No Clue at the Inn (Pennyfoot Hotel Mystery Book 13) (7 page)

Mrs. Chubb huffed out her breath. "And the ovens stoked with coals, the grates blackened every day, the floors washed, the sinks cleaned, the laundry done, the carpets swept, the beds made, the furniture dusted, the silver polished—"

"Heavens!" Cecily laughed. "You're making me feel tired, Mrs. Chubb."

"Me, too." Gertie dug an elbow in the stout lady's ribs. "Come on, Chubby, get up to your room before you feel tempted to go down there and start bleeding ordering everyone about."

Mrs. Chubb wagged a finger in Gertie's face. "I told you not to call me that."

"Oops!" Gertie grinned at Cecily. "Got a blinking memory like a sieve, I do."

Muttering under her breath, Mrs. Chubb grabbed each twin by the hand and headed for the staircase.

"Don't take any notice of us, m'm," Gertie said as she followed behind with Cecily. "Me and Mrs. Chubb get along really well. A lot different from the old days when she used to box me ears for talking back to her. She's more
like me mum now. Still tries to tell me what to do, but she knows I'm old enough not to care."

Cecily sighed. "It's hard to think that things have changed so much when everything looks so familiar."

"It do, indeed, m'm." Gertie looked earnestly at her. "I wanted to say, m'm, it's really, really nice of you to invite us like this. As guests, I mean. Though I have to admit, it do feel strange."

"I hope not too strange for you to enjoy your visit. Since you are my guests, I think we can dispense with you referring to me as 'm'm' while you are here."

"Oh, no, m'm, I couldn't." Gertie gave her head an emphatic shake. "It wouldn't seem right. Me and Mrs. Chubb talked about that on the way down on the train. We both agreed we couldn't stop addressing you the way we've always been used to, that's all. I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not. You must do whatever makes you the most comfortable." Cecily smiled at the sight of the twins dragging Mrs. Chubb up the stairs. "I just want everyone to enjoy the Christmas Season."

"I'm sure we will, m'm. Is Michel still here?"

"Yes, he is. And delighted at the thought of seeing everyone again."

"Go on with you, m'm." Gertie lifted her skirts as she began to climb the stairs. "I bet he didn't bleeding tell you that."

Cecily laughed. "No, he didn't. He made some vague comments about his peace being shattered and the reputation of the country club being forever sullied. But I could tell he was excited at the news."

"Hope he's got a good supply of brandy. He's going to
need it with all of us around. What about the twins, Daisy and Doris? Are they coming?"

"Daisy will be arriving with Samuel tomorrow. Doris won't be here until later. She has a theatrical engagement to finish before she can leave London."

"I can't wait to see them again." Gertie heaved a sigh. "I really miss them. Daisy especially. She was always so good at taking care of me own twins. I wonder if they'll remember her." Gertie hugged herself in her excitement. "This is going to be the best bleeding Christmas ever."

"What about Ross? When will he be arriving? I was hoping he'd come down with you."

"So was I." Gertie paused for breath at the first landing. Mrs. Chubb and the twins had already disappeared around the curve of the next flight of stairs. "To tell you the truth, m'm, his business ain't doing that well. Not much call for gardeners in Scotland nowadays. Most people take care of their own, and those what don't buy their vegetables from the greengrocers. He doesn't say much, but I know he worries about it. He stayed behind to finish up with the customers he's got for Christmas stuff, but I don't know what he's going to do after that."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Cecily murmured. "It must be a worry for you."

"It's his health I'm worried about, m'm." Gertie began climbing the second flight of stairs. "Got this awful cough, he has. Reminds me of when Ethel got ill with hers. I'll be glad if he does give up the gardening. The weather in Scotland is bleeding shocking in the winter. It's blinking cold enough to freeze the—"

She broke off as a man and a woman appeared on the stairs above her on their way down.

The woman's hair, visible beneath the upswept brim of her hat, was an exquisite shade of auburn, and her pale skin seemed colorless in comparison. She wore a fashionable suit of dark gray, with a silver soutache braid trimming the coat and the hem of the gored skirt. Her gloved hand clung to the bannisters as she paused to allow Cecily and Gertie to pass.

Her companion was dark in complexion, as if he had spent a good many weeks in the glare of the sun. His comely features were perfectly arranged on his face, and he gave both of them an engaging smile as they passed by him, then continued on down the stairs with the elegant woman.

