Room With a Clue (Pennyfoot Hotel Mystery) (9 page)

Feeling pleased with herself, Phoebe turned and headed for the conservatory.

CHAPTER

9

Mrs. Chubb met Cecily in the hall. “Oh, madam, am I glad to see you. When Phoebe told me you were on the roof, I near had a fit, I did. I sent Mr. Baxter up there right away.”

“So that was how he knew I was there.” Cecily smiled ruefully. With all this protection how could she possibly come to harm?

“Well, mum, I couldn’t rest knowing as how you were up there in the dark, and that snake roaming around somewhere. Must be the accident giving me the jitters. I’m as jumpy as a kitten in a hayloft tonight.”

“I think it’s upset us all, Mrs. Chubb.”

“Oh, I hope you don’t mind, mum, but there’s something I been meaning to ask you.” She bent forward, put a hand up to her mouth, and whispered, “If I might ask, who’s the gent staying in suite three?”

Cecily frowned. “I really don’t know. Baxter took the booking. Why, is there a problem?”

To her consternation, Mrs. Chubb looked most uncomfortable. “Well, not exactly a problem, mum, you might say, but more of a question really. I mean, it’s none of my business, of course, but as the housekeeper here, I think I should be made aware of any—”

“Mrs. Chubb. Will you please tell me whatever it is you are trying to say?”

“Yes, well, mum, Gertie asked me something that really surprised me. Says that Ethel knows ’cause she’s seen him and swears on her soul that it’s him.”

Thoroughly confused now, Cecily stared at the housekeeper’s worried face. “Who are we talking about?”

“The gent in suite three.”

“So I gathered. And who does Ethel think he is?”

Mrs. Chubb leaned closer and whispered a name.

Startled, Cecily drew back. “I hardly think so. I’m quite sure Baxter would have informed me if that were true.”

Mrs. Chubb nodded. “That’s what I thought. Still, Ethel seemed so certain it was him. I hope to goodness it’s not. Can you imagine him coming face-to-face with a snake in the hall? We’d all be shot on the spot, shouldn’t wonder.”

Dismissing it as absurd, Cecily shook her head. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Chubb, I’m sure it’s just a rumor, and you know how gossip spreads among the staff. I do wish you’d try to keep that down a bit more.”

Mrs. Chubb looked suitably contrite. “Yes, mum. I do my best.”

“I’m sure you do. As for Henry, I really can’t think where he can be. Is Phoebe still hunting for him?”

Cecily began walking toward the kitchen, and Mrs. Chubb followed her. “Yes, mum. Madeline is, too. Though short of searching the guest rooms, I think they’ve covered just about everything by now. Phoebe says she’s even got Colonel Fortescue searching the cellar. Though by now he’s probably been into the gin and is most likely lying flat on his back, sozzled to the gills.”

“Well, that might be a good place for him right now. I’ve enough to worry about without running into him again.”

Mrs. Chubb clicked her tongue. “I know exactly what you mean. Had Gertie searching for half an hour, he did, for his watch. Had it in his weskit pocket all along. Talk about a waste of time. I couldn’t think where Gertie had got to. She said she met him on the way back from taking a message to Lady Eleanor, but—”

“Pardon?” Cecily stopped abruptly and spun around to face Mrs. Chubb. “What did you say?”

“I said I was wondering where Gertie had got to—”

“No. After that. About Lady Eleanor.”

“Oh, yes. Well, a gentleman gave Gertie a message to take to Lady Eleanor and—”

“When was that?”

She’d tried very hard to sound calm, but Mrs. Chubb gave her a sharp look. “Oh, I think it would be around half past seven or thereabouts. Remember when you were looking for her to ask her about the brooch?” She rubbed her chin, looking thoughtful. “I reckon Gertie won’t have to worry about that anymore, will she? Bit of luck for her.”

“Yes,” Cecily agreed, not really listening. “But about the message. Did she say who gave it to her?”

Mrs. Chubb shook her head. “No, but you can ask her. She’s still in the kitchen, finishing up the dishes most likely.” They reached the kitchen door as she spoke, and Mrs. Chubb pushed it open.

A cloud of steam enveloped the room, and it was a moment or two before Cecily saw Gertie and Ethel at the sinks, their faces red and perspiring, wisps of hair stuck to their foreheads.

Gertie chatted away, ten to the dozen, while Ethel dried the large Wedgewood vegetable dish she held, nodding halfheartedly now and again.

