PH02 - Do Not Disturb (4 page)

“Oh, my, yes,” Dolly said, her hand capturing her double chins. “Why didn’t I think of that? Now that poor Mr. Bickley’s a goner, the cottage will be empty again.”

“It’s in Hawthorne Lane, the road that winds up from the cove to Putney Downs,” Cecily explained. “The cottages sit in a row overlooking the cove. A very pleasant view. I think you’ll like it.”

“Why, thank you, Mrs. Sinclair,” Louise said, giving Cecily a charming smile. “I’ll certainly look into it.” She sent Dolly a quick glance. “If you’ll excuse me now, I’ll fetch your teas.”

She hurried off, and Dolly watched her go, a slight frown on her face.

“She seems very capable,” Phoebe said, her gaze following the assistant as she disappeared through the kitchen door.

“I hope so,” Dolly murmured. “Good workers are so hard to find in these parts.” She rubbed her hands together as if they were cold. “What do you think of that poor Mr. Bickley, then?”

“I didn’t know the man,” Cecily said, “but I imagine his sudden death must have been a shock to everyone who did.”

“Used to come in here, regular as clockwork,” Dolly said. She lowered her voice, which made it difficult to hear above the laughter and babble of voices. “Lying outside on the
path, he was. Enough to give his neighbors a heart attack when they saw him, I reckon. Been there all night, they say. No one can understand why he was outdoors at that time of night without his coat.”

“Perhaps he felt the heart attack coming on and attempted to seek help from the neighbors,” Cecily suggested.

“I certainly hope it wasn’t those little hooligans playing Knock Down Ginger who brought on the attack,” Phoebe said. “Algie kept telling me they would get into real trouble if they weren’t careful.”

“Well,” Dolly said, leaning her drooping breasts over the table, “he must have been frozen out there in his shirtsleeves, that’s all I can say.”

The woman seemed to have an inordinate interest in the man’s lack of clothes, Cecily thought with amusement.

Her humor soon faded, though, when Dolly dropped her voice to a mysterious whisper. “They say the poor man was blue.”

“Blue?” Phoebe repeated, sounding puzzled.

“Yes.” Dolly shuddered. “Never seen anything like it, they said. His whole body, from head to foot, was bright blue.”

“Oh, my.” Phoebe clutched her throat. “I hope no one tells Algie that. He’ll have nightmares for weeks.”

At that moment Louise reappeared bearing a huge tray laden with wedge-shaped crustless sandwiches, scones, cakes, and a huge silver pot of tea.

“Well, I’ve got to get on,” Dolly said, straightening as best she could. “Enjoy your teas, ladies, and have a pleasant afternoon.”

Phoebe watched the rotund figure squeeze her way past the tables to the kitchen. “I don’t know how pleasant an afternoon it can be after that piece of news,” she murmured, one hand still clasping her throat.

Cecily smiled as Louise began unloading the plates from her tray. “Come now, Phoebe, don’t dwell on it. Just look at these delicious little Viennese tarts, and that Swiss roll looks wonderful.”

“I hope we have egg and cress today.” Looking more cheerful, Phoebe plucked a sandwich from the plate and examined it. “They were all gone the last time I was here.”

“These are egg and cress, and those are salmon and cucumber,” Louise said, picking up the empty tray. “I’ll return in a short moment with your hot water. I’m afraid I forgot to put it on the tray.”

She hurried off, and Phoebe looked after her in surprise. “Her manner is a little strange, don’t you think?” she murmured.

Cecily had entertained the same thought, but she said mildly, “It’s most likely nerves. After all, everything here is strange to her.”

“Well, it is most apparent that the woman is not accustomed to this kind of work. Not only did she forget the hot water, depriving us of our second cup of tea, but she also neglected to give us serviettes.”

“I’m sure she will soon settle down. Now, while we’re waiting, why don’t we discuss the plans for the bazaar?”

Phoebe launched into a rapid account of the latest details, rummaging in her large handbag until she found the list of duties to be performed.

Cecily was examining the list when Phoebe muttered, “Well, it’s about time. Wherever has that woman been?”

Feeling sorry for Louise, Cecily gave her a smile as she set the hot water down on the table. “I wonder if you’d mind fetching us both a serviette?” she said quietly.

Louise looked flustered. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Mrs. Sinclair. Do please forgive me. I can’t imagine what I was thinking of.” She rushed off again, missing Phoebe’s raised eyebrows.

