A Merry Murder Read online

  On the other hand, if Sir Clarence was innocent of the crime, he would likely be so angered by Sam’s questioning, he could very well be unresponsive to any of her questions.

  No, better that she keep her thoughts to herself for the time being. Her quest to solve this case, however, had just become crucial. Obviously, the villain had no qualms about disposing of anyone who posed a threat. She had better uncover the perpetrator before he had a chance to kill again.

  CHAPTER

  14

  Pulling herself together, Cecily focused on the constable. “I’m sorry, Sam, I didn’t quite hear what you said.”

  Northcott raised his voice. “I said, I hope this isn’t a sign of things to come. We don’t need that kind of riffraff in Badgers End. No, sir.” He shook his head with such a vehemence, Cecily would have smiled had it not been for the direness of the situation. It was obvious Sam did not relish the idea of having to work harder to enforce the law.

  “Well, let us hope this is an isolated incident. Can you tell me any more details?”

  He gave her a suspicious look. “You are not going to interfere, are you, Mrs. B? You know I can’t have that. Inspector Cranshaw would have my hide if I allowed you to poke into our business again.”

  Cecily opened her eyes wide in feigned innocence. “Why, Sam! You know I would never do anything to get you into trouble. Especially with Inspector Cranshaw. I was just curious, that’s all. After all, I spoke to the poor woman just hours before she died. I would like to know how it happened.”

  A long pause followed, during which the constable was apparently torn between betraying his superior and boasting about what he knew. Finally, his ego won. “All we know is that it was a robbery that got out of hand. Lady Farthingale’s handbag was found beside her body. Emptied out, of course. There was a hole torn in her coat lapel, like someone had ripped her jewelry right off her clothes. She was stabbed more than once, and the doctor believes she bled to death before someone found her and reported it to us.” He sighed, staring down at his hands. “I can’t believe it ’appened right here in Badgers End. I shall have to send Albert out to patrol the blooming streets until the Christmas shopping season is over. I might even have to do a spot of patrolling myself once the inspector gets wind of it.”

  Cecily gave him a sharp look. “You haven’t reported it to him yet?”

  The constable fidgeted on his chair. “Not exactly. He’s on an important case and I didn’t want to disturb him until he’s finished with it.”

  “More important than two murders in less than a week?”

  “Well. I did tell him about the first one, and that I had the suspect in custody.” He looked defiant when he raised his chin. “This one seemed cut and dried, so I don’t see any sense in bothering him now.”

  What he didn’t want, Cecily reflected, was for Cranshaw to come roaring back to town and ruining Sam’s Christmas. Nevertheless, she was happy to know she wouldn’t have to deal with the crusty inspector for now. Hopefully, by the time he arrived in town, she would have solved these crimes and wouldn’t have to be involved with him at all.

  * * *

  • • •

  Charlie lifted the neck collar and eased it carefully over Majesty’s head. The horse shifted impatiently, as if eager to be out in the fresh air and on the road. In the stall next to Charlie, Champion snorted and stamped his feet, making Charlie smile. “It’ll be your turn later,” he told the horse, then turned back to fasten Majesty’s collar.

  Just then, Henry’s quiet voice spoke from behind him. “I’m done with Lord Melton’s motorcar. What do you want me to do next?”

  What he wanted the lad to do, Charlie thought viciously, was to get out of his life and stop tormenting him. A second later he was contradicting himself. He’d miss the boy. That thought did nothing to improve his temper. Without turning around, he answered, “You should probably take a look at Sir James’s car. It hasn’t been out since he’s been here. It’s the black and gray one at the end of the row. Just get it started up to make sure it’s still running all right.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Charlie waited until Henry’s footsteps had faded before letting out his breath. He’d been awake half the night wondering how he could ask Henry about his big secret. He wasn’t sure why it mattered so much to him, but he knew he couldn’t rest until he learned what all the mystery was about.

