6 Grounds for Murder (9 page)

“I’m sure he is somewhere in your suite, Lady Belleville,” Cecily said soothingly.

“I searched the boudoir, of course, but he wasn’t in there. I wonder if he might have flown on top of the canopy above the bed. I can’t get up there to see, you see.”

Cecily heard the grandfather clock chime in the foyer and took her cue. “Well, if you don’t find him, I’ll have Baxter climb up there to have a look. Now, I’m afraid I must be off to complete my duties.”

“Oh, of course.” Lady Belleville smiled and nodded. “Thank you so much, my dear. So comforting to know someone sympathizes with an old lady. Most people think I’m senile, you know.”

“Oh, I’m sure they don’t.” Cecily backed away, still exchanging comments, until she reached the foyer, then with a sigh of relief she headed for the stairs.

Trying not to think what Baxter would say when asked to climb on Lady Belleville’s bed in order to find one of her “birds,” Cecily quickly climbed the stairs to the second floor.

She hadn’t as yet told Baxter about the reappearance of the axe. Her common sense told her that someone had merely borrowed the thing and brought it back. Maybe John Thimble, the gardener. Though she couldn’t imagine why he
would need it, unless to chop off a broken branch. And he wouldn’t have needed to keep it all day.

Still puzzling over the problem, she reached her door and unlocked it. She saw the note the minute the door swung open. It lay on the carpet, silently challenging her to pick it up.

She closed the door first, then stooped, reaching for it with unsteady fingers. It was folded in half, a sheet of hotel stationery as the other note had been.

The message had been scrawled in the same untidy hand, and the words were every bit as direct. It read:
You must stop George from killing the gypsies. Don’t let him know I told you
.

Cecily stared at the words, no longer able to deny her growing conviction. She saw again the axe swinging in Samuel’s hand, with his voice raised in excitement.

Not only did it appear that someone in the hotel knew the identity of the murderer, it would also seem that the murder weapon had in fact been borrowed from the Pennyfoot Hotel, and then returned.

In which case, Cecily thought with grim resignation, once more she was indeed involved in the grisly business of murder.

CHAPTER
9

“I am afraid I was wrong in my estimation,” Baxter said when Cecily tracked him down in the conservatory to show him the second note. “In view of the second murder, it would appear that someone in this hotel has knowledge of the murderer after all. Knowledge, I might add, that should be given to the police.”

“I agree.” Cecily reached for a dead leaf on a large aspidistra and snipped it off the branch. “Since we do not as yet know the name of that person, however, I see no reason to involve the police at this point.”

She avoided looking at him, but she knew quite well that he stared at her with disapproval. She knew he was thinking
about all the times she had risked both their lives in order to see justice done.

She also knew that he would do his best to dissuade her from following her usual course of action, knowing all the while how futile his efforts would be.

Hardening her heart, she added deliberately, “Also, the axe has been returned.”

“The axe that was missing yesterday?”

“Yes. Samuel purchased a new one, but Doris had already chopped the sticks, apparently with the axe that had been returned. Of course, someone could have borrowed it.”

“Someone such as the murderer, perhaps?” Baxter suggested, sounding more than a little desperate.

“I was thinking it could have been John Thimble.”

He shook his head. “John has not been at work since last Friday. He is recovering from a sore back.”

“I see.” She hadn’t really been convinced that the gardener had taken the axe, but to have it confirmed so decisively was disturbing, to say the least.

“Madam,” Baxter said quietly, “I sympathize with your concerns, but nevertheless someone by the name of George is running around willy-nilly, chopping off the heads of young girls. The note is correct about one thing. The murderer must be stopped.”

“We can’t be sure the murderer’s name is George,” Cecily said. “Perhaps someone is writing these notes to confuse us and put us off the track of the real culprit.”

“All the more reason to inform the police.” Baxter held out his hands in appeal. “I beg you, madam, do not involve yourself again. Hand these notes over to Inspector Cranshaw and allow him to do his work on the case without interference. I am so afraid he will lose patience with you and do something drastic.”

“Inspector Cranshaw is not interested in pursuing the
case.” Cecily paced across the polished parquet floor of the conservatory, hearing again Madeline’s outraged protest.

“The victims are gypsies, and according to the inspector, so is their killer. In which case, again according to our astute inspector, the gypsies will take care of their own affairs, happily with neatness and a modicum of fuss, thus saving the constabulary the trouble and expense of doing the job themselves.”

“The inspector told you that?” Baxter asked, sounding incredulous.

“Not exactly,” Cecily had to admit. “Madeline told me.”

“And the inspector told her.”

“Well, no, Mrs. Chubb told her.”

“And she got it from … ?”

Cecily sighed. “Gertie.”

