6 Grounds for Murder (7 page)

On a rare occasion she had glimpsed an expression, caught an odd phrase, suggesting that perhaps he might have cared for her if things had been different—had she not been the owner of the Pennyfoot Hotel and he the employed manager.

At times the longing became quite acute, though she could never allow him to know of her anguish. That would embarrass them both.

With a sharp movement she stubbed out the cigar in the silver ashtray, producing an acrid smell of burned tobacco. Much as she adored the hotel and the busy life she led, there were times when she cursed the chains that James had so tightly bound about her. Her promise to keep the Pennyfoot in the family had cost her a great deal.

“Madam?”

She looked up, meeting Baxter’s steady gray gaze with a sudden skip of her heart.

“You are displeased with me, madam?”

Aware that she was scowling at him, she straightened her features. “I’m sorry, Baxter. I was deep in thought.”

“Might I enquire as to the nature of your thoughts?”

For a moment his gaze seemed to hold her captive. She heard the clock on the mantelpiece ticking far more loudly than usual. An almost irresistible urge to say what was in her heart rendered her breathless as the words trembled on her lips.

For just an instant she saw an answering light leap in his eyes, then he said quietly, “Forgive me, madam, for intruding on your private thoughts. If you wish to be alone …”

Realizing he had assumed she was thinking about James,
she hurried to set him straight. “Oh, no, it’s quite all right. As a matter of fact, I was thinking about the missing axe and where it could be. You must agree it is a strange coincidence, considering the recent murder on the Downs.”

Baxter shrugged and stretched his neck as if he found his stiff white collar too tight. “Coincidence, yes, madam. I would agree with that. After all, if you are considering the possibility of the utensil being used as a murder weapon, I should remind you that the murder was committed before the loss of the axe.”

Watching him, Cecily felt a momentary sadness. He seemed relieved that the moment of tension had passed. She gathered her thoughts, saying, “I am aware of that. If it were not for the note, I would think no more about it. I can’t help feeling uneasy, however. I do wish I knew who had played such a cruel joke, if indeed it was a joke.”

“It is entirely possible that the same prankster is the culprit who ran off with the axe.”

She sat up straighter, staring at him in dismay. “That’s not a comforting thought. Who would stoop to such thoughtless tricks? Surely not one of our staff?”

“It is simply a suggestion, madam. I can think of no other reason why someone should want to take off with an axe.”

“And I can think of no one who would do such a thing.”

“I can bring to mind at least two people who are sufficiently disturbed to act without rhyme or reason.”

Cecily shook her head. “If you are referring to Colonel Fortescue, I agree he can be somewhat unstable at times, but he is certainly harmless.”

“Perhaps. And Lady Belleville?”

“Somehow the thought of Lady Belleville creeping around with an axe in her hand just doesn’t seem feasible.”

“Perhaps her canaries flew off with it.”

Cecily grinned. “That is definitely a consideration.”

She leaned back, feeling better in spite of her worries. “You know, Bax, all in all the hotel business is quite an interesting vocation, don’t you agree?”

His rare smile warmed her heart. “I wouldn’t wish to be in any other occupation, madam. Or in any place other than here at the Pennyfoot.”

And that, Cecily thought ruefully, would have to satisfy her. For now.

CHAPTER
7

The fog lifted sometime during the night, leaving the air smelling clean and sweet as the sun climbed out of the sea the next morning. The breeze was fresh, however, and Cecily drew her shawl tighter about her shoulders as she stood in the roof garden overlooking the Esplanade.

She didn’t visit the tiny rose garden very often in the winter. James had created the little sanctuary after the first summer season at the hotel. During the busy months the gardens offered no respite from the ever constant questions and comments from the guests, and James had felt the need of a private place where he and his wife could be alone to exchange thoughts and ideas without fear of interruption.

After he had passed away, Cecily opened the roof garden
to the guests, so that they, too, might find a moment’s peace from the busy activities of the hotel. Somehow she knew that James would have preferred that. He would not have wanted her to mourn for him alone, using the garden as a private shrine.

