6 Grounds for Murder (18 page)

“And it’s put back again?”

Madeline sounded incredulous, and Cecily could quite understand why. “I know it sounds farfetched, and I must admit I don’t understand it myself, but there you are. The axe comes and goes with almost alarming regularity.”

“And you think it’s one of your guests?”

“I did think so. But Baxter and I searched the rooms of all the suspects and could find nothing to implicate any of them.”

Madeline gave her a wry smile. “I imagine Baxter had something to say about that.”

“He did indeed.” Cecily looked down at the note in her hand. “I received this message last night, and in view of what it says, I felt I should show it to you.”

She watched Madeline’s smile fade as she handed her friend the sheet of paper.

Madeline quickly scanned the words, then looked up, her gaze chilling. “I assume he is referring to me?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Cecily said, taking back the note. “Under the circumstances, I think it might be better if you do not come to the hotel tomorrow to work on the flowers. I can take them back with me tonight and I’ll see what I can do in the morning. I used to be quite a dab hand at arranging James’s precious roses.”

“No,” Madeline said firmly. “Absolutely not. I won’t let that creature dictate to me where I do or do not go. Let him try to kill me. I might just have a surprise or two up my sleeve for him.”

“Madeline, I can’t allow—”

“Cecily, dear, I appreciate your concern, I really do.” Madeline scrambled to her feet and held out her hand to Cecily. “But my job is to transform that ballroom of yours into a garden of flowers in time for the ball tomorrow night, and I intend to do just that. And no one, particularly a pernicious crackpot attempting to play God, is going to stop me. Rest assured, Cecily, I shall be there tomorrow. And God help that fiend if he should dare to put in an appearance.”

CHAPTER
18

Cecily returned to the Pennyfoot feeling most uneasy about Madeline’s intention to work on the flower arrangements for the ball. Climbing the steps of the hotel, she decided to ask Baxter to keep an eye on her friend, just in case someone should attempt to harm her—though at this point it seemed highly unlikely that the murderer would risk being seen in the hotel with an axe in his hand.

Still, the thought troubled her. So much so that she almost ran into Cyril Plunkett in the foyer. He stood in her path with the apparent intention of speaking to her, and she didn’t see him until the last minute.

“I do beg your pardon, Mr. Plunkett,” Cecily exclaimed
as the little man skipped out of her way. “I’m afraid I was wool-gathering.”

“Quite all right, Mrs. Sinclair. It is quite dark in here today. So difficult to see.”

“It is indeed. I must tell Samuel to light the lamps an hour earlier. Now that the winter is drawing in, it grows dark so soon after lunch, the day is over before we know it.”

Cyril Plunkett nodded, and Cecily smiled at him in an effort to put him at ease.

He really was quite a nervous little man. He clutched the small leather bag in his arms as if afraid someone would steal it. His eyes darted everywhere but at her, and he shot several glances over his shoulder as if he expected someone to come creeping up on him out of the shadows.

“I wanted to speak to you, Mrs. Sinclair. I won’t be staying until the weekend, I’m afraid. I’ve had a message from the office, and they want me back in the city on Friday, so I’ll be leaving tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you for letting me know,” Cecily said, glancing past him at Baxter who had just appeared near the foot of the stairs. “I will see that your bill is made up in good time.”

She caught Baxter’s eye and winked at him, attempting to indicate that she wished to talk to him. His shocked expression almost made her laugh.

“Thank you, I’m sure.” Cyril Plunkett fidgeted with his feet and sent a sideways glance toward the kitchen stairs. “I must admit, Mrs. Sinclair, I shall be most relieved to return to London. Most relieved.”

He ran a finger around the inside of his collar as if it was too tight. “All these murders going on so close by. It really does make one feel jittery, you know. I find myself looking over my shoulder all the time.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Plunkett.” Cecily glanced at the grandfather clock as it began to chime the Westminster chords. “I
do understand, but as I said before, you are quite safe here at the hotel.”

“I wish I could be certain of that.” The salesman gave a visible shudder. “I dread going to my room at night. I do not feel safe until I have locked the door and bolted it. Even then, I do not feel secure.”

“In that case,” Cecily said, giving up her attempt to appease the man, “perhaps it is just as well your office has called you back. Now, if you will excuse me, I just have time to dress before dinner.”

“Pardon?” Cyril Plunkett stared at the clock as it began to chime the hour. “Goodness, I had no idea it was so late. I, too, must prepare for the evening meal. Please excuse me, Mrs. Sinclair.”

He backed away from her, almost tripped over Baxter, mumbled an apology, then scrambled up the stairs without a backward glance.

“I feel sorry for that poor man,” Cecily remarked as she joined Baxter at the foot of the stairs. “I’m quite sure he will die of fright before he is very much older.”