  After all, he’d told himself, he and Henry worked closely together, taking care of the entire transportation services for the Pennyfoot Hotel. It was important to have each other’s trust and confidence in each other. He could have neither if all the time he was wondering what it was his assistant was keeping from him.

  Knowing Henry, demanding answers from him would only result in tearful denials. Politely asking wasn’t likely to produce anything, either. The problem was, Charlie thought he knew what the secret was, and could understand why Henry didn’t want to admit it.

  If he were honest with himself, he’d rather not know that Henry walked on a different side of the road. Still, it was his duty to know everything there was to know about his assistant, and if Henry was a queer, then as his boss, Charlie wanted to know.

  One way or another, he would have to make Lilly tell him what he had long suspected. Only then could he make up his mind how he wanted to deal with it.

  * * *

  • • •

  Long after P.C. Northcott had departed for the kitchen, Cecily sat at her desk, going over in her mind the constable’s account of Lady Farthingale’s murder. She didn’t believe for one second that it was a random attack by a street robber. Someone wanted to silence the widow. What was it Lady Farthingale knew that was so incriminating, it caused her to lose her life?

  It seemed highly possible that it had something to do with the lucrative business deal her husband had bragged about.

  Cecily stared at the window, and the patch of gray sky beyond. If she could find out what the business deal was and who it was with, she might be a lot closer to finding the killer. It seemed obvious that Sir Clarence Oakes was involved, since he had visited the dowager the day before.

  Then again, there was that contentious exchange with Edwin Coombs, which could have been about more than an accusation of cheating. Maybe it was time to confront Mr. Coombs again.

  She was just about to get up when she heard a tap on the door.

  It opened immediately and Phoebe’s face appeared, pink-cheeked beneath her enormous hat. “Cecily, dear,” she sang out, “may I come in?”

  Since she had already sailed into the room as she was speaking, Cecily didn’t bother to give her permission. “Good afternoon, Phoebe. I trust the rehearsals are going well?”

  “They are progressing spendidly.” Phoebe plopped herself down on a chair and brushed a hand across her blue velvet skirt. “I was just on my way to the dining room for a spot of lunch, and I thought I’d pop in and see how things are with you.”

  Phoebe never simply “popped in” without good reason, but Cecily knew better than to ask. Her friend would say what was on her mind when she was ready, and not before. “Things are very well, thank you. The last of the guests have arrived for Christmas, and we are full to capacity.”

  “Good. I’m glad to hear it.” Phoebe nodded, sending the blossoms on her hat dancing.

  “I saw the set that Archie built for you. Most impressive. I hope you complimented him on it.”

  Phoebe beamed. “I did, of course. He created a miracle. I don’t ever remember having such a beautiful and intricate set in my entire years of producing presentations. I am quite convinced that this year’s pantomime will be the best ever.”

  Cecily hid a shudder, trying not to picture all the disasters of the years before. “I have no doubt. We are lucky to have such a talented maintenance man.”

  “And so accommodating! The man is a gem.” Phoebe’s hand
fluttered in the air. “He is quite the gentleman, too. His manners are impeccable.” Her expression sobered. “Though the footman helping him, er . . . I don’t remember his name. . . .”

  “Wally,” Cecily reminded her.

  “Oh, yes, of course. Wally. Anyway, he told me that Archie has quite a temper. Apparently, he saw him arguing with a gentleman, and he was quite volatile, from what I understand. I found that a little hard to believe. Archie has always been polite and helpful, though I must admit, he did balk quite vehemently at playing Widow Twankey.”

  Cecily frowned. “This argument with a gentleman happened here in the hotel?”

  “I believe so, yes.”

  “Did Wally happen to mention the name of the other gentleman?”

  “No, he did not.” Phoebe frowned. “This isn’t going to get Archie into trouble, is it? I wouldn’t have said anything if I’d thought it would cause a problem.”

  Cecily quickly reassured her. “No, not at all. I was merely curious, that’s all.”

