PH02 - Do Not Disturb (23 page)

Phoebe sent a nervous glance back at the door. “Where are you going, Ian?”

“To the George, ma’am. I’m going to have a bit of lunch there.”

“Is Samuel taking you?”

Ian shook his head. “He’s taken Mrs. Sinclair somewhere. I’m going to take the spare trap myself.”

“Wonderful,” Phoebe said, breathing easier. “I wonder if you’d mind dropping me off at Dolly’s? I’m so afraid that if I walk there, that horrible man will follow me.”

Ian gave her a quick grin. “Come with me, Mrs. C-H. I’ll see you’re all right.”

Phoebe smiled her thanks. Such a nice young man. She followed him down the steps and around to the stables at the back.

Bowling along the Esplanade at a fast clip, she felt so much better. It was very pleasant to have the trap to herself. Reminded her of the old days, when dear Sedgely was alive. She sighed. What a shame he had to die like that.

She’d warned him no end of times about leaping over hedges on the back of a huge brute of a horse, chasing a poor defenseless little fox. She had never approved of the ghastly practice, found it quite barbaric, in fact. She always had a notion that dear Sedgely would pay for his misdeeds someday.

Phoebe watched a sea gull glide low across the white-edged waves, then pounce into the water after a hapless fish. Life could be so cruel at times. So very cruel. She had been left to bring up poor Algie alone. He had suffered from the experience.

Not that she believed or even understood all the whispers that went on in the back of the church. Algie was a wonderful vicar, and it wasn’t his fault he was too nervous to take any interest in a woman.

Maybe she had been a little protective of him, Phoebe reflected as she leaned back in the bouncing trap, but at least he hadn’t turned out like that lascivious creature leering over women’s naked bodies.

The chestnut trotted along the High Street with a clatter of hooves, then slowed to a stop in front of Dolly’s Tea
Shop. Phoebe waited for Ian to help her dismount. “I am most obliged,” she told him, nodding and smiling. “I shall be sure to tell Cecily how kind you have been.”

Ian touched his cap. “Enjoy your lunch, Mrs. C-H.”

“Thank you, Ian,” Phoebe said graciously. “I certainly intend to.”

She turned, surprised to see Louise standing in the doorway with the door held open for her. “Oh, my, this is service,” Phoebe remarked as she stepped into the fragrant warmth of the tearoom.

“I saw you arrive, ma’am,” Louise said with a smile.

“Ah, yes, it isn’t often I have the luxury of arriving in a carriage.” Phoebe followed the stout woman to an empty table. “Mr. Rossiter was kind enough to drop me off on his way to the George and Dragon. Otherwise it would have taken me a great deal longer to get here.”

She seated herself on the chair that Louise had pulled out for her. “Now, I am absolutely starving. I think I shall have one of those delicious Cornish pasties and a nice pot of tea to go with it. Oh, and a Devonshire cream bun, if Dolly has made some today?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll bring it right away.”

Phoebe sat back in contentment. It was really very nice to be treated with such regard by a well-refined lady such as Louise Atkins. How sad that a woman of her class should be forced to work in a tearoom, even if it was a respectable establishment. Such a comedown. Thank heavens she didn’t have to resort to such drudgery.

Phoebe looked around at the cozy tables with their white linen cloths, and the silver candlesticks that stood in the center of each one. Bright chintz curtains hung at the windows, and several small paintings of village scenes hung on the walls.

If she were forced to work for a living, Phoebe decided, there were a lot worse places to do so than Dolly’s Tea Shop. Her eye fell on the pendulum clock that sat on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. Goodness, it was almost one o’clock. No wonder she was hungry.

She cast a glance over at the doorway, through which she
had expected Louise to appear any minute. Whatever was taking the woman so long?

As if in answer to her question, Dolly popped her head into the room, which was now half-empty. Speaking to no one in particular, Dolly called out, “Has anyone seen Louise?”

The remaining customers looked at each other and shook their heads.

“She went to get my order,” Phoebe said helpfully. “A Cornish pastie, tea, and a Devonshire cream bun.”

Dolly frowned. “That’s strange, I can’t find her. She seems to have disappeared. Wherever could she be?”

