Mistletoe and Mayhem Page 2

  Even when her chief housemaid, Gertie, charged into the kitchen with her usual lack of grace and decorum, cap askew and strands of dark hair flying, Mrs. Chubb resisted the temptation to scold her and made do with a loud sigh instead. “One of these days, Gertie, my girl, you’ll rush in here like that and do some real damage. Then you’ll be sorry, mark my words.”

  Gertie grinned. “Sorry, Chubby. I was in a hurry. Pansy forgot to bring the shakers up to the dining room.” She rushed over to the dresser and grabbed up the tray of silver salt and pepper shakers. “She’ll forget her bloody head one day, that girl.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you? Don’t call me Chubby.” The housekeeper wagged a finger at her unrepentant maid. “I don’t know what you and Pansy get up to in that dining room, but you were both supposed to be back here half an hour ago. Michel will be in any minute and you know he throws a fit if his potatoes aren’t peeled.”

  Gertie wrinkled her nose. “Michel throws a bleeding fit over nothing. All that crashing and banging around gives me a headache. You’d think he was the king of England instead of a blinking chef. I don’t know why madam ever hired him. He’s nothing but a big baby with a bad temper.”

  “Gertie Brown McBride!” Mrs. Chubb dug her fists into her ample hips. “Hold your tongue! Calling people such names, indeed.”

  “All right, all right. Keep your bloomin’ hair on.” Gertie stomped over to the door with the tray. “I’ve got to get back to the dining room with the shakers, or we’ll never have the tables ready for the welcome banquet.”

  Mrs. Chubb held up her hand. “Just a minute! As soon as you’ve finished up there, tell Pansy she’s to boil up some water for hot water bottles.”

  Gertie raised her eyebrows. “We already aired all the beds.”

  “Yes, well, one of them’s soaking wet, so we’re going to need hot water bottles and warming pans to get it dry.”

  “Someone wet the bed? How could they? We haven’t had any guests until this afternoon.” Gertie widened her eyes. “It weren’t Mr. Baxter, was it?”

  All of Mrs. Chubb’s patience evaporated. It was one thing to insult the chef, but to cast aspersions on madam’s husband was something she simply would not tolerate. Raising her voice, she barked, “No, it wasn’t Mr. Baxter! It was a leak in the roof. Get up there right now so you can both get back here and get that water boiled and the warming pans filled with coals.”

  “All right, all right. I’m going.” Gertie bashed the door open with her knee and disappeared, though she could be heard muttering to herself all the way down the corridor.

  Letting out her breath, Mrs. Chubb turned to Ellie, who had been cowering in the pantry throughout the exchange. “What are you doing in there? Come on out here. I need you to get the hot water bottles and warming pans from the laundry cupboard. Right this minute.”

  Ellie scurried to the door and pushed it open. “Yes, Mrs. Chubb. Right away, Mrs. Chubb.”

  The housekeeper watched the door swing to, behind her. If only Gertie and Pansy were half as obedient and respectful. This new maid was such a polite little thing. Maybe a bit too jumpy and nervous at times, but always willing to please. With that flaxen hair and blue eyes, at times she looked like a little angel.

  Mrs. Chubb’s lips twitched. There was no possible way Gertie could ever look like an angel. Not only was she as dark haired and dark eyed as the devil, she had the build and constitution of a bull. And every bit as stubborn.

  Still, she had to admit, the Pennyfoot would be a dull place without Gertie McBride and her runaway tongue. Not that working in the club was ever dull. Especially at Christmastime. Her stomach gave a little flip. No, not this year. This year there would be no nasty business. This year was going to be different. She’d bet her best bonnet on it.

  CHAPTER 2

  Upstairs in the dining room, Gertie dumped the tray of condiment sets onto a white-clothed table. Madeline Prestwick had decorated the walls with colorful paper chains and fluffy white cotton balls that made it look like it was snowing.

  Hanging from the ceiling were green and red paper balls that twirled every time someone walked beneath them. Gertie thought the balls were a bit gaudy, but who was she to say. Mrs. Prestwick had been decorating the Pennyfoot for Christmas ever since Gertie had worked there, and every year people would praise her handiwork. As far as madam was concerned, Mrs. Prestwick could do no wrong.

