A Merry Murder Page 15

  Madeline’s warning flashed through her mind. Beware of the beast that flies. She still didn’t know what it meant, and there was no use asking her friend to explain. Madeline never remembered anything she said while in a trance.

  Cecily shifted her position, trying to make her knee feel more comfortable. She had faced danger many times before, and she had survived. She would do so again, she promised herself, and tried to ignore the little voice warning her that someday, if she didn’t take care, her luck would finally run out.

  CHAPTER

  11

  “I don’t know why on earth you would want to go to the Wellercombe Parade,” Mrs. Chubb exclaimed the following morning. She stepped back from the kitchen table and dusted her hands on her apron, sending a cloud of flour into the air. “It’s noisy, crowded, and there’ll be pickpockets everywhere.”

  Gertie tossed her head. “Well, they won’t get nothing from me, as I ain’t got nothing to give them.”

  “Well, just hope they don’t bash you over the head out of frustration.”

  “They do and I’ll bash them right back.”

  The housekeeper stared at her in alarm. “That’s the best way to get hurt, Gertie. Stay away from that mess.” The last words were spoken over her shoulder as she walked over to the sink.

  Wondering what Chubby would say if she knew her chief housemaid intended to join in a protest, Gertie said lightly, “I promised Charlotte I would go with her. She’s never seen the parade. She’s really excited about it and I don’t want to disappoint her.”

  Mrs. Chubb turned on the tap and rinsed her hands in the icy water. “Well, the both of you do work hard, so I suppose you deserve a little fun now and then. It won’t be easy, doing without you both on the same afternoon, but I suppose we can manage. Lilly will just have to do double duty, and I can spare one of the housemaids to help out.”

  Gertie grinned. “Ta, ever so! I’ll tell Charlotte we’re going to the parade this afternoon.”

  The housekeeper snatched a tea towel from a hook on the wall and briskly dried her hands. “Just be sure you’re back here by dinnertime. Lilly will need help clearing the tables and washing the dishes.”

  “Course we will!” If we’re not in the clink, Gertie silently added. In the next instant she scolded herself. That kind of thinking could get her into trouble. No matter what happened, she would see that she and Charlotte got back in time to clean up the dining room.

  She kept reminding herself of that promise as Charlie drove them in the carriage to Wellercombe that afternoon. The snow had started to fall again, heavier this time and settling fast on the pavements.

  Charlotte didn’t have much to say on the way there. Gertie suspected the girl was worried about the possible outcome of their adventure, and she couldn’t blame her. Protesting in such a visible and public display was taking an enormous risk of being attacked by the crowd or arrested by the constables.

  Charlotte would never admit to having doubts, however, and Gertie told herself she could forget her hopes that her friend would change her mind. They were on their way to protest, and she would just have to do her best to see they got out of there safe and sound.

  Charlie was prevented from driving too far into the town, his way barred by thick ropes slung across the High Street. He pulled over to the side of the road, and halted the carriage with a jerk that sent Charlotte tipping forward.

  Her hat slipped over her eyes and she shoved it back with an impatient hand. “Why’s he stopping?”

  “He can’t go any farther.” Gertie peered out the window. “They’ve got a barrier across the street. We’ll have to walk the rest of the way.”

  “In this?” Charlotte waved her hand at the fluffy snowflakes drifting down outside the window. “It’s cold out there.”

  Gertie grasped the faint hope. “You want to change your mind? We can get Charlie to turn around and take us back to the nice warm kitchen. I bet Mrs. Chubb would let us make a cup of hot cocoa.”

  For a second or two, Charlotte wavered, then she shook her head. “Nah. We came to join the protest. We suffragettes have to suffer for the cause.”

  Charlie’s voice floated down to them, sounding impatient. “Are you two going to get out or what?”

  The horse stamped in agreement, jerking the carriage again. Gertie gave in to the inevitable and reached for the door handle. “Come on, if you’re going. Charlie won’t wait all day.”

  “He’s not going to open the door for us?”

  Gertie snorted. “Wot are you, royalty? We’re bloody lucky he agreed to bring us here and fetch us after the parade. You upset him and we’ll be walking all the way home.”

  Grumbling to herself, Charlotte opened the door and climbed down to the snow-frosted road.

  Gertie tugged her coat collar up to shield her neck against the cold. It didn’t look too glamorous, but then, she wasn’t there to impress anyone. All she wanted was to get this over with and get back home.

  They had to walk for what seemed like miles before they finally reached the edge of the crowd. People lined the streets on either side of the High Street—men in caps and scarves, women in cloaks and wide-brimmed hats, children jumping up and down with impatient excitement, their bare knees pink from the cold.

  “Where are your mates?” Gertie asked as she pushed her way through the crowd.

  Charlotte looked disgruntled and disheveled, her hat tilted on her head and one hand clutching the collar of her coat. “I dunno.”

  Gertie stopped so suddenly, her friend bumped into her. “Wot? You don’t know where they’re meeting?”

  Charlotte raised her chin in defiance. “No, I only know they’re going to be here.”

  Hardly able to believe her ears, Gertie folded her arms. “Are you telling me you’re not part of their group? Do they bloody know you at all?”

