PH02 - Do Not Disturb (18 page)

Mrs. Chubb frowned. “I never noticed.”

“Well, I did. When she took the tray from me. I noticed her hands. Big they were, and she weren’t wearing no rings.” Gertie yawned. “She didn’t even have a mark of one. I remember when me mum took hers off, she had a dent in her finger where the ring had been. For months.”

Mrs. Chubb had no answer for that one. “Go to sleep,” she said instead. “Good night, Gertie.”

Gertie mumbled an answering, “G’night,” and the housekeeper gently closed the door.

She tried not to think about Gertie’s remarks as she hurried back to the kitchen. There were enough horrible things going on without worrying about something as silly as a wedding ring.

She pushed open the door of the kitchen and peeked inside. Ian was sitting at the table, his head on his arms, sound asleep. Shaking her head, Mrs. Chubb backed out again and let the door swing to. He might as well sleep there by the warm stove for a while. No doubt he’d find his way home once he woke up.

She passed Gertie’s door again on the way to her own room. The possibility that Ian might spend the rest of the night in Gertie’s bed occurred to her, and she almost went back to turf him out.

Then she shrugged. What the eye didn’t see, the heart didn’t grieve over. Besides, by all accounts the damage was already done. Muttering to herself about the scandalous behavior of today’s youth, Mrs. Chubb retired to her room.

Cecily saw Ian asleep at the table and paused in the doorway of the kitchen. Baxter, coming up behind her, bumped into her and began apologizing profusely. Ian lifted his head and blinked sleepily at Cecily.

“Oh, sorry, Mrs. Sinclair. Must have dozed off for a while.”

Cecily’s eyes strayed to the brandy bottle standing on the table and said dryly, “I wonder why?”

Ian sprang to his feet, gathering up his cap in his hands. “Mrs. Chubb said it was all right to have a drop. That’s all I had, a drop in me tea. Honest.”

Cecily ignored Baxter’s impatient huff of breath. “That’s all right, Ian. As a matter of fact, I’m pleased to find you here. There’s something important I wish to discuss with you.”

“I’ll put the kettle on, madam,” Baxter offered, moving across to the stove.

Cecily sent him a smile of thanks, then sat down with a sigh of relief on one of the chairs. “I asked you the other day,” she said to Ian, who remained standing, “if Mr. Donaldson and Mr. Bickley had anything in common, other than that they worked together.”

“Yes, mum. I told you I didn’t think so.”

Cecily leaned forward, peering up into Ian’s anxious face. “I have something else to ask you, Ian, and it is very important that you tell me the truth. I want to know if you had any dealings with the two dead men. Anything at all.”

Ian shook his head. “No, mum, I didn’t. Bickley was my boss, of course, and Donaldson worked on my shift, but other than that, I had no truck with them. They was sort of on the opposite side to me, weren’t they. I mean, I’m one of the villagers, and they was the strangers, like. They weren’t one of us.”

Cecily sighed. She had no doubt that Ian was telling the truth. “I just don’t know what to make of all this.”

“Well, there’s something else, mum. Something I haven’t told the police as yet.”

Cecily looked up sharply, while Baxter paused in the act of filling the kettle.

“I seen him before,” Ian said, looking unhappy. “The third man’s name is Ted Sparks. He’s a reporter from one of them London newspapers. He was down here a couple of weeks ago, asking a lot of questions. Said he was doing a story on the lighthouse project.”

Disturbed by this news, Cecily exchanged a worried glance with Baxter. “Why didn’t you tell the police that?” she asked Ian.

He looked even more upset. “I don’t know. I suppose I was worried, like. The bloke was asking for me, in the pub. He asked Gerry if I was there. I didn’t like the nosy bugger, so I went into the saloon till he left.”

“Do you have any idea what he wanted to speak with you about?”

Ian shook his head. “I heard him say he’d asked Dolly Matthews where to find me, and she’d sent him to the George. I don’t know what he wanted. When he was down before he was asking me a lot of questions that I didn’t think were any of his business.”

“What kind of questions?”

“About me private life. What I did in me spare time. Nothing to do with the job. I told him to get lost.”

“And do you remember if he talked to Mr. Bickley and Mr. Donaldson at that time?”