Baxter gave her one of his reproving looks. “If he doesn’t first expire from the shock of madam’s audacity.”

Cecily stared at him in mock surprise. “What did I do?”

Baxter leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “You gave me a decidedly lascivious wink, madam. Most improper.”

“Lascivious?”

“Decidedly lascivious.”

Cecily grinned. “Why, Baxter, you surprise me. I wouldn’t have thought you would understand the meaning of the word.”

“What pains me, madam, is that you apparently know what it means.”

“Ah, but then, I read Sherlock Holmes.”

She led the way down the hallway toward his office and paused at the door, waiting for him to open it for her.

“There are such words in the novels that you read?” he said, sounding disbelieving.

“There are indeed, Baxter.” With a sigh Cecily sat herself down on the chair. “One receives quite an education when reading today’s light novels. I have to say I thoroughly enjoy the experience.”

“That explains from where you form your unconventional ideas. It would serve you better if you studied the works of more prosaic writers.”

“Such as Dickens?” Cecily suggested innocently.

Baxter shuddered. “Such a vulgar man.”

“But an excellent writer.” She reached up and unpinned her hat. “I enjoy his books immensely. Though I must say he displayed an unfortunate attitude toward women.”

Baxter sighed. “If I might be permitted to say, madam, according to your thinking, the vast majority of men display an unfortunate attitude toward women.”

Keeping a serious expression, Cecily nodded in agreement. “Terrible, isn’t it? No wonder women are having such a difficult time of it. I don’t wonder they are rebelling in the streets.” She paused with her hands still on her hat. “Is something wrong, Baxter?”

“You are not thinking of removing your hat in here, madam?”

“I most certainly am.” She pulled it from her head with a flourish. “For heaven’s sake, I’m not removing an article of clothing. It’s just my hat.”

“It makes me feel most uncomfortable, madam. It is rather an intimate gesture.”

“So is lying together beneath a bed in a boudoir, Baxter, but I didn’t hear you raising objections about that.”

She felt sorry for him when his face flushed scarlet.

“Madam, I implore you, do not breathe a word of that again. Someone could easily mistake my intentions—”

“Oh, piffle, Bax. You know very well I won’t mention it to anyone. I haven’t as yet heard any gossip, so perhaps Doris didn’t even recognize us. After all, she saw little more than our feet.”

“I really do wish you would refrain from taking such enormous risks,” Baxter muttered, fingering his collar. “Not only with your reputation and mine, but also your life. As I am forced to point out on many an occasion, you may not always be quite so fortunate. I am deathly afraid that something will happen to harm you.”

Cecily looked at him. “And you have given your promise to James, of course.”

Baxter apparently realized he was treading on dangerous ground, for he adroitly changed the subject. “I overheard Mr. Plunkett in the hallway. He is leaving tomorrow?”

“Yes.” Cecily laid the hat in her lap. “Thank you for reminding me. I had almost forgotten. Will you please have his bill made up by the morning? He didn’t mention what time he wanted to leave, but I imagine it will be early.”

Baxter nodded, seemingly relieved to be engaged in less provocative conversation. “I will see to it this afternoon, madam.”

“The poor man seems terrified of being murdered in his bed, yet I can’t help feeling that he is trying to avoid someone in particular. Most likely that ghastly Ellsworth Galloway.” Cecily plucked at the ribbon on her hat. “I would much prefer that he were the one leaving tomorrow.”

“If Cyril Plunkett is escaping from someone,” Baxter said, opening the drawer of his desk, “I would think it more likely he is being harassed by Lady Belleville.”

Cecily looked at him in surprise. “What makes you say that?”

“I saw them on the upper landing yesterday. Lady Belleville appeared to have Plunkett cornered and was breathing in his face in a most disgusting manner.”

“Really? I can’t imagine what she sees in that droll little man.” Cecily laughed. “Obviously he must have some quality that has escaped me.”

Stooped over the desk, Baxter wrote laboriously in the invoice book. “In my opinion, madam, if I may be so bold, Lady Belleville should be committed to an asylum where she can do no harm to anyone. It is obvious she is addled in the brain.”

“Baxter, why don’t you sit down to write that bill,” Cecily said impatiently. “You’ll get a nasty crick in the neck trying to write standing up.”

“I prefer to stand, thank you,” Baxter said, without looking up.

Knowing it was useless to argue with him, Cecily watched his hand move slowly across the page in his impeccable script. “Lady Belleville does seem rather confused at times,” she remarked, “but I really don’t think she is dangerous to anyone, except perhaps herself.”

“I wish I could agree with you,” Baxter murmured. “If nothing else, she is disruptive. Even Doris Hoggins threw a fit of temper this afternoon.”

“Because of Lady Belleville?”

