Room With a Clue (Pennyfoot Hotel Mystery) (6 page)

CHAPTER

6

“I just can’t imagine how Henry managed to escape,” Phoebe said, picking up her cup to examine it, as if she hoped to find more brandy in it.

“Well, I can tell you that.” Mrs. Chubb rubbed her palms together, wishing she could repeat the sensational story to the ladies at the next church social. They’d be all agog, they would, and she’d be the center of attention.

They were always asking her about the goings-on at the Pennyfoot. Most of the time she’d had to keep her mouth shut. There were some things that she wouldn’t tell her own mother.

She did wonder how madam was going to keep this one a secret. A death wasn’t exactly the same thing as what went on behind the closed doors of the boudoirs. Maybe she’d get the chance to tell about it after all.

She started when Phoebe said, “So, please, do tell me. I would really like to know.”

“It was Ethel. Countess Duxbury spilt a cup of tea all over the bed linens, and Ethel went to fetch clean ones. She was on her way out, and she says the snake lifted his head from the basket.”

Mrs. Chubb chuckled. “What she meant was she got curious and peeked inside the basket to see what was there. She saw what was there all right. Shouldn’t laugh, poor lamb, got such a fright, she did. Thought she was seeing things. She must have run out and left the door open. Never said a word until she overheard John say as how he’d been looking for a snake.”

Phoebe moaned. “Oh, dear, I just don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Well, duck, I should think you’ll have to find him, won’t you? I mean, we can’t have a dirty great python slithering all over the place, can we? Wouldn’t look good for the hotel, now, would it?”

“No,” Phoebe agreed mournfully, “it wouldn’t. But where do I look? John and I looked everywhere. The courtyard was the last place to look.” She covered her eyes with her hands. “Oh, I’ll never forget the sight of that poor woman lying there, those beautiful clothes all wet and bloody …”

Mrs. Chubb tried to be as diplomatic as possible. “Speaking of clothes, duck, yours could do with a wash.” She thought for a moment. “What if I send you home to the vicarage with Ian in the trap? You could change your clothes and be back in plenty of time for the tableau. It’s only ten past nine.”

“Yes, I suppose that would be best.” Phoebe sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to tell Algie the whole story. He’ll be most upset.” She looked up at Mrs. Chubb with worried eyes. She’d refused to take off her hat, and it had dried out, though the brim still drooped in oddly shaped curves.

That was one hat, Mrs. Chubb thought, that would never look the same again. She’d never seen Phoebe without a hat. The reason for that wasn’t ever mentioned between them, but Mrs. Chubb rather suspected that Phoebe’s immaculate coiffure wasn’t what the Good Lord had given her.

Not that there was anything wrong with wearing a wig. After all, the Society ladies all wore hairpieces to make their hair stand up in the front.

But Phoebe would be aghast if she thought her little deception had been unveiled, and Mrs. Chubb was the last person in the world to deny a woman her vanity. Lord knows they had little enough else left to enjoy.

“I wouldn’t worry about the vicar, love,” she said kindly. “He must have a lot of dealings with death and the like.”

“Yes, but usually they are due to old age or disease. Algie never could stomach violent death.” She dropped her voice to a confidential whisper. “He has a delicate stomach, you know.”

It was Mrs. Chubb’s considered opinion that everything about the Reverend Algernon Carter-Holmes was decidedly delicate, but she refrained from saying so.

There were enough whispers around the village about the vicar’s soft lisping voice, which made it difficult to hear his somewhat diluted sermons. Mrs. Chubb used to get quite tired of her Fred digging her in the ribs, whispering harshly, “Wha’d he say?”

“I’m sure he’ll live, dear,” she assured Phoebe. “Now, wait there while I go and fetch Ian.”

She patted Phoebe on the shoulder, just as the door opened behind her. Looking up, Mrs. Chubb saw Ethel’s white face peering at her round the edge of the door. “You wanted to see me, mum?”

Mrs. Chubb nodded grimly. “You’re late, where have you been?”

The door opened wider, letting in the rattle of dishes from the kitchen as Ethel shuffled into the room. Her thin shoulders were hunched, as if she were cold, and her face looked pinched and drawn. “I had to go and tell Mr. Danbury that Mrs. Sinclair wanted to see him in the library.”

Phoebe gave a little moan, and Mrs. Chubb sent her a sharp look of warning. The less people who knew about the accident for now the better. “I see. Well, Gertie’s in the kitchen with the dishes, so go and help her. I’ll be in there in a jiffy.”