"Flippin' 'eck," Gertie said when they were out of earshot. "Now there's a good-looking chap. Bet that suit cost a bob or two."

"I think the gentleman must be one of the Benchers staying here," Cecily said as they reached the next landing. "I met the other two and their wives last night, but there are two more I haven't met as yet."

"Benchers?" Gertie looked puzzled. "I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"They are barristers," Cecily explained. "The highest ranked of the judicial office. They sit on the Bench at the Inns of Court. Most prestigious position. Some members of the royal family have been Royal Benchers, including Prince Albert and King George the Fifth, I do believe."

"Blimey," Gertie said, sounding impressed, though it was obvious by her expression she didn't have the slightest
idea what Cecily was talking about. "Right posh toffs, then. I reckon the country club doesn't do that bad after all."

At least she had that right, Cecily reflected as she joined Mrs. Chubb and the impatient twins on the landing.

The next few minutes were spent getting everyone settled. Then Cecily left them alone to relax after their long journey and went down to the kitchen to order up a tray of refreshments.

Mrs. Chubb had elected to keep the twins with her in her room, so that Gertie and Ross could have some privacy, an arrangement of which Cecily heartily approved. Having completed her mission in the kitchen, she then went in search of her husband. It had been far too long since she'd had a word alone with Baxter. She had forgotten how much time could be taken up with the business of managing a hotel. Country club. Try as she might, she could not think of the Pennyfoot as anything but a hotel. And she probably never would.

"She don't look like no housemaid to me," Jeanette said as she lifted a cauldron of hot water from the stove. "I ask you, what's a housemaid and a housekeeper doing staying as guests at the very hotel what they worked at once? Don't make any sense, do it."

Moira shrugged, her fingers busy peeling the shell from a hard-boiled egg. "It's not our place to say, is it."

Jeanette dumped the water into the sink and carried the empty pot back to the stove. "Oh, don't be such a ninny. Who's going to know if we talk about them?" She nodded her head in the direction of the ceiling. "I wish I could be a spider on the wall in some of those
boudoirs. I reckon I'd see enough to make me eyes bulge out."

Moira's cheeks flamed, and she lowered her chin. "It's none of our business what goes on upstairs."

Jeanette stomped back to the sink and began slipping soiled dinner plates into the water. "Maybe not, but I reckon I could tell you a thing or two that would shock the living daylights out of you."

Moira raised her chin. "Like what?"

Jeanette grinned. "See? I knew you were just as nosy as me. What if I was to tell you I knew something about Rotten Wrotham that no one else knew?"

Moira's eyes grew wide with apprehension. "What do you mean?"

"Can't tell you, can I. But I can tell you this, them toffs upstairs aren't all that blinking perfect, neither. You'd be shocked if you knew what I know."

Moira went back to shelling her eggs. "I don't believe you know anything. You're just making it up to sound big, that's all."

"Am I then?" Jeanette swished the dishes in the hot water and stacked them onto the draining board. "Well, I wouldn't be too sure. You know the really handsome one? The one with the dark curly hair and the suntan? His wife is the one with all that red hair?"

"You mean Mr. Peebles?"

"Yeah, that's his name. Roger Peebles. Well, he's no angel, that's for sure."

"Go on!" Moira's eyes gleamed with excitement. "Did he make a grab at you?"

"Maybe he did and maybe he didn't." Now that she
had Moira's full attention, Jeanette was thoroughly enjoying herself. "All I can tell you is, there's a lot more to him than meets the eye."

"You got a crush on him, then?"

Jeanette wiped her hands on her apron and glanced over her shoulder at her friend. "So what if I have?"

"You'd better not let your Wally know that." Moira looked worried. "You know what a temper Wally's got. He's likely to do something bad to Mr. Peebles if he thinks he's after you."

"He wouldn't have no say in it." Jeanette grabbed a dishcloth in one hand and a wet plate in the other. "He's only me blinking boyfriend, not me husband."

"Don't matter." Moira carried the broken shells over to the oven and opened the door. A blast of hot air erupted from the searing red coals inside as she threw the shells into the furnace, sending sizzling golden sparks dancing up the chimney. "Wally thinks you belong to him, and he won't take kindly to another man mucking about with his girlfriend."

