6 Grounds for Murder (20 page)

“I’m sorry, but that wasn’t me. You have been treated very badly, I can see that, but I should not be blamed for the ugly deeds of a stranger.” Madeline shifted her gaze just long enough to look beyond his shoulder into the shadows along the circular wall of the ballroom.

“Is that why you killed all those women?” she asked, raising her voice just a fraction. “You want to kill all gypsies because of something one woman did to you? Is that fair?”

“Fair?
Fair?
” Again the maniacal laugh echoed chillingly throughout the ballroom. “All is fair in love and war, is that not so? You, a filthy, lowly gypsy, dare to tell me, a respectable, honest businessman, that I am not fit to lick your boots? Is that fair? I think not.”

Cyril advanced once more, raising the axe in his hands. Madeline also raised her hands and pointed her fingers at the crazed man. “You may destroy me, you fool, but you will burn in hell for your crimes. I call upon the spirits of the underworld to take your soul and chain it forever, so you will wander in hell for all eternity.”

Cyril appeared not to hear her. He advanced, axe raised, spitting words at her as he came. “Die, you heathen bastard, like the rest of them. I killed them all, and I will kill you, too. Then we will see who rots in hell.”

CHAPTER
20

As Madeline continued to back slowly away, there was a rush of movement from behind the stage. Three burly police constables appeared, bounding across the floor, followed by the tall, lean figure of Inspector Cranshaw.

Watching the scene with Baxter from the shelter of the balcony, Cecily felt a vast rush of relief as they wrested the axe from the hands of Cyril Plunkett and wrestled him to the floor.

Cyril’s high-pitched voice could be heard quite clearly above the muttered commands of the policemen. “It wasn’t me,” he cried over and over again. “It was George. I tried to stop him. I tried. He wouldn’t listen. It was George. It wasn’t me.”

“Poor man,” Cecily murmured when the policemen finally had Cyril on his feet again. “I’m afraid he is quite deranged. It will, perhaps, save him from the gallows.”

Baxter nodded soberly. “Though I can’t help feeling that the poor devil would be better off. His life inside an asylum will be a living hell.”

“Which is more or less what Madeline wished on him.” Cecily leaned over the balcony rail to search the floor below her. “Speaking of Madeline, I do hope she isn’t shaken up. She still has the tables to do, both here and in the dining room.”

“I saw her leave a moment ago. No doubt to take care of the dining room before lunch is served.”

“Yes, I imagine she would. Nothing seems to disturb her for long.” Cecily sighed. “This has not been a good week, Baxter. I do hope nothing else happens to take our attention away from the festivities tonight. Our guests will be arriving this afternoon, and it would be very nice to have nothing more to worry about than if the rooms are warm enough or if the beds are soft enough.”

“I am quite sure everything will be in order, as always, madam. The constables have caused quite a stir by their presence, I’m afraid, but I have managed to satisfy everyone’s curiosity without giving away any word of the true situation.”

Cecily gave him a warm smile. “Thank you, Baxter. You are such a comfort, as always. Now I had better go down and speak to the inspector. I understand he wants a word with me.”

“Yes, madam.” Baxter opened the door leading to the stairs and stood back, waiting for her to pass. “Will you need me to come with you?” he asked as she stepped out into the corridor.

“No, thank you, Baxter. I know you have plenty to do
before tonight. Mrs. Chubb also wants a word with me, so I will talk to her after I’ve seen the inspector. Perhaps we can meet in the library after lunch to go over the last minute details for the ball?”

“Of course, madam.”

He seemed reluctant to leave her when they reached the ground floor, but she assured him she could handle the inspector.

“I will tell him exactly what he needs to know and nothing more,” she said, pausing outside the drawing room where the inspector awaited her. “Thank heavens I put nothing in the note I gave Samuel that would indicate I might have known the identity of the killer beforehand.”

“Very well, madam.” He looked about to say something more, but after a moment he turned instead and strode off in the direction of the dining room.

Cecily watched him go, then braced herself for the meeting with Inspector Cranshaw.

The inspector’s dour look warned her he was not too pleased with her when she entered the room a moment later. “Once again, madam,” he informed her in his usual flat tone, “fortune appears to have smiled upon you. Had you not asked for our protection this morning, another tragedy could well have taken place right inside your hotel.”

“Providence, indeed, Inspector.”

He eyed her with suspicion. “And you had no inkling this man was a dangerous killer until this morning?”

“I only knew that my friend, Miss Pengrath, could be in serious danger, since so many members of the gypsies had been killed. Many people mistake Miss Pengrath for a gypsy, and I felt uneasy about her being exposed to possible danger. When Samuel informed me he had found the remains of those poor women, I decided to ask for protection.”

