A Merry Murder Page 22

  She’d spent hours sewing all those sequins and gold braid onto it, and she had to admit, the result was spectacular. Her Aladdin was going to sparkle and shine in the footlights.

  Phoebe felt a surge of excitement at the thought. She had the most incredible sets she’d ever had, the costumes looked magnificent, and everyone knew their lines. This performance was going to be a roaring success and she couldn’t be happier.

  Her elation subsided a little when she noticed her Widow Twankey in the corner. True, Rachel was rather plump to begin with, but Phoebe had ordered her to pad her costume to make her look even more portly. Obviously, the girl had not understood, as her costume hung loose on her.

  Phoebe marched over to her, prompting a look of dismay on the girl’s face. “Where is your padding? I specifically told you to tuck pillows under your clothes.”

  Tears appeared in Rachel’s eyes. “They made me look enormous, so I took them out.”

  “You are supposed to look enormous,” Phoebe snapped, ignoring the tears. “Put those pillows back at once. They are right over there, on that table.” She stood there, waiting with arms crossed, until the sniffling performer had bulges all over her body. “That’s better.”

  She turned away, wishing fervently that she had been able to persuade Archie to play the widow. That would have been quite a triumph. Widow Twankey was always played by a man in Aladdin on the London stage. Having a girl play the part was the only flaw in an otherwise perfect presentation.

  Brushing off her irritation, she called out to the group. “It’s almost time to take your places. Do your best, everyone, and here’s to another memorable performance at the Pennyfoot Hotel.”

  She thought she heard someone mutter, “It’ll be bloody memorable all right,” as she rushed out the door, but she decided to disregard it. It was curtain time, and she couldn’t wait to see and hear the audience’s approval when they caught their first glimpse of the amazing sets.

  Meanwhile, seated close to the back row, Cecily cast a glance over the audience. She couldn’t spot Sir Clarence and Lady Oakes anywhere, and she grew anxious wondering if perhaps they had decided to forgo the performance. If so, then her plan would have to be revised.

  Baxter had yet to join her, but then he always waited until the very last minute. She spotted Madeline and Kevin in the second row. They had their heads together, seemingly in earnest conversation. Madeline, as usual, allowed her dark hair to flow freely about her shoulders. She had tucked sprigs of holly and mistletoe behind her ear, which on anyone else would have looked ridiculous. On Madeline, however, they looked festive and endearing.

  Staring at her friend, Cecily remembered Madeline’s warning. Beware of the beast that flies. It still made no sense to her, and she made a mental note to catch Madeline alone at the earliest opportunity and ask her if perhaps she could decipher the meaning of her enigmatic words.

  Just then another group wandered through the doors. Cecily’s pulse quickened as she caught sight of Sir Clarence and his wife. Lady Oakes looked majestic in a blue and silver gown, and a brilliant diamond tiara sparkling on her head.

  They took their seats in the front row on the side closest to the door. Cecily wondered if they planned to beat a hasty retreat if the performance wasn’t to their liking.

  She turned her gaze back to the stage as the quartet began the overture. The pantomime was about to begin, and Baxter still hadn’t made an appearance. Anxious now, she looked back at the door, her body relaxing in relief as her husband appeared in the doorway. He paused long enough to scan the back rows until he saw her raised hand, then quickly made his way over to her.

  She had chosen the chair at the end of the row, and stood aside to allow him to pass to the one next to her. “You’re late,” she murmured as she sat down again. “I was beginning to worry.”

  “I ran into Fortescue. The fool kept spouting one of his convoluted tales about his stint in the army until I finally had to walk away from him. He was still talking to himself when I left him alone.”

  Cecily frowned. “He’s supposed to be sitting in the front row right now, waiting for the curtains to open.”

  Baxter uttered a dry laugh. “Not much chance of that. The last I saw of him, he was ordering another brandy at the bar.”

  “Phoebe is going to kill him if he doesn’t come to her presentation.”

  “I’d say that’s preferable to sitting through the dratted thing.”

