PH02 - Do Not Disturb (17 page)
Her mind whirled with confused thoughts. She glanced at the dead man’s face, then looked back at the slip of paper with a shudder. The list made no sense.
A sharp tap on the window brought her head up sharply. She heard a second tap and then the third. With a hiss of breath she stooped to pick up the sheet and threw it over the cold, still body. Then she hurried to the door and slipped through it.
Outside she could hear the clatter of hooves and a hoarse shout of command. Her heart lurched anxiously as she thought about Baxter out there. Had someone seen him? Was the inspector already demanding to know why he was there?
Swiftly she sped across the carpet to the door under the staircase. As she tugged it open, she heard heavy footsteps pounding on the stairs above her. Dragging her skirt through the narrow doorway with both hands, Cecily slipped through and closed the door.
She was in thick, black darkness, and for a moment felt disoriented. The parlor door had been on the right, and the passageway on the left. That meant the passageway was now on her right … no, the stairs to the cellar were on her right … that meant they would be on her left going back …
The thunder of footsteps overhead signaled more people on the stairs. Cecily shuffled forward, going a good deal faster on her way out than she had on her way in. She found the doorway to the coal cellars and prayed she wouldn’t trip down the stairs.
Then she felt the cold, swift rush of night air. “Baxter,” she whispered urgently, “are you there?”
“Thank God. Hurry, madam. If we leave now we can possibly get away without being seen.”
She stumbled as she rushed out of the door and felt Baxter’s firm grip on her arm. He motioned for her to be quiet with a finger at his lips, then led the way around the building to the front.
Cecily had a very bad moment when he paused suddenly and drew back, but then he bent his head and said softly, “It appears that everyone is indoors. I think it is safe to run for the trap.”
Lifting her skirt clear of the ground, Cecily whispered back, “I’m ready.”
He lifted his head as if in silent prayer, then strode out into the silent street, keeping to the shadows at the side of the road. Staying close behind him, Cecily trotted to keep up. She was quite out of breath when she heard the soft whinny of the bay standing under the trees.
Baxter, abandoning proprieties for once, bundled her unceremoniously into the trap and leapt in beside her. “Try not to make too much noise,” he told Samuel, who merely nodded as if the escapade was an everyday occurrence, and walked the bay back onto the road.
Cecily had never noticed before how loudly the trap creaked. Promising herself she would have it oiled as soon as possible, she straightened her clothes and sat back in the seat. She didn’t relax, however, until they were once more jogging along the Esplanade back to the hotel.
“Thank you, Baxter,” she said as they passed under the orange lamps once more. “I appreciate your help tonight. I shan’t forget it.”
“Neither shall I,” Baxter murmured with feeling. “I do hope the effort proved successful.”
“Yes, most certainly so. I found a train ticket in the pocket that proves the victim arrived in Wellercombe after Madeline was taken in by the police. In which case, she couldn’t be responsible for his death.”
Baxter nodded slowly. “I would agree. However, though I dislike throwing cold water on your theory, that in itself
does not prove Madeline innocent of the first two deaths.”
“I thought of that also. But it will almost certainly weaken the case against her. It is reasonable to assume that whoever killed the third man also killed the other two. All we have to do is find the reason.”
“That may prove difficult.”
“I think I found something that might help. Something that I’m afraid is very alarming. A slip of paper with the names of Colin Bickley and Billy Donaldson scribbled on it.”
“Ah, well that should prove there is a connection somewhere. But why is that alarming?”
Cecily frowned. “There was another name on there. Ian Rossiter. I’m very much afraid, Baxter, that Ian might also be marked for death.”
Cecily heard Baxter draw in a sharp breath. “Then we must warn Ian of the danger.”
“I agree.” She shook her head. “I just can’t make sense of this. The fact that the stranger carried the names of the two dead men would indicate that he was the murderer. Yet if so, why would he be killed himself, apparently by the same method? And why is Ian on the list?”
“Perhaps he can enlighten us. Did you get the man’s name?”
“No, I didn’t have time to do a thorough search.”
“I imagine there has to be a connection between them of some kind.”
“I would agree. I’ll have to question Ian when we get back to the hotel.”
