A Merry Murder Page 12

  “I’ll take the bucket now, thank you.” Lilly held out her hand. “You go indoors. Your supper is waiting.”

  “Well, all right, if you want to be like that.” Charlie handed over the bucket and she practically snatched it from his hand.

  Just then he heard footsteps on the frosty ground. He didn’t need to see in the dark to know it was Henry, on his way back to the kitchen.

  He felt a tug low in his stomach as he turned back toward the building. All thoughts of helping Lilly vanished as he headed for the kitchen door, his entire body aware of Henry following behind him. It was hunger attacking his gut, he assured himself as Henry caught up with him.

  Something he didn’t understand made him stop and signal to the boy to go ahead of him. Henry gave him a nervous smile as he slipped through the door, and Charlie swallowed. That boy was messing up his mind. It was driving him crazy going back and forth between wanting to turn Henry into a proper man and fancying him. This had to stop.

  Like it or not, Lilly was going to succumb to his charms sooner or later. And it had better be sooner. He would win her over, or his name wasn’t Charlie Muggins. Then he could get rid of his fascination with forbidden goods.

  Right now, however, he needed to put some grub in his belly. His stomach growled in approval, and heaving a sigh, he went in search of his supper.

  * * *

  • • •

  Cecily laid her knife and fork on her plate and sat back with a sigh. “That was absolutely delicious. I swear we have the best chef in the entire country.”

  Seated opposite her in the privacy of their suite, Baxter smiled at his wife. “I always amazes me how much food you can devour in one sitting. You must have been ravenous.”

  Cecily patted her stomach. “I was, but I have to admit, I could eat twice as much of Michel’s shepherd’s pie. Just the smell of it has me swooning.”

  “I’m sure he’d be gratified to hear that.” Baxter reached for his brandy and took a sip before adding, “So, you are convinced that Mazie is innocent of the crime?”

  “I am.” Having told him about her conversation with the housemaid, and her words with Albert, she was anxious now to learn his opinion. “What do you think about it?”

  “About Mazie?” Baxter frowned. “I think you’re right. I think someone else wrote that note to lure Farthingale to the laundry room.”

  “Precisely. Now I just have to convince Sam Northcott of that.”

  “That won’t be easy. Once Northcott makes up his mind, he won’t listen to anyone who contradicts him. He’s a stubborn nitwit.”

  “What’s worse, he could convince Inspector Cranshaw that Mazie is guilty.”

  Baxter snorted. “Another damn idiot.”

  Cecily was inclined to agree. “Which is why we really need to pursue this as quickly as possible and solve this murder.”

  Baxter heaved a sigh. “Very well. So, who do you think might have committed the dastardly deed? His wife?”

  “Possibly. Or Edwin Coombs.”

  Baxter raised his eyebrows. “Coombs? What makes you think so?”

  “He was angry with Lord Farthingale for accusing him of cheating.”

  “But would that be a strong enough motive to kill him?”

  Cecily lifted her serviette from her lap and placed it on the table beside her plate. “I’ve been thinking about that. Lady Farthingale mentioned that her husband was celebrating a lucrative business transaction. That’s why they were spending Christmas in Badgers End.”

  Baxter nodded. “I see. You think that Farthingale and Coombs had a business deal that went sour.”

  “Maybe. Mr. Coombs would not want to be labeled a cheat. It could affect any future business affairs for him.”

  “Ah, I see what you mean. Coombs would know that Farthingale had some kind of arrangement with Mazie. He most likely thought there was something nefarious going on, just as Charlotte surmised. He could have written the note, convinced that the man would run hotfoot to meet his paramour.” He tapped the table with his fingers. “But wouldn’t that rule out Farthingale’s wife? She couldn’t have known about Mazie. I doubt very much her husband would have told her about his illicit affair.”

  “Well, it wasn’t an affair at all, if Mazie is to be believed.”

  “Obviously Farthingale thought it was, if he responded to a note from her inviting him to meet her in private at midnight.”