“Well, really,” Phoebe murmured. “She is remarkably absentminded, though I can understand why Dolly hired her. The woman speaks very well indeed, and obviously she comes from a good family. Quite a treat to be waited on by someone well bred. There are so few places in Badgers End where one can be treated with the courtesy and respect due to upper-class patrons.”

Cecily said nothing as Louise returned to the table once more and placed a folded serviette in front of each of them, then rushed off again.

Phoebe tutted, and shook out the large square of white linen. Placing it on her lap, she reached for her sandwich. “I suppose one should feel sorry for the woman. If one is to be widowed, the best one can hope for is to be left with the means of support. Thank heavens I do not have to work for a living. Dear Sedgely would never rest easy in his grave.”

Cecily refrained from pointing out that “dear Sedgely” deserved a restless eternity, having failed to leave a will when he’d died from a fall while hunting. The Carter-Holmes family, having long deemed Phoebe beneath their station, had promptly disowned her and her son. It was Algie’s meager salary as a vicar that kept their heads above water. Phoebe had seen not a penny from Sedgely’s estate.

“Louise is a widow?” Cecily picked up a slice of Battenburg cake with the tongs and transferred it to her plate. She regretted the question immediately.

Phoebe leaned forward, her pale blue eyes glistening with the triumph of sharing a piece of gossip. “Her husband was a scientist. Traveled all over the world, so I’m told. There’s something very mysterious about his death. He was in Central America, working on a science project, and was infected with this strange disease. No one seemed to know what it was. Can you imagine?”

Feeling uncomfortable, Cecily murmured, “Well, I’m quite sure there are many diseases in that part of the world that are strange to us. It could have been some form of malaria, such as that which caused James’s death.”

Phoebe looked abashed. “Oh, I do beg your pardon, Cecily. I think this might be painful for you. Shall I change the subject?”

Cecily had already decided to do just that. “I have something to tell you that should interest you. You have a secret admirer.” She bit into the Battenburg, enjoying the almond flavor of the marzipan.

A look of astonishment blanketed Phoebe’s face, and
color swept over her cheeks. “I do? And who might that be, pray? Not that dreadful Colonel Fortescue, I hope. The man is quite deranged, of course. I would suspect he could be dangerous if he weren’t so completely ignorant. Then again, ignorance often can be just as dangerous as—”

“Phoebe,” Cecily quietly interrupted, “it’s not Colonel Fortescue.”

Phoebe snatched up her serviette from her lap and dabbed at her lips, then began violently fanning her face. “Then … who?”

“Our new guest at the Pennyfoot. Sidney Rawlins.”

Phoebe gave a small shriek, instantly muffled by her serviette. Her eyes looked wide and horrified above the white cloth, and the feathers on her huge hat trembled.

Cecily calmly went on eating her cake.

After a moment Phoebe lowered the cloth. “That man?” She’d uttered the word as if he were lowest of all animals.

Surprised, Cecily wiped her fingers on her serviette. “You know him?”

“Of course not. Nor do I wish to. I just happened to be in the lobby when he booked in. The man looks like a … a … Bohemian.” There was no doubting the disgust in her voice.

Amused, Cecily nodded. “Yes, well, he is an artist.”

“I knew it! With all that hair and those dreadful clothes …” Phoebe shook her head. “My dear, you really should be more careful who you allow on your premises. The man most likely never bathes. He must positively
reek
.”

“Not that I’ve noticed.” Cecily took a slice of chocolate roll, reminding herself to forgo dinner that evening. “Anyway, he requested that Baxter arrange an introduction to you.”

Phoebe’s expression of sheer horror was a delight to watch. “I presume that Mr. Baxter refused and put the man in his proper place?”

“Actually, Baxter said he’d oblige.”

A strange gurgling sound came from Phoebe’s throat.
“You know, of course, that heathen is merely after my money.”

“You don’t have any money.”

Phoebe shot an alarmed glance around in case someone might have overheard. Leaning forward, she whispered fiercely, “He doesn’t know that.”

Leaning forward also, Cecily whispered, “Then tell him.”

“I can’t. I can’t have people know that the Carter-Holmeses are not quite as wealthy as they appear to be. Such a disgrace. It would kill Algie.”

Cecily didn’t have the heart to tell Phoebe that her financial condition was common knowledge in the small village. Fortunately the villagers minded their own business and were much too concerned with their own lives to pay much heed to Phoebe’s futile attempts at grandeur.