  Cecily dug into his arm with her elbow. “You know you enjoy watching Phoebe’s dance group make fools of themselves.”

  “Well, I suppose it’s more entertaining than listening to Fortescue’s war memories.”

  Cecily smothered a laugh as the lights dimmed, and the curtains drew apart to reveal a street scene where Aladdin first meets the villain, Mustapha. Unfortunately, since Phoebe’s dance group was all female, the villain was being played by a young woman who was much shorter than Aladdin and visibly nervous. Although she did her best to keep her voice deep and gruff, she simply sounded as if she had a bad cold.

  By the time it came to the part where Mustapha trapped Aladdin in the cave, the illusion of the evil sorcerer had long disappeared. Titters of quiet laughter arose from the audience as Mustapha pointed a trembling finger at Aladdin and uttered what was supposed to be a dire threat. Aladdin tried to portray a victim recoiling in terror, but succeeded only in arousing more sniggering from the audience.

  Cecily thought she heard her husband snoring and quickly turned her head to look at him. He sat bolt upright with a slightly glazed look on his face, but his eyes were open, and she turned back to the stage.

  She was too tense to enjoy the show. So far, she hadn’t found an excuse to leave, and she was very much afraid that Sir Clarence and his wife might decide not to stay for the second act. It wouldn’t be the first time some of the audience had fled during the intermission and failed to return. In fact, it happened more often than not.

  She would just have to come up with something that would not arouse Baxter’s suspicion. If she pretended she didn’t feel well, he would insist on accompanying her, welcoming the excuse to leave.

  Mustapha had now exited the stage, and Aladdin was alone in the cave. Her mind furiously seeking a reason to exit herself, Cecily watched as Aladdin poked among the various pots, pans, and kettles that had been borrowed from the kitchen.

  After lamenting some time about being unable to escape, Aladdin withdrew the magic lamp from the pile of kitchenware. After examining it for a moment or two, she announced that it looked dirty. “I need to clean it and make it shine,” she declared, whereupon she produced a handkerchief from her bloomers and rubbed it on the lamp.

  A loud bang erupted, and some of the ladies in the audience uttered a startled yelp as a cloud of smoke rose up in front of Aladdin. Alarmed, Cecily sat up, wondering if Phoebe had set fire to the stage.

  The smoke cleared, however, leaving Aladdin staring at the space where it had been. “I need to clean it and make it shine,” she repeated, her voice raised. She rubbed the lamp again and Cecily braced for the next explosion, but it never came.

  Aladdin stood in the middle of the stage, looking helpless, until Phoebe’s voice could be heard from the wings screeching, “Where in heaven’s name is that blasted genie?”

  “I need to clean it and—” Aladdin shouted, and got no further as a dancer dressed in flowing robes leapt from behind a cardboard rock. The woman’s elbow caught the side of the rock and sent it crashing to the ground.

  Phoebe screeched again from the wings and the curtains began to close, while the audience cheered and clapped their approval.

  Seizing the moment, Cecily leaned toward Baxter. “I had better go and see if I can help. I’ll be back right away.”

  “I’ll come, too,” he began, but she shook her head at him.

  “No, wait for me here. I shall only be
a few moments.” Before he could argue, she rose from her chair and headed for the stage door.

  No doubt, when he found out later that she had deceived him, he would be upset with her. She hoped by then she would have found something to confirm her suspicions.

  To her relief, Sir Clarence and Lady Oakes remained in their seats, though neither of them looked as if they were enjoying the performance. She may not have much time, Cecily warned herself, as she slipped through the door and closed it behind her.

  Instead of turning into the wings, she headed straight for the dressing room. From there she could exit the back door and run around the building to the front door. It would mean passing by the ballroom windows, but thankfully it was pitch black outside. Everyone’s attention was on the stage, with most of the audience no doubt eagerly awaiting the next calamity.

  As she stepped outside into the cold night, she felt snowflakes brushing her cheek. Shivers shook her body, and she wished she’d worn something warmer. Her violet silk gown bared her throat and a third of her back, and the flimsy material did little to protect her from the icy wind.

