Room With a Clue (Pennyfoot Hotel Mystery) (12 page)

But that didn’t seem to be of primary importance now. She would have to set aside her concerns about the possible damage to the Pennyfoot and worry about it later.

What mattered now was to find the identity of the murderer and bring him to justice. She would not rest until that had been achieved.

There was also another consideration. She had yet to discover the reason why Lady Eleanor had been killed. Since milady was still wearing her jewelry, then robbery could be
ruled out. But Madeline’s warnings about the full moon still played on Cecily’s mind.

There was a slight chance that the killer had not been known to Lady Eleanor, but was simply a deranged person who had chosen his victim at random. If so, it was possible he could feel compelled to claim another victim. That thought chilled her to the bone.

CHAPTER

12

Cecily glanced at the clock, wondering how much longer it would take for the constable to arrive. She could hardly send for the inspector, since she had no proof to support her suspicions.

Yet even if P.C. Northcott suspected murder he would not be qualified to conduct the investigation himself. And it could be morning before the inspector might arrive. Cecily was not at all happy about that.

The first thing she must do, she decided, was go to the ballroom and find Keith Torrington. Somehow she must find an excuse to speak with him.

At that moment the main doors opened. Cecily was surprised to see Baxter come through them. His hair looked mussed by the wind, and he wore a harried expression as he strode toward her. He carried a lighted lamp in his hand, and she looked down at it as he reached her.

“Where have you been?” She couldn’t imagine what had taken him outside again so close to eleven o’clock.

He smoothed his hair down with the palm of his hand. It was a gesture she knew well. Baxter always did that when under a certain amount of strain.

“I have been to the courtyard,” he said, lifting the lamp high in the air in order to turn it out. “John needed a lamp out there.”

“John is still out there?”

“Yes, madam.”

Cecily frowned. “What’s he doing out there in the dark?”

“He is replacing the torn-up plants. There is also a stain on the bricks he wanted to remove before it became set.”

“I’m not sure that’s a terribly good idea, Baxter.”

He looked confused. “I don’t understand what you mean, madam.”

“I mean that John is very likely removing evidence of a crime.” Glancing around to make sure no one was in earshot, Cecily quickly explained about the note and Madeline’s discovery of the sign.

“I think that someone wanted the death of Lady Eleanor, and when he saw the sign warning about the damaged wall, he saw a way to bring his wish about. He removed the sign, then invited her up there. Since she was unaware of the danger, it would have been a simple matter to lure her close to the wall, and at the opportune moment—give her a firm push.”

Baxter’s face looked pale in the light from the overhead chandelier. “I have to admit I have considered the possibility. Now in view of this matter with the message, it does seem a very strong likelihood.” He shook his head. “Whoever in this world would want to do such a thing?”

“I don’t know.” Cecily hesitated. “But I can hazard a guess or two. It seems clear to me that whoever sent that note to Lady Eleanor knows a good deal more about this situation than we do. I think we have to determine who sent the note, then confront that person with the evidence.”

Again Baxter’s hand smoothed down his springy dark hair. “We cannot be certain that whoever wrote the note was responsible for Lady Eleanor’s death.”

“True. But it certainly seems suspicious, doesn’t it? Lady Eleanor is dressed and ready for the ball, waiting for her husband to return to escort her there. She receives an urgent message, apparently summoning her presence to the roof garden, which she obeys. Minutes later she’s lying dead on the courtyard floor. I would say that’s extremely suspicious, Baxter.”

The lamp rattled in his hand, a sure sign that he was becoming agitated. “I think it would be most unwise to accuse someone of such a dangerous crime without proof. That is something that I must strongly urge you to leave in Inspector Cranshaw’s capable hands.”

Cecily waved a hand in the air. “Oh, piffle. You worry too much, Bax. I don’t intend to go charging up to someone and say, ‘Forgive me, but I believe you murdered Lady Eleanor, so what do you have to say about that?’ ” She shook her head at him. “Please, allow me more credit for my intelligence than that.”

He tilted up his chin. “So what do you plan to say, if I might ask?”

She huffed out her breath. “I don’t really know, to be honest. But I would dearly love to get my hands on that note. If we were to determine the author, that would certainly tell us who it was who invited Lady Eleanor to the roof garden.”

“The note is not in her room?”