At first it had been painful to stand at the wall without him. It had been even more difficult to allow strange people to intrude in the place where she and James had shared so many happy times together. But now the memories had grown dim, and the ache of loss had almost disappeared, leaving only an occasional pang of nostalgia.

Now she enjoyed the moments she managed to steal from her busy schedule. The view from the garden was quite spectacular. She could easily see the wide sweep of the bay with its bobbing fishing boats nestling at the foot of the majestic cliffs.

Above the golden sands, the sloping meadows of Putney Downs flowed down to the village of Badgers End on one side, while the wooded hills on the other formed the border of Lord Withersgill’s estate.

Thinking of the woods, Cecily felt a chill deep in her bones. The mysterious note found under her door still played heavily on her mind. In spite of Baxter’s assurance of the opposite, Cecily couldn’t help feeling that whoever had gone to the trouble of writing her that message was not a prankster.

A flash of color at the end of the Esplanade caught her eye. Long before she could discern the features, Cecily knew the identity of the woman trotting briskly along the railings that bordered the sands.

Her enormous hat was a magnificent concoction of ribbons and ostrich plumes in brilliant shades of purple and pink, and her tightly laced body was encased in pale gray wool trimmed with white ermine. Phoebe Carter-Holmes
had arrived for the final committee meeting before the November Fifth Ball.

Wondering if Madeline could be far behind, Cecily took a last look at the shimmering ocean, then left the roof to go down and greet her visitors.

She found Phoebe already seated in the library, while Madeline hovered near the French windows, staring silently into the gardens that lay behind the hotel. She must have entered through the back door of the kitchen, Cecily decided, since she hadn’t seen her arrive.

She started to cross the room and was startled when Madeline strode over to the table and threw a large envelope down. It hit the polished surface and slid rapidly across, landing neatly in Phoebe’s lap.

“Well, really!” Phoebe picked up the offending package with the tips of two fingers, as if afraid it would bite her.

Madeline appeared not to notice. She seemed to be quite upset by something, and Cecily took her place at the table with the fervent hope that the two women were not in the middle of a battle royal.

“I cannot believe that the constabulary of this town can be so prejudiced and narrow-minded,” Madeline declared, her dark eyes smoldering with indignation.

Relieved that Phoebe was not the root of Madeline’s anger, Cecily used her most soothing tone. “Sit down, Madeline, and tell us what has happened to upset you so drastically.”

“Yes, poor dear,” Phoebe murmured. “You are not about to be arrested for dispensing fertility brews to the young men of the village, I trust?”

Madeline directed her stormy glare directly at Phoebe. “Does she have to be here?” She lashed the air with her hand, almost knocking over a huge vase of yellow chrysanthemums.
“I really don’t think I can put up with her nasty, snide remarks right now.”

Cecily sent Phoebe a warning look. “Phoebe will behave, won’t you, dear?”

Phoebe sniffed loudly and straightened the brim of her hat with a sharp tug. She kept her mouth tightly closed, her lips pressed together in resentment.

“I happened to see Mrs. Chubb as I was passing through the kitchen,” Madeline said, shaking her hair back from her face with a highly dramatic gesture. “She told me that Gertie had met Mrs. Northcott in the doctor’s office yesterday afternoon.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Cecily nodded, trying not to notice Phoebe fidgeting in her chair and tapping her parasol against the table leg. “I remember Mrs. Chubb saying that Gertie would be down there.”

“I really can’t see what all those silly women find so fascinating about Dr. Prestwick,” Phoebe said, smoothing down the lacy frills at her throat. “I find the man quite vulgar at times. All that smiling and winking. Quite uncouth, if you ask my opinion.”

“No one did,” Madeline said curtly.

Phoebe bristled. “There’s no need to be rude, Madeline. I was merely passing a comment.”

“And managing to interrupt me at the same time. You must have the limelight at all times, mustn’t you?”

