Mulled Murder (Pennyfoot Holiday Mysteries) (6 page)

That note had convinced Sam it was about a cricket match. She’d thought at the time that there was something really odd about it. Especially the last word. Now she knew why. Gerald Evans had been composing a note for a telegram. Maybe he’d sent more than one.

Excited, she leapt to her feet. She should tell Sam. No, first she needed to make sure there was something to tell. She had planned to go to the library that afternoon. While in town she would call in at the post office.

Halfway across the room, she paused. This was not her business this time. Baxter would not be at all happy if he knew she was pursuing a case that possibly had no connection to the Pennyfoot. A second later she shrugged. What the eyes couldn’t see the heart couldn’t grieve over. For her own peace of mind she needed to find answers, and settle this thing once and for all.

She would go to the post office just to see if Mr. Evans had sent any other telegrams and if there was anything in them to help solve his murder. She would then relay the news to Sam and that would be the end of it. Baxter would never have to know.

Pleased with herself, she opened the door and headed down the hallway.

• • •

“Where the bloody hell did you get to?” Gertie paused to get her breath, arms folded across her stomach. She’d finally found Lilly in the laundry room, after chasing up and down the hallways looking for her. Now she stood in the doorway, determined not to let the young woman pass until she’d delivered Mrs. Chubb’s message.

“I went for a little walk.” Lilly’s voice sounded strange, as if she was out of breath.

Gertie rolled her eyes. “You’re not scared, are you? There’s nothing to be frightened of.”

Lilly raised her chin. “I’m not frightened.”

“You look bloody frightened.”

“I’m just shocked, that’s all. It’s not every day someone ends up dead on the beach.”

“Well, as long as it’s not you lying down there, you ain’t got nothing to worry about, have ya.”

Lilly looked as if she were about to be sick. “I gotta go.” She shoved past Gertie and tore off down the hallway as if there were a herd of elephants chasing after her.

“Don’t say nothing to nobody,” Gertie yelled after her, belatedly remembering Mrs. Chubb’s directions. She couldn’t understand why the maid was in such a stew. It wasn’t as if the dead body had been found in the Pennyfoot. Then she’d really have something to worry about.

Stomping down the hallway, she decided she really didn’t like the new maid. She couldn’t understand why Madam had hired her. It was obvious that Lilly had never worked as a servant before. She knew nothing about the most basic of tasks, and acted as if everything she was asked to do was beneath her.

When Gertie had tried to ask her about her previous employment, she’d been so flustered she’d ended up with the hiccups. Much as Gertie wanted Pansy to be happy, she wished she wasn’t getting married and leaving her best friend to put up with the likes of Lilly Green.

Gertie paused at the kitchen door. Thinking about the dead guest had reminded her of something. She needed to talk to Madam, but not right now. She had her chores to finish, so that she could take the twins to Clive’s toy shop that afternoon. She’d have to talk to Madam later.

Having made that decision, she pushed the door open and walked in.

• • •

Cecily gazed across the table at her husband, who seemed to be a hundred miles away. She had suggested taking the midday meal in the dining room for a change. She loved to dine in there after Madeline had decorated it for Christmas. It looked so festive with all the garlands of holly and fir, the red candles on the tables, the glistening strands of silver woven into the red and green swaths of velvet around the walls.

Madeline had even made centerpieces for the tables—delicate cut glass goblets filled with colored baubles and festooned with red ribbons and a sprig of mistletoe. Right now, however, Cecily’s attention was not on the decorations. She frowned as she regarded her husband’s somber expression. “Is something wrong?”

He seemed startled when he switched his gaze to her face. “Wrong? No, I don’t think so. Is there? I mean, is there something you’re not telling me?”

She shifted guiltily on her chair. “Why ever would you think that?”

He shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s the knowledge that someone murdered a private detective just yards from our front door.”

A quick glance around assured her they were out of earshot. “That has nothing to do with us, darling. Sam seemed convinced the Pennyfoot wasn’t involved.”

“And we all know how reliable Northcott’s deductions can be.”

“I think he’s right this time.”

Baxter’s gray eyes were shrewd as he met her gaze. “You truly believe that?”

“I do. I think this is one time we don’t have to worry about the Christmas curse.”

“You don’t think it odd that Evans picked our country club to stay in while he conducted an investigation?”

“He told Philip he wasn’t happy with the hotel he was in and was looking for a better place to spend Christmas.” Cecily paused, then added quietly, “I think perhaps he knew whoever killed him had tracked him down to the hotel and he wanted somewhere safe to hide.”