  Avoiding her incredulous gaze, Charlotte pretended to study the sky. “Not exactly.”

  “Have you met any of them?”

  “Well, I did go to that one meeting, but I never got to really talk to anyone.”

  Gertie stared at her for a moment longer. “So, we’re just going to plunge in there and join in the flipping fun, is that it?”

  “Something like that.”

  Gertie felt her stomach churning and swallowed hard. “You do know that if something goes wrong, and it probably will, they won’t give us no protection if they don’t know who we are, right?”

  Charlotte shrugged. “Maybe someone will remember me from the meeting. Anyway, women jump in off the street all the time to join in with the suffragettes.”

  “Not in a bloody public parade what the whole town is watching.”

  “Well, we’re here now, so we might as well go through with it.” Her words were echoed by the sound of music in the distance. “They’re coming!” She grabbed Gertie’s arm. “Come on, we have to get in there before they get too far.”

  Giving up, Gertie allowed herself to be dragged through the crowd. Something told her they were heading toward complete disaster, but it was too late to turn back now. She couldn’t leave Charlotte to do it alone. Just get us back safely, she silently prayed. Her kids needed her, and the last thing she wanted to do was ruin their Christmas by being chucked into the clink.

  With that frightening thought in mind, she surged forward toward her fate.

  * * *

  • • •

  Cecily sat in front of her dressing table and studied her image in the mirror. Her cheeks looked rather pale, and she pinched them to bring some color back. Her husband was eagle-eyed, and he would raise strong objections to her leaving the hotel if he thought she was in any way under the weather.

  It had taken every ounce of her willpower to refrain all morning from limping. Her knee was sore, and although the mixture Kevin had given her helped, it had not entirely masked the pain
from it, nor the ache that still throbbed in her forehead.

  Nevertheless, she had promised to meet both Phoebe and Madeline at Dolly’s Tea Shop for afternoon tea, and she intended to keep the appointment. For one thing, she greatly enjoyed meeting with her friends in that warm, cozy place, and she would gladly walk through fire for one of Dolly’s delicious scones or pastries.

  For another thing, if she didn’t go, Baxter would know she wasn’t feeling up to par, and would insist she rest. She was in no mood for a battle of words. Indeed, she would much rather put up with a little ache here and there to spend a delightful hour or so in one of her favorite haunts.

  “Henry has the carriage outside,” Baxter said from behind her, making her jump. “If you’re ready to leave, I’ll accompany you downstairs.”

  She glanced up at his reflection in the mirror. “There’s no need. I’m perfectly capable of walking down them by myself.”

  His look told her he was not about to argue with her. “Indubitably, my dear, but I would very much like to escort my wife from the premises, so please don’t give me an argument.”

  She managed to smother a grunt of pain as she rose from her chair. “Of course, darling. I shall be happy to take your arm. Nothing pleases me more than having my handsome husband at my side.”

  His mouth twitched, though lines of worry marred his brow. “Are you quite sure you feel up to going out?”

  “Absolutely.” She gave him a wide smile. “The medicine Kevin gave me worked miracles. I hardly feel any twinges at all.”

  He took her hand and tucked it under his elbow. “You will tell me if your headache returns?”

  “Of course.” She held her breath as he led her toward the door. The headache was easily masked, the pain shooting through her knee not so much.

  Somehow, she managed to endure the climb down three flights of stairs, arriving in the lobby with a sigh of relief. She had clung rather hard to her husband’s arm throughout the torture, and he looked down at her with deep creases in his forehead.

  “Please take good care of yourself,” he murmured as he opened the doors for her. “You know I shall worry until you return home. Perhaps I should come with you? I’m sure Phoebe and Madeline won’t mind if I join you all.”

  Cecily uttered a light laugh. “Of course they would mind! They adore you, darling, as I do, but this is a ladies-only outing, which unfortunately we don’t manage to enjoy too often. Madeline has her daughter and her herbal cures to take care of, Phoebe has the colonel and all her pursuits to keep her busy, and I have my duties here so—”

  Baxter held up his hand. “Enough! I know when I’m beaten.”

  He led her down the steps, and again she had to do her best to ignore the stabs of pain.

  The moment Henry caught sight of them, he jumped down from the box and opened the carriage door for her.

  Turning to her husband, Cecily offered her face up for his kiss.

  He touched her cheek with his lips and squeezed her gloved hand. “Enjoy your ladies-only outing.”

  “I shall.” She smiled up at him. “I shall enjoy returning to you even more.”

  That seemed to appease him, and he actually smiled back at her before handing her up into the carriage. Henry closed the door as she seated herself, and as the carriage pulled away from the curb, the last thing she saw was Baxter’s face, once more creased in worry as he watched them leave.

  Finally alone, she stretched out her leg and allowed herself a soft groan. The effort to hide the discomfort had left her feeling somewhat deflated. She needed this outing to restore her energy and incentive to continue this investigation.

  The moment she entered the tea shop minutes later, she felt her resolve seeping back. Just the smell of freshly baked pastries was enough to stir the juices, and the sight of the roaring fire crackling in the brick fireplace warmed her throughout.