  “True, and you are right in that it’s extremely unlikely that Lord Farthingale would mention the maid to his wife.” Cecily frowned. “Unless we can find someone else with a motive to get rid of our victim, it would seem that Edwin Coombs is our only suspect.”

  “So, what do we do now?”

  “I will have another word with Mr. Coombs.” Cecily pushed her chair back from the table and stood, bringing her husband to his feet. “In the morning. It’s too late to confront him now.”

  A look of alarm crossed Baxter’s face. “If you’re going to have it out with him, I want to be there.”

  “I’m not going to accuse him or anything. I will just ask a few questions, that’s all. Now that everyone in the hotel presumably knows about the murder, it won’t seem out of place for me to question the guests.”

  “That blasted fool Philip.” Baxter grunted in disgust. “I hope you severely chastised him for spreading the bad news.”

  “I reprimanded him, yes.” She wasn’t sure that what she actually said to Philip could constitute a reprimand but she wasn’t about to admit that. “But at least he also blurted out that the killer had been arrested, which should set our guests’ minds at ease. As for Mr. Coombs, I don’t want him to have an inkling that we suspect him. That will put him on guard. So, it’s better if I talk to him alone. I shall be perfectly safe.”

  “I wonder how many times I’ve heard that before,” Baxter said grimly. “Just make certain you are within shouting distance of help if you should need it.”

  “I will, I promise.” She moved closer and took his arm. “Now come and sit with me by the fire and enjoy the rest of your brandy.”

  His worried frown disappeared as he looked down at her. “That’s the best suggestion I’ve heard all day.”

  With an answering smile she took a seat opposite him in front of the fireplace. This was the perfect end to a busy day, she thought, as she watched the flames lapping at the glowing coals. Now, if she could just solve the crime and bring Mazie home, her contentment would be complete.

  CHAPTER

  9

  The following morning, immediately after enjoying breakfast with Baxter in the dining room, Cecily parted company with her husband and went in search of Edwin Coombs. She found him in the library, perusing the crowded shelves with such intensity, she felt obliged to enquire, “Are you looking for a specific title?”

  He seemed startled to see her, and fumbled with his words. “No, er . . . thank you, I . . . er . . . I was just looking for something to pass the time. Eleanor, my . . . er . . . companion, wanted to go shopping alone, so I thought I’d catch up on some reading.”

  Cecily smiled. “A very worthwhile pursuit. What sort of books do you prefer?”

  Edwin shrugged. “I’m not exactly an enthusiast. Something that moves along quickly, I suppose.”

  “Such as a good mystery novel?” Cecily peered at a shelf and plucked a book from it. “Have you read a Sherlock Holmes story?”

  The gentleman’s face brightened. “Yes, I have actually. It was called The Hound of something. Most enjoyable.”

  “The Hound of the Baskervilles.” Cecily held out the book. “That is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s third Sherlock Holmes novel. This is his second one. I think you will enjoy this one, too.”

  Edwin took the book from her and studied the spine. “The Sign of the Four. Hmmm. Sounds intriguing.”

  “It is a fascinating mystery,
yes.”

  “Then I’m sure I shall enjoy it.” He opened the book and started casually turning the pages. “By the way, I hear you have quite a mystery going on in the hotel.”

  “Oh?” Cecily made an effort to sound unconcerned. “And what is that?”

  Edwin kept his gaze securely on the book, rapidly turning the pages without reading a word. “I heard that the gentleman we were discussing earlier had passed away.”

  “Yes,” Cecily said cautiously, wondering how Edwin Coombs knew the identity of the victim. Philip had not mentioned Lord Farthingale’s name in his startling announcement. “An unfortunate start to the holiday season, I’m afraid.”

  Edwin seemed to struggle with indecision for a moment before murmuring, “I don’t know how much truth there is to the rumor, but I did hear that there was some question as to how he died.”

  Cecily studied him for a moment. Was he asking out of curiosity, or because he needed to know how much she actually knew about the murder, and how close she was to apprehending the killer?

