Room With a Clue (Pennyfoot Hotel Mystery) (8 page)

Cecily looked down the hall but could see nothing. “Where?”

“No.” Phoebe dragged in some more air.

It was no wonder she couldn’t breathe, Cecily thought irritably. That dress was so tight it looked ready to burst a seam.

“Altheda cleaned it up,” Phoebe managed painfully. “But I think Henry might have knocked it over.”

Cecily finally understood. “Oh, Lord. Which plant pot?”

“The one at the end of the hall. By the foot of the roof
staircase.” She looked startled, as if realizing something for the first time. “Cecily! You don’t think he’s on the roof, do you?”

Cecily wanted to think no such thing. And she certainly didn’t need Phoebe fluttering around up there. “No I don’t see how he could get up there. I’m sure it’s just coincidence. I’ll look around, though, just in case. Have you searched the cellar yet?”

Phoebe shuddered. “No, I have just this moment arrived back from changing my clothes. Perhaps Mr. Baxter will look there for me?”

Knowing how Baxter intimidated Phoebe, Cecily nodded. “I’ll ask him. Why don’t you look in the conservatory? Henry could be fast asleep under the aspidistra.”

“Yes, yes, pythons like plants, I do believe. I’ll look there.” She gave a little worried shake of her head. “I only hope some earnest young man isn’t trying to impress a young lady in there. He might well have an opportunity he least expected.” She turned tail and, clinging to the banisters, began carefully descending the stairs.

Cecily looked down the end of the hall. The door that led to the staircase lay behind a heavy green velvet curtain. In the shadows created by the gas lamps along the hall, it was easy to imagine that a python could be curled up behind it.

She tried to think of everything she’d heard about pythons. The only thing she could remember was that they killed their prey by squeezing them to death, which was not a comforting thought.

CHAPTER

8

Cecily knew she would find a hurricane lamp and matches in the small cupboard at the foot of the steps. That was on the other side of the door, however. She would have to sweep the curtain aside in order to open it.

Deciding that she had better get on with it, she crept forward, every nerve in her body poised for flight. How fast could a python move? She had seen one in the zoo once. It moved quite slowly, as far as she could remember, but it hadn’t been planning on attacking anyone then.

Mr. Sims had said that Henry was quite docile, as long as he was in his basket with the dead mice the handler had provided. Cecily wished she’d thought to bring along a dead mouse. As distasteful as the thought was, it was infinitely preferable to being hugged to death by a python.

She almost tapped on Robert Danbury’s door to ask him to take a look behind the curtain. She actually paused in front of
the door before she changed her mind. The poor man had enough to contend with right now. Besides, if what she suspected about Lady Eleanor’s demise proved to be true, the last person she wanted around was Robert Danbury.

She crept forward another foot or two, passing beyond the glow from the last lamp. What if Lady Eleanor had emerged from her room and had come face-to-face with Henry? What if then, having locked herself out of the room, the only means of escape was the roof? What if Henry had followed her up there?

Cecily’s heart began thumping. Was it possible milady had backed away from the snake in an effort to escape, pressed against the wall, and toppled over? If so, this was far worse than a damaged wall. This could, indeed, mean disaster for the Pennyfoot.

She reached the curtain. The only sound she could hear was the faint hiss from the gas lamps. The ballroom was too far away, and no one else stirred in the upper levels of the hotel. The shadows were too deep to tell if a python lay stretched behind the heavy folds. There was only one way to find out.

Holding her breath, she stretched out her hand and twitched the curtain aside. Instinct caused her to spring back, out of striking distance. She felt decidedly foolish when the expected sight of Henry lying in front of the door failed to materialize. She was most thankful no one else was there to see her behaving like the namby-pamby women she despised.

Feeling a touch more brave, she approached the door again. There was still the roof to consider, of course. She would have to investigate. She was tempted to go back down for Baxter. The prospect of wandering up there alone in the dark, damp night was not a pleasant one.

“What are you?” she whispered fiercely under her breath. “A woman or a mouse? Here’s your chance to prove your mettle, my girl.” If she didn’t want P.C. Northcott running around the hotel asking questions and causing an uproar without good reason she had to determine exactly what had happened, if possible before he arrived and drew his own conclusions.

Leaving the door behind her slightly ajar for a quick escape if necessary, Cecily found the hurricane lamp in the cupboard
and lit it. Then, moving with caution, she climbed the stairs to the roof.

The moist air chilled her when she pushed the door open and stepped outside. Shivering, she wished she’d thought to throw a shawl around her shoulders. But then she hadn’t planned on taking a midnight stroll under the stars.

Now that the storm had passed, white clouds scudded across the crescent moon, casting moving shadows down the slope of the roofs and over the length of the roof garden. A still sea breeze ruffled the honeysuckle and rustled the leaves of the rosebushes.