Gertie finished polishing a crystal brandy glass and twirled it between thumb and forefinger while she examined it. “Well, like I told him, I wasn’t bleeding having none of it, I wasn’t. Bloody sauce. What does he take me for, that’s what I want to know?”

“Gertie!” Mrs. Chubb rapped out. “Madam wants a word with you.”

Gertie jumped violently, fumbled with the glass, then grabbed it to her chest with both hands. “Strewth, that was bleeding close. Almost dropped the bugger.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first one, would it? Which reminds me, young lady. What about that jar of piccalilli in the larder?”

Gertie looked puzzled. “What jar?”

“The one on the shelf next to the button tin. You know very well what one I mean. It’s lying smashed to smithereens on the floor of the larder, that’s what one. Mustard pickle all over the place. A right mess that was to clean up I can tell you. You’re lucky I didn’t come in here and lead you by the ear back to the larder to clean it up yourself.”

Gertie shrugged, her face growing a deeper shade of scarlet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t smash no jar. Probably those blinking cats always jumping in and out the window, they are. Ain’t my bleeding fault.”

Mrs. Chubb opened her mouth to deliver a torrent of reprimand, but Cecily laid a restraining hand on her arm. “Perhaps you could make me a pot of tea, Mrs. Chubb, if it isn’t too much trouble?”

Mrs. Chubb sent a look at Gertie that spoke volumes before answering. “Of course, mum. Have it ready in a jiffy.”

Cecily smiled and turned to Gertie, who waited with an anxious frown on her sweat-sheened face.

“Why don’t we step out in the hall for a minute,” Cecily suggested, moving back to the door.

Gertie followed her out and stood there with her back against the wall, twisting the folds of her apron tighter and tighter around her fingers.

“Mrs. Chubb tells me you took a message up to Lady Eleanor’s room, Gertie,” Cecily said as the housemaid fixed her gaze on the carpet.

“Yes, mum. A gentleman gave me a note to give her.”

“About what time was that?”

“Half past seven, mum. I heard the clock chime as I was climbing the stairs.”

“I see. And was Lady Eleanor there when you got there?”

“Yes, mum. I gave her the note meself.”

Cecily paused for a moment, her mind calculating the time. Robert Danbury had returned from the gardens about ten minutes before eight. John and Phoebe had arrived shortly after eight o’clock. That meant that in order for Lady Eleanor to have climbed the stairs to the roof and fallen to her death, she would have had to have left her room, without waiting for her husband, soon after receiving the note.

There was only one reason Cecily could think of for Lady Eleanor to leave in such a hurry. And that was if someone had sent a message asking milady to meet him.

She looked at the housemaid’s downcast face. “I don’t suppose you read the note, Gertie?”

Gertie looked suitably shocked. “What, me, mum? Not bleeding likely. I knows me place, I do.”

Pity, Cecily thought wryly. “Well, perhaps you can tell me who gave you the note?”

Gertie shook her head. “Dunno who it was, mum. I couldn’t see his face, like.”

Cecily frowned. “You couldn’t see?”

“No, mum. He was all dressed up for the ball, in his costume. Had a mask over his face. I think he had a cold, though. He sounded real horsey, like.”

“Hoarse,” Cecily murmured, without thinking.

“Yes, mum. Horsey. Like what pulls a cart.”

“Gertie,” Cecily said slowly, “can you remember what kind of costume the man was wearing?”

Gertie beamed. “Oh, yes, mum. That one’s dead easy. Half the men what go to the costume balls wear ’em. He was wearing a soldier’s uniform. Like they wear in the tropics. You know, with one of those funny helmets to keep off the sun, and white gloves and all.”

“Should’ve seen madam’s face when I told her,” Gertie told Ethel, after Mrs. Chubb and Cecily had left the kitchen. “Talk about knock her down with a feather. She just stood there, staring at me like she was in a bleeding trance, she did. Then ‘Thank you, Gertie,’ she said, ‘you’ve been most helpful.’ Though I don’t know what I did, I’m sure.”

“Oo, heck. Wonder what’s up?”

“Dunno. And I don’t want to know.” Gertie plunged the cups and saucers into the bowl. “It’s all got to do with that Lady Eleanor’s accident, shouldn’t wonder. Shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, I know, but if it had to happen to anyone, I’m glad it was her. She won’t be accusing me of thieving no more, will she?”

“Wonder who he was? The bloke what gave you the note?”

Gertie shrugged. “Don’t know and don’t care. I tell you one thing, I ain’t the only one who ain’t crying me eyes out over what’s happened. But from now on, I’m going to keep me bleeding mouth shut, then I can’t get in no more trouble.”

