6 Grounds for Murder (13 page)

“I shall be in the dining room if you need me, madam.”

“Thank you, Baxter.” She left him standing at the door, and hurried down the hallway to the stairs. She had almost reached them when a voice hailed her from the foyer.

“Good morning, Mrs. Sinclair. Spiffing morning out there, now that the storm is gone.”

Sighing, Cecily turned to face the colonel, who was dressed in a topcoat and a tartan deerstalker cap. “Good morning, Colonel. You are up and about early this morning.”

“Couldn’t sleep, old bean. Blasted sea gulls woke me up about an hour ago. Thought I’d get a few minutes fresh air and stroll along the Esplanade.”

Eyeing his reddened cheeks, Cecily said, “It must be quite chilly out there at this hour.”

“It is indeed, madam. Quite invigorating, actually. Does one’s lungs good to fill them with fresh sea air.”

“Yes, I quite agree.” Cecily looked around, but could see no one in the hallways. “Colonel,” she said, lowering her voice, “I wonder if I might ask you a question?”

“Fire away, old bean. Anything I can do to help a charming lady like yourself.”

“I just wondered if you by any chance happened to remember who it was you saw on the Downs the day before yesterday.”

The colonel pulled off his cap. “No, who was it?”

“I don’t know, Colonel,” Cecily said patiently. “That’s why I’m asking you. Now think, can you at least remember if it was a man or a woman?”

The colonel grasped his bearded chin and tilted his head to the ceiling. “I seem to remember …” he said slowly.

“Yes?” If only he could remember, Cecily thought with
rising hope, there was a good chance she could track down George, if that really was the murderer’s name.

The colonel muttered and murmured for a moment or two, then shook his head. “Sorry, old bean, can’t quite get hold of it. But it’ll come back to me, never fear.”

“You will tell me the minute you remember?”

“Of course, m’dear. Only too happy to oblige, what?”

He was about to turn away when Cecily had another thought. “I wonder, Colonel, have you by any chance met a man by the name of George?”

The colonel’s bushy eyebrows quivered. “George? Why, of course!”

“You have?” Cecily glanced around again before leaning forward to whisper, “Someone in this hotel, perhaps?”

The colonel jerked up as if he’d been stung. “Good Lord, I hope not. Man’s been dead for donkey’s years. Be a bit smelly by now, I should think. Killed by a dragon, I do believe.”

Cecily took a deep breath and tried again. “No, Colonel, this George is very much alive and well.”

The colonel stared at her for a moment or two, his eyelids working up and down. Then he said loudly, “Oh, you mean
that
George. Why didn’t you say so?”

“Shh!” Cecily said, placing a finger over her lips. “Is he staying at this hotel?”

The colonel looked around in a furtive manner. “I don’t know. Is he? Won’t they miss him?”

“Won’t who miss him?”

“The palace, old bean. He is going to be our next king, you know. Just as soon as Edward keels over. He’ll be George the Fifth, you know. I remember when—”

Cecily nodded. “Well, thank you, Colonel. I must get on with my chores. I do hope you enjoy your day.”

“I’m sure I shall. Won’t be long before the ball now,
what? Looking forward to that, by Jove. Should be a topping show, what? What?”

With a feeble wave of his hand, he turned away from her and headed for the stairs. Deciding to wait until he was out of sight before going up to see Lady Belleville, Cecily headed in the opposite direction toward the kitchen stairs.

She was halfway across the foyer when she heard a deafening crash, followed by a hoarse cry. Turning, she saw the colonel standing near the foot of the stairs, clutching his chest and staggering to one side.

At his feet, having apparently missed him by inches, lay the jagged piece of a very large, very heavy flowerpot that had once stood on the very top landing.

CHAPTER
l3

Baxter appeared from nowhere it seemed, just as Cecily reached the colonel’s side. “What happened?” he demanded, catching the colonel by the arm. “Are you all right, sir?”

“No, I’m not all right,” the colonel muttered. “Damn near shot out of my boots. If that thing had been an inch closer, I’d be pushing up daisies, I can tell you.”