“And it was sheer coincidence that the murderer happened to be one of your guests.”

“I must admit, finding that dreadful sack brought the prospect much closer to home. It made me dreadfully uneasy, I can assure you.”

The inspector rocked back and forth on his heels, his shrewd gaze seeming to penetrate her very thoughts. After a moment, much to her relief, he seemed satisfied.

He even answered some of Cecily’s questions, much to her surprise. He was rarely so forthcoming. Though he did issue his usual warning to her about meddling in police affairs.

As she told Baxter later, the man seemed almost human, for once.

“Probably because he wasn’t saddled with that idiot Northcott,” Baxter muttered. He stood in his customary position at the end of the table, his hands behind his back as he contemplated the rows of bookshelves.

“What did happen to Stan Northcott?” Cecily said, trying not to think about the ghastly contents of the sack that had so upset poor Samuel. “I expected to see him here this morning.”

“I heard he had a cold in the nose. The man always was a sniveling namby-pamby.”

Well used to Baxter’s contempt for the constable, Cecily smiled. “Speaking of colds, I heard some very interesting news from Mrs. Chubb. It’s a matter we need to discuss.” Quickly she recounted what Mrs. Chubb had told her about Doris and Daisy. Although Baxter appeared startled by the revelation, he made no comment until she was finished. Then he said carefully, “What would you like me to do about it, madam?”

Cecily put her head on one side and looked at him. “What would you do if you were in my shoes, Baxter?”

He pondered on the question for a moment, then said, “It would appear that both girls do an adequate job, do they not?”

“Adequate, yes. They have a lot to learn, but I think they are willing to make the effort. Doris is a little weak at present, but she will regain her strength once she is eating proper meals. They have been living mostly on scraps from what I hear, sharing meals and scrounging what they can from the kitchen.”

“And the other one? Daisy?”

Cecily shrugged. “According to Mrs. Chubb, Daisy is somewhat short-tempered, but she has had a lot to worry about lately. Apparently she is the stronger of the two and feels responsible for her sister. Mrs. Chubb feels that with the security of a job and a home, she will be less cantankerous, and will settle down before long.”

“In that case, madam, I think we can afford to hire them both. I find it commendable that they are determined to stay together at all costs.”

“I agree.” She leaned back in her chair with a long sigh. Now that the excitement was over, she felt quite tired. “With Gertie’s baby due any day now, and Ethel no longer with us, we shall need the extra help.”

“Precisely, madam.”

“Good, I’m happy that we agree. I’ll let Mrs. Chubb know this afternoon.” Cecily sat in silence for a moment or two, thinking over everything that had transpired that morning.

“You know, Baxter,” she said softly after a long pause, “I can’t help feeling sorry for Cyril. He is such a pathetic little man, and he must have been dreadfully hurt by that woman. That’s why he killed those women, you know. In his mind he was killing the woman who’d scorned him.”

“It is indeed sad, madam.”

“He told the inspector,” Cecily went on, “that he had to keep killing her because she wouldn’t stay dead. That’s why he removed the heads. He didn’t want to look at someone else’s head on the body he’d destroyed.”

“How macabre.” Baxter moved to the mantelpiece and ran his finger along it, as if testing for dust. “Tell me, madam, how did you guess that Cyril Plunkett was the murderer? He certainly didn’t look the part, nor act it for that matter. He seemed quite a different person when he faced Miss Pengrath in the ballroom.”

“Actually it was Doris, or was it Daisy?” She shook her head, then laughed. “It was both of them, I suppose. I saw Doris, or who I thought was Doris, wearing a different dress than she had that morning. She told me she’d changed it, and that started me thinking about the murderer’s change of clothes.”

Baxter gave her a sharp look. “The murderer’s?”

Cecily nodded. “As I mentioned before, the murderer could hardly have mutilated those bodies without getting himself covered in their blood. I was so certain that it was one of the three persons whose rooms we searched, and yet we found not one speck of blood anywhere.”

“True. But as I said, the killer could have discarded the clothing afterward.”

“Which he most certainly did.” Cecily paused as Baxter lifted his chin and studied the ceiling. She followed his gaze, but seeing nothing out of the ordinary, continued, “He could hardly come back to the hotel in that state, however. He couldn’t take the chance of being seen on his way to his room. Which means he had to dispose of the clothes
before
he returned to the hotel, in which case he would need a change of clothes.”

“Ah,” said Baxter, directing his gaze along the picture rail above his head. “Cyril Plunkett.”