“So he picks one of the most prominent establishments on the southeast coast of England.”

“Most likely because he felt that whoever was pursuing him wouldn’t think of him staying in a place like this.”

“Or maybe he picked this place because it was part of his investigation.”

Cecily picked up her white linen serviette, dabbed her mouth with it, and placed it by her plate. “I see absolutely no reason to assume such a thing.” She kept her gaze down, though she could feel Baxter’s scrutiny on her face.

“Very well. Let’s both pray you are right. Meanwhile, I must ask you to remember our bargain. Please don’t shut me out again.”

Surprised, she jerked up her chin. “Shut you out? I’ve never done that.”

His smile was rueful as he leaned forward to take her hand. “My dearest wife, you do it all the time. I’m hoping that the next time you take on one of Northcott’s cases, you’ll allow me to be at your side as promised.”

Warmed by the earnest look in his eyes, she turned her palm up and curled her fingers over his. “I’ve already agreed to do so,” she murmured. “I won’t go back on my word.” Her visit to the post office didn’t count, she assured herself, as they both rose from the table. She was merely doing that to help Sam Northcott solve his case. She had no intention of intruding this time in the constable’s investigation.

In fact, had Northcott not announced he was putting everything on hold until after Christmas, she might well have told him about the possible telegram and let him visit the post office. She wasn’t about to admit to herself she had doubts about the murder.

Entering the foyer behind Baxter, she saw Gertie over by the front door. The housemaid paused when she saw them, then hurried over to her.

“I’ve got something to tell you,” she said, keeping her voice low.

Baxter had kept going, and was now climbing the stairs, apparently unaware his wife wasn’t following.

Cecily decided to catch up with him later. “What is it, Gertie? Not trouble in the kitchen, I trust?”

“No, m’m.” Gertie looked anxious and Cecily had the distinct feeling that she wasn’t going to like whatever it was the housemaid had to tell her.

CHAPTER
6

“Why on earth are we cleaning the lavatories in the middle of the afternoon?” Lilly dumped her bucket and mop in the middle of the bathroom floor. “Why aren’t they cleaned in the mornings?”

Pansy shook her head in exasperation. She’d never heard anyone ask as many questions as the new maid did. Most of them were stupid questions. Like this one. “Because,” she said, trying to hold on to her patience, “people use the lavatories first thing in the morning. Don’t you have to piddle when you first wake up?”

Lilly looked annoyed. “That’s none of your business.”

“It is when you wake me up at the break of dawn every morning.” Pansy pulled a scrubbing brush out of her bucket. “You must drink an awful lot of tea or something.”

“I like tea.” Lilly glanced at the door. “What if someone wants to use the W.C. while we’re in here?”

“There’s another one upstairs.” Pansy rolled up the sleeves of her blue serge frock. “Besides, most of the guests are resting in their rooms, or playing poker in the card rooms, or taking a stroll along the Esplanade. There’s not many of them around here this time in the afternoon.”

She walked over to the toilet bowl and lifted the lid. “I’ll do this. You can scrub the sink.”

Lilly moaned. “That’s right, give me the biggest job. Why can’t you scrub the sink?”

Pansy rolled her eyes.
Just three more days.
“Suit yourself. I just thought you might be too delicate to clean the toilet.”

Lilly picked up her scrubbing brush. “I’m not the one who’s delicate around here.”

Pansy bit back the smart answer hovering on her lips. Instead, she leaned across the sink and turned on the faucet. To her dismay, instead of water pouring out, a loud burping came from the tap and nothing more.

Frowning, she turned on the other faucet. The same burping erupted from that one. Not a drop of water appeared. “Now what?” she muttered, straightening her back.

Reaching up for the pull chain on the toilet she gave it a tug. Water poured into the bowl, swirled around, and disappeared. Pansy gave the chain another tug. Nothing. The chamber was empty.

Lilly stood with arms folded, a bored look on her face. “Are you finished messing around?”

Pansy threw the scrub brush into the bucket. “Come on. We’ve got to get downstairs. Something’s wrong with the water pipes. They’re not working.”

“Oh, this is going to be so much fun,” Lilly muttered as she picked up her bucket. “Never a dull moment in this place.”

Ignoring her, Pansy dashed out of the bathroom and down the hallway. Lavatories without water meant disaster. That’s all they needed with all the Christmas preparations going on. Mrs. Chubb was going to have kittens when she heard, and Pansy wasn’t looking forward to breaking the bad news.

