Room With a Clue (Pennyfoot Hotel Mystery) (13 page)

“Most likely the bricks from the wall bouncing off the rockery,” Cecily said, her mind still contemplating the whereabouts of the note.

“That is possible, I suppose.”

She looked up at him, noting how pale his face looked again. “Why don’t you sit down, Baxter? You look awful.”

“I’ll be perfectly all right, madam.”

She dropped her chin into her hands. “I think I should speak to Keith Torrington. Daphne Morris has suggested he might have been responsible for sending the note to Lady Eleanor.”

Baxter looked surprised. “You surely don’t suspect a gentleman such as Mr. Torrington could be involved in this affair?”

She tapped the table with her fingernails, wishing she knew what to think. “According to Miss Morris, he had reason to
want Lady Eleanor’s silence on a delicate matter. But whether he was prepared to kill for it, that’s another thing entirely.”

A knock on the door prevented Baxter from answering. Quickly stubbing out the cigar, Cecily called, “Come in.”

The door opened, and Ethel slid timidly into the room. “Police Constable Northcott and Dr. McDuff have arrived, madam. They wish to speak with you.”

Cecily looked up at Baxter and pulled a face. “Well, it’s about time. Now maybe we can get to the bottom of this.”

CHAPTER

13

Cecily nodded at Ethel, who hovered anxiously in front of the door. “Please show them in,” she said, rising slowly to her feet. She waited until the door had closed again, then added urgently to Baxter, “While I’m talking to the constable, go to the Danburys’ suite and try to find out what happened to that note.”

“I really don’t know what I will say to Mr. Danbury that won’t arouse his suspicion.”

Cecily waved an impatient hand. “Tell him you are trying to confirm Gertie’s story for some reason.”

“Very well, madam.” He hesitated. “I think it would be wise to allow P.C. Northcott to question Mr. Torrington.”

Cecily smiled. “Don’t worry. I really don’t consider Mr. Torrington a murderer. Besides, if I talk to him, it will be in the ballroom. I hardly think he could harm me in front of sixty people and a twelve-piece orchestra.”

A loud rap on the door announced the arrival of the constable and the doctor. The door opened, and Ethel announced the names. Two men entered and greeted Baxter, who shook their hands, then excused himself. With a swift, significant glance in Cecily’s direction, he disappeared through the door.

“Cecily, my bonnie bairn, how are you?” Dr. McDuff strode forward, hands outstretched. “What have you got yourself into now, for pity’s sake?”

The Scottish doctor’s brogue had been well diluted by years of living in the south. A man full of tireless energy, his blue eyes were constantly in motion, missing nothing. A small neat beard softened his craggy face with its ferocious eyebrows, and his white hair still sprang thick and wavy on his forehead.

He had brought Cecily and every one of her five brothers kicking and screaming into the world, as he was always telling her. He teased her every time he saw her, reminding her that her cuts and bruises had easily outnumbered those of her brothers.

He had always enjoyed her stubbornness in accepting the fact that as she grew older, Society denied her the freedom to join in her brothers’ exploits. “A proper tomboy,” he’d always called her.

Now well past seventy, he constantly threatened to retire. Cecily couldn’t imagine Badgers End without the familiar wiry figure peddling furiously up Parson’s Hill on his bicycle to take care of yet another emergency.

The firm grasp of his hands almost destroyed her composure, and for a ridiculous moment she felt like weeping. She hadn’t seen much of Gordon McDuff since James’s death. He had been a pillar of strength to her and the boys through the entire nightmare of the funeral, and during the first lonely days when both her sons had left to resume their military duties in the tropics.

“You look a trifle pale, lassie,” the doctor said, jutting his eyebrows down over his eyes. “Are you all right then?”

“I am quite well, thank you,” she said quickly, “though I would feel a great deal better had this not happened, of course.”

P.C. Northcott cleared his throat. He was several inches shorter than the doctor, and his protruding belly straining the buttons of his uniform suggested a fondness for a regular pint or two of ale.

He wore a solemn expression as he greeted Cecily a little gruffly. His ruddy cheeks had been whipped to a healthy glow by the night wind, and his mustache extended on either side of his face. With his police helmet stuck on top of his bushy brown hair, he looked to Cecily a little like an inverted flower vase.

The constable’s gaze switched to the mound under the white tablecloth. “This the body then?” he inquired unnecessarily in his deep, ponderous voice.

Cecily nodded. “Would you like me to leave?”

“I think that’s wise,” Dr. McDuff answered for him. “All this canna be pleasant for you.”

“It’s most unpleasant for all of us, Doctor,” Cecily said. “I am appalled that this could have happened in my hotel.”