“Are you hurt anywhere?” Cecily said anxiously, scanning the colonel’s face for cuts or bruises.

“Don’t think so, old bean. Dashed pot came hurtling down from the ceiling. What was it doing on the ceiling, I’d like to know?”

Both Cecily and Baxter looked up, to where the landings
between the curves of the staircase on each floor looked over the foyer. Then they looked at each other.

“Top floor,” Cecily said quietly.

Without a word, Baxter sprang for the stairs and raced up them with remarkable speed for a man of his age.

Cecily watched him for a moment, then turned back to the colonel. “Are you quite sure you are all right, Colonel? Perhaps a spot of brandy might help?”

The colonel’s eyes lit up. “Topping idea, old bean. Yes, yes. Just what the doctor ordered, what? Don’t mind if I do.”

“Why don’t you go along to the drawing room and rest, and I’ll have one of the housemaids bring you a stiff brandy,” Cecily said, anxious to get rid of him before any possible altercation on the stairs.

She wished now she had not sent Baxter up there alone. She had a terrible vision of a madman standing at the top of the stairs with an axe raised in his hand.

“Jolly good, madam, yes, I think I will toddle off now. Feel a bit woozy in the old topknot, if you know what I mean.”

“Quite, Colonel. Your brandy will be right along.”

The colonel touched his forehead, turned, then paused a moment before turning back. “Er … madam, could you make that cognac, do you think?”

Cecily smiled. “Cognac it is, Colonel.”

Muttering his thanks, the colonel wandered off down the hallway.

“Oh, my, whatever happened here?” a light voice inquired.

Cecily swung around to confront Madeline, who stood directly behind her, her gaze on the shattered vase. Cecily had been so engrossed in the colonel’s brush with death that she hadn’t noticed her friend enter the hotel.

“It must have fallen from the landing,” Cecily said,
wondering how the woman always managed to approach without any sound.

Madeline lifted her chin and peered up the shadowy staircase. “Really? How did it get through the banisters?”

“Broken, I should think. Baxter’s gone up there now to investigate.” He should have been back by now, she thought, trying not to become too alarmed by his absence.

In an effort to distract Madeline’s attention, she added cheerfully, “What brings you here so early in the morning? I hope there isn’t a problem with the flowers?”

Madeline’s perceptive gaze rested on her face. “Mimosa,” she said briefly. “The hothouses are late with their shipments, and they can’t promise they can get it to me on time. I was wondering if perhaps baby’s breath would be all right instead? It won’t be as colorful, of course, but I think I can make a nice show of it.”

“That will be very nice.” Cecily flicked a glance at the stairs. Still no sign of Baxter. Where was he?

“You need to get that aspidistra in water as soon as possible,” Madeline said, pointing at the mess of dirt and leaves on the floor. “That’s if the poor thing hasn’t died of shock.”

Cecily cast a distracted look at the injured plant. “Can you do anything with it? If not, perhaps you can replace it for me.”

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and she looked up quickly, disappointed to see it was only Cyril Plunkett. Madeline darted forward to kneel by the aspidistra, while Cecily greeted the salesman.

“Just a small accident,” she assured him, as the little man’s curious gaze strayed to the smashed pottery.

“It has made quite a mess,” he said, shifting his gaze back to Cecily.

“I’m afraid so, but we will have it cleaned up in no time.”

He turned to go, then looked back at her. “I have decided to stay until the weekend, after all,” he said in his quiet voice. “Now that the storm is passed I feel better, and it’s so much trouble to change hotels midweek. I’m far too busy with my sales meetings to take the time.”

“I’m so glad to hear it,” Cecily said with sincerity. “Perhaps you will attend the ball on Thursday night?”

The salesman shuddered. “Oh, I don’t think so. Dancing isn’t … I don’t care to … I don’t dance, you see. Besides, I have several business meetings on Friday. I’ll need to get to bed early. Thank you, but I really must be going now.”

Nodding his head, he backed away, then scuttled out of the door as if frightened she would haul him back and demand he stay for the ball.