• • •

Looking at Gertie’s worried face, Cecily braced for the worst.

“It’s about that Mr. Evans what got killed,” Gertie said, lowering her voice to a near whisper.

Instantly on the alert, Cecily glanced over her shoulder. “I do hope there’s not any gossip about this. We don’t want to alarm the guests without reason.”

“No, m’m. Nobody’s said nothing.”

“Let’s keep it that way.”

“Yes, m’m. Only I did hear something the other day, and I thought you should know about it.”

“What did you hear?”

“It was Lord Bentley, m’m. I heard him shouting at Mr. Evans out by the front steps. I heard him say he would kill him if he touched his daughter again.”

Cecily curled her fingers into her palms.
No, not again.
“When was this?”

“The day before yesterday, m’m. I think Mr. Evans was making advances to Miss Essie and she told her father. Lord Bentley sounded really angry.” Gertie looked uncomfortable. “I wouldn’t have said nothing, only seeing as how Mr. Evans ended up dead, I thought you should know.”

“Thank you, Gertie.” Cecily tried to sound unconcerned. “I don’t think for one moment that Lord Bentley would have anything to do with this, but I’ll pass it along to the constable. Meanwhile I must ask you to keep what you heard to yourself. I—”

She broke off as Pansy burst into the foyer, bucket rattling in her hand.

“You can count on me to keep me mouth shut, m’m,” Gertie muttered, then she called out to Pansy, “What the bloody hell are you making all that racket for?”

“The lavatories,” Pansy said, between gasps for breath. “There’s no water in them.”

Cecily stared at her in dismay. “No water?”

“No, m’m. I turned the taps full on and nothing came out. I pulled the chains on the toilets and nothing came out there, neither.”

“
All
the bathrooms?” Cecily asked, striving to make sense of Pansy’s breathless words.

“Yes, m’m. All of them. I looked in them all to make sure.”

“Bloody hell,” Gertie muttered.

Cecily was about to head for the nearest telephone when Mrs. Chubb rushed into the foyer, her cheeks red with the exertion of climbing the kitchen stairs. “We can’t get any running water.” She paused when she caught sight of Cecily. “Oh, there you are, Madam. I was just coming to find you. There’s no water in the kitchen.”

“Or the lavatories, apparently,” Cecily said grimly. “Can you manage for a little while, Mrs. Chubb? I’ll ring for the plumber right away.”

“Yes, I think so, m’m.” The housekeeper glared at Pansy and Gertie. “What are you two doing standing around here? Ask Philip to write notices saying the lavatories are out of order, then hang them on the lavatory doors. Everyone will have to use the commodes until we get the water running again.”

Gertie pulled a face. “That’s bloody marvelous. Now we’ll be emptying chamber pots all day long.”

“It can’t be helped. Now get along with you both.”

“It’s my afternoon off,” Gertie protested. “I was just about to take the twins into town.”

Mrs. Chubb threw her hands up in the air. “Go on, then. We’ll manage without you.”

Gertie looked at Cecily for confirmation and she gave the housemaid a nod. “It’s all right, Gertie. Take the twins into town. You can’t do much about this anyway. I’ll ring for the plumber.” Without waiting for a response Cecily tore over to the reception desk where Philip was dozing in his chair, his bony chin resting on his chest. Nothing much was left of his white hair except for a few wisps combed across his head, leaving bare skin gleaming in the spaces in between.

Rapping on the counter, Cecily said loudly, “Philip, ring up George Rutter, the plumber. Tell him his services are needed immediately. It’s an emergency. If he cannot come, ask him to recommend a plumber. One way or another, we must have one here this afternoon.”

Philip blinked, adjusted his spectacles, and sat up. “Yes, m’m. Right away, m’m.” He reached for the telephone and held it to his ear, waiting for the operator to come on the line.

“When you have finished talking to George, Pansy needs you to write some notices. She’ll tell you what to write.” Leaving him to his task, Cecily hurried over to the kitchen stairs. This couldn’t have happened at a worse time. A house full of guests, with more expected for the carol-singing ceremony tomorrow evening.

She prayed the plumber would be able to make the repairs in record time. With any luck, they’d have the water running again before too many guests needed to use the lavatories.

Arriving at the kitchen, she stayed long enough to make sure all was well there. Mrs. Chubb seemed to have everything under control. Most of the dishes had been washed and dried before the water had stopped running. The few that were left had been stacked in the sink, and Mrs. Chubb seemed confident they would have enough clean dishes for supper.