Baxter cleared his throat. Now that the immediate danger was over, he had reverted back to his shield of etiquette. “If
I might suggest, madam, it would be infinitely preferable if you were to allow the police to question Ian, as they will surely do once they begin their investigation. Once they see the list for themselves, I’m sure they will be able to work things out to a satisfactory conclusion.”
“I would tend to agree with you again, Baxter,” Cecily said demurely, “if it were not for one thing.” She held up the slip of paper and waved it under his nose. “They don’t have the list. I do.”
“For heaven’s sake, madam!” Baxter’s words came out in an explosion of wrath. His efforts to refrain from giving full rein to it were clearly visible on his face.
Cecily glanced up at Samuel’s stiff back and laid a finger to her lips. “We’ll continue this conversation in the library,” she said softly. Raising her voice, she added, “It is decidedly chilly out here, Baxter. I shall be glad to return to the warmth of the hotel.”
They passed under a lamp, and Baxter tilted his head, allowing his icy gaze to slice through her. She had expected this reaction from him, and it was probably justified. Even so, she squirmed under his reproach.
She didn’t like upsetting him this way. She knew very well how frustrating it must be for him. He was charged with taking care of her, yet because of his position was helpless to control her actions. For a man of Baxter’s sense of loyalty and duty, he was in an intolerable situation.
Most of his discomfort was his own doing, Cecily reminded herself, in an attempt to assuage her guilt. She was perfectly willing to relax the rules. He was the one who refused to unbend.
She felt more than a little thankful when the trap pulled up in front of the main steps to the Pennyfoot. She hoped that Baxter’s temper had cooled a little. She hated to see his fierce struggles to contain it. Anger was like laughter; it was better let free.
Holding her skirt above her ankles, she preceded him up the steps, feeling the heat of his disapproval on her back all
the way up. Reaching the top landing, she paused, waiting for him to open the door.
“You know what we need, Baxter?” she said brightly, watching him take the heavy key from its hiding place behind a loose brick. “We need a doorman. I think that would add a distinct flair to the place, don’t you? I think we should be able to afford one, for the next Season at least. I shall have to see about hiring one.”
“Yes, madam.” Baxter unlocked the massive door, pushed it open, and stepped back.
She didn’t look at his face as she stepped into the welcome warmth of the lobby. She waited while he returned the key to its secret home and then shot the bolts on the door.
“I do hope Mrs. Parmentier has returned for the night,” she said, glancing at the grandfather clock in the corner of the lobby. “I can’t imagine where she goes all by herself after dark.”
“Perhaps she has a secret rendezvous with someone.”
Cecily’s eyes opened wide. “Baxter! How very unlike you to suggest such a thing. The poor woman recently lost her husband—it would be most disrespectful for her to take a lover so quickly.”
Amused, she noticed Baxter’s flushed cheeks, which she was quite sure had nothing to do with the chill of the night.
“Please accept my apology, madam. I can only attribute my thoughtlessness to a most disturbing evening.”
Cecily turned away before he could see her grimace. Trust him to neatly turn the tables on her again. “Well, shall it be the kitchen for a hot cup of tea and perhaps a splash of brandy to calm your nerves, or would you prefer the library?”
“The tea sounds very appealing, madam, though the brandy won’t be necessary.”
“Maybe not for you,” Cecily said as she led the way to the stairs, “but I would certainly enjoy it.”
For once, he made no comment as he followed her down the stairs.
* * *
Mrs. Chubb had been terrified of what she might find when she’d rushed into Gertie’s room earlier that night. She could only pray that the girl hadn’t already swallowed the mixture.
The light from the hallway spilled over the polished floorboards and across the narrow cot in the corner of the room. Mrs. Chubb’s first thought when she saw Gertie’s inert form lying on her back, mouth open and eyes shut, was that she was too late.
She let out a dreadful moan and clamped a hand over her mouth. With a shaking hand, she dragged the matches from the pocket of her apron and lit the candle, which stood on the small round table at the bedside.
Now she could see the housemaid’s face more clearly. It didn’t look blue. It looked a little pale, but it didn’t look blue. Picking up the candle, Mrs. Chubb leaned closer, in an effort to see if there was any movement of breathing beneath the sheet tucked under Gertie’s chin.
Closer and closer she leaned, and then Gertie let out a loud, rattling snore.
