Room With a Clue (Pennyfoot Hotel Mystery) (21 page)

Daphne Morris gave a mirthless laugh. “So I discovered. I hurried down to the courtyard. I wanted to make sure she was quite dead. But she was still breathing when I reached her. I lifted a rock from the rockery, and she took hold of my foot. She must have regained consciousness and realized …”

The image was too much. Cecily suddenly felt a little dizzy. She took several deep breaths while Miss Morris simply stood there, staring at the ground.

“I think perhaps we should go inside,” Cecily said, taking an unsteady step closer to the now silent woman.

Daphne Morris lifted her head, and now her eyes looked wild in the moonlight. “No! I shall not go to prison. I will not wait inside one of those terrible filthy holes while they decide whether or not to hang me. I will not!” Her voice rising on a howl, the demented woman rushed forward, heading straight at Cecily.

CHAPTER

21

Cecily stepped in front of the howling woman, arms outstretched, calling loudly, “Baxter!”

With a violent shove, Daphne Morris sent her sprawling, then rushed on.

Dazed for a moment, Cecily sat on the hard ground, then felt a pair of strong hands beneath her armpits, helping her to her feet.

“Madam, are you all right? Are you hurt?” Baxter’s voice sounded gruff with anxiety.

“I am perfectly fine, thank you,” Cecily said, feeling a little foolish. “But we must get after her, don’t let her get away.”

“I don’t know where she would run to,” Baxter said, but nevertheless began sprinting after the flying figure.

Doing her best to keep up, Cecily saw Daphne Morris plunge through the front door of the hotel with Baxter quite a distance behind her.

The manager’s heavy bulk was no match for Miss Morris’s athletic build, and he needed several moments to reach the door.

By the time Cecily had puffed her way up the steps at the fairly smart trot, both the companion and Baxter had disappeared from view.

Once inside the foyer, Cecily caught sight of her manager disappearing into the shadows around the curve of the staircase. Her heart seemed to stop beating. She had a terrible suspicion that she knew where Daphne Morris was going.

“Stop her!” she called out urgently and, hauling on the banister rail, began climbing the stairs two at a time. She knew in her heart that she couldn’t possibly get there in time. She could only pray that Baxter could somehow find the speed to catch up with the poor woman.

Halfway up the second flight, she paused. Of course, the door to the roof was locked. But then Baxter had unlocked it for Ben Parkinson, the mason. Had he locked it again? She could only hope so. Once more she began climbing as fast as her aching legs would carry her.

Reaching the third floor at last, she stood for a moment on the landing, gasping for breath. It was a moment or two before she noticed, then her heart sank. The door leading to the roof garden stood wide open.

Very slowly, she walked toward it, and as she did so, Baxter appeared in the doorway, his face ashen in the glow from the gaslights.

“She jumped, didn’t she?” Cecily asked breathlessly.

“Yes, madam. I am sorry. By the time I got there, she had already gone.” He didn’t wait for her answer, but dashed past her down the stairs.

Cecily followed much more slowly. There was no point in hurrying. She was quite certain that Daphne Morris could not possibly survive the fall.

She sat on the bottom step of the staircase, waiting for him to return. When he did, she could see by his set expression that there was nothing he could have done.

“She’s dead?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.

“Yes. I am afraid so.”

“Perhaps it’s just as well.”

Baxter shook his head. “If only I had locked the door. I had intended to, after Ben had finished with his calculations. Then Mrs. Chubb needed my assistance, and I had no time to go back before you and I were to meet. I intended to come back and lock it afterward. Now it is too late.”

Cecily stood up. Patting his arm, she said quietly, “Baxter, please don’t blame yourself. It is what she wanted, and you are in no way responsible for that.”

He nodded, looking unconvinced. “We have to see that a message gets to Wellercombe.”

“Of course.” She rubbed her forehead, feeling suddenly exhausted. “This is yet another occasion when a telephone would have saved having to turn someone out in the middle of the night.”

“It would have made no difference, madam, since the police station in Wellercombe is still on the telegraph system.”

Cecily sighed. “True. I suppose it will take time for things to change down here.”

“Yes, madam.”

“We can’t force those changes before their time, Baxter. Look at Daphne Morris. She thought she could win Robert Danbury, but he would never have married a lady’s companion. Now that he has acquired a new station, Daphne Morris would have been considered beneath him. Maybe one day these things won’t matter so much, and we can choose with whom we fall in love, without regard to whether or not it’s a suitable match.”