She didn’t say so, but she had a feeling she was already in far more trouble than she could handle. She was glad when Ethel changed the subject.

“So go on telling me about Ian,” Ethel said, industriously buffing a spoon with her cloth. “What happened after you had a go at him?”

“Oh, well, we kissed and made up, didn’t we.”

For once Ethel’s shocked gasp failed to please her. Her mind was still on madam’s questions. And the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her she had plenty more to worry about than her argument with Ian.

Daphne Morris’s room, a much smaller version than her late employer’s suite, was on the second floor. Cecily climbed the stairs slowly, her mind going over her conversation with Robert Danbury.

When he’d answered her questions, he’d made no mention of the message his wife had received. Either he didn’t know or he’d kept that piece of information to himself.

Gertie said a man in uniform had given her the note. Robert Danbury had been wearing a uniform when he’d viewed his wife’s dead body. But Cecily had seen him herself shortly before that, and he hadn’t been wearing it then.

If Danbury was the person who gave the note to Gertie, why hadn’t he simply delivered it himself? Why would he wear his uniform at half past seven, take it off again to look for the dog, and put it back on again at eight o’clock?

It didn’t make sense. Besides, Baxter had seen him leave the foyer at a quarter to seven. So apparently he’d been in the gardens all that time. She herself had seen him enter the foyer around ten minutes to eight.

Cecily wondered if Daphne Morris knew about the message. She would be sure to ask her, she decided as she paused in front of Daphne Morris’s door.

Miss Morris answered Cecily’s knock almost immediately. Although she held a small lace handkerchief crumpled in her hand, and her face bore traces of tears, she appeared quite composed, much to Cecily’s relief.

“Oh, Mrs. Sinclair. What a dreadful business this is. To fall from that height … poor Lady Eleanor. Such a tragedy.”

“I’m very sorry, Miss Morris,” Cecily said quietly. “I’m sure this must be a great shock for you.”

Daphne Morris nodded. “Yes, naturally it is. A great shock.” She appeared to struggle for words and finding none, made an empty gesture in the air with her hand.

Cecily watched her for a moment, feeling a deep sympathy for her. Sudden death was always so difficult to comprehend. But Daphne Morris had more than shock to deal with. She was also faced with the prospect of seeking new employment. Her future must look very bleak.

At her age she would find it difficult to obtain another position, especially one that afforded her such a comfortable living. Even if Lady Eleanor had made a will, it didn’t seem likely she would leave her companion more than a token sum.

There were other jobs, of course, but most decent positions required experience, and a companion didn’t have much of that. She would be considered too old to train in a new profession. The poor woman must be devastated.

“I’m sorry to bother you at this time,” Cecily said gently, “but I wonder if I might come in for a minute or two? I have a question I’d like to ask you.”

“Of course.”

Cecily followed her into the room. Miss Morris had changed out of her day dress and now wore a comfortable tea gown. She was a tall woman, and the pale lemon chiffon suited her. She’d removed her corset, and the gown clung to her slender figure,
flaring out to swish in gentle folds around a pair of frail ankles. A little short, Cecily noted, but a good quality material. Most likely passed on by Lady Eleanor.

Daphne Morris dabbed delicately at her nose with the handkerchief. “Please take a seat, Mrs. Sinclair. How can I help you?”

Cecily sat on a tufted-back armchair and waited until the younger woman had seated herself on the tapestry ottoman. When the woman looked at her expectantly, she began, “I was wondering, Miss Morris, if you would tell me when you last saw Lady Eleanor?”

Daphne Morris looked troubled, but answered readily enough. “A little before half-past seven. I had taken Chan Ying for his walk, and he’d slipped his lead. I couldn’t find him, and so I returned to the Danburys’ suite as it was nearing time for the ball.”

She looked a trifle distracted for a moment, then with a slight shake of her head continued. “Mr. Danbury left to search for Chan Ying while I dressed Lady Danbury’s hair. Then I left her in her room to wait for her husband while I went back to the gardens to look for the dog.”

Cecily nodded. “You saw no one else in that time?”

The companion’s gaze wavered, then she looked down at her lap, shaking her head.

This was not an enviable position to be in, Cecily thought unhappily, but she had to have some answers. “Miss Morris,” she said quietly. “Shortly after half-past seven this evening, one of the housemaids delivered a message to Lady Eleanor. I was wondering if there is anything you can tell me about that.”