“Most unfortunate,” P.C. Northcott said, pulling back the cloth. He was silent for a long moment, while Cecily averted her gaze, then he murmured, “Yes, well, I’ll write this up as an accidental death. No witnesses so it will be just a routine matter.”

“I don’t think it’s routine at all,” Cecily said quietly.

The constable looked up, his light brown eyes immediately alert. “You stated that she fell from the roof. You have some doubts about that, Mrs. Sinclair?”

“There are certain incidents that seem a little unusual, yes.”

Dr. McDuff looked worried. “What are you saying, Cecily?”

“I’m saying that I believe there is a possibility Lady Eleanor’s death was not an accident.”

The constable straightened, dropping the cloth back in place, and took out a notebook from his top pocket. From the same pocket he extracted a pencil. With extreme thoroughness, he stuck out his tongue and licked the end of it, then flipped open the pad and began writing something down. “Perhaps you’d care to explain exactly what you mean, Mrs. Sinclair.”

Cecily recited everything she knew, while P.C. Northcott
kept an inscrutable expression on his face as he silently scribbled away.

When she was finished, the constable slowly closed his notebook. “I really don’t think there is anything to worry about Mrs. Sinclair,” he said in a tone that suggested she was making a mountain out of a molehill. “I’m sure most of what you’re saying seems suspicious, but there is usually a good explanation for it all. Most people get a little hysterical when there’s a death like this. Natural, I suppose.”

“I assure you, Constable,” Cecily said carefully, “I am not hysterical. And everything I have told you is exactly what happened. I have not made it up.”

“Come now, Cecily,” Dr. McDuff murmured, coming forward to take her arm, “try not to get upset. You’ve had a nasty shock and—”

“I am not upset.” Cecily firmly removed her arm from his grasp. “I am merely trying to get to the bottom of some rather suspicious circumstances.”

P.C. Northcott cleared his throat. “Rest assured, madam, I shall report this to my superior, Inspector Cranshaw. Won’t be able to reach him until the morning, of course. We’ll see what he has to say then.”

“Very well.” There was little else she could do at this point, in any case, Cecily thought.

The constable tucked his notebook in his pocket. “Now, while the good doctor is conducting his examination, perhaps you would show me where the body was found?”

“I’ll take you there.” Cecily walked over to the door. Not that it would help much, she thought, since John had cleaned up the area. “Baxter should be back any minute. He had an errand to take care of. We’ll stop by the kitchen and collect a lamp, if you’ll come this way?”

She led the way down the hall in silence, wondering how Baxter was getting on upstairs with Robert Danbury.

Baxter had worked for James Sinclair ever since he had bought the Pennyfoot Hotel five years earlier. Still suffering from the effects of the illness that had laid him low in the tropics, Major Sinclair had relied on his staff a great deal at
first as he struggled to renovate the neglected mansion and establish the small but elegant hotel.

There had been two or three potential scandals, all of which had been successfully concealed from the public. But never, until now, had there been anything as drastic as murder. Baxter hoped fervently that there never would be again. That was, of course, if Lady Eleanor had indeed been murdered. And Baxter had to admit, there seemed little doubt that circumstances pointed in that direction.

He waited for some time before Robert Danbury answered his knock. The new widower looked extremely irritated to find Baxter standing there.

“What now?” he demanded. “Can’t I be left in peace?”

“I do most humbly beg your pardon, sir,” Baxter said with a slight, stiff-backed bow, “but I wonder if I might have a word with you?”

“What about? Has the constable arrived yet?”

“Yes, he has, Mr. Danbury. I’m sure he will be up to speak with you presently. But this matter is quite urgent, and I’d like to get it settled. I wonder if I might step inside for a moment?”

Robert Danbury looked about to refuse, then stood back. “Oh, very well. But please make it quick.”

Baxter stepped through the open door and looked around. His gaze skimmed over the writing table and the inlaid table in front of the fireplace. The note could be anywhere.

“What is happening downstairs?” Robert Danbury demanded. “I hope they are not disturbing my wife’s body.”

“As little as possible, I am sure,” Baxter said soothingly. “As I’m sure you are aware, in a matter of a death, we are compelled to send for a doctor. He is downstairs with the constable.”

Baxter caught sight of something in the grate and edged closer. “I assume you will want to make your own arrangements as to transportation to London for burial?”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Danbury ran his middle finger across his eyebrow. He looked distracted, as well he might, Baxter thought, having just lost a wife.

He cleared his throat. “Begging your pardon, sir, but I wonder if you might help me in a little matter. One of our
maids claimed to have brought a message to Lady Eleanor shortly before her death. Sometimes the maids make up these excuses to gain a little extra free time. I am anxious to confirm that she was speaking the truth. Perhaps you could vouch that she did indeed deliver a note?”