  Remembering her promise to her husband, she felt a stab of guilt. She wasn’t exactly within shouting distance of help. Then again, the man surely wouldn’t attack her here in the library in broad daylight, when anyone could walk in at any given moment. Would he?

  Deciding that she was being overly cautious, she said carefully, “The police constable is investigating his death, but so far nothing has been established. It’s the usual procedure when someone passes away unexpectedly.”

  “Wearing a woman’s scarf about his neck?” Edwin murmured.

  Cecily stared at him. “How did you come by all this information?”

  Edwin shrugged. “I believe it was Sir Clarence who brought up the subject. A group of us were discussing it last night at the card table.”

  “Really. I wonder how Sir Clarence heard about it.”

  “There’s a lot of chin wagging going on in the hotel. He could have heard it from anyone. After all, servants are notorious for spreading gossip.”

  Not my servants, Cecily assured herself, though she did wonder if perhaps Philip had been accommodating the guests by readily answering their questions. Reminding herself to have a sterner word with her desk clerk, she said lightly, “Well, I’m sure the news of Lord Farthingale’s demise is not all that upsetting for you.”

  Edwin raised his eyebrows. “What makes you say that?”

  Cecily ran a finger across the corner of the library table, pretending to check for dust. “I did hear that you were not the best of friends with the man.”

  Edwin’s face darkened. “I assume you’re referring to the confrontation I had with him the other night. News does get around fast in this place.”

  Cecily allowed a slight smile. “As you say, people will gossip.”

  “Well, if you’re suggesting that I had something to do with Farthingale’s death, I can assure you, I did not kill the man.”

  Realizing she had, perhaps, stepped over the line, Cecily hastened to contradict him. “Oh, no, not at all, Mr. Coombs. I was just wondering if, during the course of your argument, Lord Farthingale might have mentioned something that could help us in our enquiries.”

  After staring at her for a long, uncomfortable moment, Edwin said quietly, “I honestly don’t remember what was said. We had both been indulging in a little too much scotch, and we were both overheated. I should have known better and held my tongue. As it was, we caused an unfortunate spectacle, and for that I apologize. I should have simply ignored the fool and continued with my game.”

  Cecily was sorely tempted to ask him for details of the argument, but decided she had gone far enough with her questions. Perhaps Sir Clarence could enlighten her, since he was also in the room and undoubtedly overheard the dispute. “Well, I appreciate your indulging me,” she said with a smile. “I shan’t trouble you any further. I hope you enjoy the book.”

  “I’m sure I shall.” He actually looked relieved, and she took that impression along with her as she left the library.

  Was Edwin Coombs’s disagreement solely about Lord Farthingale’s accusation of cheating, she asked herself as she made her way to her office, or was it about a more serious matter, such as a questionable business deal? Hopefully, Sir Clarence could give her the answer to that.

  Promising herself to waylay that gentleman as soon as possible, she entered her office and sat down at her desk. There were tasks she had to take care of first, and the sooner she saw to them, the sooner she could continue her investigation. With luck, she could find the answers before the forbidding presence of Inspector Cranshaw descended upon her.

  She reached for the pile of invoices waiting for her attention, but just then her telephone rang. After going through the tedious routine of answering Philip and the operator, she finally heard Sam Northcott’s voice on the line.

  “Albert said as how you wanted to speak with me,” he said after a brief greeting.

  “Yes, I did.” Cecily paused, not sure what she could say to him without revealing her visit to her housemaid. “I wanted to tell you that I have strong reason to believe that Mazie did not kill Lord Farthingale.”

  The constable’s pause on the end of the line warned her that he was not prepared to take her word for it. “Do you have proof, Mrs. B?”

  She sighed. “Not exactly, but—”

  “No buts, Mrs. B. Like I said before, all things point to her. I have to keep her here until Inspector Cranshaw gets here and he can question her. He already knows all about it. He just has to finish up his case in Wellercombe before he can look into this one.”