  “Well, good.” Phoebe folded her hands in her lap. “Anyway, as long as I’m here, perhaps I could ask a favor. I’m going to need some props for the cave scenes. I was wondering if you had some costume jewelry I could borrow. Madeline has been kind enough to lend me some of hers, but I could use some more to make a decent display.”

  “Of course. I’ll sort some out this afternoon and have one of the maids bring it to the ballroom.”

  “Thank you, Cecily dear. I knew I could count on you.” Phoebe rose, smoothing down her skirt again. “Now I must be off. There is still tons to do, and I need some sustenance before I continue. Freddie is in the bar, of course. I shall have to drag him out so that he can eat with me. That man would go all day without feeding himself if I wasn’t there to take care of him.”

  With an airy wave of her hand, she swept out the door and closed it quietly behind her.

  Cecily sat for a long moment staring at the closed door, Phoebe’s words still resounding in her ears. He saw him arguing with a gentleman, and he was quite volatile. That didn’t sound like the Archie she knew.

  Making up her mind, she got up and swiftly left the room. She needed to have a word with her maintenance man while Phoebe was enjoying her lunch. Hopefully the dance troupe would be making the most of their lunch hour, and with any luck, she’d catch Archie alone, working on the set.

  Much to her disappointment, when she entered the ballroom, the maintenance man was nowhere to be seen. He was most likely down in the kitchen sampling Michel’s cooking. Her talk with him would have to wait.

  Feeling decidedly unsettled, she went in search of Edwin Coombs.

  She eventually found him in the library, seated by the window, his nose deep in a book. A group of guests was seated in front of the fireplace, exchanging jokes and laughing uproariously.

  Madeline had decorated the mantel with boughs of holly and fir. Sparkling red and gold balls nestled inside the dark green foliage, accompanied by white lace angels and gold and silver miniature crowns. The centerpiece was a thick red candle, draped in red and gold ribbons.

  In spite of the glorious Christmas tree in the lobby, and the more modest tree in the library, Cecily considered this room’s fireplace to be the most impressive display in the hotel. As she passed by the group, she recognized a couple who had stayed at the hotel on earlier occasions, and exchanged polite nods with them before walking over to Edwin Coombs’s chair.

  “I see you are enjoying the adventures of Sherlock Holmes,” she said as she paused in front of him.

  Edwin looked up, smiling when he recognized her. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Baxter.” He politely rose to his feet and held up the book. “Jolly good story. This Doyle chap is an excellent writer.”

  “He is, indeed.” She glanced over at the fireside group, assuring herself that they were all focused on one another. Turning back to the gentleman at her side, she said quietly, “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but I understand Lord Farthingale was involved in a lucrative business deal, which was the reason for his presence here in Badgers End. I was wondering if perhaps you were involved and, if so, if you would mind telling me what the deal was all about.”

  As she’d been talking, Edwin’s eyes had been gradually narrowing until they were mere slits. “As I believe I have already told you, Mrs. Baxter, I was not familiar with the gentleman, other than at the card tables the other night, where I met him for the first time. I know nothing of a business deal. If I were you, I would ask Sir Clarence Oakes to enlighten you, since he was deep in conversation with Farthingale on more than one occasion.”

  Cecily stared at him for a moment, then smiled. “I shan’t bother you any longer, Mr. Coombs. Enjoy the book. I do believe we have another Sherlock Holmes mystery on the shelves. Feel free to borrow it if you like.”

  With that, she turned and hurried out of the library. She had some deep thinking to do, and her office was the only place she wanted to be.

  Once inside the room, she closed the door and sat down at her desk. It seemed that whichever way she turned, all roads led to Sir Clarence Oakes. When she had first asked him about Lord Farthingale, he had professed not to know him, yet according to Edwin Coombs, the aristocrat had engaged in several conversations with the victim.

  It seemed almost certain that Lord Farthingale’s business deal had something to do with Sir Clarence.