“Yes, mum.” She turned to go, and automatically Mrs. Chubb’s critical gaze ran over her. “Here, wait a minute. What’s that all over your shoes?”

Ethel lifted her skirt and examined her feet. Her white shoes
were streaked with dirt. “Oo, look at that. Must have stepped in all that dirt on the landing upstairs.”

Mrs. Chubb bristled. “What dirt?”

Ethel squatted down and wiped her shoes with the hem of her skirt. “Up on the third floor. By the roof staircase. Someone knocked one of them big plant pots over, and there’s dirt all over the floor. I didn’t have time to clean it up, but I’ll go back and do it now, shall I?”

Phoebe let out a muffled squeak.

Ignoring her, Mrs. Chubb shook her head. “No, Gertie will be swearing like a fishwife if you don’t get on in there and help her. I’ll take care of the dirt. Go on then, look sharp!”

Ethel fled, and Mrs. Chubb looked at Phoebe, who seemed ready to burst into tears again. “What’s the matter now?”

“Henry,” Phoebe said, holding the brim of her ruined hat with both hands as she swayed from side to side. “He’s inside the hotel somewhere.”

“Oh, mercy, I hope not.” Mrs. Chubb slapped a hand to her bosom. “What makes you think that?”

“I don’t know for certain.” Phoebe got wearily to her feet. “But I do believe that he might be responsible for that overturned plant pot. It would explain why we were unable to find him in the gardens. I just can’t imagine how he got up to the third floor without being seen.”

“Well, if you’re right,” Mrs. Chubb said, “I hope to high heaven we find him before someone else comes across him. Or we might have another death on our hands tonight.”

“Please,” Phoebe said faintly, “don’t even think of it.”

“Tell you what.” Mrs. Chubb opened the door. “Stay here while I fetch Ian, and I’ll have him run you home. While you’re getting changed, I’ll find Madeline, and we’ll both look for Henry. You know how she is with animals—if anyone can find him, she will. And she’ll know what to do with him when she does.”

Phoebe sent her a grateful smile. “Thank you, Altheda. I greatly appreciate your kindness tonight.”

Mrs. Chubb nodded and was about to leave when Phoebe gave a slight cough. “Er … Altheda?”

“Yes?” Mrs. Chubb waited, wondering what was coming next.

“You … ahem … you won’t mention my little, er, incident to anyone?”

“Not on your life, duck.”

“You don’t think Gertie … ?”

“More’n she dare do. Don’t give it one more thought. That’ll be our little secret.” Mrs. Chubb smiled, lifted her finger to her lips, then left in search of the footman.

“I’ve got a secret you’d love to know,” Ethel announced when she joined Gertie at the sink.

Annoyed with her for being late and leaving her to get on with things by herself, Gertie snapped, “I couldn’t care less. Get your hands in the bloody water and let me dry for a change. Me blinking hands are all shriveled up, they are.”

“Well, all right. But this is a really special secret.”

Gertie eyed her suspiciously. The girl looked ready to burst, she did. Intrigued in spite of herself, Gertie said casually, “So tell me, if it’s that juicy.”

“Can’t.” Ethel put a look of importance on her face. “Not supposed to gossip, are we?”

“Shit. Don’t know why I bother listening to you.” Gertie jerked her hands out of the water and reached for a tea towel.

“I wish I could tell you,” Ethel wailed, looking as if she would explode if she didn’t, “but I can’t.”

“Course you can.” Gertie finished drying her hands, then reached out and pinched Ethel’s lips. “Just open and shut these bloody things, and the words come out.”

Ethel jerked back her head. “And you know I’ll be in dead trouble if I do tell you.”

Her curiosity thoroughly aroused now, Gertie scowled. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Ethel, spit it out. You know you’re dying to tell me.”

To Gertie’s intense frustration, Ethel gave a firm shake of her head. “No. Me lips are sealed. More’n me life’s worth to tell you.”

“Strewth, Ethel, you really get my goat, you do. Whatcha say anything for if you aren’t going to tell me?”

The other girl sighed. “Wish I hadn’t said anything now.”

Glaring at her, Gertie played her trump card. “All right. What if I told you I had a big secret, too? Something you’d love to know.”

“Yeah? What is it, then?”

“You tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.”

Ethel frowned. “How do I know yours is as big as mine?”

Her patience gone, Gertie dug her fists into her hips and yelled, “Are you bleeding going to tell me or not?”

