PH02 - Do Not Disturb (9 page)

“I don’t like to complain,” she told Cecily a few minutes later, safely ensconced on a charming brocade Queen Anne chair, “but that artist person is really quite odd. It’s enough to give me the vapors, the way he looks at me.”

Cecily tried to hide her amusement. “I’m sure it’s your imagination. He seems a very quiet, sincere man.”

Phoebe tossed her head. “Really. Then pray tell me what he is doing pursuing a woman old enough to be his mother? He pestered Mr. Baxter to introduce us. Now, does that sound like logical behavior from a quiet, sincere man?”

“You are too hard on yourself, Phoebe. You are hardly old
enough to be his mother, and you are an attractive woman. It isn’t all that surprising that a younger man would find you interesting.”

Phoebe’s flush indicated her pleasure in the compliment. “Thank you, Cecily, but I prefer the man in question would direct his interest toward someone more agreeable to his attentions.”

She rested her parasol against the chair leg and took the cup and saucer Cecily handed her. “Thank you, my dear. A good strong cup of tea is exactly what I need. I really don’t know what Badgers End is coming to. All these strange people about. It’s the new lighthouse that is causing all this commotion in the village. I always said it was a mistake.”

“Well, I’m afraid we’ll have to put up with it even longer, now that someone saw fit to sabotage the project.”

Phoebe nearly choked on her tea. “What is this? I haven’t heard anything about it.”

Cecily wasn’t sure if Phoebe was more put out by the incident or by the fact she hadn’t learned of it first. After relating what Baxter had told her, Cecily added, “At the moment no one seems to know who was responsible or why someone would wish to destroy something that is so badly needed. It seems so senseless.”

Phoebe nodded slowly, sending the roses on her hat quivering. “Oh, I utterly agree. But at least one person I know of will be happy about the delay.”

“Really?” Cecily murmured, her mind still dwelling on the possible motives for such destructive behavior.

“Yes, Dolly’s new assistant. I overheard her talking to one of the workmen in the tea shop while I was picking up my cottage loaf and crumpets. Algie does love crumpets with his afternoon tea. Gets quite put out if I forget to buy them.”

Her interest aroused, Cecily cut in before Phoebe could launch into one of her favorite anecdotes about the vicar. “You heard Louise talking to a workman about the lighthouse project?”

“Yes, I did.” Phoebe sipped delicately at her tea before continuing. “She seemed most interested, wanting to know
how long it would take, and asking if the men missed being in London. She said it would be very quiet in the village once the workmen left, and that village life was very dull compared to the city.” She lifted her nose with a disdainful sniff. “I thought it disgraceful, a woman of her age.”

Taken aback by this statement, Cecily put down her cup with a clatter. “Disgraceful? In what way?”

“My dear, that was a broad hint if I ever heard one. The woman was obviously angling for an invitation, and she didn’t even know the man. I doubt if she was properly introduced.”

“I’m sure she didn’t see it that way,” Cecily said mildly. “She was most likely simply making conversation. She’s probably lonely, poor woman. She knows no one here, and I’m sure village life must be extremely difficult to get used to after living in London.”

Phoebe replaced her cup in its saucer and dabbed at her lips with her serviette. “That’s as may be, but I’m quite sure she could find someone more suitable to associate with than those rough laborers. For a woman of her obvious breeding, her behavior is quite extraordinary. I wouldn’t have thought they were her class at all.” She paused in the act of laying down her serviette. “You know, now that I think about it, she doesn’t seem the kind of woman who would seek employment in a tea shop, no matter how refined it is.”

“I don’t suppose there is a vast choice of employment in a small community such as this,” Cecily pointed out. She was becoming bored with the entire subject and decided to change it. “So how are arrangements for the bazaar proceeding? Have you got everyone organized yet?”

“Oh, that’s the reason I am here,” Phoebe said, reaching for her large handbag. “I have a list of things we desperately need, and I wondered if we could prevail upon you to loan us a few items.”

“Of course, I’ll do what I can. Let me see the list.”

Phoebe withdrew a sheet of pink scented paper, crimped around the edges, and handed it to Cecily. “I do wonder, though,” she said thoughtfully, “why someone like Louise Atkins would choose such an isolated little village like Badgers End to start a new life.”

Cecily smiled. “If you were seeking peaceful solitude, where else would you look? Personally, I don’t think she could have chosen a better place.”

