Room With a Clue (Pennyfoot Hotel Mystery) (10 page)

She waited, hoping that Daphne Morris knew about the message and that her loyalty to her dead employer wouldn’t prevent her from sharing that knowledge.

CHAPTER

10

Daphne Morris looked pale as she stared at Cecily. “Message? I’m sorry, I’m afraid I know nothing about a message. Who was it from? What did it say?”

Cecily sighed. “I was hoping you’d be able to tell me.”

Miss Morris stared down at her hands. “Lady Eleanor was not in the habit of sharing her correspondence with me, Mrs. Sinclair. I was, after all, nothing more than her paid companion.”

Cecily nodded. “Yes, but often a lady’s companion knows more about her mistress’s private life than milady’s friends. As I said, I am anxious to find out as much as possible about the events leading up to the accident.”

The companion remained silent, and Cecily added for good measure, “The constable will be here shortly and will want answers to his questions. I’m merely trying to save my guests any unnecessary inconvenience.”

Daphne Morris dropped her gaze back to her lap. “I appreciate your concern, Mrs. Sinclair. You are most thoughtful, I am sure. Unfortunately I can’t help you. As I said, I know know nothing of any message. If Lady Eleanor received one, it must have been after I left to search for the dog.”

Frustrated, Cecily stared at Daphne Morris’s bowed head. She couldn’t help feeling that the woman was deliberately keeping something back. It seemed fairly certain that Lady Eleanor had received a message from a gentleman asking her to meet him. Did Daphne Morris know who that man was? Any one of a number of men would be wearing military uniforms to the ball.

It could have been Robert Danbury, of course, but that seemed extremely unlikely. But
someone
had sent that note. Whoever he was, he must have had a pressing and urgent reason to request a meeting with Lady Eleanor at that hour. And she had gone alone. At the request of the mystery man? If so, then it would seem that Baxter’s suggestion was not as preposterous as it had at first sounded.

In fact, Cecily was aware of a growing conviction that Lady Eleanor’s death had not been an accident at all. It seemed as if she could well have died by someone’s hand. In all probability, a murderer still lurked somewhere around the hotel.

Phoebe had spent a precious twenty minutes peering nervously under the tropical plants, to no avail. Henry remained stubbornly missing. She finally had to give up the search when a young woman came whirling into the conservatory on the arm of a besotted gentleman, both of whom giggled and whispered, obviously wishing to be alone.

Phoebe felt a moment’s pang of envy before scuttling from the room. It really didn’t seem that long ago since she had existed in that happy state of affairs with dear Sedgeley.

Though what he would think of the world now, with all this to-do about women and their rights, she shuddered to think. Poor Sedgeley would be horrified by the antics of that Pankhurst woman, what with her being thrown in prison like a street urchin. And all this talk about reform. Goodness knows what good they thought it would do.

Reaching the foyer, she thought about going down to the cellar to see how Colonel Fortescue was doing. On second thought, she decided it wouldn’t do to be alone down there unchaperoned, and heaven knew what the colonel had been into. What if he were drunk, for heaven’s sake? He could have his way with her, and she would be helpless.

Phoebe considered the possibility with more interest than could be considered proper, then dismissed it. Definitely not the colonel. If she was going to be ravaged, she would much rather it was one of those dashing young men whirling around the ballroom floor at that very minute.

A little scandalized by her own audacity, Phoebe concentrated on the problem at hand. Time was running out fast. If she didn’t find Henry in time for the tableau, it would have to proceed without him.

She had intended to have Henry coiled in his basket on top of a pedestal center stage, after having been fed, which, Mr. Sims had assured her, guaranteed his staying put.

Once the orchestra began playing “his music,” Henry had been trained to raise his head and sway majestically back and forth until the piece ended, wherein he would retire once more to his red satin pillow.

Phoebe sighed. If Mr. Sims had not been called away on an emergency, he would have been there himself to handle Henry, and none of this would have happened. But it had happened, and she couldn’t do much about it now.

The tableau wouldn’t be nearly as spectacular without the python, of course, but short of climbing up there herself and doing a fan dance, she just couldn’t come up with an alternative.

She could, of course, put the basket up on the pedestal and hope no one would notice Henry wasn’t in it. She could always tell everyone afterward that he slept through the entire performance.