It sounded weak, Baxter had to admit, but it was all he could think of on such short notice.

Danbury frowned. “Note? I know nothing of any message. I have seen no note.”

“I see, sir.” Baxter moved closer to the fireplace and ran his finger along the mantelpiece, as if checking for dust. “Perhaps Lady Eleanor might have received a note in your absence. Could I trouble you to look around, in case she might have left it somewhere?”

A noticeable edge lined Danbury’s voice. “Is this intrusion really necessary at a time like this? I tell you, I have seen no note. I have been wandering around the suite for nearly an hour waiting for that damned policeman. I’m quite sure I would have seen a note had there been one. Now, if you’ll please excuse me?”

Baxter dipped his head. “Please forgive me, I am most sorry to have bothered you. Perhaps we can clear this matter up tomorrow, when you’ve rested.”

Robert Danbury nodded, though his eyes were still narrowed in suspicion. “I hope the constable won’t make it too long, though I have no idea how I can help him, since I know nothing myself.”

“I think I can arrange that, sir.” Baxter bowed his head in a curt nod and left the room. He was anxious to find Cecily. He had something most interesting to tell her.

“I know we’re going to get into trouble,” Ethel whispered nervously as she and Gertie crept up the stairs to the second landing. “I don’t know why I let you talk me into this.”

Gertie was a little worried, too, though she wasn’t about to admit it. A bet was a bet and she wasn’t about to give up the chance to win one, even if the stakes weren’t worth the risk. Her honor was on the line. She had to prove Ethel wrong, and she wanted her there when she did it.

She was about to say so when Ethel stopped on the landing, so suddenly that Gertie crashed into her. “What’s the bleeding matter with you?” she demanded.

“Shut up!” Ethel’s elbow jerked back and gave her a painful prod in her shoulder.

“’Ere, what—”

“Shut
up!
”

This time the urgency in Ethel’s fierce whisper made itself known. Gertie’s stomach lurched. “What is it?” she whispered, trying to crane past Ethel’s bony body to get a glimpse down the hall.

Ethel jabbed a forefinger across her chest to the left. Turning her head, Gertie caught sight of a man’s back disappearing through a door, then it gently closed behind him.

“Who was it?” Gertie hissed.

“That Mr. Danbury,” Ethel whispered back.

“Oo, the saucy beast. That’s not his room.” Gertie licked her lips. “I’d give my best Sunday drawers to know what’s going on behind that door right now.”

Ethel giggled. “You’d probably lose your drawers if you were behind that door with him.”

“Yeah.” Gertie sighed. “I bet I could show him a thing or two.” She started to visualize the experience, then remembered why they were there. Scowling at Ethel’s enraptured face, she added impatiently, “Come on, let’s get on with it.”

Ethel obediently crept around the landing and began climbing again. “I know we shouldn’t be doing this. What if someone sees us?”

“Stop whining,” Gertie muttered, “and get on up there. And wait until I’m in the right position before you knock on the blinking door.”

“What happens if the lady opens the door?”

“Then you’ll just have to find an excuse to open the door wider, so as I can see.”

“But what if—”

“Sshh!” Gertie hissed. “Just do it, for Christ’s sake.”

“Why can’t you do it?”

Gertie sighed. “Because I’m not the bleeding maid for that room, am I?”

“But they don’t know that.”

Unable to find another excuse for avoiding the job, Gertie resorted to blackmail. “Either you open that bloody door or the bet’s off.”

Ethel stopped dead. “Okay, let’s call it off. It ain’t worth tuppence anyway.”

Encouraged by this lack of conviction on Ethel’s part, Gertie grew reckless. “All right let’s make it sixpence.”

Wavering, Ethel thought about it. “Only if you do the knocking,” she said finally.

Gertie did not like that. “What if he’s in bed?” she demanded. “He ain’t going to be too pleased if I knock him up.”

“He ain’t going to be any happier if I do it,” Ethel said, looking stubborn.

Gertie could see her money and her honor slipping away. She couldn’t let that happen, especially since Ethel now seemed most reluctant to go ahead with the scheme. To Gertie that pointed to the fact that Ethel was not as sure about who she’d seen as she liked to make out.

Making up her mind, she said offhandedly, “Oh, all right. If you’re too bloody scared to do it, I’ll have to.”

Ethel smiled in relief. “Go on then. Let’s get it over with. I want to go to bed.”

Her heart beginning to thump, Gertie crept up the last of the stairs to the landing. Signaling to Ethel to hide behind a potted plant, she slowly stepped forward until she had reached the door of suite three.