“Not Cyril Plunkett. George.” Cecily watched curiously as Baxter’s gaze traveled around the room. “The inspector explained to me that in Cyril’s mind he was two persons. The Cyril side of him couldn’t bear what he was doing, so
he blamed the other person he called George. Which is why he kept writing notes asking us to stop George from killing those women.”

“It sounds extremely complicated, madam.”

“I agree. But I shall be seeing Dr. Prestwick at the ball tonight, so I’ll ask him to explain it further.”

Baxter’s chin dropped abruptly. “Oh?”

She finally had his attention, she thought with satisfaction. “Anyway, once I realized it was Cyril, I asked Madeline if she were willing to take a risk, if it meant apprehending the murderer. She agreed at once. I casually mentioned to Cyril this morning that Madeline would be in the ballroom all alone. He couldn’t resist killing one more gypsy. George did the rest.”

“That was remarkably foolish of Miss Pengrath to take such a risk,” Baxter said sternly.

Cecily nodded. “Perhaps. But she was convinced, as I was, that the police would not pursue the case with any real interest, and I had absolutely no proof. Merely conjecture on my part, and you know how well the inspector would have listened to that. He does not have a very high opinion of my intelligence.”

“Can you wonder at it,” Baxter murmured, “after some of your wild escapades?”

Ignoring him, Cecily went on, “Cyril Plunkett intended to return to the city this morning. Once he moved out of the jurisdiction of this constabulary, we would have had very little hope of apprehending him. This seemed the only way.”

“Well, all’s well that ends well, I suppose. I just hope Samuel recovers from the shock of finding the severed heads.”

Cecily shuddered. “I should imagine he would have nightmares for weeks. I know—” She broke off, staring at
Baxter as once more he fastened his intent gaze on the picture rail.

“Baxter,” she said sharply, “what on earth are you staring at?”

“Just a moment … ah!” He pointed to James’s portrait. “Right there, madam. Look!”

For a moment her blood chilled as she stared at the portrait, wondering what he had seen. Then a tiny movement caught her eye. There, on the corner of the golden frame, sat a tiny, bright yellow bird.

“Great heavens,” Cecily exclaimed, “Lady Belleville’s canary.”

“My apologies to her,” Baxter murmured. “She is not as batty as I surmised, after all.”

“You are like most men, Baxter,” Cecily couldn’t resist saying. “All too quick to misjudge women. I fear you are almost as prejudiced as Ellsworth Galloway.”

Baxter lowered his chin and rested his intent gaze on her face. “Not so,” he said softly. “I have never misjudged you, Cecily. I have always looked upon you with the utmost admiration and respect.”

Reeling from the shock of his use of her first name, Cecily managed to stammer, “Why, Baxter, I have always admired and respected you also.”

She saw the expression on his dear, familiar face soften, and for a moment she detected such yearning there she ached to hold out her arms to him. She stared into his eyes, while time audibly passed, measured by the steady tick of the clock.

Then he said, a trifle unsteadily, “I am honored to be in your employ. In spite of your insistence on risking both my reputation and my neck on many an occasion with your foolhardy adventures, nevertheless I hope I may continue to serve you for many years to come.”

Swallowing her disappointment, as she had so many times before, Cecily said lightly, “I would hope so, too, Baxter. And come now, admit it. You would find life intolerably dull were it not for my adventures.”

Again his eyes filled with longing, and he seemed to have trouble swallowing. “I would indeed. Cecily, I wonder—”

The sudden rap on the door made them both jump. Taking a moment to collect herself, Cecily called out, “Come in!”

She saw the flash of irritation on Baxter’s face and rejoiced in it. Then she rose to her feet as Mrs. Chubb hurried into the room, wringing her hands. “We’ve sent for the doctor, mum, but we thought you’d like to know. It’s Gertie’s time. The baby is on the way.”

Cecily almost laughed out loud at the excitement on the housekeeper’s round face. “I’ll come right away,” she said, and followed the ecstatic woman to the door.

Looking back over her shoulder, she said, “I’ll let you know when it’s all over, Baxter.”

“Thank you, madam.” His face was as inscrutable as ever, but just before the door closed, she heard him mutter, “But did the wretch have to choose this moment to have her baby?”

Closing the door, Cecily met Mrs. Chubb’s inquisitive gaze. Feeling her face warm, she said quickly, “Baxter is most likely concerned that Gertie will now miss the fireworks display.”

She could tell that Mrs. Chubb wasn’t entirely convinced, but it didn’t really matter. Nothing mattered. Gertie was about to give birth to a brand-new baby, and suddenly life seemed so much brighter. Cherishing the memory of Baxter’s voice murmuring her name, she hurried down the hallway to Gertie’s room.