“That I don’t know either.” She shook her head. “I spoke with Robert Danbury, of course, but he could hardly invite me into his suite unchaperoned. You could go there, however, if we could think of some pretext as to why you wished to do so.”

She could tell that he wasn’t fond of the idea. “There is something we could try first,” she added as Baxter rocked back and forth on his heels, yet another sign of his anxiety. “We could search the body, in the chance that Lady Eleanor took the note with her.”

Baxter paled even further. “Are you certain you should pursue this course? I would suggest it might be far more prudent to wait until the constable gets here.”

“We could do that,” Cecily agreed. “But let’s suppose that
the constable is convinced there is enough suspicion about the accident to warrant an investigation. What will be his next step?”

“If he suspects foul play, he will most certainly send for the inspector. I doubt very much if he would proceed with his limited experience and authority.”

“Precisely. By the time the inspector arrives, it could well be tomorrow. By then our murderer could have left the hotel, and the trail will be cold. This could drag on for weeks. Months. I don’t want this hanging over my head for the next several months. I want this taken care of now.”

“If you are worried about the clientele, madam, I assure you curiosity alone will bring them back down.”

“Perhaps. Once the crime is resolved. How many people do you suppose would care to sleep under this roof, knowing there had been a murder here and the culprit is still free and possibly on the premises? Unless we can prove his identity, it could be anyone. Even one of our own staff.”

Baxter looked shocked. “Surely not, madam!”

“Well, of course not, but not everyone will be as confident of that as we are. It is essential that we find this criminal and clear the name of everyone here.”

She had presented the strongest argument she could think of, and a valid one, to win his support. If she’d mentioned the possibility of a deranged killer, he might well have locked her in the coal cellar to prevent her from investigating further.

To her relief, he saw her point. “I agree absolutely, madam. We cannot allow any suspicion to fall on the staff.”

Which included his own name. He hadn’t mentioned it, but Cecily knew that was on his mind. “Good, that’s settled then. You’ll come with me to search the body?”

Baxter sighed. “I will search the body myself.”

Very relieved to hear that, Cecily patted him lightly on the arm. “Then let’s get to it right away.” She started to lead the way down the hall, then paused, looking back at him over her shoulder. “By the way, there’s something I need to ask you.”

“And what is that, madam?”

“What’s the name of the gentleman in suite three?”

Looking a little puzzled, Baxter scratched his head. “Suite three? I believe that would be Mr. and Mrs. Shuttlewick.”

Turning back to face him, Cecily peered at his face. As usual, she could tell nothing from his expression. “Oh, really? Are you sure that’s his name?”

“Quite sure, madam.” He frowned. “Is there a problem I am unaware of?”

“No, not at all. I was just curious, that’s all. Bax, do you happen to be carrying any cigars with you?”

He rolled his eyes to the ceiling, but nodded his head.

“Good, I really have quite a craving for one.” Smiling, she led the way down the hall.

The library door, on Cecily’s instructions, had been locked, and she waited for Baxter to produce the key to open it. It was the only room that had escaped the extensive renovations that had altered the appearance of the Pennyfoot so drastically.

The Earl of Saltchester, as Cecily had observed more than once, would be unlikely to recognize his former home now if he were to walk in and see it.

She often wondered what had happened to the family. They had become impoverished shortly before the end of the century. Something to do with bad investments abroad, so Cecily had heard, and the family had been forced to sell the estate.

The earl was a distant cousin of Lord Withersgill, whose stately mansion overlooked the village from its vantage point on the peak of Parson’s Hill. Known by the villagers as “Hisself,” Lord Withersgill was rarely seen in public. In fact, some of the stories told about him were even stranger than those about Madeline.

Although well aware that speculative gossip was an element of village life, Cecily had no time for it. She contended that such talk caused far more harm than people realized.

In a town the size of Wellercombe, the problem would not be quite so acute. A murder would certainly cause a sensation but would be confined to the people involved. In a village, particularly one as small as Badgers End, one person’s disgrace brought disgrace on the entire community.

Until the murderer was uncovered, anyone could fall under
suspicion. Cecily was not about to let that happen to anyone on the staff of the Pennyfoot. Even so, she had to admit to a certain queasiness in her stomach when Baxter made to pull aside the cloth covering the body.

“If you wouldn’t mind, I would very much like to have that cigar now,” she said, seating herself at the table.