“Well, I hope she’ll be happy here,” Phoebe murmured. “It takes a long time to be accepted by the villagers. If it weren’t for Algie being the vicar, I’m quite sure I would still be trying to establish my proper place in the community.”

Cecily was much too diplomatic to pursue that topic. “Now,” she said briskly, “about this list.”

On her way down to the kitchen that evening, Cecily stopped by Baxter’s office. She found him sitting at his desk, frowning over a large ledger. He stuck his pen back into the inkwell as she entered the room. Jumping to his feet, he reached for his jacket, which hung on the chair behind him.

He struggled into it and said a little testily, “I apologize, madam. I wasn’t expecting a visit from you.”

Cecily sighed. “Forgive me, Baxter. I should have sent you my visiting card.”

A glint appeared in his eyes, but he chose to ignore her sarcasm and finished buttoning his jacket. “What can I do for you, madam?” he asked.

“I forgot to ask you last night. Did you by any chance purchase some cigars for me?”

He stared at her, defiance written all over his face. “Again, my apologies. I’m afraid I forgot your request in my concern to acquire the information you wanted.”

“I see.” Cecily pursed her lips. “In that case, I shall simply have to keep begging from you.”

She almost smiled at the unhappy look on his face. “There was another matter I wished to mention. Phoebe tells me you attempted to arrange an introduction between her and Sidney Rawlins.”

“I attempted to, yes. Mrs. Carter-Holmes made it clear she was not interested.”

“So she tells me.” Cecily hesitated, then decided to ask the question that had bothered her for most of the evening. “Tell me, Baxter, why do you think Mr. Rawlins is so
anxious to meet her? Apart from the fact they appear to have nothing in common, Mr. Rawlins must be a good ten years younger than Phoebe.”

Baxter’s gaze shifted to above her head. “I fail to see the significance in that. I have never considered age to be a factor in a relationship.”

“Really?” Cecily murmured, amused at this revelation. “Why, Baxter, you surprise me. I always considered you to be so conventional. I do believe you are a romantic at heart.”

She watched a faint tinge of pink creep across his face and took pity on him. “Nevertheless, I would tend to agree with Phoebe that Mr. Rawlin’s behavior is a little odd. He doesn’t strike me as a Casanova.”

Baxter cleared his throat loudly. “It makes little difference, if I may say so, since Mrs. Carter-Holmes has expressed her objections. There will be no introduction.”

“That’s a shame.” Cecily turned to leave. “I really do dislike unanswered questions.” She paused in the doorway. “Would you care to join me in the kitchen for a cup of tea?”

“Thank you, madam, but I have to finish these accounts tonight. I still have an hour’s work ahead of me.”

“Well, don’t stay up too late.” She left him alone to finish his task and headed for the basement stairs. As she reached them, she heard the main doors open behind her, and a draft of cold air cooled her ankles.

Turning, she saw Mrs. Parmentier appear in the doorway. The widow paused for a moment, framed by the blackness of the night behind her, then she pulled the doors closed with a loud thud.

Cecily was surprised that the widow had been out so late unaccompanied. In another ten minutes, the hotel doors would have been locked for the night, in which case Mrs. Parmentier would have had to summon someone with the night bell.

She wondered if she should warn the widow about that, but the stocky figure in black swept past her with the slightest of nods, unsettling Cecily to the point she felt
reluctant to speak. It was difficult to communicate with a faceless person. She had never realized before how much one relied on other people’s expressions.

She wasn’t sure why, but she still felt a quiver of uneasiness, long after she’d finished her pot of tea and returned to her room.

Cecily found herself thinking about that feeling the next morning. She was in the kitchen, discussing with Mrs. Chubb the loan of six white tablecloths for Phoebe’s church bazaar.

“Yes, mum,” Mrs. Chubb said, “I’ll get Gertie to fetch them for you just as soon as she gets back from the bedrooms.”

Cecily was about to thank her when the kitchen door flew open and Ian bounced in. “Hallo, hallo, hallo,” he sang out, then caught sight of Cecily and gave her a sheepish grin. “Morning, Mrs. Sinclair. Didn’t see you standing there.”

Mrs. Chubb sniffed loudly, as if warning him to watch his manners.