“Perhaps if you had something of interest to say—”

“Perhaps if we let Madeline finish what she wanted to say, it might be of interest,” Cecily said firmly.

“I seriously doubt that, but please do proceed.” Phoebe sat back with an air of someone exercising great patience.

Ignoring her, Madeline concentrated her attention on Cecily. “As I was saying, before Phoebe rudely intruded, Gertie spoke with Mrs. Northcott. Apparently she told
Gertie that the police will not be pursuing the murder on the Downs with any real interest.”

“Did she say why?” Cecily asked as Phoebe uttered a bored and conspicuously loud sigh.

“She most certainly did, and that’s what has me so outraged. The constabulary has the audacity to claim that because the victim is merely a gypsy, there is no need to pursue the case since the gypsies will take care of matters for them.”

Madeline flung herself away from the table and threw her hands in the air. “Can you imagine such biased incompetence? They simply consider the death of a gypsy too insignificant to matter. Now, if it had been one of the gentry, they would have had the dogs combing the woods by now.”

“Oh, do calm down, dearie,” Phoebe muttered. “It’s not the end of the world, for heaven’s sake. No doubt the constables are right and the gypsies will discover the murderer and punish him according to their rules. After all, they do live by a far different creed than do we gentlefolk. I am quite sure they will mete out a far harsher punishment than anything the constabulary can manage, being the heathens that they are.”

“And what do you presume to know about it?” Madeline demanded, coming back to the table. Placing her hands flat on the surface of it, she leaned across, bringing her face close to Phoebe’s.

“Take care what you say about the gypsies, Phoebe Carter-Holmes. They see all and know all. They may be lacking in the social graces that you and your kind deem so important, but they deserve the same justice as is afforded the highest lord or lady in the land.”

“Perhaps if they weren’t so ready to steal what they want from honest folk, instead of working for it—”

“Ladies!” Cecily rapped on the table with her knuckles. “I
really don’t have time to sit and listen to you squabbling all day. Can we please get on with the proceedings here?”

To her immense satisfaction, both women clamped their mouths closed. Madeline threw herself down on her chair, sprawling in a way designed to annoy Phoebe.

Phoebe chose to ignore her. Instead she turned to Cecily and said brightly, “Well, I had an interesting encounter with Mr. Galloway this morning. He really is quite charming. Are you certain you don’t want to invite him to join Miss Freidrich at the concert?”

“Quite sure.” Cecily looked at Madeline, who was studying Phoebe with an odd expression on her face. “You have the prices for the flowers, Madeline?”

The other woman nodded and reached for the envelope. “In here. I’ve worked out what it would cost to do the large arrangements on the stage, as well as a small one for each table.”

Cecily opened the envelope and withdrew the sheet of paper.

While she studied it, Madeline said softly, “Phoebe, a word of warning is in order here.”

“Oh?” Phoebe’s tone clearly stated that she was not interested in anything Madeline had to say.

“Yes, it’s about Ellsworth Galloway.” Madeline paused, and Cecily looked up, feeling a little prick of uneasiness.

“What about him?” Phoebe demanded, glaring at Madeline across the table.

“If I were in your shoes, I would avoid the man at all costs.” Madeline leaned forward and fixed Phoebe with an intent stare. “The man is evil, Phoebe. We may have our differences, but I would not want something bad to happen to you. Ellsworth Galloway has an evil aura. I have seen it.”

Phoebe uttered a short laugh that didn’t sound altogether convincing. “What utter nonsense you talk, Madeline. The
man is renowned in all the best circles, a famous opera singer, and a most charming and intelligent man. All this mumbo jumbo of yours is becoming most tiresome, I must say.”

Madeline leaned back in her chair and stretched her arms lazily above her head. “Very well, Phoebe, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“These prices appear to be quite fair, Madeline,” Cecily said, thrusting the pages back into the envelope. “I’ll show them to Baxter, but I’m quite sure he will agree with me.”

“Very well.” Madeline pushed back her chair and rose in a graceful movement that completely belied her previous inelegance. “I will proceed with the purchase, then?”

