3 Service for Two (17 page)

She needn’t have bothered. When she did glance at him, she found him still staring at Baxter. “Too early for me,” he said, his gaze never leaving Baxter’s face. “I’d like to see a bit more of this expert’s game before I eat.”

Campbell also shook his head when Cecily offered the tray, but Lord Chickering grabbed a chicken
vol-au-vent
and stuffed it into his mouth. Baxter merely looked sick, and she hastily returned the tray to the sideboard.

“Please help yourself to the whisky,” she said unnecessarily,
since Jeremy Kent was already pouring himself another generous shot from the decanter on the table.

She sat down again, and there was a general shuffling as the men seated themselves again. There was no time to spare now, Cecily thought anxiously. It was becoming painfully obvious that Baxter was out of his element.

She waited until Martin Campbell began his deal. Looking straight at Jeremy Kent, she said, “I daresay you have heard about the dreadful incident off the coast on Monday? Two men drowned and Mr. Scroggins arrested. Quite a to-do for our little village, wouldn’t you say?”

“Quite,” Jeremy Kent said shortly.

Martin finished dealing and picked up his cards. “That was a valuable haul the police recovered, from what I hear,” he observed. “Thousands of pounds worth of jewels.”

“Stolen from Lady Smythe-Bedford, I understand,” Cecily prattled on. “The poor woman was here just this last weekend. Such a dreadful thing. Her house was burglarized while she was enjoying her stay right here in Badgers End. Makes one wonder what the world is coming to, does it not?”

“One shilling,” Jeremy Kent announced. “And I raise you two.”

Cecily glanced at Baxter’s cards. King high. She nudged him with her foot to fold. “I do hope they recovered all the jewelry,” she said, ignoring the farmer’s lethal glance. “I know of one piece in particular milady would be devastated to lose. When I heard that it had been taken, I felt so awful for her. I mean, just imagine losing something as valuable as the Star of Sudan.”

Martin Campbell looked up, surprise written all over his face. “Star of Sudan? I don’t think I’m familiar with that piece.”

“Oh, it’s a beautiful piece,” Cecily told him. “A huge stone, a perfect ruby. She had it made into a pendant, you know, set in a circle of diamonds. Absolutely priceless, of course. Actually, there are few people who know of it. She only wore it on rare occasions, and amongst her special friends. She was always so afraid it would be stolen. Apparently it once
belonged to a sultan, who would give a king’s ransom to get it back. She refuses to sell it at any price.”

The bank manager seemed to have forgotten about the game. “Fascinating,” he murmured.

“Can we continue with this hand?” Jeremy Kent demanded irritably.

“Oh, yes, fascinating indeed.” Cecily beamed at Martin across the table. “Of course, once on the Continent, it would have been easy to smuggle it into Arabia, and into the sultan’s hands. I wonder if the thieves knew what a treasure they actually had. I can only hope the police did indeed recover it.”

All four men at the table had grown silent. Baxter sat as if turned to stone. Jeremy Kent gazed at his cards, a look of pure frustration on his face. Martin looked uncomfortable, and glanced anxiously at the other men, as if hoping they wouldn’t blame him for this latest interruption of the game.

Cecily shifted her glance to Lord Chickering, and as she looked into his eyes, shock rippled through her. She hardly recognized him. His normally bland gaze had been transformed into something so vicious, so black with fury, that it chilled her to the bone.

The look vanished almost at once, and she could almost have thought she imagined it until she looked at his hands and saw the white patches on his knuckles as he gripped his cards. Disbelief held her rigid for several moments. There was no doubt in her mind that at least part of the puzzle had fallen into place. If not all of it.

CHAPTER
17

“Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea after all,” Cecily said, rising to her feet. All four men stood up, and she was faced with a barrage of black looks. “I should have consulted with Mr. Baxter before I suggested this little game. I had no idea how time and ill health can affect one’s expertise.”

She directed a brilliant smile around the table. “I think it’s time Mr. Baxter and I retired from this game. Please, I insist that the rest of you continue, and enjoy the refreshments and spirits. On the house, of course.”