“Sshh!” Ethel looked around at the door, as if expecting Mrs. Chubb to come barreling in there any minute. “All right.” She leaned closer and whispered into Gertie’s ear.

Blinking in surprise, Gertie listened to the whispered words, then drew her head back. “You’re bloody daft. How can it be him?”

“I tell you it
is
him,” Ethel hissed, plunging her hands into the soapy water. “I ought to know what he looks like. Seen his picture often enough, haven’t I?”

Gertie lifted a stack of dirty plates and dumped them into the sink. “Go on. He wouldn’t show his face down here. Be bloody stupid to do that, wouldn’t he? Everyone gawking and staring at him? Blimey, the newspapers would have a right blast with that one, wouldn’t they?”

“Well, all I can say is how I seen him, plain as a spot on your face.”

“Yeah? What was he doing then? Stuffing his kite full of lobster, I suppose.” She looked at Ethel’s indignant face and exploded with laughter. “Gawd, Ethel, you don’t half fall for ’em, don’t you? Course it weren’t him. Bet yer tuppence it weren’t.”

Ethel’s face brightened. “All right. You’re on. Bet you tuppence it is him.”

Gertie stared at her, the plate she held dripping water over her shoes. It wasn’t like Ethel to risk her hard-earned money unless she was on a sure thing. Maybe Ethel knew something she didn’t.

Ethel gave her a triumphant smile. “See? Not so cocky now, are you?”

Stung, Gertie tossed back her head. “All right, Miss Clever Sticks, how’re you going to prove it?”

“All you got to do is look at him and you’ll know.” She held out a hand, slathered with soap suds. “So, you going to shake on it?”

For a moment Gertie was almost convinced. Then common sense kicked in. “Christ, Ethel, I’m blinking certain he ain’t going to stay at the Pennyfoot. He goes to the bloody Riviera for his holiday, don’t he? What would he be doing down here in this hole?”

Ethel shrugged. “How do I know? P’raps he’s brought one of his lady friends down here, ’coz no one would suspect him of being here.”

“They get an eyeful of him, they’ll suspect all right.”

“And if he don’t come out of his room, how’re they going to see him?”

Still wavering, Gertie thought it over. No, it weren’t possible. Not him. “All right,” she said, grasping the slippery hand and giving it a firm shake, “I’ll bet yer tuppence. What room’s he in?”

Ethel told her. “If you get caught snooping, though, you’d better not tell on me. You know as how we’re not supposed to gossip. I could get the sack for telling you, I could.”

“I won’t tell. God’s honor.”

“All right, now it’s your turn. What’s your secret?”

Gertie smiled. “Well, you know that old fart Mrs. Carter-Holmes? Well, you’ll never guess in a million years what she did tonight …”

Cecily’s heart went out to Robert Danbury as he gazed down at his dead wife. Dressed in the military uniform he’d obviously planned to wear to the ball, he stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his face pale and set.

She knew only too well how it felt to lose a loved one. The pain still haunted her unbearably during the long, empty hours of the night. “I’ll leave you alone with her, if you like,” she said softly.

“That won’t be necessary.” Danbury visibly squared his
shoulders, then looked at Cecily. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I’m afraid we don’t know for sure. John Thimble, our groundskeeper, found her lying on the rockery in the courtyard. It appears she must have fallen through the wall of the roof garden, since several of the bricks lay shattered on the ground around her. I am so very sorry.”

“I see.” He lifted his chin a fraction. “I take it you’ve sent for the constable?”

“Yes. Police Constable Northcott and Dr. Evans will be here in the next hour or two. They have to come from Wellercombe—”

“Yes, I know.” He stared dispassionately down at the body, as if afraid to allow himself the luxury of emotion. “I shall have to make arrangements, of course. It is too late tonight. I assume it will be in order to leave her … the body here until the morning?”

“Yes, of course.” Cecily felt an urge to touch his arm in sympathy. He would have been horrified, of course, if she’d indulged the impulse. “Again, Mr. Danbury, I am most sorry. Having recently suffered a bereavement myself, I can well understand your distress at this moment.”

Danbury lifted his head and stared at her. For just a brief moment, she saw anger in his pale blue eyes before he masked it. “Can you, Mrs. Sinclair?”

He dropped a last glance down at his wife, then with a nod of dismissal strode to the door. Reaching it, he turned. His voice sounded flat, devoid of emotion. “I’ll be in my room. Please send the constable up to me at his earliest convenience.”