“Yes, please do.” Cecily looked at Phoebe, who still appeared to be disgruntled by Madeline’s remarks. “Did you manage to secure the services of the juggler, Phoebe?”

Phoebe shook her head, sending shivers up the ostrich plumes. “No, I’m afraid he was otherwise engaged for that evening. I heard about a young man who was quite clever at balancing plates on the end of poles, however. He twirls them around and then catches them before they fall off.”

Madeline uttered a derisive laugh. “Well, Cecily, there goes your china.” She drifted to the door without seeming to touch the floor. “Give my regards to Ellsworth Galloway the next time he charms you, Phoebe. Unless he spirits you away to the underworld, I will see you at the ball.” With another laugh and a wave of her hand, she was gone.

Phoebe clicked her tongue in disgust. “The young man brings his own plates, so I’m told,” she said, frowning at the closed door. “I really do wish Madeline wouldn’t be so vindictive. I don’t criticize her flower arrangements, even if they are a little primitive to be considered artistic.”

“Madeline means no harm,” Cecily said, laying the
envelope to one side. “Now, about this entertainer. Will he be able to give us a good performance?”

“I should think so.” Phoebe shook herself like a bird ruffling its feathers. “If not, there is always Albert Brewster and that strange dummy of his. I wonder if all ventriloquists believe their dummies are alive.”

Cecily smiled. “I shouldn’t wonder. In any case, it appears that you have everything well in hand, Phoebe, so I shan’t worry about it any further.” Gathering up the envelope, she rose from her chair. “I shall see you on Thursday night, then?”

“Yes, of course.” Phoebe stood, fussily rearranging the folds of her skirt. “I have no doubt the entertainment will please everyone, as always.”

Cecily refrained from reminding her friend that invariably some disaster or other occurred at these functions. “I am sure it will be a wonderful evening, Phoebe. And thank you so much for all your hard work.”

“Not at all. It is indeed my pleasure.” Flushed with pride, Phoebe pranced across the room, pausing in the doorway to send a coy look over her shoulder. “No matter what Madeline might think,” she said, “I happen to admire Ellsworth Galloway.”

Cecily almost expected her to kick up her ankle behind her as she left.

She couldn’t help remembering Madeline’s words about Galloway, however, when she met that gentleman in the hallway a few minutes later.

“I am happy I have run into you,” Ellsworth Galloway said as he blocked her way with his ungainly bulk. He stood with his legs braced apart and his hands clasped behind his back, rocking back and forth on his feet. He reminded Cecily of a giant balloon tethered to the ground.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Galloway?”

His eyes looked like two slits beneath the fuzzy brows. “I wish to complain.”

Where was Baxter when she needed him? Cecily thought grimly. She arranged a polite smile on her face. “I’m sorry to hear that. What exactly is the problem?”

“It’s that maid of yours, Gertie. The one with the filthy mouth. I have never heard anything so vulgar in my entire life.”

Cecily winced. Gertie must have been extremely put out. Usually she managed to contain her more colorful phrases when encountering the guests at the hotel.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Galloway, I apologize for anything she might have said. Rest assured, she will be severely reprimanded.”

“Reprimanded?” Galloway unclasped his hands and shook a finger in Cecily’s face. “Madam, I insist that the little slut be dismissed. It is bad enough that a gentleman be forced to look at a woman’s body in that state, but to hear her utter such filthy language is too much.”

Cecily controlled her temper with difficulty. “Mr. Galloway, perhaps you would care to repeat whatever it was she said to you.”

“Oh, she didn’t say anything to me. I overheard her screaming at that pitiful little thing who works in the kitchen. Doris, I think her name is.”

Cecily longed to tell the pompous idiot what she thought of him. Instead she said evenly, “I am sorry if you overheard the kitchen staff, and I shall remind them to keep their voices down. Since the words were not directed at you, however, I see no reason to take such drastic steps as to dismiss Gertie. Now if you will excuse me?”