  On the other side of the room, a young girl stood by the tall, narrow windows, gazing out onto the bowling greens. At the sound of the shakers rattling, she spun around.

  “You made me jump! I didn’t hear you come in.”

  Gertie frowned. No matter how little she ate, she’d never be as skinny as Pansy. She tried not to let it bother her, but she couldn’t help a little twinge of envy every time she looked at the slender maid. “What the blinking heck are you doing, standing there in a trance? You were supposed to have all the serviettes in their rings by now.” Gertie snatched up a silver embossed ring and waved it at her. “Does this look like it’s got a bloody serviette in it?”

  Pansy shrugged and wandered back to the tables. “Sorry. I was thinking about something.”

  “Not still mooning over that Samuel, are you?” Gertie placed a salt and pepper shaker in the middle of the lace tablecloth, then moved on to the next table. When Pansy didn’t answer right away, Gertie looked up, searching her friend’s face. “What’s he gone and done now?”

  Pansy’s face puckered up, as if she was about to cry. “I think he fancies Ellie.”

  Gertie laughed. “What, that little twerp? Our Samuel wouldn’t look at her twice. You know him, he’d rather be doing his job looking after the horses and motorcars than chasing after a bit of fluff like Ellie. Besides, I happen to know she’s sweet on one of the footmen.”

  Pansy brightened. “Which one?”

  “Charlie, the dark-haired one with a mustache.”

  “Oh, the nice-looking one. How do you know?”

  “I saw them kissing under the kissing bough.”

  Pansy squealed. “Ooh, go on! I love that kissing bough. Mrs. Prestwick is so clever. She always has something different every Christmas, and this is the best one yet. I’m hoping to get Samuel under there to kiss me.”

  Gertie snorted. “I can think of better places to kiss someone.”

  “Who cares where it is as long as it happens.”

  “Well, obviously Ellie didn’t seem to mind when she kissed Charlie.” Gertie studied a salt shaker for a moment, then polished it with the corner of her apron. “Mrs. Chubb may think Ellie’s all pure and innocent, but I could tell her a thing or two.”

  Obviously enthralled, Pansy’s eyes widened. “Like what? Do tell me!”

  Gertie shrugged. “I heard her this morning shouting at Stan Whittle.”

  “The coal man? I heard her, too, but I couldn’t tell what she was saying. What was she shouting at him for?”

  “I dunno, but she sounded really, really angry. I tell you, she was using words I never heard of, and I thought I knew ’em all.”

  “Go on! What did she say then?”

  “I wouldn’t repeat what she said to no one. Chubby thinks she’s such a goody-goody, but she don’t know her. Chubby told me Ellie used to work in London, but she didn’t like living in the city, so she came home to Badgers End. I reckon she learned a lot about men while she was up there. Them city girls are too bloody bold for their own good.”

  “She certainly likes to lead Samuel on.” Pansy poked a serviette through a ring with a little more force than needed. “She was laughing and giggling and carrying on something awful.”

  “Ah, but was Samuel laughing with her?”

  Pansy shrugged. “I didn’t stay around long enough to find out.”

  “That’s where you made your mistake.” Gertie sighed and moved on to the next table. “Like me. I think I must be getting old.”

  Pansy laughed. “How can you be old when you’re not yet thirty?”<
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  “I feel old.” She straightened a place setting on the table, then placed the shakers above it. “I’ve been seeing Dan forever, it seems, and yet he still hasn’t asked me to marry him.”

  “He will. Some blokes like to take their time with things like that.”

  Gertie pulled a face. “Some blokes don’t want to get tied down, neither. Can’t say as I blame him, what with me having the twins and all. They can be a bit of a handful.”

  “Well, they’re with their nanny in London right now, aren’t they?”

  Gertie nodded. “Daisy took them up there to see her sister, Doris, perform in a pantomime. They’ll be staying with Doris until they come back Christmas Eve.”