Madeline rose to her feet, holding the limp plant in her hands, its roots drooping dismally almost to the floor. “I’ll see what I can do with it, but I can’t promise anything.” She looked down at it as if it were a child she held instead of a clump of foliage.

“I say, what a rotten mess,” Galloway’s voice said behind her.

Madeline raised her eyes to the ceiling as the baritone brushed past her without so much as a glance to acknowledge her presence.

“It will be cleaned up as soon as possible,” Cecily informed him in a tight voice. “I am just on my way to the kitchen to have one of the maids take care of it.”

“More incompetence, I suppose. That’s what you get for hiring a gypsy.” Galloway continued on his way across the foyer, muttering, “I don’t know what this place is coming to. Damn hotels aren’t what they used to be. I should pack my bags and leave.”

The front door slammed behind him as Madeline snorted.

“That man should be tied to a tree and left for the wolves,” she said, her dark eyes glittering with anger.

“I’m inclined to agree with you,” Cecily said, staring once more up the staircase.

To her immense relief, Baxter’s tall figure appeared at the second landing. He looked down at her briefly for a moment, then disappeared around the bend. He appeared to be quite calm and collected, as usual, so she had to assume he had not encountered anyone dangerous.

“I had better leave, too, if I am going to rescue this poor baby.” Madeline lifted the leaves to her face. “I will see you on Thursday, Cecily.”

Cecily watched her go, then turned to meet Baxter, who was now descending the last few steps.

“Did you see anyone?” she asked, one hand straying to her throat.

“Yes, madam, I saw someone. I literally ran into Lady Belleville on the top landing.”

“No one else? Someone must have been there to throw a heavy earthenware pot full of dirt from the top landing.”

“Unless Lady Belleville has muscles of steel, whoever it was must have escaped down the back stairs.” Baxter paused, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. “Of course, I have heard of insanity lending superior strength. Perhaps she did manage to lift the pot after all.”

Frustrated, Cecily stared at the pile of dirt and shattered pottery. “If she didn’t, I would very much like to know who did.”

“It could have been anyone, madam. The front door is never locked during the day, and anyone could have walked in.”

Full of apprehension, she met his gaze. “George?”

“It is a possibility, madam. I think now is a good time to
contact the police and tell them what we know. Colonel Fortescue’s life is obviously in danger.”

“Someone must have heard me talking to the colonel about what he saw on the Downs. That was extremely careless of me.”

“So you will talk to the inspector?”

Cecily struggled with indecision for several moments, then reluctantly shook her head. “I’m sorry, Baxter. While I agree that someone apparently tried to silence the colonel, and that someone could be the murderer, we still have no idea of his identity.”

“If I may remind you, madam, it is the inspector’s job to find that out.”

“Granted. But since the police are convinced the murderer is a gypsy, they are not prepared to take this matter too seriously. They could very well come here and disrupt this hotel with their questioning, without having any intention of pursuing the matter.”

“Not if they suspect one of our guests to be the murderer.”

“But we don’t know that, Baxter. All we have are the notes from someone who thinks he knows who killed those women.”

“And an attempted murder right here in this hotel.”

“But, as you so rightly pointed out, that could have been anyone. Not necessarily a guest.”

Baxter stared at her in silence for a moment. “I can see you will not change your mind,” he said at last. “I can only hope that you are not endangering the lives of other people with your stubbornness. In any case, the colonel should be warned.”

“I agree.” Frustrated, Cecily tossed the problem around in her mind. Finally she said tentatively, “What do you think about the possibility of sending the colonel down the George and Dragon with a note for Michael? I could simply
tell him to keep the colonel there and watch over him for a day or two. Knowing my son, he would do as I ask without too many questions.”

“And what would your son tell the colonel in order to prolong his visit?”

Cecily smiled. “I’m quite sure Michael can find a way to confuse the colonel enough that he won’t know what is going on.”

“By filling him full of gin, I presume. No doubt the ploy will be successful, though I’m not at all sure it is ethical.”

Uncomfortable at the thought, Cecily changed the subject. “I hope Lady Belleville accepted your story of the search last night?”