  “Yes, but, Sam, perhaps you could release Mazie into my care until the inspector can arrive. I promise I will see that she doesn’t run away again.”

  She wasn’t really surprised when he answered, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Baxter, I ’ave to follow the law, and the law says I keep the suspect under lock and key until the inspector can talk to her. Good-bye, m’m.”

  The line clicked in her ear, and she hung up the receiver. There was only one way, she told herself, that she could obtain Mazie’s freedom, and that was to find the real killer. And the sooner the better.

  * * *

  • • •

  Kneeling in front of the massive fireplace in the ballroom, Gertie sat back on her heels. She held a can of blacklead in one hand and a cloth in the other as she inspected the grate for any smudges that might mar its shiny surface.

  This wasn’t normally her job, but with Mazie gone, it had left the housekeeper shorthanded, and she had asked her chief housemaid to fill in where she could.

  Behind her, Gertie could hear Charlotte humming a tune she didn’t recognize. Probably something the girl had heard down the pub, since that’s where she seemed to spend a lot of her spare time.

  Not that they had much spare time. One afternoon off a week and a rare whole day off for something really special. Still, it was enough. There wasn’t much to do in Badgers End, especially in the winter. Nothing that she could afford anyway.

  She flicked a glance over her shoulder at Charlotte, who stood at a table close by vigorously polishing a silver candlestick. “What’s that you’re humming?”

  Charlotte grinned at her. “It’s called ‘Daisy Bell.’ They sing it down the pub.”

  Gertie wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know why you go down there. How’d you get in there anyway? They won’t let women in the public bar, where all the fun is, and you have to have a man with you in the lounge bar.”

  Charlotte giggled. “I can usually find a gentleman to take me in. I just wait outside until I see one on his own, and ask him if I can join him.”

  Gertie almost choked. “Wot! You lost your mind or something? That’s bleeding dangerous.”

  “I’m a big girl.” Charlotte tossed her head. “I can look after myself. There’s always people all around me and it’s not ro
ugh in there like in the public bar.”

  “What about when you leave? How do you get home?”

  “On my bicycle, of course. Same way as how I got down there.”

  Numb with disbelief, Gertie sat back on her heels. “You are playing with bloody fire, my girl. One of these days one of those blokes is going to be wanting more than a drink, and you won’t be able to stop him.”

  “Then he’ll get what’s coming to him.” Charlotte leaned forward. “I carry a knife in my pocket. Just in case.”

  Gertie groaned. “That’s even worse. The bobbies will lock you up if you knife someone.”

  “Then I’ll just have to make sure no one bothers me. They haven’t so far.”

  “There’s always a bleeding first time.” Shaking her head, Gertie went back to polishing the grate. Charlotte was a grown woman, and there wasn’t much Gertie could do to save her, but she was very much afraid that her friend would get herself into some serious trouble before too long.

  “I’m taking the knife when we go to the Christmas parade in Wellercombe,” Charlotte announced. “I’m not going to let no cop take us in.”

  Clutching the cloth to her chest, Gertie twisted around on her knees to face her. “Now, wait a blinking minute. Knifing a bugger what attacks you is one thing. You could plead self-defense. Knifing a bobby is something else. You could hang for that.”

  Charlotte shrugged. “It’s the price we women have to pay for the vote.”

  “No, we don’t.” Gertie heaved herself off the floor. “That’s too much to pay. And I’m not going to be part of it. So, unless you promise me on your mother’s grave that you won’t take a knife, I’m not going with you to the protest.”

  “My mum’s not dead.”

  Gertie sighed. “You know what I flipping mean. Now promise me.”

  “All right.” Looking disgruntled, Charlotte shrugged. “I promise. But don’t blame me if we get hauled off to the clink.”

  “If we get hauled off to the clink,” Gertie said grimly, “I’ll blame you for the rest of my bloody life.” With that, she stooped down to retrieve the can of blacklead.