He shrugged. “He talked to a lot of blokes. I didn’t take that much notice.” He looked at Cecily with appeal in his eyes. “I couldn’t tell the police. They might think I done him in. I don’t have too good a record in the city, but I tell you this, mum, I never killed no one. Never. And if I had, I wouldn’t bloody poison them. There’s a lot quicker ways than that.”

Baxter tutted as he measured tea into the teapot, but Cecily ignored him. “Ian,” she said, “in view of what you’ve told me, I think it would be most advisable if you stay here at the hotel until the police have this matter cleared up. Since it appears you are connected with the murdered men, you could be in some danger.”

A swift look of alarm crossed his face. “I don’t know how I’m connected, mum, I really don’t. I never seen Sparks before he came down to the project. I swear I didn’t.”

“Nevertheless, it would seem you are involved somehow. Until we can find exactly where everything fits, I would feel better if you were here under my roof. You can have your old room back, since it’s empty. Now that you are working for me again, it will make things easier for you.”

Ian looked unconvinced. “You won’t tell the police, will you? I don’t want no trouble with the law.”

Cecily regarded him with a worried frown. “I may not have to. I am quite sure that Gerry will have informed the inspector that Mr. Sparks was asking for you. We shall just have to wait and see what transpires in the morning. In the meantime, I suggest you try to get some sleep.”

“Thank you, mum.” His expression suggested it would be a wasted effort. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll stay the night and collect my things from the boardinghouse in the morning.”

“I think that would be a very good idea, Ian.”

Murmuring a subdued “Good night,” Ian left the kitchen.

As the door swung to behind him, Baxter said quietly, “I am thankful you saw fit not to mention finding the list.”

“I didn’t think it was necessary,” Cecily said, feeling suddenly very tired herself. “It would only complicate matters if he knew about our little excursion tonight. As long as he is here at the hotel, he should be safe. I should think after everything he’s been through he’ll be most careful about what he eats and drinks.”

Baxter nodded. “As will we all. I imagine this will be very bad for business at the George and Dragon.”

“I’m afraid,” Cecily said slowly, “that if we don’t find out who is behind all this, it will be very bad for Badgers End and the Pennyfoot Hotel. Between us and the police, Baxter, I hope we can stop this fiend before he murders someone else.”

CHAPTER
15

“So what do you intend to do about the list?” Baxter asked. He had his back to her, bending over the stove while he stoked the coals.

Cecily made a face at him, which he couldn’t see. She knew he wouldn’t let the matter rest. “I shall have to work things out for myself, I suppose.”

Baxter straightened and turned to look at her, his expression stiff with disapproval. “I feel very strongly that you should hand it over to the police. What you have done amounts to tampering with the evidence, and I fear that could have grave consequences for you.”

“Which is why I cannot let the police know I have it,” Cecily said calmly.

“I can’t imagine what possessed you to take it in the first place.”

“With all the excitement of the police arriving, and in my
anxiety to escape without being seen, I didn’t have time to put it back.”

“Perhaps we could say that Ian came across it when he discovered the body,” Baxter said, looking a little desperate.

“I think Ian is in quite enough trouble without us making things worse for him.” Cecily took out the folded slip of paper from her pocket and looked at it again.

“I’m afraid there’s nothing for it, Baxter, but to work this out ourselves. Inspector Cranshaw has made it quite clear that he will not tolerate me becoming involved in police business again. As you well know, I can’t afford to cross swords with the police. So far they have turned a blind eye to some of our more … nefarious activities in the hotel.”

“That is because of our exclusive clientele. They would not wish to offend the upper crust without good cause.”

“Precisely. No one is more aware than I, however, that we are treading an extremely thin line. What with the gambling belowstairs and the flagrant promiscuity that abounds in the boudoirs, I’m afraid the Pennyfoot would suffer greatly from the resulting publicity. If we step too far over that line, the inspector will be able to find numerous reasons to shut the Pennyfoot down.”

“I am also painfully aware of that fact, madam.”

Steam boiled from the kettle, and Baxter poured the bubbling water onto the tea leaves.

Cecily watched him as he took down cups and saucers from the cupboard. It wasn’t often she allowed him to wait on her like this. It felt very … cozy.