“The biggest problem will be cooking the vegetables,” she said, pointing to the pile of cauliflowers and carrots lying on the kitchen table. “I don’t know how Michel is going to cook them or make soup without water.”

“Well, we’ll just have to hope George Rutter can get the water running again. He’s a very good plumber. I know he’ll do his best for us.”

“He is, indeed,” Mrs. Chubb said, nodding her head. “He’s a good lad, that one. I just hope he can get here soon.”

“Yes, well, do what you can and we’ll all keep our fingers crossed.”

Cecily left the kitchen with a knot of anxiety in her stomach. It didn’t seem possible that there was no water in the entire building. She’d have to tell Baxter. Not that he could do much to help. Her husband could be quite resourceful when faced with a problem, but a plumbing disaster was a little beyond Baxter’s expertise.

Stopping by the reception desk again, she had to rap on the counter to get Philip’s attention. She was never quite sure if Philip was actually dozing or if he was either deaf or losing his sight. Perhaps all three.

In any case, he struggled to his feet, one hand smoothing back the imaginary hair that had long disappeared from his scalp. “What can I do for you, Madam?”

“Did you talk to the plumber?”

“Yes, m’m. Mr. Rutter should be along right away.”

“Thank you, Philip.” Feeling a little better, Cecily began to climb the stairs to her suite. She was not looking forward to telling Baxter about this latest crisis. She could only hope the news that the plumber was on his way would help alleviate some of the concern.

As she turned on the first landing she almost ran into the tall gentleman descending the stairs.

Lord Bentley was an imposing figure, with an abundance of black hair accented by the silver wings at his temples. His luxuriant mustache nestled over full lips, and his dark eyes seemed to penetrate right through Cecily’s head.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Baxter.” The gentleman inclined his head in a polite bow. “May I commend you on a well-run establishment. My wife and daughter are enjoying their visit to the seaside.”

“Thank you, Lord Bentley. I much appreciate your comments.” Cecily smiled up at him, wondering how she could broach the subject of his dispute with Gerald Evans.

She needn’t have concerned herself, however. Lord Bentley curled his fingers around his coat lapel and leaned forward. “There is one small thing. I don’t like to complain, when everything else is so admirable, but I feel you should know. One of your guests . . . ah . . . accosted my daughter the other day. I had words with the chap and of course, he denied it, but I wanted to warn you that he might not be . . . ah . . . reputable, just in case he attacks someone else.”

Cecily raised her eyebrows. “Good heavens, sir. I do hope your daughter was not harmed?”

“Oh no.” Lord Bentley straightened. “Just somewhat upset, naturally. If you could perhaps warn the chap to behave, it might prevent another unfortunate incident. I believe his name was Edwards, or Evans. Something like that.”

Cecily solemnly nodded. “I know to whom you refer, Your Lordship. I can assure you he will not be bothering anyone again.”

Lord Bentley gave her a long, hard stare that made her most uncomfortable, then nodded. “Much obliged, Mrs. Baxter.” With that, he jogged down the stairs and out of sight.

Cecily stared after him. Did he really not know Gerald Evans was dead, or was that all an act? She might have given him the benefit of the doubt, had it not been for that scrutinizing stare—as if he were trying to determine whether or not she’d accepted his little charade. Was it at all possible that Lord Bentley had exacted a deadly revenge for the assault on his daughter?

In the next instant, she gave herself a mental shake. She was jumping to conclusions, as usual. There was no indication whatsoever that Mr. Evans was killed by anyone in the Pennyfoot, and the sooner she put the whole event behind her and left Sam to do his work, the better.

She would go to the post office that afternoon just to satisfy her own curiosity. After that, she promised herself, she would spend all her energies on seeing that her guests had the best Christmas possible.

• • •

“There’s nothing more we can do until the plumber gets here,” Mrs. Chubb announced, taking off her apron. She hung it on the hook by the kitchen door and turned to Pansy. “I’ve got some shopping that has to be done today, so you’ll have to wait for George. Just tell him we’ve got no water. He’ll know what to do.”

Pansy mumbled a reply. She’d been hoping to have a few moments to visit Tess. Samuel had had to leave her behind when he’d left the Pennyfoot. He was living with his new business partner, Gilbert Tubbs, until after the wedding, when he’d move into the flat over the repair shop with his new bride.