Baxter was in such a hurry to leave the room, he almost forgot to wait for her to pass ahead of him. Muttering a low “Goodnight, gentlemen,” he closed the door of the card room and leaned against it, pulling a deep breath and then exhaling slowly.

Cecily, already halfway across the cellar, glanced back at
him over her shoulder. “Come on,” she whispered loudly, “we have a lot to talk about.”

“We certainly do,” Baxter said grimly as he followed her to the stairs.

She led the way to the library, her mind full of the implications of the expression she’d detected on Lord Chickering’s face. She was so engrossed in her discovery that she was quite startled when Baxter practically slammed the library door shut and stood glaring at her as she sank into her favorite chair.

“I should never have allowed you to talk me into such a ridiculous exhibition,” he said, sounding angrier than she ever remembered hearing him. “We accomplished nothing, except to establish my incompetence and rapidly approaching senility.”

“Baxter—”

“Unless, of course,” he continued, cutting her off with uncommon disrespect, “we also managed to effectively alert the mastermind behind a notorious gang of criminals that we are aware of his identity.”

“Bax—”

“Which, incidentally, we are not, therefore having gone through this ridiculous charade for nothing.”

“Would—”

“Except to have very probably put ourselves into extreme danger.”

She waited a full moment while he stood there, his chest heaving and his gray eyes blazing. Then, since it seemed apparent he’d had his say, she said mildly, “I am absolutely dying for a cigar.”

He stepped forward, disconcerting her for a moment as he said through gritted teeth, “Might I suggest, madam, that from now on madam allows this matter to be handled through the proper channels, or madam might very well find herself absolutely dying. Full stop.”

She looked at him in exasperation. “Piffle! I am very sorry your pride was injured, Baxter, but I assure you, news of your ineptitude is not a matter of earth-shaking importance. I doubt
very much if it will go further than those three gentlemen below stairs. Now will you please give me a cigar?”

She watched him shove his fingers into his breast pocket and withdraw the packet. “There are times, madam, when for once I would like to forget my place and deal with you as I see fit.”

She leaned forward to accept the light from his match, disturbed to see his hand tremble. She looked up from the flame, into his eyes. “And there are times, Baxter, when I would be most intrigued to see you forget your place.”

For a long moment, time seemed to stand still, and she waited with a strange, fluttery feeling for him to speak.

Then with an abrupt movement, he blew out the match. Placing the smoking remnant into the ashtray, he said quietly, “I apologize, madam. It is unforgivable of me to speak to you in that manner. I can assure you it will not happen again.”

She looked at him, feeling inordinately sad. “Think no more of it, Baxter. We were both a little waspish, I’m afraid. Put it down to the tension.”

“Yes, madam.”

“But as it happens, you are quite wrong.”

He looked at her, his expression wary. “About what, madam?”

“About not knowing the identity of the ringleader. I believe I do know who it is.”

“Perhaps you’d care to share it with me?”

She drew on the cigar, letting the feeling of relaxation steal over her. “There is no such gem as the Star of Sudan,” she said, unable to keep the note of satisfaction out of her voice. “I made it up.”

Baxter frowned. “I don’t understand.”

Cecily leaned forward, fixing him with her gaze. “Supposing you were the head of a ring of jewel thieves. You are in a position to know when it is safe for wealthy households to be burglarized. You hire your gang members to steal the jewels, then they are brought to your headquarters to be transported overseas. The thieves are paid for their work, and you reap the profit of whatever you can get from the jewels on the foreign market.”

“All conjecture at this point, madam.”

“But based on solid evidence, considering the tunnel to the beach and the recovery of the stolen jewels from the wrecked boat.”

Baxter nodded unhappily. “That is true.”

“Good. Now, just supposing you found out, after you’d paid off the thieves, that they hadn’t been entirely honest with you. That one piece of jewelry, a priceless piece of jewelry, had in fact not been handed over to you with the rest of the haul? In other words, Baxter, you had been double-crossed.”

He looked at her askance. “Where did you hear that term, madam?”