  Light spilled from the windows, and she caught a glimpse of her husband. He sat with a grim expression on his face that made her wish now that she’d allowed him to accompany her on her mission.

  Then common sense assured her that she was far more inconspicuous on her own. The last thing she wanted to do was draw attention to the fact that she was about to go snooping in a revered guest’s suite.

  She reached the front door without encountering anyone, and quickly dived into the warmth of the lobby. The crackling fire in the fireplace was so welcoming, she almost rushed over there to warm her shivering body. Time, however, was precious, and she couldn’t spare a single second. Sir Clarence and his wife could return at any moment.

  As she climbed the stairs, her knee reminded her that it was not quite healed. Ignoring the pain, she sped around the landing and hurried up the second flight. Reaching the top hallway, she cautiously looked left and right to ensure she was alone.

  The fluttering gas lamps caused the shadows to leap across the walls, giving her a moment’s concern, until she assured herself that no one was in the hallway. She had borrowed the master key from Mrs. Chubb earlier, who had known better than to ask questions.

  It took her only a few seconds to reach Sir Clarence’s suite, open the door, and step inside. An oil lamp sat on the bedside table, a bright flame covering the turned-up wick. Coal embers burned in the fireplace, casting a soft glow over the room.

  Without knowing exactly what she was looking for, Cecily crossed the floor and flung open the wardrobe door. Suits and gowns hung from the rack, and several pairs of shoes sat beneath them. After examining everything, she could find nothing of interest.

  Her next target was the wastebasket, but all she could find in there were the remains of train tickets, a crumpled invitation to a Christmas bazaar, and a single gray glove. Examining the glove, Cecily could find no mark on it anywhere. The luxurious soft suede would have warmed a hand in the coldest of weathers, and she wondered if Lady Oakes had perhaps accidentally dropped it in the basket.

  Cecily was tempted to place the glove in a drawer, then reminded herself she was there to find some kind of proof that Sir Clarence was a vicious killer. Leaving the contents of the wastebasket alone, she walked over to the dressing table.

  After searching through piles of undergarments in the drawers, she turned her attention to a gorgeous jewelry box fashioned in exquisite inlaid wood. Lifting the lid, she caught her breath at the sight of the glittering diamonds, glossy pearls, and gold chains. A beautiful emerald ring caught her attention, and feeling somewhat guilty about her prying, she picked it up for a closer look.

  As she did so, a heavy gold necklace slipped to the side, revealing something beneath it that looked familiar. Her pulse quickened as she drew aside the necklace to have a better look.

  With trembling fingers, she withdrew the sparkling object, Madeline’s warning echoing in her mind. Beware the beast that flies. Now she knew what her friend had meant by those words. She was looking at Lady Farthingale’s dragonfly brooch.

  As she stared at it, her mind racing with the implications of finding it in Lady Oakes’s jewelry box, she heard a sound behind her.

  The distinct click of a key in the lock.

  CHAPTER

  17

  Charlie sat at the kitchen table, munching on a ham sandwich. He’d forgotten that supper was being served earlier that evening, and by the time he’d arrived in the kitchen, everyone had gone upstairs to watch the pantomime.

  Charlie did not like pantomimes. He had been to only one of Phoebe’s presentations, and it had been enough to turn him off stage productions entirely. Especially pantomimes.

  So, he was quite content to sit in the quiet, empty kitchen and enjoy his sandwich in peace, without the boisterous conversation and laughter that usually accompanied his meals.

  He was still struggling with indecision about his dilemma with Henry. On the one hand, he desperately wanted to tell her he knew her secret, for his own peace of mind. On the other hand, he was worried that if he did so, it could lead to other people realizing the truth. If Mr. Baxter found out that his mechanic was a girl, he’d probably sack her on the spot.