  Pansy grinned. “Well, now’s your chance. You got some free time on your hands. Make the most of it. Go romancing with your Dan and make him propose.”

  “It’s all right for you.” Gertie stomped over to the next table. “You’re skinny and pretty and not yet twenty-one. I’m big and clumsy and the mother of twins. What chance do I have of getting a man to marry me?”

  “Go on with you. Any man would be lucky to have you for a wife. You’re funny and clever and you like taking care of people. A man likes that in a woman.”

  Gertie had to smile. “You want to tell Dan that?”

  “I will. The very next time he comes over.”

  If he comes over, Gertie thought, as she carried the empty tray back to the dresser. He’d been making excuses lately, and it worried her. Everything seemed to bother her lately. Maybe she was just missing the twins. Or maybe she was seeing her chances of getting married again slipping away.

  “Come on, cheer up,” Pansy said behind her. “It’s Christmas. Where’s your Christmas spirit?”

  “In London with my twins,” Gertie muttered. “I’ll be glad when this one is over.”

  “Well, let’s at least hope we don’t get clobbered with the Christmas curse again.”

  Gertie swung around. “Shshh! You know we’re not supposed to say anything about that.”

  Pansy grinned. “There’s no one here to hear me, except you.”

  “Yeah, well.” Feeling a cold tingle down her back, Gertie glanced around. “Just mentioning it is bad luck. So just keep your trap shut. We don’t want no more horrible things happening around here, do we. Now, let’s get these tables finished before Chubby comes up here with her rolling pin.”

  Gazing around the dining room later, Cecily felt a little rush of warm pleasure. The festivities had begun, and she could feel the anticipation in the room. The ladies were simply enchanting in gorgeous evening gowns, while the gentlemen in their black frock coats and white bow ties added to the elegance of the scene.

  Even the maids looked resplendent in black dresses and frothy lace aprons, as they hurried back and forth bearing silver platters of food. In the corner of the room a string quartet played discreet melodies, barely heard above the chatter and laughter of the guests.

  Leaning back in her chair, Cecily uttered a satisfied sigh. It was worth all the hard work and headaches. Madeline had achieved miracles as usual with her deft hand and eye for color.

  The room positively sparkled with bright red ribbons and glittering silver balls dangling from the ceiling on silver cords. The sprays of holly and mistletoe on the tables were a nice touch, and so indicative of Madeline’s many talents.

  “You’re looking well pleased with yourself this evening, my dear.”

  Her thoughts interrupted by her husband, Cecily smiled at him. “I was just thinking how elegant everyone looks tonight. I do love the welcoming banquet. Most of the work is done and we have all the merrymaking still to come. There’s so much to look forward to-the ball, the carol singing on Christmas Eve, the pantomime-”

  Her words were cut off by her husband’s groan. “Don’t remind me. I suppose we have to put up with the daffy Phoebe Fortescue and her even more feebleminded husband.”

  “Phoebe Carter-Holmes Fortescue would not appreciate being referred to as daffy. You know how protective she is of her image.”

  “To the point of being ridiculous. Whatever possessed her to marry that addle-brained colonel I’ll never know.”

  Just like Madeline, Phoebe was one of Cecily’s best friends. She would not allow such disparagement, especially from her husband. “Colonel Fortescue is a kind and generous man who adores Phoebe. It’s not his fault that his mind has been somewhat… ah… disturbed by his military service in the Boer War.”

  Baxter uttered a short laugh. “Disturbed? The man is a positive lunatic. How many times have we had to restrain him from attacking the grandfather clock in the foyer with his imaginary sword?”

  “I have to admit, he can be tiresome at times. Phoebe, however, seems perfectly happy with him and that’s all that matters.”

  “Happy? Grateful, is more like it. After all, she was thrown out onto the street after her first husband died. She and that timid son of hers. She was lucky to have someone rescue them from abject poverty.”

  Cecily stirred uneasily on her chair. Madeline had once told her that Phoebe’s son, Algie, bore a rather inappropriate liking for men’s company, a fact which Cecily had not shared with her husband.