  Then there was the matter of the scarf. How did Sir Clarence learn about that? Had he heard it from the grapevine, as Edwin Coombs had suggested? Or had he known about it from the start, because he had placed it around the man’s neck himself?

  What was the purpose of his visit to Lady Farthingale? If he’d intended to murder her, why hadn’t he done so while he was at her hotel? Why wait until the next day?

  Unless he was worried he’d be recognized as being at the scene of the crime.

  Cecily absently turned the pages of her ledger. What if her suspicions were wrong, and Lady Farthingale’s death was, as Sam had surmised, a simple matter of a street crime?

  No, it was too much of a coincidence. She was convinced that Lord and Lady Farthingale’s deaths were connected somehow to Sir Clarence Oakes. Now she had to prove it.

  Thinking about the austere gentleman, she found it difficult to imagine him going to all the trouble of writing a note to lure his victim to the laundry room in order to kill him. She could more easily visualize Sir Clarence waylaying Percy outside somewhere and making the deed simple and quick.

  On the other hand, if Sir Clarence was the killer, he could simply have engineered the meeting in the laundry room in an attempt to settle whatever the mysterious business matter was about. She had no doubt that, once provoked, the man would be swift to retaliate. Perhaps the meeting didn’t go the way he’d hoped and he’d lost his temper, snatching up the nearest weapon and striking his victim in a fit of rage.

  But then why attack Lady Farthingale? Unless she suspected that he had killed her husband and threatened to expose him. That would give the gentleman a motive to be rid of her.

  Cecily withdrew her pen from its stand, though she made no move to dip it in the inkwell. What she really needed to know, she told herself, was the nature of the business deal. It was highly unlikely that Sir Clarence would enlighten her. Her only hope at this point was to approach Lady Oakes. Surely she would know of any significant transactions in which her husband was involved.

  Making up her mind, Cecily replaced her pen and rose from her chair. Somehow, she had to find a way to speak to Lady Oakes alone. The likeliest time was that evening. The guests had been invited to meet in the library in order to enjoy carol singing around the Christmas tree. Hopefully, Sir Clarence would prefer to play cards, and she would have a chance to approach Lady Oakes.

  Meanwhile, she would have another stern word with Philip about passing along secrets to people who had no right to hear them.


  * * *

  • • •

  Once more Charlie had to sweat through another long day before he had a chance to talk to Lilly. The last of the guests were arriving at the Pennyfoot, and he was kept busy ferrying them from the station to the hotel, hauling heavy trunks, bags, and hat boxes up the steps, then going back for more visitors and doing it all over again.

  Then he had to unharness, groom, and feed the horses. Henry did his share, but he was better with cars than with horses, and Charlie did most of the work. Not that he minded that. He loved his job, working with the horses. They were his friends, and he looked forward to greeting them every morning.

  His greatest reward was when one of them gave him a friendly nudge on the back, or snuffled his ear when he was putting on the harness. That sign of affection could keep him warm all day.

  Nevertheless, he had to admit, he was ready to take a break when he closed the last gate on the stalls and walked over to the water pail to wash his hands and face.

  Henry had already left, and after calling out to his charges a cheerful “Good night! Sleep tight!” Charlie closed the stable doors and headed across the courtyard to the kitchen.

  To his dismay, as he drew close to the building, he spotted the milk churns already out on the doorstep. He’d missed Lilly. Now he’d either have to wait another day, or try to get her alone somewhere in the hotel—an almost impossible chance of that.

  Shrugging, he walked toward the door, trying to work out just how he was going to confront the girl alone. He was still a few steps away when the door suddenly opened, spilling light across the paved ground.

  Charlie halted, hope beginning to spring anew. To his immense delight, Lilly appeared in the doorway, a coal bucket in each hand. Hoping she hadn’t seen him, he ducked out of sight behind a rain barrel.

  Apparently Lilly had missed seeing him in the dark, as she walked briskly toward the coal shed. Reaching the door, she set the buckets down, opened the door, and stretched out her hand for the oil lamp that hung just inside on the wall.