Delighted with herself for coming up with a reasonable answer to her problem, she hurried down to the kitchen. Perhaps, if she could find the girl, she could ask Gertie to retrieve Henry’s basket for her.

Madeline was floating around the kitchen when she got
there, a sausage roll in one hand and gesturing vaguely with the other while spouting to Mrs. Chubb rubbish about bad spirits floating around the Pennyfoot.

“I can sense them, my dear,” she declared as Phoebe came through the door. “The full moon always brings bad luck to those who have angered the spirits. Lady Eleanor must have been too, too naughty for words. She has paid the price for her misdeeds.”

“Please don’t let Cecily hear you say that,” Phoebe said in a sharp voice. “We all have problems enough without listening to that stuff and nonsense tonight.”

Madeline lifted a delicately plucked eyebrow. “Oh, don’t worry, Phoebe,” she said, her voice sounding just a shade condescending, “you have nothing to fear from them. They’ve claimed their victim for this night. You are quite safe, I assure you.”

Irritated by all this mumbo jumbo, Phoebe tossed her head, flipping chiffon everywhere. Madeline had no right to speak to her like that. No right at all.

The woman might have her fancy speech, but if gossip were to be believed, it was merely thanks to a mysterious uncle who took her in when her parents supposedly died at sea. It was no secret—everyone knew that Madeline’s blood was Romany. And no gypsy was going to speak to her in that tone.

“They used to burn witches at the stake, so I’m told,” she retorted.

“And every one of them returns to haunt the disbelievers. Didn’t you know that?” Madeline had a low, gurgling laugh that always sounded as if she had a bad cold.

Phoebe tossed her head in disgust. She would waste no more time arguing with this harlot. Some of the stories she’d heard about Madeline Pengrath would grow hair on Algie’s head if she ever repeated them. Not that she could be so bold, of course. It would be enough to shock him to an early grave.

“I have a lot more to worry about tonight than ghosts and goblins,” she said. “Henry is still missing, and the tableau is due to start in little more than an hour.”

Mrs. Chubb tutted. “Can you believe a snake that size could be slithering around this hotel and no one can find him?
Wherever could he have got to? There can’t be that many places to hide.”

Madeline perched a hip on the corner of the scrubbed oak table, ignoring Phoebe’s scandalized frown. “Well, I can assure you of one thing, he’s not in the gardens.”

“How do you know?” Phoebe demanded.

“Vibrations.” Her hands fluttered in the air. “They are all around me, singing to me. Henry is inside the walls of this building, you may rest assured of that.”

In spite of herself, Phoebe cast a nervous glance around. “Is he in a good mood?”

Madeline smiled. “At the moment I do believe he is.”

Annoyed that she’d allowed herself to be caught up in Madeline’s nonsense, Phoebe said testily, “Well, if he is, he must be invisible, that’s all I can say. I have searched every possible nook and cranny for that snake. Every corner, every floor—”

“Every cupboard?” Madeline inquired softly.

Phoebe shut her mouth with a snap. “Cupboard?”

“Oh, my,” Mrs. Chubb said, slapping a hand to her mouth, “you really think he’s in one of the cupboards, then?”

“He’s in an enclosed space, of that I am absolutely convinced.” Madeline slid off the table and stood with her head tilted back, eyes closed, and one hand held out as if she were testing the air for rain. With her long hair streaming down her back she reminded Phoebe of a statue of a water nymph she’d seen in Kew Gardens in London.

“Well, if you’re so clever,” Phoebe snapped, miffed at this ridiculous waste of time, “then please inform Henry to get back here at once. He’s late for the tableau. My dancing girls will be arriving any minute, and I have to set things up for their entrance on stage.”

Madeline opened one eye. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. He’s asleep. In any case, he can’t get out. The door is shut.”

Mrs. Chubb was following the conversation with a look of intense fascination on her round face. “What door is that, then?”

“Yes, do please tell me, I would dearly love to know,” Phoebe said, getting more irritated by the minute.

“I can’t tell,” Madeline murmured, drawing the words out in a mournful monotone. Closing her eye again, she hugged herself and swayed back and forth. “I know only that the door is closed.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Phoebe straightened her hat with an angry jerk of her hands. “I’ve had enough of this.” She turned to Mrs. Chubb. “I need some help carrying my equipment from the laundry room to the dressing room. There’s the sedan chair for the sultan, and the pedestal …” She sighed heavily. “The pedestal which Henry should have adorned, and the box of costumes.”