  Baxter was intolerant of anything considered improper, and no doubt would avoid all contact with the man. Since Algie was the vicar of Badgers End, and conducted services at St. Bartholomew’s, Cecily was not about to risk being barred from attending the church, or being forced to worship alone.

  “Perhaps so,” she said, with just a hint of reproach, “but since their marriage seems to be working very well, I see no point in berating them.” She studied her husband’s face. “You’re doing it again.”

  “Doing what?”

  “You know full well to what I’m referring.”

  Baxter’s stern features relaxed, and he gave her a rueful smile. “So I am, my dear. I deeply apologize. How may I make it up to you?”

  “You can tell me what is troubling you so. It has to be more than a mere picture in a newspaper.”

  As an answer, he stretched out his hand and patted hers. “Nothing more than that, I assure you. Now finish your pheasant before it grows cold.”

  She searched his face for a moment or two before picking up her knife and fork. He could deny it all he liked, but she knew her husband. Something was distressing him, and the very fact he wanted to hide it from her told her it was significant. She would not rest comfortably now until she knew exactly what had drawn those furrows on Baxter’s brow.

  Down in the kitchen, Pansy groaned as she lifted a tray full of dirty dishes from the dumbwaiter. It was the job she disliked the most. The maids piled the trays so high she could hardly lift them, much less carry them across the kitchen to the sink.

  She lived in fear that something would fall off the tray and she would have to pay through the nose to replace it. In order to avoid that at all costs, she edged across the tiled floor one step at a time, holding her breath. That usually aroused the ire of Mrs. Chubb, however, who invariably yelled at her, making her jump, putting the dishes in even more peril.

  She had almost reached the sink when the dreaded protest bellowed out behind her. “For pity’s sake, Pansy! Get a move on with those dishes. You’re taking all day!”

  Although she’d braced herself for the housekeeper’s explosion, Pansy was helpless to prevent the violent jerk of her body. The dishes rattled, and a precious cup wobbled back and forth at an alarming angle.

  In a desperate bid to save it, Pansy lunged forward the last two steps and smacked the tray down on the counter. The cup leapt from the tray and landed on the floor with an almighty crash.

  Michel swung around from the stove, his tall chef’s cap bobbing up and down. “Sacre bleu! What a clumsy oaf you are! You make me spill ze gravy all over the stove. Now you clean it up, oui?”

  Pansy promptly burst into tears.

  Muttering under her breath, Mrs. Chubb hurried over to her and patted her shoulder. “There, the
re, no need to carry on. Just pick up the pieces.” She glared at Michel. “And you can clean up your own stove. You know full well she didn’t do it on purpose.”

  “She never do it on purpose,” Michel roared. “She is clumsy, that one. Clumsy like an elephant.” He slammed a saucepan lid down hard on the stove, making Pansy cry even louder.

  “Now look what you’ve done.” The housekeeper fished a large white handkerchief out of her apron pocket and handed it to Pansy. “Come now, child, blow your nose. It’s not the end of the world.”

  It might just as well be, Pansy thought, as she obligingly trumpeted into the handkerchief. What with Samuel paying her no attention and the new maid flapping her eyelids all the time at him, this was going to be a miserable Christmas.

  “Here.” Mrs. Chubb took the handkerchief from her and tucked it back in her pocket. “I’ll pick up this mess. You can take the tray up to Mr. Mortimer. He’s requested his meal in his room tonight.” She pointed at the tray on the kitchen table.

  Pansy wrinkled her nose at the steaming bowl of soup and two thick slices of bread. Sitting next to it was a plate of fried roes with beans on toast, and another dish piled high with carrots, peas, and a large slice of steak and kidney pie smothered in gravy.

  “I’ve already sent up a bottle of sherry and a decanter of brandy, so ask the gentleman if he would like a cup of tea and we’ll take it up later.”

  Pansy went on looking at the tray. All that food smelled all right but she didn’t have one teeny bit of appetite to enjoy it. The thought of eating just made her feel sick.

  “Well go on, girl! Don’t stand there gaping at it. Take it up to room nine.”

  Her thoughts shattered, Pansy leapt for the table, bumping her hip against it as she reached for the tray. “Ow… that hurt!”