“Good morning, Ian.” Cecily smiled back. “What brings you here? Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

Ian shrugged. “Project’s on hold, ain’t it? Someone did a right good job of busting everything up. Be some time before we’re back in business. Matter of fact, Mrs. Sinclair, I was wondering if you’ve got a job for me around here for the next couple of weeks. Just till they get started up again, like?”

Mrs. Chubb, apparently outraged by this effrontery, exploded. “Of all the nerve. What do you think this is, young man, a charity house? You can’t just drop in and out whenever the fancy takes you.”

She sent a quick glance at Cecily. “Sorry, mum, but I had to have my say. Never heard of such gall.”

Somewhat surprised by this outburst, Cecily wondered if Ian had upset the housekeeper in some way. She held up her hand. “It’s all right, Mrs. Chubb. As a matter of fact, I need someone to do some painting around the windows facing the sea. They always bear the brunt of the weather from the Channel.”

Ian shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers and looked at Mrs. Chubb with a pained expression on his thin face. “Just for that, I shan’t tell you the latest bit of news from the project.”

Mrs. Chubb tossed her head in a gesture that said she couldn’t care less, but his words caught Cecily’s interest at once.

“Something else has happened?”

“Yeah, something horrible.” For a moment his normally cheerful face wore a sober expression. “Somebody else dropped dead, that’s what. Another one of the workers on the site, Billy Donaldson. Right outside the George and Dragon last night. The same as what killed Colin Bickley, they say. Dead as a doornail when they got to him.”

Mrs. Chubb, her tiff with Ian apparently forgotten, clutched her chest and stared at him in horror. “No, never. Not another one?”

“Getting bloody frightening, it is,” Ian said, edging toward the table where a large plate of sliced ham sat waiting to be taken to the larder. “Some of the chaps saw him die, and they said it was blinking horrible. Writhing all over the place he was, making terrible noises in his throat, like he was choking to death. He must have been in bloody agony, poor bugger. His skin was blue, too. Just like Bickley’s. Makes you wonder who’s going to be next, dunnit?”

He reached out a hand for a slice of ham, but Mrs. Chubb was too quick for him. She slapped his wrist away and glared at him.

“You work for your food here, young man. Don’t you forget it.”

Thoroughly disturbed by the news, Cecily wondered if Madeline had heard about it yet. She was bound to be distressed. “Did the two men work together?” she asked Ian. “Maybe there’s something on the work site that’s causing the problem.”

“We all worked together, didn’t we,” Ian said, scowling at Mrs. Chubb. “There was Bickley, Donaldson, and four others as well as me on our crew. We had the hard part,
clearing and leveling the land. Rock hard, it was. We had it looking right spiffy, but now all the brickwork is torn down and smashed to bits. It looks a right blooming mess again.”

Mrs. Chubb clicked her tongue. “Well, if I was you, Ian, I’d watch what I was eating. Looks like something’s getting into the food out there.”

“Who supplies the food for the project?” Cecily asked, the same thought having occurred to her.

“All comes out of the George and Dragon, don’t it,” Ian said, giving the ham a look of intense longing. “Dick Scroggins gets the lunches packed up, and they bring them out to us on a hay cart. Then we all eat dinner there when we get back at night. ’Course, once in a while someone gets a sweet tooth and stops off at Dolly’s for some currant buns.” He sent a beseeching look at the housekeeper. “Come on, Mrs. Chubb, just one little slice? I am going to be working here for a while, ain’t I?”

He looked at Cecily for confirmation, and she nodded. “Baxter will tell you what needs doing. Oh, and you might give John Thimble a hand in the gardens. He’s busy getting everything cleaned up for the winter and could probably use the help.”

Ian nodded cheerfully. “Thanks, Mrs. Sinclair. Now, about that ham?”

Cecily smiled at Mrs. Chubb. “I don’t think a sandwich would hurt, Mrs. Chubb. At least we know our food is safe to eat.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll soon find out if it is something in the food from the George,” Ian said as Mrs. Chubb reluctantly took a loaf of crusty bread out of the bin. “The bobbies are on the case now. They’ve called in Inspector Cranshaw from Wellercombe. I was told on the quiet like that they don’t think it was an accident. Not to happen twice like that. They think it’s murder.”

He gave a satisfied grin at Mrs. Chubb’s horrified gasp. “How about that, me old duck?” He gave a menacing, hollow laugh. “Maybe Jack the Ripper’s hiding out in Badgers End.”