Looking across at the wall, Cecily could see through the uneven gap the lights from the cottages, twinkling like a rope of diamonds up the slope of the cliffs. Being able to see almost to ground level gave her an eerie feeling, and her stomach lurched at the thought of the sheer drop just beyond her feet.

Reluctant to move, she swung the lamp in a high arc over her head. Light danced and played over the half barrels that served as flower beds for the plants. Her hand shook at the thought of spying the python lying there. She would most likely drop the lamp and run, she thought.

She made herself look back at the ruined remains of the wall. The rain barrel rested against the end that was still intact. Luckily it hadn’t gone over, too. It would have caused more damage to the courtyard floor.

Cecily swung the lamp away, then a thought struck her, and she turned it back. The light fell on the rain barrel again—and nothing else. The sign that she had so carefully crafted and Baxter had wedged so securely against the wall was no longer there.

It hadn’t landed in the courtyard with Lady Eleanor. Of that Cecily was quite certain. She would most certainly have seen it if it had. Then where was it? Who could have removed it? It would have taken some effort to drag it out from behind the barrel.

She didn’t want to go near the edge, close to that terrible emptiness where solid bricks should have been. But if the sign had somehow slid down behind the barrel, she wanted to know it.

Holding the lamp high in front of her, Cecily advanced toward the wall. Crouching down, she peered into the corner behind the barrel.

The voice came out of nowhere, directly above her head. “Madam! I really must insist—”

Cecily yelped and jumped to her feet, the lamp swinging wildly in her hand. “Baxter! If you creep up on me once more in that fashion, I shall not be responsible for my actions.”

“I beg your pardon, madam, but it vexes me that you take it upon yourself to engage in such precarious ventures. Why did you not inform me of your intentions?”

“I didn’t know what my intentions were, Baxter, and even if I had, I doubt that I would have informed you. I’m not made of eggshells, as I’m constantly reminding you. I don’t need, nor do I want, your insistent watchfulness of my every move.”

Baxter’s chin rose a fraction. “May I remind you that Master Sinclair extracted a promise from me on his deathbed, madam? I was instructed to take good care of you. I am only attempting to keep that promise.”

Cecily huffed out her breath. “I understand that, but even James was not so solicitous about my well-being that I was forever falling over him. I do believe there can be some compromise here.”

Baxter’s back looked ramrod-straight. “Please accept my apologies, madam. I do not mean to intrude. I only wish to protect you from possible harm.”

Her annoyance evaporated. “And I don’t wish to offend you, Bax. I really don’t. You startled me, that is all.”

“Yes, madam. I apologize.”

“Accepted.” Anxious now to make amends, Cecily gestured at the rain barrel. “What do you think of this? The sign seems to have disappeared.”

He stared at the spot for several seconds. “It does indeed. I wonder where it could have gone? I don’t remember seeing it on the ground.”

“Neither do I,” Cecily said grimly. “But if it isn’t there and it didn’t fall, there could be only one other explanation.”

“Someone removed it.”

“Exactly.” Cecily stood the lamp on the ground and rubbed
her chilled arms with her hands. “But why would anyone do that, unless they wanted to conceal the danger?”

“I cannot think of a single reason.”

The shiver that shook her body was not entirely due to the cold. “Your third possibility is beginning to look more feasible, Baxter.”

“Yes, madam.” He stooped to pick up the lamp at her feet. “I think it best that you go back indoors, if I am not being too presumptuous?”

She ignored his touch of sarcasm. “I think we can safely assume that Henry isn’t up here. It amazes me how so many things appear to have vanished in one day. Lady Eleanor’s brooch, a large and very live python, Colonel Fortescue’s pith helmet, and now a five-foot sign. I wonder what will be next?”

“I wonder indeed, madam.”

“I think we must find that sign, Baxter.” She walked ahead of him to the door and waited for him to open it.

“I will do my best.”

“P.C. Northcott still hasn’t arrived?”

“No, madam. We’re expecting him momentarily, however.”

“Yes. I have to talk to Miss Morris. Perhaps she can explain why Lady Eleanor came up here. But first I think I’ll go down to the kitchen and treat myself to a nice hot cup of tea.”

“I think that is an excellent idea.”

He opened the door for her, and she stepped through, smiling at him. “You see, I can take care of myself.”

His “Yes, madam” sounded a trifle dry, but she refrained from comment. Her mind was on the missing sign.

She couldn’t imagine where it could be, but she had a strong feeling that when they found it—if they found it, and depending on where they found it—some of the uneasy questions on her mind could very well be answered. She could only hope that the answers wouldn’t prove to be even more disturbing.

Phoebe reached the bottom of the staircase just as the grandfather clock began to strike the hour of ten. Mercy. She was still shaken by the dreadful sight of poor Lady Eleanor,
and now time was running out. She had no more than two hours before the tableau was due.