“Then tell Baxter you have no wish to be introduced,” she said, still in a whisper.

“Why can’t you tell him?”

Louise’s face suddenly appeared between them, producing a startled yelp from Phoebe.

“Excuse me,” Louise murmured. “I apologize for interrupting, but there’s the little matter of the bill. Which one of you ladies will be taking care of it?”

Cecily reached for it. “Thank you, Louise. You can leave it with me.” She could feel Phoebe’s penetrating gaze from across the table. She hoped Louise hadn’t noticed it. Phoebe’s curiosity could be quite intimidating when one was on the receiving end of it.

She made a mental note to warn Baxter about Phoebe’s reaction when she got back to the hotel. Perhaps it would be more prudent to discourage the artist from pursuing an introduction to her. Though secretly Cecily thought it could have been an interesting match.

Baxter had left on an errand when she got back to the Pennyfoot, and Cecily decided to go up to the roof garden to wait for him. She often went up there at sundown; it was her way of communicating with James.

The flat space between the sloping roofs provided a quiet
retreat and afforded a spectacular view of the Esplanade and cove. In the height of summer, the fragrance of roses, planted in gaily colored half barrels, filled the air. James had been responsible for turning the useless space into a small garden, to be enjoyed by everyone who stayed at the Pennyfoot.

But more often than not, he and Cecily had been alone during their brief quiet moments together, and she found the memory of him stronger here than anywhere else on the hotel grounds.

As she gazed out at the fishing boats anchored in the cove, she could almost hear his voice murmuring the sweet words that had kept their love so full of wonder and delight. Her thoughts of him no longer plagued her every minute of the day and night, but the ache of missing him remained as strong as ever.

The dismal cry of a sea gull echoed across the water, answered by another as it swooped low across the gentle waves. Already the night had darkened the horizon, erasing the line between sky and water.

The faint smell of seaweed drifted in on the cool evening breeze, and Cecily drew her shawl closer around her. In the early days after James’s death, she had prayed for the memories to be erased from her mind. Now she found comfort in them. They were all she had left of a powerful love.

She watched the lights from the cottage windows flicker on, dotting the hillsides with cozy beacons of warmth. Soon the lonely night would be on her, reminding her of all she had lost.

Engrossed in her thoughts, she was startled when a soft voice spoke behind her. “Cecily? Can you spare me a moment?”

She turned, smiling when she saw the dark-haired woman who stood in the narrow doorway to the stairs. “Madeline. I didn’t hear the door open. What brings you back tonight?”

Her smile vanished when she saw her friend’s expression. Madeline’s dark eyes were brimming with apprehension, and her face looked wan in the fading light. She came forward, her fingers plucking at the folds of her filmy skirts.

Her voice was little more than a whispering moan. “The spirits are against me, and that’s for sure. I must have offended them, but I don’t know why. Something dreadful has happened, and I don’t know what to do.”

Alarmed now, Cecily patted her friend’s thin arm. “Tell me what’s troubling you, Madeline. Perhaps I can help.”

Madeline gave a trembling sigh. “I met Dr. McDuff in the High Street and inquired about Colin Bickley’s death.” She glanced over her shoulder to make sure they were alone. “He told me that Colin’s death was not due to a heart attack, as he’d first thought.”

“It wasn’t?” Cecily felt a shiver of apprehension. She remembered Dolly’s hushed tones as she described the color of the dead man’s skin. At the time, Cecily had thought it was simply someone’s exaggeration of a natural occurrence after death. But looking at Madeline’s haunted expression, she felt a sharp uneasiness.

Lowering her voice, she asked quietly, “What exactly was the cause of death, then?”

Madeline gulped. “Dr. McDuff said he is sure that Colin Bickley died from some kind of poisoning.”

“How dreadful. How the poor man must have suffered.” Cecily still couldn’t understand why Madeline should be so upset by the news—until she spoke again, and then it all became abundantly clear.

“Dr. McDuff said he thought the poison was cyanide at first, because Colin’s skin had a blue tinge to it, which is a symptom of cyanide poisoning.”

Madeline’s hands twisted together like battling snakes. “But there was no smell of bitter almonds, which ruled it out. Upon further examination, Dr. McDuff decided some kind of poisonous plant killed Colin.” She stopped wringing her hands and clasped Cecily’s arm. Her fingers felt deathly cold.