
, thank you." Her voice was stronger now. "It was momentary, that is all." She turned her head as a
sneeze interrupted her, then added a little thickly, "I am quite well. Please, do not concern yourself."

"Very well." Reluctantly, Cecily moved to the door. She couldn't help feeling that she was making a mistake leaving this vulnerable woman alone, yet she could not spare the time to sit with her until Sir John returned. "If you should need assistance," she told her, "please don't hesitate to summon one of the maids. They'll be only too happy to oblige."

"Merci, madame,"
Lucille murmured. "You are too kind."

Still feeling uneasy, Cecily made for the stairs and descended them swiftly. Her urge to confide in Baxter was strong, but she decided to delay it until she had spoken to Sir John. She intended only to warn him, since she could not accuse Fitzhammer of murder without more proof. But she also nursed a hope that the conversation might reveal something more tangible on which to hang her suspicions.

At that moment she would welcome anything that would make her case stronger when she presented it to Baxter later. If only she could convince him that her actions were justified, and that she was doing her utmost to apprehend a genuine murderer, he might find it easier to forgive her for pushing him into the situation that had cost them both so much.

For the time being, however, she had to take advantage of the morning lull to speak with Gertie, which could very well add yet another burden to their mounting concerns. Holding on to the hope that Gertie and Mrs. Chubb would at least see them through Christmas, Cecily headed for the kitchen.

The maids were seated around the main table, chatting among themselves as they shared creamy coffee and huge slices of Dundee cake. Mrs. Chubb and Gertie sat apart from them, their chairs drawn up in front of the stove. The doors were open, and emitted a fierce heat as the flames roared and rattled up the wide chimney pipe.

Cecily was surprised to see Samuel seated with them. She gave him a delighted smile as he leapt to his feet. "I thought you would be in the George and Dragon, Samuel," she told him. "It's past opening time already."

Samuel shrugged. "Gertie told me you was having a word with her this morning, m'm. I wanted to be in on it."

Worried now, Cecily took the empty chair closest to the stove. "Well, this sounds serious. You had better tell me what this is all about."

Samuel and Gertie looked at Mrs. Chubb.

"Don't look at me," she said sharply. "You go first, Gertie. Seeing as how you're the one who started all this."

Gertie's cheeks were flushed, though Cecily couldn't tell if it was from nervousness or the heat from the stove, which was already beginning to toast her own knees through the thick folds of her skirt.

"Well, m'm," Gertie began, "it's like this." She wound an apron string around her finger, then unwound it again.

"Go
on
, Gertie!" Mrs. Chubb said irritably. "Get on with it. We haven't got all day."

Gertie sent her a quick glance, then blurted out, "It's Ross, m'm. He's been walking around the grounds, you see, and well, now that he's sold the business and everything—"

Cecily uttered a muffled exclamation. "Of course. He must be upset. I'm so sorry."

"Oh, it's all right, m'm, really. It were getting too flipping much for him anyway. Riding around them streets in the snow on his bicycle. Couldn't keep up with it anymore, that's the trouble. Anyway, since he don't have no bleeding—"

"Gertie, you promised!"

She sent Mrs. Chubb a lethal glare. "I'm doing me flipping best."

"Just tell me," Cecily said quickly. "What's wrong with Ross?"

"Oh, nothing's wrong, m'm." Gertie's smile was lovely to see. "Well, he's tired, of course. Exhausted, the doctor said. Nothing what a bloody rest won't do him good."

Mrs. Chubb opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again when Gertie said hurriedly, "All right, I'm bleeding getting there, ain't I." She took a deep breath. "My Ross needs a job, m'm. He was wondering if you'd take him on as gardener. He's been looking around, like I said, and he can see what needs to be done. Bloody lot of work, so he says. He's really good at his job, he is, m'm. Mrs. Chubb will tell you. He does marvelous things—"

Cecily interrupted her. "Gertie, I would simply love to hire Ross as a gardener. I'm sure Edward would be overjoyed to have such an expert in his employ, but what about your home in Scotland? You can't live there without your husband."

Gertie shrugged. "Never did like it there, did I. I only stayed there because of Ross. I'd rather be living in Badgers End than anywhere else on earth, and that's the truth. Besides, me babies are bloody English, aren't they. They don't belong in Scotland. Different bleeding lot they are up there, m'm. Don't even talk English, half of 'em."

Cecily shook her head, bewildered by this turn of events. "Well, I'll be happy to talk to Ross, of course, and if this is what he really wants, I'm quite sure we can work something out."

"Well, that's not all, m'm." Gertie chewed on her bottom lip, then mumbled in a rush, "Me and Mrs. Chubb want to work here again, too, m'm. We missed it, we really did. Ross says as how he'd be all right with it as long as he worked here, too. And Daisy said she'd stay here as well, and look after the twins for me. With both Ross and me working, I could afford to pay her a proper wage. So I s'pose it's the three of us what want a job."

"Four," Samuel said, surprising them all.

Gertie looked at him in amazement. "Go on! You, too? What about your job in London? What about Doris?"

Samuel shrugged. "Doris don't care about me. She never did, really. She just needed a friend." He sent a worried glance at Cecily. "I'm not supposed to say nothing yet, but Raymond's thinking about going back to London with her. Doris reckons he can get a job with the theater. That'll leave you without a stable manager, m'm, and since I know about motor cars, well, I thought . . ." His voice trailed off, leaving them all sitting in silence.