He didn’t answer, and she sent a quick glance his way. As usual, his expression remained inscrutable.

“You know, Baxter,” she said softly, “people worry too much much about the changing world. Here in the countryside, one would never know that technology has progressed at such a rapid rate. To all intents and purposes, Badgers End is still existing in the Dark Ages.”

“I don’t think that is necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes too rapid a change can bring new and unfamiliar problems with it.”

“We have to live with the times, Baxter, whatever they might bring.”

“I think we have to enjoy each day for itself, madam. If indeed the world is changing so rapidly, one might well consider that each tomorrow could bring unexpected catastrophes.” He turned to walk down the hall.

She stared after him, uneasily aware that he could very well be right.

Inspector Cranshaw arrived early the next morning, with P.C. Northcott trotting on his heels, and immediately went to inspect the body. Cecily waited in the library, trying to remember everything clearly enough to answer the inevitable questions she knew would be fired at her.

Although Baxter had the morning off, he’d volunteered to stay and talk with the police, and she was most grateful for that.

As close as possible, she related the conversation she’d had with Daphne Morris the night before, with Baxter confirming everything she’d said.

Both the inspector and P.C. Northcott took notes this time, and Cecily gained some satisfaction from the fact that at last they were taking her seriously.

“It all seems straightforward enough,” Inspector Cranshaw said after Cecily had answered his brief questions. “I will be in touch with you later, Mrs. Sinclair, if we need anything else from you.”

He stood, and P.C. Northcott sprang to attention beside him. He reached for the inspector’s hat and handed it to him with an anxious little flourish. Cranshaw took the hat without a word.

“I appreciate your cooperation in this matter,” the inspector went on, fixing Cecily with his eagle stare, “but I must warn you about taking the law into your own hands. Had things not turned out the way you hoped, you would have been, and still might be, guilty of tampering with evidence in a murder case.”

“I understand, Inspector,” Cecily murmured, trying to sound contrite. “It won’t happen again.”

“I must also caution you,” Cranshaw said sternly, “about stepping into situations that you are not qualified to handle.
This could have turned out very differently for you had Miss Morris been desperate enough to want to kill you.”

Cecily smiled. “I had nothing to worry about, Inspector, with Baxter standing watch over me.”

The tall policeman seemed unimpressed. “When dealing with the criminal mind, madam, we cannot count on anyone. The unpredictability and speed of such a person can be quite extraordinary. I must insist that in future, you leave such dangerous tasks to us. That is, after all, our job. We are trained professionals and, as such, are only hampered by amateurish meddling.”

“Quite, quite,” P.C. Northcott muttered, staring at his superior with great admiration.

Cecily resisted the impulse to point out that had it not been for her amateurish meddling, they might never have discovered the real murderer. “Inspector,” she said, smiling sweetly up at him, “I most sincerely hope that I shall not be afforded the opportunity for any more meddling. The Pennyfoot Hotel could not withstand such notoriety.”

“On that, madam, we most certainly agree.” Inspector Cranshaw gave her a stiff little bow and left, followed at a respectable distance by P.C. Northcott.

Cecily looked at Baxter, who stood rocking on his heels. He still felt responsible for the death of Daphne Morris, she could tell. Knowing how upset he was, she didn’t quite know what to say to comfort him. So she said the only thing possible at such a time. “Come, Bax, let’s go down to the kitchen and make ourselves a nice cup of tea.”

They reached the foyer, which was bustling with departing visitors, just as Robert Danbury arrived to collect his luggage. He looked pale and drawn, but he managed a curt smile when Cecily greeted him.

“I understand I have you to thank for my release,” he said, lowering his voice as yet another couple descended the stairs. “I am most grateful, Mrs. Sinclair. For everything.”

Cecily nodded. “I hope, when the trauma of this has passed, we will see you again at the Pennyfoot?”

“I very much doubt it. Not that I haven’t enjoyed my visits
here. But there would be too many ghosts to haunt me now.” He hesitated, then added “Tell me, where is Chan Ying?”

Surprised, Cecily looked up at him. “At the moment he is in my housekeeper’s sitting room, waiting for a friend of mine to collect him. I thought you might not want to be bothered …” Her voice trailed off when she saw the pain in his eyes.

“He is all I have left, Mrs. Sinclair. I would like to take him home.”

“Of course. I understand.”

She felt a small glow when he answered, “Yes, I do believe you do.”