"Here, I never said he—"

Jeanette snapped her mouth shut as Miss Bunkle sailed into the kitchen, flapping her apron in front of her face to cool it off. "Great heavens it's hot in here. Did someone forget to close the door on the oven again?"

"No, Miss Bunkle." Moira scraped her hands down the front of her apron. "I've just been burning the egg shells, that's all."

"Well, get that door shut, girl, before we lose all the heat out of that stove. Michel will be here at any minute to start the evening meal. He won't be too happy if his oven's gone cold."

"Yes, Miss Bunkle." Moira slammed the heavy door shut and returned to the table, where the newly skinned eggs waited to be chopped.

Jeanette went on drying the dishes, her mind conjuring up a vision of Mr. Peebles chasing her around the bedroom, and her running slow enough for him to catch her.

The next morning Baxter seemed anxious to get back to his accounts, which according to him, had been badly mismanaged. He seemed in a sour mood, and barely acknowledged Cecily's reminder that she was meeting Phoebe and Madeline later that morning at Dolly's Teashop. Which, she told herself, gave her justification for neglecting to tell him that she planned to pay Dr. Prestwick a visit on the way. There was no sense in aggravating his temper. She would simply tell him about it later, when he'd recovered from whatever was displeasing him.

After giving him a loving kiss on the cheek, she left him to his work. Raymond was waiting for her outside when she emerged into the cold, clean sea air, and she was glad of her black marabou stole snuggled warmly around her shoulders as she settled down in the carriage.

Raymond had suggested they use one of the motor cars, but Cecily had declined. It was difficult enough getting used to the noise of the dratted things. She just hated the thought of riding in one. Although Baxter had hinted more than once that he would like to own a motor car, so far when he'd brought up the subject, she'd managed to steer the conversation to another topic.

Sooner or later, she knew she would have to accept the fact that this was the modern mode of transportation. But right now, she was determined to enjoy the steady
jogging of the carriage wheels, and the soothing clip-clop of horses' hooves on the snow-dusted street.

The Esplanade always looked so deserted in the winter. Stretching in a graceful curve along the seafront, with only a low barrier of railings separating the street from the smooth golden beach, it seemed to be mourning the warm summer days when the tiny shops were bustling with customers and children with kites soaring behind them raced across the sands.

Right now the dismal row of shops huddled behind ugly boards that sheltered the windows from the winter storms. Few people braved the seafront in winter, and those who did hurried to their destinations, rather than dawdle and browse as they did in the height of the season.

The brisk tattoo of the horses' hooves kept up a steady pace as they turned up the hill into the town. Cecily's pulse quickened, her gaze eager to settle on fondly remembered places. Saint Bartholomew's, where the vicar, Phoebe's son, Algie, conducted his services in his stuttering, stammering manner that sent most of his parishioners into a doze before he was halfway through.

Cecily smiled, wondering how Algie was tolerating his new stepfather. Colonel Fortescue had been a regular guest at the Pennyfoot Hotel before he married Phoebe. Although most people held the opinion that the colonel's mind had been severely diminished by his earth-shattering experiences in the Boer War, a view that Cecily reluctantly shared, apparently the colonel had been astute enough to propose marriage to Phoebe Carter-Holmes. No doubt in the secure knowledge that the lady would take great pains in taking care of him as efficiently and as selflessly as she did her bumbling son.

Cecily was looking forward to hearing more about Phoebe's union with the bizarre retired soldier. But first, her meeting with Dr. Prestwick demanded her attention.

As they reached the High Street, she was overjoyed to find that here the spirit of Christmas prevailed with a vengeance. Huge boughs of berry-laden holly and fir adorned just about every shop front in the High Street. Paper chains in red, green, yellow, and blue, cut into delicate and intricate patterns, graced windows full of seasonal fare. Rows of plucked ducks and geese hung by their feet in Abbitsons the Butchers, while Harris the Drapers had clothed its mannequins in swathes of red and green velvet.

By the time they reached the doctor's house, Cecily was thoroughly imbued with the spirit of the season. She was relieved to note that the usual row of carriages had not yet arrived when Raymond reined in the horses in front of the neat front garden. She had deliberately left early, hoping to arrive before the office opened. By the looks of things, she had succeeded.