“Well done, Baxter,” Cecily said when Baxter gave her the number of Louise’s room and informed her he’d unlocked it. “Now all you have to do is keep an eye on everyone in the bar while I sneak up the back stairs.”

They were standing some distance from the George and Dragon, having left the trap hidden down a small lane around the bend in the road.

“I do not like this, madam. I do wish you would allow me to search the room—”

“We don’t have time to argue,” Cecily said firmly. “It must be very close to one o’clock. We must take advantage of the lunch hour, so that Mr. Scroggins will be too busy to see me go into Louise’s room. You know very well I cannot be in the bar watching everyone while you search the room. It has to be this way, Baxter.”

“I still think it would be a good idea to simply ask Scroggins to let us search the room.”

Cecily sighed. “And what if Mr. Scroggins is involved in this in some way? It is much too dangerous to assume anything, Baxter. Now please hurry, while we still have time to do this without being detected.”

Baxter looked down at her, his face creased in concern. “Very well. But I have to tell you, I still have this feeling that we are making a very grave mistake.”

Cecily didn’t have too good a feeling about what they
were doing, either, but she wasn’t about to tell Baxter that. “Don’t worry,” she told him as they walked toward the George and Dragon, “I will be in and out of there as fast as I can. There is absolutely nothing to worry about.”

She found herself wishing she could be sure of that as she waited behind a large oak tree for an opportunity to slip through the back door unseen.

“All clear,” Baxter said quietly, as two villagers entered the saloon door. “Try not to take too long—and please, madam, take care.”

Cecily nodded. “You also. I will signal from here as soon as I am finished. Watch for me at the window.” She waited for his brief nod, then, her heart pounding, she hurried across the grass to the back door.

CHAPTER
19

Gertie stood at the door of Mrs. Parmentier’s room, waiting for the widow to answer her polite tap. Gertie was not in a very good mood. In fact, Gertie was filled with fear and rage. Ian had done the unthinkable. He had denied the baby was his.

How could he do such a thing to her? She’d trusted him. He was the only bloke she’d ever let get near her. Near enough to cause the damage, that was. And to accuse her of doing it with someone else was bloody well disgusting, that’s what it was.

Her hands holding the loaded tray trembled. What was she going to do now? How was she going to manage on her own with a nipper to feed and clothe? She could barely afford to clothe herself. And who was going to give her a job anyway? She could hardly carry the thing around on her hip
while she did her work. This wasn’t bleeding Africa, for Gawd’s sake.

The door opened abruptly, making her jump.

Gertie had been prepared for the faceless head behind the thick black veil. She was not prepared for the shiny, round apparition that appeared in the doorway.

Short dark hair hung straight and limp, and one side of the face puckered like crumpled paper, and it glowed with an odd purplish red stain. Two bright blue eyes stared at her, and the mouth was drawn back in a lopsided grin.

Thoroughly unnerved, Gertie let out a shrill scream and dropped the tray. The resounding crash that echoed down the long hallway made things worse. Much worse, she discovered when she looked down and saw all the smashed china, and Michel’s famed bouillabaisse all over the carpet.

It was all too much. Gertie covered her face with her apron and howled.

She felt a hand on her arm and a gentle tug, but she was too distraught to resist. The soft hands pushed her down on a chair, while she let it all out in great tearing sobs that shook her entire body.

“Here,” Mrs. Parmentier’s husky voice said, “take these, you’ll feel better.”

Gertie held back the next sob and peeked over her apron. She looked at the two small white tablets lying in the large palm in front of her and shook her head.

“They are called aspirin,” the widow said. “They are harmless, I promise you. Look, if I swallow one, will you take the other? It will help make you feel better.”

Gertie had never heard of aspirin. All she’d ever taken for medicine was Mrs. Chubb’s powders.

A glass of clear liquid appeared in Mrs. Parmentier’s other hand. “Look,” she said, “I’m swallowing one of the aspirin.”

Gertie made herself look up at the dreadful face. It didn’t seem nearly so frightening now. Ugly, but not frightening. She watched while the widow swallowed the tablet. With a good deal of uncertainty, Gertie took the other one in her shaking fingers.

“Put it on the back of your tongue,” Mrs. Parmentier said, “and swallow the water. It will slide down.”