  Dolly and her assistants had decorated the entire room. Brightly colored garlands and paper chains looped over the copper kettles, brass urns, and china teapots hanging from the rafters, while wreaths of fir filled the windows. On each table, sprigs of holly sat in silver vases, their red berries glowing above the crisp white tablecloths.

  In one corner by the fireplace, a small fir tree nestled in a bright red container, its branches bowing beneath the weight of gleaming colored balls and bells, silver stars, and an assortment of figures of Father Christmas, reindeer, and carol singers.

  In the corner, by the window, two women sat across from each other, holding what appeared to be a rather stilted conversation. Smiling, Cecily made her way over to them.

  They looked up as she reached them. Phoebe spoke first, gushing as usual as she greeted her friend. “We were just wondering if something was holding you up,” she said with a sly look at Madeline.

  The other woman shook her head. “We well understand how busy you are this time of year. We’re just happy you could join us.”

  “Of course.” Phoebe looked put out, as if Madeline’s comment was a jibe at her.

  There had always been a certain amount of tension between Cecily’s two best friends. Phoebe didn’t approve of Madeline’s casual attire, or the way she allowed her hair to fall loose about her shoulders, or her healing powers with herbs, or her unsettling ability to foretell the future.

  Madeline, by the same token, considered Phoebe too concerned about appearances, a confirmed elitist, and far too emotional for her own good.

  In spite of all that, Cecily knew quite well that they would defend and protect each other to the death if need be. Which was why she adored them both.

  Seating herself on the empty chair, she let out a sigh of relief. Even those few steps from the carriage had tested her stamina.

  Madeline, as always, was quick to detect something amiss. “You are looking a little pale, Cecily. You must be feeling the effects from your mishap yesterday.”

  Phoebe uttered a murmur of concern. “You’re not ill, are you?”

  Guessing that Kevin had told his wife about his visit to the Pennyfoot the night before, Cecily managed a light laugh. “No, Phoebe, I am quite well, thank you. I tripped on the stairs last night, but thankfully no real damage was done.”

  Phoebe’s eyes, as always, were overshadowed by the brim of her hat, but Cecily could tell she was staring at her with a keen curiosity. “How awful for you, but I’m glad you escaped injury. You certainly don’t need any more disasters, what with this dreadful business of your murdered guest and the arrest of your housemaid. Not that you’re not accustomed to chasing after murderers. I declare, I don’t understand why you put yourself in harm’s way so many times. One would think that once would be far too much. Really, I—”

  Cecily had tried throughout Phoebe’s outburst to discreetly hush the woman, to no avail. It was Madeline who mercifully put an end to the flood of words.

  “Phoebe!” Madeline reached for a scone and held it out to her. “Put this in your mouth this second and stop squawking about things that are best kept quiet.”

  Phoebe sputtered into silence, stared at the scone, then said in a tone as brittle as ice, “If you think that I’m going to touch that after you’ve mauled it about in your fingers, you are badly mistaken. I don’t know why on earth you can’t wear gloves, like the rest of us.”

  Madeline shrugged. “Fingers are easier to wash than gloves.” She took a bite from the scone before dropping it on her plate.

  Cecily sent her a glance of gratitude, then turned to Phoebe. “We would rather not broadcast the unfortunate incident, Phoebe. We don’t want the reputation of the hotel to suffer.”

  “I shouldn’t have said anything about it to her,” Madeline murmured. “Kevin told me, of course, but I should have known better than to pass it along to someone who can’t keep her mouth closed. I only mentioned it as a possible reason for you arriving late.”

  Phoebe
raised her chin high enough to reveal her eyes and glared at Madeline. “You didn’t say it was supposed to be a secret. After all, it’s not the first time it’s happened.”

  Cecily cleared her throat. “I would very much prefer that we change the subject.”

  Madeline sent a long look around the room. “Thankfully, everyone seems too involved in their own conversations to pay attention to what Miss Chatterbox is saying.”

  Cecily quickly intervened as Phoebe began to protest. “Well, Phoebe,” she said firmly, “tell us how the pantomime rehearsals are moving along. How is Archie managing the set? How does your dance group like performing Aladdin?”

  To her relief, Phoebe snatched at the opportunity to gush about her Christmas presentation. As she listened with one ear to her friend’s animated account of the mishaps of her wayward dancers, Cecily’s thoughts kept wandering off to the question uppermost in her mind.

  Who had reason to kill Lord Farthingale? There were a lot more questions to be answered before she could come close to the truth and rescue her housemaid, and time was running out. Any day now Inspector Cranshaw would arrive on the scene and begin his investigation. Once that happened, her hands would be severely tied. She had to find out more about Mazie’s part in the mystery. Even if she hadn’t been responsible for the death of Lord Farthingale, she could well be involved in some way.

  “Don’t you agree, Cecily?”

  Phoebe’s voice held a tinge of irritation, and Cecily forced her mind back to the conversation at the table. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I was a little preoccupied. What were you saying?”

  Phoebe tapped her fingers on her handbag—a sure sign she was annoyed. “Really, Cecily, if we can make the effort to meet you here, you can at least pay attention to what we say.”