Oh, this was a bad night. Madeline and her omens had wished this tragedy down on their heads, that was for certain. A death, she’d said, and a death there was.

The only consolation Phoebe could find was that Madeline had mentioned only one death. One could only hope that meant that Henry would remain docile after all.

Though what she would do if she didn’t find him, Phoebe thought, she couldn’t imagine. The entire effect would be ruined. She’d gone to so much trouble, and now her masterpiece would be ruined. Simply ruined.

She was so engrossed in her disappointment she didn’t see Colonel Fortescue until he materialized in front of her. He bent forward from the waist, his eyelids fluttering faster than a bee’s wings. “I say, madam, you look ravishing tonight. Quite ravishing.”

Phoebe looked at his quivering white mustache with repugnance. “If you will excuse me, sir, I am on an important mission.”

The colonel brightened visibly. “Mission, you say! Jolly hockey sticks, what? Perhaps I might help?”

She stared at him thoughtfully. “Perhaps you might at that. You may help me hunt for Henry.”

“Right! Hunt for Henry. Excellent campaign, madam. I’ll embark at once.” The colonel saluted, turned smartly on his heel, and began marching away.

Phoebe pursed her lips and waited.

He got a dozen steps away before he halted. Then he turned and marched back. “Incomplete orders, old bean. Dashed awkward. Need more information.”

Phoebe slid the strap of her silk evening bag farther up her gloved arm. “Colonel Fortescue, during your commission overseas, did you by any chance ever come across a python?”

The colonel’s eyes blinked even more furiously. “You m-m-m-m-mean a s-s-s-snake?”

“I mean a very large snake, Colonel.”

“Well, by Jove, I know what one looks like.” He looked right, then left, then leaned forward, his finger pressed to his
lips. “I’ve got it. Password is python. Mum’s the word! This Henry must be a big cheese, what?”

A startled look came over his face, and his cheeks grew even more crimson. “By George, madam, I do believe I know what this is all about.”

Surprised by this unexpected intuition, Phoebe exclaimed, “You do?”

“Yes, indeed.” He leaned closer, his eyes twitching in excitement. “It’s that chappie in suite three, isn’t it?”

Phoebe had a little trouble with that one. “Chappie?”

“Yes, you know. Him. The big one.”

Phoebe was beginning to wish she’d never started this. “I really do not have the faintest idea what you are talking about, Colonel. Perhaps—”

She stopped short. The colonel had whispered a name. A name she recognized. Unable to believe her ears, she asked him to repeat it.

He did so. It still sounded the same.

“Are you sure?” she whispered.

The colonel nodded his head in time with his blinks. “Oh, yes, quite, quite. Saw him with my own eyes. Couldn’t mistake him, old girl. Not something you see every day, what?”

“No, it isn’t,” Phoebe politely agreed. Silly old fool. Whatever would he come out with next? “But in any case, this has nothing to do with the gentleman in suite three.”

“Oh.” The colonel looked disappointed. “Then who are we talking about? Who is this Henry? Not a duke, is he? Can’t abide dukes. Testy fellows, the ones I’ve met. No time for the military at all.”

“Henry,” Phoebe explained with remarkable patience, “is a python.”

The colonel jumped back as if he’d touched a nest of ants. “Great Scott, madam! I can’t go hunting all over India for a snake! No, by Jove, not cricket is that. Not cricket at all.”

Phoebe leaned forward and tapped him delicately on the arm. “Sir, you don’t have to travel all the way to India. Henry is somewhere in this very hotel. He escaped from his basket and appears to be hiding at the moment, but I’m sure someone with your experience can ferret him out in no time.”

The colonel was so shocked he actually stopped blinking for a moment. “In this hotel?”

Phoebe nodded. “In this hotel. Perhaps you’d care to investigate the cellar?”

Colonel Fortescue snapped to attention. “Have no fear, madam. I will engage the enemy and secure his surrender.” He leaned forward, blinking anxiously. “I say, what do I do with him if I find him? Slice off his head?”

Phoebe yelped in alarm. “No, for heaven’s sake don’t even touch him. Just make sure he can’t escape again and then come find me. I will be in the conservatory. I’ll take his basket down and tempt him back inside it with his dinner.”

At least she hoped she’d be able to tempt Henry. Heaven knows what she would do if he refused to budge. Somehow the thought of actually touching the huge snake took away a lot of the urgency to find him. Maybe she should join forces with Altheda and Madeline.

“His dinner,” the colonel repeated solemnly.

Phoebe nodded. “A dead mouse or two.”

There was a long silence. Then the colonel straightened. “Ah. Enough said.” He spun on his heel once more, drew an invisible sword, and muttered, “To arms, men! Fall in!” With that he charged across the foyer and down the staircase.