She dismissed it with a wave of her hand. “I read it in one of the Sherlock Holmes books. Now, tell me, Baxter, how would you feel?”

“I would be infuriated, madam.”

She sat back with a satisfied smile. “Exactly. And that is precisely the expression I saw on Lord Chickering’s face when I mentioned the Star of Sudan. He had no way of knowing that I had invented the pendant. Martin’s interest was purely material since money is his business, and Jeremy Kent paid no attention to my remarks about the pendant. But as for Lord Chickering”—she leaned forward again—“he was livid, Baxter. Absolutely livid.”

He stood looking at her, while the clock ticked loudly on the mantelpiece. “I find that very difficult to believe,” he said at last. “I would suggest, madam, that you are allowing your imagination to get the better of you.”

She stubbed out the cigar with a series of quick jabs. “I am telling you, Baxter, I did not imagine that look on his face. It was so foreign to his usual expression that he was quite unrecognizable for a moment. I would never have considered him capable of such fury.”

“That is precisely my point.” Baxter began pacing around the room, his brow furrowed in thought. “Think on this for a moment. If what you suspect is true, and the murder of that young man has something to do with the thefts—and at this point I have to admit it would appear so—then that would
mean we have to consider Lord Chickering a murderer. Or at the very least, party to it.”

He stopped pacing and stood by the desk, his hands held out to her in appeal. “I ask you, madam, to think what nature of man Chickering is known to be. The very idea of his being capable of such sinister activity is preposterous.”

Cecily gazed at his hands a moment before answering. “As preposterous as his reputation for being an expert swordsman?”

She looked up and caught Baxter’s startled expression. “Think about this, then, Baxter,” she said softly. “On Saturday night, Lord Chickering will be giving our illustrious guests a demonstration of his expertise with a sword. The murdered man was ostensibly stabbed with a thin-bladed knife.”

She paused, waiting for the fact to’ sink in before continuing. “Supposing it wasn’t a knife at all that pierced his heart, but a fencing sword?”

Baxter’s expression was almost comical as he considered her question. “I have to admit, madam, that it is a possibility. I had quite forgotten that Lord Chickering is reputed to be adept at fencing.”

“I think we have our man, Baxter.” She smiled at him in triumph. “I truly believe we have our man.”

“I am afraid I still have the utmost difficulty imagining Chickering as a cold-blooded murderer.”

“We don’t know that it was done in cold blood. The most unlikely people have been known to kill if they are driven to it.” She sighed. “I wonder what it was that drove Lord Chickering to murder.”

“If, indeed, he is guilty of murder.” Baxter pursed his lips as he rocked back on his heels. “While I admire your powers of deduction, madam, and I dislike adding a note of pessimism, I have to ask if you have considered how you might prove your theory. Without revealing the part the Pennyfoot has played in this entire affair, it will be most difficult to convince the police of Lord Chickering’s guilt.”

“I must confess that poses a problem,” Cecily admitted. “And we still do not have all of the answers. If Lord
Chickering did murder the young man, we are back to the problem of why he went to all the trouble to exchange the corpse with that of Dr. McDuff’s. Or why the body was unclothed, though I do suspect, as we discussed, that it was to hide the identity.”

“And we have yet to discover if the menu has some significance.”

“True,” Cecily said, slowly nodding her head. “I still believe that Michel knows more than he is telling us. In fact, Mrs. Chubb told me earlier that he has been acting rather strange lately, though she didn’t explain. I think it’s time I had another word with him. Now that we have more information, I might be able to persuade him to tell me what he knows.”

“Perhaps it would be better if I speak with him,” Baxter said, looking worried.

“No.” Cecily rose to her feet, suddenly feeling very tired. “I would prefer to do this myself. I think he might be more willing to tell me what I want to know.” She managed a smile for Baxter. “But thank you for the offer.”

“You will be careful, madam?”

“Yes,” she said wearily, “I will be careful. Somehow, though, I feel I have nothing to fear from Michel. I can only hope that I am wrong about his being involved in all this.”

“So do I, madam,” Baxter said. “So do I.”