“You also know, Baxter,” she said, “that the people around here do not trust the police. They do, however, trust me. The villagers of Badgers End will talk to me and tell me things they wouldn’t dream of confiding to the police. If the answers lie somewhere in the village, as I think they must do, I have a much better chance of finding them than Inspector Cranshaw or P. C. Northcott.”

“Especially that simpleton,” Baxter muttered. “Very well, I see no alternative at the moment. But I feel most
emphatically that had you not kept the list, we would not be in this predicament now.”

“I told you, Bax, I simply didn’t have time to put it back.”

Baxter’s harumph signified his disbelief of that statement.

Deciding it was time to change the subject, Cecily yawned. “Well, it is a long way past my bedtime, and I am ready to fall asleep at the drop of a hat. So if you would please pour me a cup of tea, I can then be off to my bed.”

As Baxter set the fragrant, steaming cup down in front of her, Cecily had a sudden thought. “I knew there was something else I wanted to do. Colonel Fortescue. Ian’s arrival with the news of the latest victim put the entire thing out of my head.” She looked up to find Baxter’s quizzical gaze upon her. “I will try to find him first thing in the morning. I just have a feeling that for once he might be able to tell me something useful.”

She ignored Baxter’s puzzled frown and sipped her tea. This was one time she intended to keep her thoughts to herself. At least until she’d had time to talk to the colonel. The chances were that his nonsensical stories would be of no help to her at all. On the other hand, he might just be the person to put her one step closer to the solution.

As it turned out, something else happened the next morning to delay Cecily’s chat with the colonel. From her bedroom window she spotted the police carriage outside the front steps of the hotel. By the time she had hurried down the stairs and reached the lobby, the carriage had left.

Bidding a bright good morning to one of her guests as she crossed the lobby, Cecily wondered what the police had wanted and why no one had informed her of their presence. She had an uneasy feeling that it could have something to do with Ian.

She hurried down the stairs to the kitchen, and before she reached the door she could hear Gertie’s wailing. Pushing the door open, she saw the housemaid seated on a chair, wiping her eyes on her apron.

Mrs. Chubb hovered over her, while Michel stood at the stove, crashing saucepans around to show his irritation. The
chef’s black mustache twitched, and his dark eyes flashed as he brandished a wooden spoon. His tall chef’s hat bobbed back and forth while he muttered to himself

He swept off the hat when Cecily entered the kitchen, then after she’d acknowledged his greeting, he pulled it back on again and went back to his noisy administrations at the stove.

Gertie dragged herself off the chair and stood there sniveling.

“What happened?” Cecily asked a worried-looking Mrs. Chubb.

Before she could answer, Gertie let out a loud wail. “It’s Ian, mum, they’ve taken him to the clink.” The last word was almost drowned by her loud sobs.

“Pull yourself together, girl,” Mrs. Chubb said briskly. “He hasn’t gone to prison, he’s just gone to answer some questions, like Madeline.”

Gertie shook her head, her sobs getting louder.

Mrs. Chubb looked exasperated, and Cecily touched her arm. “Let me try,” she said as a saucepan crashed loudly behind her.

Gertie’s sobs subsided a little when Cecily said in a kind voice, “Now, Gertie, please tell me what happened.”

It took the housemaid several seconds to control herself enough to answer, and when she did, her words were punctuated by sobs. “A blooming bobby came and got him. Said the inspector wanted to talk to him about finding the body.”

Cecily patted the tearful Gertie on the arm. “Now, I’m quite sure there is nothing to worry about. Ian will simply answer the inspector’s questions, and he will be back before you know it.”

“But … but … the bobby said they was going to ask Ian about all that damage what was done up at the project …” Whatever she said next was lost in another storm of weeping.

Mrs. Chubb shook her head. “I don’t know whatever’s
got into the girl. She never carries on like this as a rule, not our Gertie.”

“Is there something else worrying you?” Cecily asked, wondering if perhaps the housemaid knew more than she was telling.

Gertie’s mouth opened and closed, then she blurted out, “I’m scared … they’re going to find out … about the smuggling.”

A shocked silence followed her words as Cecily stared at the stricken girl. Then, in the background, Michel muttered a soft, “
Sacré bleu
.”

Gertie slapped a hand over her mouth, her horrified eyes staring back at Cecily. “Oh, dear Gawd,” she mumbled, “what have I gone and done?”