Cecily did her best to gather her thoughts. She tried to speak, but the tightness in her throat prevented her for several seconds. Finally, she cleared her throat. "I think I need to remind you that Baxter and I won't be here for much longer—" She stopped short as a stupendous idea occurred to her.

"Oh, that's all right, madam," Mrs. Chubb said quickly. "We know that. We'll all miss you dreadfully, of
course, when you go back to London, but you can come and visit us sometimes, and although it won't be the same without you, we'll still be here at the Pennyfoot."

"Yeah," Samuel said with a grin. He held up his cup as if offering a toast. "Just like old times."

CHAPTER

21

Overwhelmed by Gertie's surprising announcement, Cecily had some trouble finding words to say. She would have to keep her marvelous idea to herself for the time being, at least until she'd had time to discuss it with Baxter. The thought of everyone coming back to the Pennyfoot, however, was too wonderful to believe.

"I . . . can't tell you how happy this makes me," she said at last. "I shall have to address the issue with Baxter, of course, and we must have the final word from Mr. Sandringham, but in view of the difficulty in finding good people, I really can't see how either one of them could possibly refuse. I'm sure they will both be delighted to welcome all of you back to the Pennyfoot Hotel. I mean Country Club."

Gertie jumped to her feet with a yelp of joy. "I just knew this was going to be a bleeding great Christmas. What'd I tell you!" She nudged Mrs. Chubb's arm in her excitement. Unfortunately, the housekeeper was holding a cup of coffee in that hand, and the hot liquid spilled all over her lap.

Cecily used the ruckus that followed to quietly make her escape. Excited herself now, she rushed up the steps, across the foyer, and down the hallway to Baxter's office.

Without bothering to knock, she flung open the door and marched inside. Eager to share her idea with him, she'd forgotten all about his foul mood.

He looked up, one hand holding his pen poised above an open ledger. "What the devil—?" Dropping the pen, he surged to his feet.

"I have so much to tell you." She ignored his scowl, and plopped down on her chair. "So much I don't know where to begin."

"Don't tell me," he said dryly. "The entire male population of this club have been brutally murdered, and you have deduced that Father Christmas is responsible." He sat down and reached for his pen again.

Her smile faded. "I should think you would have more sensitivity than to jest about such matters."

He sighed. "You are quite right. My apologies. So what is it this time?"

Quickly, she informed him that Gertie, Mrs. Chubb, and Samuel had applied for permanent employment at the club.

He seemed pleased about it, though all he said was, "We will have to notify Edward, of course. He will have the final say. I'll send him a telegram."

"Well, that's the other part of it." She leaned forward, her hands clasped together. "Edward rang me on the telephone this morning."

He looked astounded. "From South Africa?"

"Well, I'm not really certain where he was ringing from, though it sounded more like France. I swear the operator on his end was French."

"Well, what did Edward want?"

"Oh, yes!" She beamed hopefully at him. "Well, he said he was being sent to Bermuda and he would be there for quite a while and he wanted us to hire a new manager."

Baxter frowned. "That might take a while."

"Exactly what I was thinking." In her eagerness she rose to her feet, forcing him to do the same. "Baxter, this could be the solution to our problems. Why can't we be the managers? It worked well for us before, and you know how I adore being here and you love being in a position of authority. We would have a place to stay while we get our finances in order—it would be too, too perfect."

The expression in his eyes worried her. "Please sit down, Cecily."

She sat, waiting anxiously for him to seat himself. For a long moment he said nothing, but sat tapping his pen on the paper. At last he sat back in his chair and smoothed a hand over his hair, a sign that Cecily recognized well. She braced herself.

"I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt," he began, "and dismiss the possibility that you engineered this entire situation."

She stared at him in disbelief. "How can you possibly say that? I was not responsible for Barry Wrotham's death,
nor Jeanette's. Certainly not Roger Peebles's death, either. How can you accuse me of manipulating everything?"

He shrugged. "You have to admit, it has all fallen rather nicely into your lap. You have never been truly happy away from the Pennyfoot, and it seems you have found a way to remedy that. I would be uncommonly suspicious of everything that has happened, were it not for the fact that I have to believe even you would be incapable of trickery on such a grand scale."

Relieved, she tried her best to smile. "You give me far too much credit, my dear husband."

"Nevertheless, I can't help feeling you had a hand in this somewhere."

"It is pure providence, I assure you." She watched his face, hopeful that she had won him over. "So you agree?"

"To what?"

"That taking over the management of the Pennyfoot would be the perfect solution to our troubles."

"No, I do not agree." He laid down his pen. "The perfect solution would be that none of this had happened, and that I still had a house and a business of my own. I do not relish the thought of working for Edward, managing a country club, at the beck and call of every pesky guest who feels it his right to make trivial complaints and waste my time. No, Cecily, it is not my idea of a solution."

She took a deep breath. "Well, then, let
me
do the managing. I can hire an accountant to keep the books, and I can manage everything else."

"And what am I supposed to do in the meantime? Sit and twiddle my thumbs?"

"No, of course not. I would certainly not expect you to while away your life unoccupied."

"Then what do you suggest?"

"There is no reason why you cannot conduct your business from here. You can use the bedroom in our suite for an office. It's certainly large enough. We would have a telephone put in there and you can be in contact with your associates just as you were in London. You might have to travel to the city now and then, but think how much your clients would adore spending a night at the seashore to conduct their business. You could start a whole new trend in business travel."