“Who got it from … ?”

Cecily stopped pacing and came to a halt in front of him. Tossing her head, she said tartly, “There are times, Baxter, when you can be most infuriating. I can assure you the news came from a most reliable source.”

“Who was … ?” Baxter prompted without batting an eyelid.

“Mrs. Northcott, who happens to be the wife of Police Constable Northcott, in case you might have forgotten.”

Baxter nodded sagely. “Aha! That does explain things quite a bit.”

“Baxter—”

“And if I might add, madam, there is no need to be snippy.”

“Snippy?” Cecily faced up to him like a cockerel ready to do battle.

“Most definitely snippy, if you’ll pardon me for saying so.”

Aware that he was actually enjoying himself, she made an
effort to curb her temper. “Nevertheless, I’m quite sure the sentiment was accurate. You must be aware of the attitude of our local constabulary where the gypsies are concerned.”

“That’s as may be, but I am quite sure that if the inspector saw these notes, he would understand that someone here in this hotel could very well know the identity of the murderer. That could place the guests and the staff in danger. Or perhaps you have not considered that fact?”

“I’ve considered it, of course. There are just too many questions to be answered yet. I refuse to involve this hotel with the police again, unless I have positive proof that one of our guests is guilty of murder.” She turned to go, then looked back at him. “I think I will pay Dr. Prestwick a visit. I have a small problem with headaches lately. Perhaps he can suggest something that will help.”

He looked as if the hotel were about to fall down around him at any moment. “I do hope it is nothing serious, madam.”

“I really don’t think so, Baxter. Please don’t worry. You worry about me entirely too much.”

“It is my responsibility to look after you, madam. I gave my word.”

She grimaced, wishing that just once he would say he worried about her for his own personal reasons rather than constantly reminding her of his duty to James. “Well, you may rest assured,” she said, her voice sharpening just a little, “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

Looking affronted at her tone, he said quietly, “I am not totally convinced of that. For good reason. Since I will be wasting my breath attempting to persuade you to let well enough alone, I can only hope that you will not directly involve yourself, or myself, in any more dangerous escapades. I am getting far too old to indulge in such behavior.”

In an effort to make up for her irritation, Cecily grinned
at him as she headed for the door. “You, Bax? Never. We are only as old as we perceive ourselves to be. And people such as you and me will always be young at heart.”

He mumbled an answer she couldn’t hear as she swept through the door and down the hallway. Perhaps, she told herself as she once more climbed the stairs to her suite, it was just as well.

Normally Cecily would have sent her calling card to the doctor’s house before paying him a visit. Since she didn’t want to waste any time, however, she ordered Samuel to take her there in the trap after surgery hours, hoping that she would find the doctor at home.

Dr. Prestwick was, in fact, raking leaves in his garden when the chestnut came to a halt in front of the white picket fence that bordered the house. Looking up at the sound of the trap, he paused in his work, his handsome face wreathed in a smile.

“Why, Cecily, what a truly pleasant surprise. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

She returned his smile with a gracious wave of her hand, then allowed Samuel to assist her down from the trap. “I shan’t be long,” she told the footman, “so you may wait for me here.”

“Yes, mum.” Samuel touched his cap then climbed back onto his seat, settling himself down for the wait.

Dr. Kevin Prestwick sprang for the gate and dragged it open as Cecily reached it. “My dear, you are looking younger and more beautiful than ever. It warms my heart to see you.” He reached for her gloved hand and brought it to his lips, warming her skin through the fabric with the touch of his mouth.

No matter how much she told herself that he acted the same way toward every woman with whom he came in
contact, she could not prevent the flutter of her heart at his flattery. Kevin Prestwick was a master of the art, which was why his surgery was filled to capacity each and every morning.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Prestwick,” she said a trifle breathlessly. “It’s a pleasure to see you also.”

“It would please me far more if you would use my Christian name, as do most of my patients. I have to remind you of that each time I see you.”

He drew her into the garden and began walking up the path. “Now, tell me what brings you to my humble abode at this hour?” He stopped suddenly and turned her to face him, looking deep into her eyes. “You are not ill, I hope? Could it be that I have been so struck by your beauty that I have missed noticing a malady of some sort?”

Cecily smiled up at him, conscious as always of the warm admiration in his dark brown eyes. “I am perfectly well, Doctor, thank you.”

“Kevin, if you please. I am so relieved. Then this is a visit entirely for pleasure, I take it?”

“Not exactly.” Aware that they were heading for the front door of his cottage, which stood ajar, she paused. While she was the first to fly in the face of convention, she had no wish to endanger the good doctor’s reputation. No further than it was already, at any rate.

“I came to ask you about the murders on the Downs,” she said, turning her back on the door. “I assume you were called in to examine the bodies, as usual?”