The next morning, Cecily sent word that she wanted to see Michel in the library. He arrived promptly, his chef’s hat clutched in his hand as he hesitated in the doorway.

“Come in, Michel,” Cecily said, “and close the door behind you.”

Looking very unsure of himself, he did what she asked. “I do something wrong, madame?” he asked, shifting from one foot to the other.

“I sincerely hope not,” Cecily said, leveling her gaze on him. “But I have something of the utmost importance I need to know, and I hope you will be perfectly frank with me.”

“I will try, madame. How may I help?”

“I mentioned to you earlier this week about the possibility of someone’s having a copy of this week’s menu.”

His dark eyes flickered, but he held her gaze. “Yes, madame?”

“Michel, I have reason to believe that a copy was made and that it is connected in some way to the recent murder of the young man found in Dr. McDuff’s coffin.”

His eyes grew wide, but his mouth remained firmly closed.

Cecily decided to take a chance. “I sincerely hope that you will keep this news to yourself, since it could have grave consequences for all of us should anyone hear of it. But I also have reason to believe that Lord Chickering is somehow involved in the robbery of the jewels discovered on the damaged boat last Monday. There is also the possibility that he is involved in the murder as well.”

Michel’s hand crept up to rub at his forehead. “Blimey,” he whispered. “Who would have thought it. That old doddery twit?” He seemed not to have noticed he’d slipped into a cockney accent.

Aware that she’d unsettled him, Cecily pressed the point. “It is only a matter of time before he is arrested. I would suggest that if you have any information about this matter, Michel, anything at all, you had best tell me now, so that I might consider how best to deal with it.”

“I had nothing to do with no murder, mum, and that’s the God’s honest truth. I swear it. I just gave the menu to one of the blokes who was gambling on Sunday. I always give him a copy for Lord Chickering.”

Cecily wrinkled her brow. “I don’t understand. Why would you give away a copy of your precious menu to anyone? And why would Lord Chickering want a copy of it?”

Apparently thoroughly unnerved by the news, Michel clutched his brow. In a strange mixture of both English and French accents, he muttered, “
Sacre bleu
, this is indeed a predicament. Lord Chickering, he always books for the week, no? But now and again he is gone for the entire day. He loves the great Michel’s cooking with a passion, and he has his favorite dishes he would hate to miss. So, every time he comes down to the Pennyfoot, he sends for a copy of the menu.
Voilà!
He knows which days his favorite meals are being served, and he makes sure he is here to enjoy.”

Cecily watched him steadily, but his gaze never wavered. “I see,” she said at last. “But why didn’t you explain all this before?”

Michel lifted his hands in an expansive shrug. “I did not want to admit that I knew any of the gamblers, madame. We were … er … acquainted in the past, so to speak, during my misspent days in the city.” Cecily raised her eyebrows, and he added quickly, “I have long given up such foolish behavior, madame, honest I have. But I know some of these people. I did not want anyone to know that I know them. I was afraid of losing my job.”

He clasped his hat to his breast in a dramatic gesture. “I love my job, madame. The Pennyfoot Hotel is my life. Without it I have nothing. Nothing.”

Cecily doubted that was quite true, but she felt greatly relieved. At least one mystery had been solved, and she felt quite sure that her chef was speaking the truth. She dismissed him, and he left with profuse apologies for any trouble he might have caused, and promising he would never again allow anyone to see the menu, no matter how much they adored his cooking.

Cecily sat staring for a long time at James’s portrait after the chef had gone. So these recent incidents were all connected. It would seem that swordplay was not the only fencing with which Lord Chickering was involved; her suspicions appeared to be correct as far as the murder went as well. Now all that was left for her to do was to
prove
Lord Chickering’s guilt and bring the man to justice. Without implicating the Pennyfoot Hotel. That was all.

Down in the kitchen, Mrs. Chubb was speculating on why madam would have sent for Michel. “Probably in some hot water,” she said to no one in particular. “Wouldn’t surprise me, the way he’s been behaving lately. Not like him at all, it isn’t.”