Gertie did what she was told. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, but she got it down. Then, without thinking, she said in alarm, “It won’t hurt the baby, will it?”

Mrs. Parmentier smiled her lopsided smile. “No, it won’t hurt the baby.” She sat down on a chair opposite Gertie and looked at her. “Now, why don’t you tell me all about it.”

Gertie looked into those kind blue eyes, full of sympathy and tenderness, and before she knew it, she was spilling it all out. How she and Ian had done it, and now she was pregnant, and with all the trouble about the murders, and then Ian lying that the baby was his, and how she didn’t know what she was going to do.

Mrs. Parmentier nodded throughout it all, then asked a lot of questions that made Gertie blush, but somehow she answered them anyway, without even meaning to. Then Mrs. Parmentier smiled cockeyed at her again.

“My dear,” she said softly, “I doubt very much if you are pregnant. From what you’ve told me, your young man was telling the truth. In order for you to have a baby, he’d have to do much more than he did.”

Gertie looked at her in astonishment. “Go on?”

“I have a book I’ll be happy to give to you,” the widow said. “It will explain everything better than I can. But there’s something I want to try. I think I might be able to help you.”

She pulled at the chain around her neck and withdrew from her blouse a beautiful yellow stone, set in gold. “I want you to look at this pendant and keep your eyes on it. Just try to relax. I’m going to count down from ten and I want you to watch the pendant.”

Gertie stared at the amber stone swinging back and forth in the widow’s fingers. She listened to the soft voice counting backward, and suddenly felt very sleepy …

Baxter stood in the public bar, having positioned himself so that he had a clear view through the window to the street
beyond. If he tilted forward, he could just see the thick oak tree, from where Cecily had arranged to give her signal.

He’d ordered a half-pint of ale, but was too worried to enjoy it. He would gladly leave it on the counter if it meant that Cecily had finished her precarious task and was beckoning to him from the oak tree.

Dick Scroggins, his face flushed and glowing, called out as Baxter looked out the window again. “Hey, mate, haven’t seen you down here lately. Good to see you. I could do with some more customers. Been a bit sparse lately.”

Baxter smiled and lifted his beer in answer. The pub certainly seemed a lot quieter than he’d noticed before. Usually thirty or forty men crowded into the snug little room, making movement impossible unless one shoved one’s way through a thick mass of bodies. Today, however, no more than a dozen men stood drinking at the counter.

Baxter put his beer down, turning his head as he heard the bar door swing open. At least there was one more customer for Scroggins. The more the merrier. Less chance of Cecily being spotted on her way out, with all the noise and confusion that went on when the bar was crowded.

Then he twisted his head back quickly in dismay. To his intense discomfort, the newcomer was someone he knew.

“Why, Mr. Baxter,” Ian said behind him. “I’m surprised to see you down here. I didn’t know you patronized the George.”

Baxter placed a slight smile on his face and looked at him. “Upon occasion I do, Ian.”

“Really? So what’s the occasion? Maybe I can help you celebrate.” Ian held up his hand to catch Dick’s attention. “Pint of wallop, me old fruit, if you please.”

“Coming up,” Dick called out, then stuck a glass under the barrel tap and tugged down on the handle.

“I was simply in need of a change of air,” Baxter said, lifting his mug.

“Picked a right place here, then, didn’t you,” Ian said, nodding at the thick, smelly haze of smoke that filled the room. “Done better to have gone for a walk on the beach.”

Baxter leaned forward to take a look out the window. As he did so, he was nudged aside by a thickset man Baxter didn’t recognize. The man ordered a beer in a belligerent tone, and Ian said out of the corner of his mouth, “One of them cocky bastards from London.”

Dick snarled an answer back and took his time in reaching for a mug.

“If you don’t want me frigging business,” the man said, leaning his pudgy elbows on the counter, “I can bleeding well get me beer somewhere else.”

The rest of the men had stopped talking and watched the proceedings with great interest.

Baxter got a nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Why don’t you do that, mucker?” Dick said, tipping the beer out of the glass into the drain. “Go back to bleeding London where you belong. And take the rest of the yobs with you. Bloody good riddance.”

“We’ll go when we’re good and ready. And I wouldn’t be so bleeding anxious to get rid of us if I were you. You won’t get your frigging lighthouse built if you don’t watch it.”