The doctor grimaced. “You disappoint me, Cecily. I had hoped you had come to enjoy my company.” He laid a hand on his chest in a dramatic gesture. “My heart is sorely wounded. It may never recover.”

His expression was so comical, Cecily burst out laughing.
“Really, Dr. Prestwick, you should know that the heart cannot be damaged by disappointment.”

To her surprise, he grew serious. “Do not be too sure of that, my dear. Many a man, or woman for that matter, has died of a broken heart. When one loses the will to live, the body loses the power to fight.”

Remembering that the doctor had lost his wife a few years earlier, Cecily couldn’t help wondering if Mrs. Prestwick had died of a broken heart. Perhaps it had been too painful to watch her husband dallying with all the ladies.

Though Cecily was quite sure Kevin Prestwick meant nothing by his flattery, nevertheless it must have been difficult for his wife to witness his flirtatious manner, particularly considering the nature of his profession.

“I have to remind you, dear lady,” the doctor continued, “that I am not in a position to discuss the details of the murder. I can assure you, you would not want to hear them in any case.”

For a moment Cecily considered giving him a demure smile and fluttering her eyelashes, the way Phoebe always did when she wanted something. Then her conscience caught up with her. She simply could not stoop to such tricks.

Instead she looked him straight in the eye and said firmly, “Dr. Prestwick—”

“Kevin, please.”

“Very well, Kevin. I’m fully aware that you can’t reveal the important details of the case. But I understand from a reliable source that the investigation is not being pursued with any real enthusiasm by the constabulary. In which case, perhaps it would not matter quite so much if I ask a question or two?”

Dr. Prestwick frowned. “Who informed you that the case is not being investigated?”

“I’m not at liberty to divulge that,” Cecily said primly.

Prestwick nodded. “Well fielded.”

She smiled, having rather enjoyed turning the tables on him. “Perhaps if I were to ask what I want to know, then you could decide if you were able to answer or not.”

He looked at her for a long time, while she tried very hard not to let his scrutiny unsettle her.

“Cecily,” he said quietly, “it is my very great regret that you do not share my admiration. You are, indeed, a remarkable woman.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

He shook his head in reproof, and she added hastily, “I beg your pardon … Kevin. Perhaps you could tell me about when the murders took place?”

He thought for a moment, a troubled expression on his face. “Perhaps I can. If you will tell me something.”

“If I can.”

“Why are you so interested in these gruesome events? I can assure you, it was not a pretty sight. Even I, who have been witness to many a hideous sight, have seldom seen anything this horrific. I tell you, Cecily, this is the work of a madman. I would hope most sincerely that you do not intend to involve yourself in these heinous crimes, as you have been wont to do in the past.”

Cecily wrinkled her nose at him. “You are beginning to sound like my manager, Kevin. I am merely satisfying my curiosity, nothing more. If you are not able to tell me—”

“Oh, very well, I will tell you. I cannot see what harm there is in that.” He drew a hand through his thick brown hair, as if frustrated with the conversation. “The first murder, as far as I can tell, was committed sometime during the morning hours. My closest estimation would be about eleven o’clock.”

Cecily nodded. “And the second?”

He raised his eyebrows at her, apparently struck by a thought. “When did you hear of the second murder?”

“This morning. My stable manager heard the news in the village.”

He shook his head, wry amusement flitting across his face. “News does indeed travel fast in these parts.”

“In a small village, Doctor, people have little else to do other than gossip.”

“Is that why you refuse to enter my house with me?” He gave her an impish smile. “I am a doctor, you know. I treat patients every day in my house.”

“During surgery hours, yes. With many other people present.”

“You do not trust me, Cecily.” Again he struck a dismal pose. “Oh, how I am wronged.”

“I do not trust the jealous old biddies who will say anything to malign both you and me out of sheer spite.” She drew her gloves higher up her arms in a small gesture of defiance.

His levity vanished as he studied her. “You are quite right, my dear. I would not wish to sully your impeccable reputation. You mean far too much to me.” Before she could recover from that remark, he added lightly, “Now, what was it you wanted to ask me?”

She had to gather her thoughts together before answering him. “The second murder. Can you give me an estimate of the time it was committed?”

“Yes, I can. The body was discovered shortly after the horrible deed. I would say the unfortunate woman was killed as dusk was approaching. Late afternoon, after four o’clock, I would say.”

“And you are certain the murder weapon was an axe?”

“As sure as I can be.”

“It couldn’t have been a sword, perhaps?”

The doctor’s shrewd gaze studied her face. “Do you, perhaps, know something I should know?”

Cecily shook her head, summoning a quick smile. “Just settling questions in my mind, Kevin, I assure you.”