  The last thing Charlie wanted was for Henry to lose her job. Not only for the girl’s sake, but because he would miss her more than he’d missed Tess. A lot more. Perhaps if he went to Mr. Baxter himself and explained the whole story, adding lots of praise for Henry’s work, the boss might consider keeping her.

  He started composing in his mind the speech he would give to Mr. Baxter, and took a large bite out of the sandwich to help him concentrate. Just then the door opened and in walked the girl of his dreams.

  He gulped down the mouthful of bread and ham, choked, then started coughing and spluttering like an old codger.

  Henry took one startled look at him, then leapt over to his chair and proceeded to thump him on the back.

  Struggling to get his breath, Charlie gasped out, “Hold on! Hold on! You’re killing me!”

  Henry stopped the merciless pounding, stammering, “I’m sorry, sir. I was just trying to help.”

  Tears running down his cheeks, Charlie nodded. He tried to speak again but it came out as a hoarse croak. “Water?”

  Henry leapt over to the sink, snatched a glass from a cupboard, and filled it with water. Carrying it back to Charlie, she asked anxiously, “Are you all right? Shall I tell someone? Dr. Prestwick is upstairs watching the pantomime. I can fetch him if you like.”

  Still trying to breathe normally, Charlie shook his head. “I’ll be fine.” The words sounded a little less hoarse, and he relaxed his shoulders. “Thank you.” He took a sip of water and, finding it went down all right, drank half the glass before putting it down.

  Henry sat down at the table, still watching him with an anxious expression that warmed his heart. “You look a little red in the face. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  Charlie nodded again. “I’m sure.” He sounded a bit closer to his usual voice, and risked asking, “Why aren’t you watching the pantomime?”

  “I was.” Henry shrugged. “It wasn’t very good. I got bored and came down here for something to eat.”

  “You didn’t have supper?”

  “No, everyone was gone by the time I got here. I didn’t know they were going to have it early.”

  “Me neither.” He held up what was left of his sandwich. “This is my supper.”

  Henry shook her head. “There’s got to be something better than that.” She got up and went over to the counter. Lifting the lid of a cauldron, she sniffed at the contents. “Do you like beef stew?”

  “I do.” He watched her lift the cauldron and carry it over to the stove. After putting it down, she bent over to open the stove’s belly, then
shoveled coal into it and closed the door. He hastily looked away as she turned and walked back to the table.

  “It was still warm, so it shouldn’t take long,” she said as she sat down again.

  Charlie nodded.

  Henry picked up a spoon and studied it for a moment before putting it down again. “They have stoves that are run by gas now. I wonder why Mrs. Baxter doesn’t have one for the kitchen. They say it works a lot faster than a coal stove.”

  “It would cost too much to change it over.” Charlie reached for his water. Now was the perfect opportunity to let her know that he knew her secret. Only, how did he tell her?

  “But they already have gas lamps here. It would just mean a new stove and hooking it up, wouldn’t it?”

  He couldn’t just blurt out that he knew the truth. He had to lead up to it somehow. Realizing that she’d asked a question, he looked at her. “What?”

  That was a mistake, as he melted as soon as she looked into his eyes. He saw her frown, and quickly tried to make amends. “I’m sorry. I was trying to work out something in my mind. Actually, there’s something I need to tell you—”

  He broke off as the door opened and Gertie marched into the room. She seemed agitated, flapping her hand back and forth at them, as if warding off some evil spirit. “Did you see that pantomime? Have you ever seen such bloody rubbish in all your life?”

  She stomped over to the stove, lifted the lid of the cauldron, dropped it again, and stomped back to the table. “At least my twins are enjoying it. I left them up there and came down for something to eat.” She stared at Henry, who looked as if she was about to run from the room. “Have you ate yet?”

  Sensing Henry’s reluctance to answer, Charlie spoke for her. “We’re waiting for the stew to heat up.”

  “All right. I’ll wait with you.” Gertie plonked herself down on a chair with a sigh.

  At the same time, Henry shot up, muttering, “I’ll have something later. Good night.” With that, she rushed out the door.

  Gertie stared after her. “What’s got into his bloody hair?”