“She accepted the fact that I searched. She did not, however, accept the fact that her ridiculous make-believe bird cannot be found. She is still insisting on a thorough search of the guest rooms. She is now convinced that one of our guests has stolen the canary, and she is demanding that we take immediate action to recover her property.”

“I see.” In spite of her anxiety over the fallen pot, Cecily could not suppress a smile.

“I fail to share your amusement in this ludicrous situation,” Baxter said, pulling his shoulders back in a stiff pose. “It is beyond my understanding why we have to humor such eccentricity, particularly when it interferes with the task of conducting the business matters of this hotel. I really do not have the time to deal with such frivolity.”

Or the patience
, Cecily added to herself. “Leave Lady Belleville to me,” she said aloud. “I will try to the best of my ability to pacify her. We cannot have the guests disturbed by her rantings. If she doesn’t behave, I shall have to ask her to leave.”

Baxter raised his eyebrows. “Thank you, madam. I am happy you see things my way.”

“We can only hope she doesn’t spread the word of our shortcomings when she returns to London.”

“I am quite sure that anyone who is familiar with the Pennyfoot will not listen to the crazed ravings of a demented old woman, any more than they listen to the unfortunate stories of Colonel Fortescue.”

“I sincerely hope you are right.” Cecily glanced at the grandfather clock in the foyer. “I had better go down to the kitchen and get this mess cleaned up. I’m surprised Mrs. Chubb hasn’t come running to find out what the noise was all about.”

“I believe she is visiting her daughter this morning,” Baxter said. “I will be happy to go to the kitchen, if you prefer, madam?”

Cecily shook her head. “No, I would like to see how well Doris is learning the kitchen chores. Thank you, Baxter, but I prefer to go myself.”

“Very well, madam.” He cast a glance up the stairs as if still hoping to catch sight of the culprit, then strode off down the hallway toward his office.

Standing at the sink, Gertie paused in the task of scrubbing a carrot. From the scullery came the sweetest voice she had ever heard, singing a romantic ballad she didn’t recognize.

Very slowly Gertie put the carrot back into the water and laid the brush down on the draining board. She’d never heard Doris sing before. She’d never heard anyone sing that good before, not even in the church choir. But then, everyone sounded bloody awful in the church choir.

Creeping across the kitchen to the scullery door, Gertie stood and listened. The notes seemed to rise and fall without effort, making her think of soppy things like punting on the river on a hot summer day, or dancing under the stars on a
balmy night, or holding her cheek against the velvet-soft skin of a baby.

She hugged herself, swaying to the music, then her thoughts scattered when the singing was cut off abruptly by a loud sneeze. At the same moment something crashed to the floor, followed by Doris’s wail.

“Oh, blimey,” Gertie muttered, and rushed into the scullery.

Doris stood by the window, staring at her feet where a large puddle of milk spread rapidly across the floor.

“Flipping heck, Doris, look what you’ve gone and done now. That was me milk what I was supposed to drink for the baby.”

Doris promptly burst into tears. “I’m sorry, Miss Brown, honest I am. It was the cat what made me sneeze. I frightened it, and it knocked the jug down when it went out the window.”

“Bleeding cats should all be drowned at birth, that’s what I say,” Gertie muttered. “You’d better get this bloody mess cleaned up before Mrs. Chubb gets an eyeful of it.”

“Yes, miss.” Doris flew to the sink and began running the cold water into a bucket.

Gertie waited for her to finish before she could get back to her carrots. “I heard you singing in there,” she said as Doris steadied the heavy bucket on the edge of the sink. “You sounded a bit of all right, I must say.”

Doris’s face turned pink with pleasure. “Thank you, I’m sure. I like to sing.”

“So do I, but I don’t sound like that. You should have lessons. You could be on the stage one day.”

Doris turned sparkling eyes on her. “Oh, do you really think so? I want that so much. I want to sing in all the big Variety halls in London.”

“Variety?” Gertie caught hold of the handle as Doris tried
to lug the heavy bucket off the sink. “Here, I’ll give you a hand.”

“Thank you, Miss Brown. That’s very kind of you, I’m sure.”