“Yes, madam.” He paused in his writing and looked up. “From what I can understand, Lady Belleville ordered Doris to search for her missing bird. When Doris explained she had duties to perform, the woman became quite belligerent and threatening. Doris vented her temper on the kitchen staff, much to Mrs. Chubb’s annoyance.”

“Oh, dear,” Cecily murmured.

Baxter shook his head and resumed writing. “I was quite surprised. Doris is usually such a pleasant child.”

“Yes,” Cecily agreed absently. She had been listening with only half her attention. Her thoughts were on her encounter with Doris in the hallway earlier.

She could see the child in her mind’s eye, standing sullenly in front of her, a look of pure rebellion on her thin face. Even the lighter texture of her dress failed to bring any life to her complexion, though it was a slight improvement on the stark black dress she had worn earlier.

Perhaps it was time, Cecily thought, to order new uniforms for the housemaids. One of the rules of etiquette she still followed was that the servants wear proper dress.

Although pale shades and even prints were considered correct for the mornings, protocol demanded that the maids wear black after noon. Since they owned only one light and one black, they should at least have a spare black in case of accidents.

Still thinking about Doris and her change of clothes, she watched Baxter finish writing out Cyril Plunkett’s bill. “I’ll have this sent up to his room right away,” he said, tearing the sheet of paper from the book.

Cecily wasn’t listening. Instead she rose and shocked Baxter by pounding on his desk with her fist.

“Madam?” he said, his eyebrows shooting skyward.

“I know who it is,” Cecily said, with great satisfaction. “I can’t imagine why I didn’t think of it before.”

“You know who is what?” Baxter asked patiently.

Cecily leaned both hands on the desk and tilted forward. In a low, deliberate tone, she said, “I know who is killing the gypsies, Baxter. I know the identity of our murderer.”

A short while later, Cecily sent for Samuel, who arrived breathless and looking extremely worried. Remembering the young man’s agitation earlier that day, Cecily asked him if all was well.

“Just getting jumpy, I reckon, mum,” Samuel said, avoiding Cecily’s gaze. “No wonder an’ all, what with all those women getting murdered. I’m just glad I don’t have to go walking through them woods.”

“Well, I’m afraid you will have to go out again, Samuel,” Cecily said, glancing at the grandfather clock in the foyer. “I need you to take a message to P.C. Northcott, if you will.”

Samuel looked even more distressed. “Yes, mum. Right away.”

Cecily handed him the sealed envelope. “Take care that you hand this personally to the constable, and no one else.”

Samuel answered with a feverish nodding of his head. “I’ll make sure he gets it, mum, never fear.”

He took the envelope from her and turned to leave.

“Samuel,” Cecily said quietly, “are you sure something isn’t troubling you? We are all here to help, you know.”

“Yes, mum. I mean, no, mum. I mean …” Samuel flicked her a nervous glance. “I’m fine, mum, honest. Now I’d better go and harness the mare.” He touched his forehead with his fingers, then dashed for the kitchen stairs and clattered down them at top speed.

Deep in thought, Cecily climbed the stairs to her suite. Now she would have to find a way to deal with a murderer. That would take some thought and serious planning. All this upheaval and distress was most tiring. If only it were all over and summer was just around the corner instead of her having to face the onslaught of winter. The smoke and dust of the coal fires irritated her throat, and the lack of fresh air made her head feel like cotton wool at times.

How she missed the rose gardens and the pleasant strolls under a warm sky. The Esplanade always seemed so dreary and depressing without the throngs of seaside visitors.

The beach just wasn’t the same without children racing across the sands, building wobbly sand castles or laughing
at a Punch-and-Judy show. Even the sea gulls seemed lonely in the winter, swooping low over the cresting waves with their dismal cries.

Somehow in the summer months she seemed to have more stamina, more fortitude to deal with all the problems. And now she was faced with yet another problem, and one that could very well end in tragedy. It was not a happy night.

Reaching the door, she fit her key into the lock and turned it. The door slid over the sheet of paper lying on the carpet, making it flutter in the draft.

Stooping, Cecily reached for it and picked it up. She waited until she was inside the room with the door locked before opening it. The now familiar scrawl seemed to jump out at her.
Here comes a candle to light you to bed. Here comes a chopper to chop off your head. George
.

Samuel let himself out of the kitchen door and started to cross the yard. He deliberately kept his gaze averted from the coal shed, though he had a prickly feeling in the back of his neck as he passed by the door.

He hadn’t been able to keep the vision of that sack out of his mind. If madam hadn’t arrived when she did and spoken to him, scaring him to kingdom come, he’d know by now what was inside it.

Not that he wanted to know what was inside it. In fact, he wanted nothing more than to forget about the darn thing altogether. Only he couldn’t. And something told him he wouldn’t be able to until he’d opened that sack and discovered what it held.