“This is not at all proper, madam.”

“Oh, to blazes with what’s proper. Who’s to see?” She scowled at him. “Bax, you’d be far more entertaining if you were not so deplorably stuffy.”

“Yes, madam.” Baxter straightened, and pulled the cigars from his pocket. “If I might be permitted to say so, I am astounded that you can sit in front of Master Sinclair’s portrait and blow smoke in his face. He would be utterly disgusted.”

She took the cigar from him before fixing him with her gaze. “No, you may not be permitted to say so. Really, Baxter, I am getting quite tired of you presuming to tell me what I should or should not do. You are taking James’s request far too seriously.”

“I am doing my best to follow his instructions.”

Cecily sighed. “You might as well accept the fact that times have changed. I’m attempting to change with them.”

“I don’t see why you should find that necessary, madam.”

She looked at him suspiciously. That had sounded remarkably like a compliment, but she could never be sure with Baxter. Nevertheless, she softened her tone.

“I sometimes find these changes a little frightening myself, but at the same time I have to confess to a certain exhilaration. It would have been only a matter of time, I’m quite sure, before I would have questioned James’s beliefs.”

She glanced up at the portrait before continuing. “It’s long past the time for women to have the same freedoms as men. I applaud the suffragettes and their determination for reform. In fact, if it were not for the Pennyfoot, I no doubt should be in London joining them on their marches. I hear there’s a massive demonstration planned at Hyde Park next week. I would dearly love to attend.”

Baxter’s eyebrows rose and fell. “At the risk of incurring your wrath, I fail to see how women can further their cause by
setting fire to taxicabs and digging up golf courses. I fear the loss of a woman’s femininity is most regretful.”

“It depends what you mean by femininity.” Cecily accepted the match he offered her, leaning forward to allow him to light her cigar. “If you’re referring to the barbaric custom of forcing myself into a murderous contraption of bones and wires,” she continued after blowing out a stream of smoke, “which were invented by men, no less, thus disfiguring my spine in order for my body to jut out in front and poke out behind, then good riddance, I say.”

Baxter opened his mouth to protest, but she forestalled him. “The Germans have the right idea. Women there go out openly in public without their corsets. Not like we British, who are forced to hide behind doors in order to breathe in a natural fashion.”

She had, at least, succeeded in bringing color back to Baxter’s cheeks.

“Madam! I beg you—”

Warming to her theme, she refused to be silenced. “If by femininity you mean I should twitter like a demented sparrow, fluttering a fan in front of my face every time a man speaks to me, keeping any intelligent thoughts I might have to myself for fear of offending a gentleman, then I say it is high time.”

His face looked as if it were carved from stone. Taking pity on him, she added, “I know you mean well, Baxter. But while I admit I was devastated when James died, and convinced I could not live without him, I’m finding I can manage very well. I miss him, yes, but I find working to keep the Pennyfoot afloat both challenging and interesting.”

“I understand that, madam, but—”

“And I understand that it must be difficult for you to have to deal with a woman when you’ve been used to dealing with a man. But it’s time men realized that women are capable of so much more than Society demands of them. We have every right to be treated as intelligent and capable human beings, not as slaves put on this earth to attend to the needs of men. Thanks to the suffragettes and their movement, our time is coming. And it’s long overdue.”

“Yes, madam.”

She could see he remained stubbornly unconvinced, but having had her say, she let the subject drop. “Very well, back to the matter at hand. Let’s see if we can find that note.”

Without another word he returned to the body and bent over it. When he straightened again, Cecily noted with sympathy the gray pallor to his face.

“There is no note here, madam.”

“Are you sure?” Frustrated, she stared across the room at the body, which he’d taken care to cover up again. “I really hoped we’d find it there.”

He stood at the end of the table, hands clasped behind his back, rocking back and forth on his heels. “I found only two pockets, both empty, and examined the sleeves.”

“I wonder if she carried a handbag?” She looked up at him without much hope. “I don’t suppose John found anything while he was cleaning up the courtyard?”

“Not as far as I am aware. I’m quite sure he would have mentioned it had he found anything. He was too worried about his plants to concern himself with anything else. He simply couldn’t understand how they came to be uprooted from their beds, plucked as clean as chicken feathers, as he so drolly put it, when it appeared the rocks had not been disturbed by the fall.”