Mrs. Chubb smiled. “I’ll see to it. Ian’s on duty in the foyer. I’ll get him to carry it in for you.”

Phoebe nodded. “Thank you, Altheda. As soon as possible, if you please. With all this confloption going on, I’m desperately late as it is. My girls are most likely waiting to get dressed this very minute.”

“A broom cupboard,” Madeline announced loudly, startling the other women.

“What?” Mrs. Chubb exclaimed, while Phoebe clicked her tongue in exasperation.

Madeline opened her eyes and swept the air with her hand in a gesture of triumph. “Henry. I do believe he’s in one of the broom cupboards.”

“Which one?” Mrs. Chubb asked. “We’ve got one on each floor.”

“I don’t know that, I’m afraid. But I think you should start with the top floor and work down.”

“May I ask,” Phoebe said with deceptive politeness, “how Henry managed to get into the broom cupboard through a closed door?”

“Dearie, I really can’t be expected to know every tiny detail.” Madeline wiped her brow with the back of her hand, as if she’d toiled for an hour in the potato fields. “You know how too, too exhausted I get when I’m concentrating like this.”

“Tell you what, Phoebe,” Mrs. Chubb said, “why don’t you take Madeline and look in the broom cupboards while I get Ian to fetch your stuff for the tableau? If Henry’s there, well and
good. We’ll take his basket up to him, and Madeline can get him into it. If he’s not there, then you’ll just have to do without him, won’t you?”

She didn’t like it, Phoebe thought, but if Madeline proved to be right, much as she doubted it, and they discovered Henry, her problems would be solved. Apart from anything else, she was not looking forward to explaining to Mr. Sims that she’d lost his valuable snake.

“Very well,” she said, “but we will really have to hurry.” Remembering her conversation with the colonel earlier, she added casually, “By the way, Altheda, do you happen to know the name of the gentleman in suite three?”

She had expected surprise at her question, even resentment at her curiosity, but not for one moment had she expected the flood of color that swamped Mrs. Chubb’s face.

For several moments the two women stared at each other, while Mrs. Chubb’s mouth opened and closed like a trout stranded on a rock.

Then the housekeeper apparently found her voice. “Well, I’m sure I don’t know, Phoebe. The maids take care of the rooms, as you know. I wouldn’t know the names of anyone staying there.”

Phoebe’s heart took a little jump of excitement. She found Altheda’s reaction most interesting. Most interesting indeed. “Yes,” she murmured. “Well, we must get on for now. Come, Madeline.”

Madeline glided across the floor to the door and pushed it open. “Of course,” she said, “I’m not promising anything. But I do most definitely feel it strongly enough to warrant a search.”

Forcing her mind back to the matter at hand, Phoebe hoped that whatever “it” was, it knew what it was talking about. A little grumpily, she followed Madeline up the stairs.

All this climbing about was bound to have an effect on her poor legs, she thought. She’d never be able to kneel on that hard church floor for the Sunday service, and then Algie would be upset with her.

“I was most intrigued by your question to Mrs. Chubb,” Madeline said as they rounded the curve to the second landing.

“My question?” Phoebe asked innocently.

“The name of the gentleman in suite three?” Madeline’s dark gaze flicked over Phoebe’s face. “Is it someone you could be interested in, Phoebe? I’ll be only too happy to help if it is. I have some wonderful potions that are most successful in arousing a man’s interest. You simply have to find an opportunity to slip it into his morning cup of tea.”

Phoebe’s snort of disgust was most unladylike. “You really are impossible, Madeline. For someone who proclaims to have the ability to read minds, you are remarkably obtuse. This entire speculation is quite ludicrous, even for you.”

Unaffected by this attack, Madeline waved a languid hand in the air. “Oh, pooh, Phoebe, whyever not? It happens all the time.”

“At my age?”

“At any age. Are you sure you’re not pining after some tall, dark, and handsome gentleman?”

Thoroughly embarrassed, Phoebe snapped, “If you knew who it is, or supposed to be, you wouldn’t be so flippant with your tongue.”

About to step up the next stair, Madeline paused and turned around. Her eyes alight with curiosity, she said, “So tell me who it is.”