PH02 - Do Not Disturb (25 page)
“It’s over, madam,” Baxter said quietly.
He stood next to her, very close but not touching her. She felt a strong urge to seek comfort from him, longed to hold
his hand, but knew she could not. “Thank you, Baxter,” she whispered. “You saved my life.”
He cleared his throat. “I think it was more a matter of fortune, madam. But I am happy to have been of assistance.”
For some reason the trite words made her want to weep.
Gertie and Mrs. Chubb sat huddled in front of the roaring oven as Ian gave them the gory details of Louise’s last moments.
“Strewth,” Gertie whispered when he’d finished, “that must have been bloody awful to watch. Poor madam, she must have felt dreadful.”
“She’d have felt a lot more dreadful if Mr. Baxter hadn’t rushed in when he did,” Ian said with relish. “He slammed the door open, and Mrs. Atkins was standing right there in front of it. Sent her into the wall, it did. Mr. Baxter says she put her hand up against the wall to stop her face from hitting it. The pipe was in her mouth and she puffed the dart right into her blinking hand.”
“Serves her bloody well right,” Gertie declared, shuddering. “She would have killed madam, and you as well.”
Ian gave her a cold look that seemed to cut her in half. “Would have been all right for you if she had, wouldn’t it? Then you could have blamed me for what happened to you, and no one would know the difference.”
Gertie opened her mouth to protest, but Mrs. Chubb got up noisily from her chair. “Well, I can’t sit around here listening to gossip all day,” she said, giving Gertie a meaningful look. “Finish what you have to say to Ian, my girl, then get on with those dishes. They’ll be twice as hard to wash if the food dries on them.”
“Yes, Mrs. Chubb,” Gertie said meekly, and watched the housekeeper bustle out of the door.
“I’m going, too,” Ian said, making for the door. “The new equipment arrived this afternoon, so I’m back on the job. You won’t be seeing me around here for a while.”
“Ian,” Gertie said as he reached the door, “I’m not pregnant.”
He looked back at her. “You was just pretending that you was?”
“No, of course not, you big twerp.” She got up from the chair and walked toward him. “I thought I was. But I didn’t understand. Mrs. Parmentier told me I couldn’t be, she gave me a book and …”
She felt her cheeks growing warm but was determined to finish, no matter how blinking awkward she felt. “Well, I know how it happens now. I didn’t before. I really thought you’d gone and done it. But I know now you couldn’t have, and I’ve never been with nobody else but you, Ian love, I swear it.”
He stared at her, confusion all over his face. “Mrs. Parmentier?”
“It’s a long story,” Gertie said softly, “but if you come back tonight, I’ll tell it to you then. Perhaps I can get the night off so we can go to the bonfire party on the beach.”
He looked at her for a moment longer, then gave her his warm, wonderful grin. “All right, me old love, I’ll be back tonight, then.” Leaning forward, he gave her a loud smack on the cheek, then vanished through the door.
Hugging herself, Gertie smiled and went back to the sink to tackle the dishes.
“I trust everything went well at the police station, madam?” Baxter asked as Cecily sat enjoying one of his cigars at the library table.
“Yes, thank you. I was a little concerned when the inspector wouldn’t let you come with me, but I think I handled it all right. I had to leave out the piece about searching the body, of course. I told him I found the list when I searched the room.”
Baxter nodded gravely. “That was very clever of you, madam.”
He stood with his back to the fireplace in his customary
position, hands behind his back and rocking slightly on his heels.
Cecily blew out a thin stream of smoke. “Yes, I was rather ingenious, if I say so myself. Mind you, there were one or two tricky questions that I couldn’t answer, but I managed to change the subject and throw Cranshaw off the track. He was quite angry, of course, about my visit to the George and Dragon to search Louise’s room, but he was forced to admit it ended well.”
“I expect he gave you a stern warning about repeating such foolhardy escapades in the future?”
“Yes, Baxter, he did. I’m sure you’ll be most pleased to hear that.”
“I should feel a great deal more comforted if I could be certain you would pay heed to his advice.”
She grinned. “Why, Baxter, whatever do you mean? I wouldn’t dream of risking my life and limb in such dangerous ventures again.”
He gave her a look that said quite clearly he was inclined to disbelieve that statement. He said nothing, however.
“The one thing that had me puzzled at first,” Cecily said, adroitly switching to another subject, “was why Louise found it necessary to kill Ted Sparks. The inspector told me that the London police searched his office. According to the detective’s notes, he had given up the case. But when Louise decided to take matters into her own hands, Mr. Sparks must have read about the deaths of Mr. Bickley and Mr. Donaldson and put two and two together.”
“So he came down to Badgers End to warn Ian?” Baxter said with remarkable intuition.
“I imagine that was his intention, as well as to investigate the case further. Apparently he couldn’t find Ian at the boardinghouse and had inquired at Dolly’s where he could find him. Louise had seen Mr. Sparks there and followed him to the George and Dragon to stop him from talking to Ian.”
“But how did she know you were searching her room?”
“She didn’t,” Cecily said, stubbing out her cigar. “Ian had
taken Phoebe to the tearoom before going on to the George and Dragon. Phoebe told Louise where Ian was going, and Louise must have decided to take advantage of the opportunity. From what the inspector and I surmise, the dart she carried was for Ian. She must have gone to her room for something first, perhaps to wait until the fight was over, and that’s when she found me.”
Baxter raised his eyes to the ceiling for a moment, then looked back at her. “You gave me some very anxious moments, madam. When I first opened that door and saw just the top of your head …” He shook his head, leaving the sentence unfinished.
Cecily smiled. “How is your nose? Does it still hurt?”
Baxter touched his nose carefully with the tips of his fingers. “I think it will mend. It infuriates me that I was so careless. Had I been better prepared, I could have given a much stronger account of myself.”
“I don’t doubt that for one second, Bax. And I will tell you, I was never more pleased to see anyone in my life than in that moment when I looked at the door and there you were.”
Baxter stretched his chin in the air. “I am just happy that everything turned out so well.”
“So am I. Madeline seems to have recovered from the ordeal, though I doubt she will have learned much of a lesson from it.”
“There are some people who find it inordinately difficult to pay heed to their reservations.”
She looked at him suspiciously, but he stared back at her with an air of sublime innocence.
“Well,” she said, “the one regret I have now is that all this excitement has put my schedule entirely out of system. It is November the fifth, and I have done nothing about the fireworks display. I’m quite sure I have ruined the entire year for Colonel Fortescue.”
Baxter cleared his throat. “With apologies, madam, but since you were otherwise engaged, I took it upon myself to make some arrangements with John Thimble. If you would
care to come with me, you can inspect the display which we set up in the roof garden.”
Cecily looked at him in pleased astonishment. “Why, Baxter, how very thoughtful. The guests will be extremely happy that they will not miss out on the festivities, as shall I for not having to tell them it’s canceled.” She rose to her feet. “I shall be happy to go to the roof garden right now and see for myself.”
Baxter, looking uncommonly pleased with himself, opened the door for her.
As she passed under the portrait, she looked up. “There you are, you see, James, he takes very good care of me, as well as the Pennyfoot. You have chosen well.”
Baxter stood back to let her pass, murmuring as she did so, “I fear Mr. Sinclair would be most disturbed if he could see how imprudent his wife can be at times.”
Cecily paused, leaning back to send another look at the portrait. “Don’t listen to him, James,” she said. “He can be an intolerable fussbudget.”
Smiling, she sailed through the door.
Kate Kingsbury is the national bestselling author of over sixty books, and lives in Oregon with her husband and a rat terrier who thinks she’s a Great Dane.