Startled, Mrs. Chubb’s arm jerked, tipping some of the melted wax onto the sleeping girl’s shoulder. Luckily the sheet prevented it from burning her skin, but it was hot enough to wake her up with an earsplitting shriek.
Thoroughly unnerved, Mrs. Chubb jumped backward, smashing into the little table, which rocked back and forth on its three spindly legs, then toppled to the floor with a loud crash.
Gertie screamed and shot up in the bed as footsteps pounded along the hallway.
Ian’s face appeared in the doorway. “What the hell is going on in here?”
Recovering with astonishing speed, Mrs. Chubb shot across the room and shoved him down the hallway. “Whatever next,” she said breathlessly. “You should know better than to enter a lady’s boudoir when she’s undressed and in her bed.”
Belatedly remembering Gertie’s condition, she reflected
that it probably wasn’t the first time. Still, as long as she was around to preserve the proprieties, she wasn’t about to allow any hanky-panky in her domain.
Ian looked taken aback, but thankfully didn’t confirm her suspicions. “What did she scream for, then? Is she all right? I thought she was being flipping murdered in her bed.”
Mrs. Chubb shook her head. “Just a nightmare, I expect.” She could hear Gertie moaning in fright in her bedroom and was anxious to get back and comfort her. “You go back to the kitchen and wait there,” she told Ian. “You’ve had a terrible night. There’s a bottle of Michel’s best brandy in the cupboard. He won’t miss a tablespoon or so, I daresay. As soon as I’ve settled Gertie down, I’ll come and let you know.”
Ian looked most surprised at this generous offer, though doubt lingered on his face as he nodded. “Right ho, Mrs. Chubb, thanks. I’ll do that.”
She didn’t wait to see him leave, but hurried back to the bedroom to console Gertie, who was rocking back and forth in bed, clutching the blankets in front of her.
“I’m sorry, love,” Mrs. Chubb said, patting one of the shaking shoulders. “I didn’t mean to scare you, but I thought …” Her voice trailed off. She’d forgotten that Gertie didn’t know about the third death or Madeline’s detention.
“Scared the blooming daylights out of me, you did,” Gertie said, her face accusing in the flickering candlelight. “Whatcha go and do that for?” Before Mrs. Chubb could answer, she added, “And what’s Ian doing here? I thought he’d gone down to the pub for the night.”
Deciding that the girl would hear all about it in the morning, Mrs. Chubb related the latest events.
“Strewth,” Gertie said when she was finished. “Did you really think Madeline had poisoned me?”
“Well, not intentionally, of course,” Mrs. Chubb admitted, feeling very uncomfortable. “And now that I have time to think about it, I can see how ridiculous it is, but when Ian blurted all that out about the police taking Madeline in for
questioning, the shock of it all addled my brain. I was so shook up over what Ian was telling me I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“Well, I think there are some people around here who are a lot more suspicious than Madeline,” Gertie said, sliding back down onto her pillow.
Mrs. Chubb’s ears pricked up. “Like who?”
“Well, like that Black Widow for one.”
The housekeeper tutted. “You still going on about that poor woman? All she wants is to be left alone to mourn her dead husband, that’s all. There’s nothing strange about that.”
“Well, I think there’s a lot strange about that. Always going out at night and coming back late. And hiding behind that thick black veil.” Gertie shuddered. “Gives me the creeps, she does. It’s like talking to someone with no face. I hate talking to someone when I can’t see their eyes. You never know where they’re looking, do you?”
“All widows wear veils when they’re in mourning,” Mrs. Chubb said firmly. “I did.”
“Not that thick, I bet you didn’t. I know madam didn’t. You could still see a bit of her face, at any rate.”
“Well, I’m sure once she takes off her widows weeds she’ll seem perfectly ordinary.” Mrs. Chubb leaned over and blew out the candle. “Now go to sleep, and stop worrying about poor Mrs. Parmentier. You’ll be having nightmares.”
“I’ve already had one tonight,” Gertie muttered.
Mrs. Chubb reached the door and started to close it.
“You know something that’s really strange?” Gertie said from her dark corner of the room.
“What’s that?”
“If she’s supposed to be mourning so bad, why isn’t she still wearing a wedding ring?”