He turned away, and she looked back at Baxter, who stood staring at the staircase with the oddest expression on his face. Following his gaze, Cecily saw the couple reach the bottom step and smile at each other.

The lady she didn’t recognize. The gentleman, however, seemed startlingly familiar. He was short and very stout with a neat white beard and rather unbecoming bulging eyes.

Mesmerized by the couple, Cecily watched them cross the foyer, followed by a flurry of footmen and luggage, then disappear out of the door.

Slowly she turned to Baxter, who just as slowly turned toward her. For several long moments they stared at each other. Then Cecily dispersed the cobwebs from her mind with a firm shake of her head. “No,” she said firmly, “it couldn’t have been His Majesty. Could it?”

Looking her straight in the eye Baxter replied, “Of course not, madam. I heard that King Edward is on the continent, taking the cure.”

Cecily nodded. “That’s what I thought. Though the man looked remarkably like him, I must say.”

“Remarkably.” He turned away, leaving her staring suspiciously after him.

By Monday evening Ben had finished repairing the wall, and once more Cecily could stand looking out over the cove to the horizon beyond. There were no clouds to mar the sky, and a clear, aquamarine sea gently lapped at the sands.

The hotel was fairly quiet, the bulk of the guests having
returned to the city, leaving no more than a dozen or so visitors to enjoy the peace and quiet. By midweek the tumult would begin again, but for now, the respite was most welcomed by the hotel staff.

Out of habit, Cecily reached for a rosebud, then pulled back her hand. No more. She had promised herself she would not dwell on her grief anymore. She would fill her life with the hotel, and whatever good work she could do in the village. Phoebe was always asking for her help at various functions.

It was time she got out more, Cecily decided. It would be most comforting to feel needed again.

The door opened behind her, and she turned to see Baxter stepping through. He seemed relieved when he saw her.

“Mrs. Chubb told me you had come up here.” His gaze wandered to the wall. “I was a little concerned—”

“Baxter!” Cecily exclaimed. “Surely you didn’t think—”

“No, madam, of course not.”

The shock on his face made her laugh. “Then tell me what you were so concerned about.”

“I know the reason you enjoy being up here, and I thought perhaps, after everything that has happened, you might be distressed …”

His voice faded away. Then, as she continued to look at him, he added lamely, “I thought perhaps it had spoilt things for you, madam.”

Touched by his perception, Cecily smiled. “It might have, Baxter, if I hadn’t decided that I’ve mourned long enough. I shall still cherish my memories, of course, but I’m no longer governed by them.”

He looked as if he didn’t know how to answer her, and she changed the subject. “Has Colonel Fortescue left yet? I haven’t seen him today.”

“Yes, madam. With assurances that he will return in a week or two.”

Cecily nodded. “No doubt.” She turned back to look out at the ocean. “I was talking to him, you know, when everything fell into place.”

“Yes, madam?”

“If it hadn’t been for Henry being disturbed and all the
ramifications that followed, I might never have stumbled on the truth. It never occurred to me that it could have been a woman who gave the note to Gertie. Until the colonel started chattering about the uproar caused by Henry, and that he hadn’t realized the sultan was a woman.” She smiled. “You know he actually thought it was all part of the performance?”

“He would be most gratified to know that he was such a help.”

Cecily smiled. “Yes, he would, wouldn’t he? It’s so strange how everything became linked together. First the plants, which made me realize that rocks had to have been moved. I wonder why John didn’t think of that?”

“John’s mind was on the plants themselves, I believe. Not the rocks. He apparently assumed they had been torn out by someone’s hand.”

“Yes, I suppose that had to be it. I do believe the button came off Miss Morris’s shoe when Lady Eleanor clutched her foot.” She shuddered. “That must have been a dreadful moment for that poor woman. Imagine recovering consciousness only to find Miss Morris poised above her with a jagged rock in her hands.”

“Indeed so. The button apparently fell into the hole without Miss Morris noticing it.”

“Then she replaced the rock on top of it. It wasn’t until later she realized it was missing. Perhaps she went back to look for it, then when she couldn’t find it, decided she would have to replace it, in case it was found.”

Cecily placed her hands on the wall and looked down at the Esplanade. The shadows made by the railings were growing long. Soon the sky would turn peach, then pink and finally purple, before giving in to the night. “It must have been Miss Morris who overturned the plant pot,” she said, gazing out across the ocean. “Can you imagine her panic as she raced down those stairs to make sure Lady Eleanor was dead?”