Mistletoe and Mayhem Read online

  The carriage jerked to a halt in front of the Pennyfoot’s front steps, and she did her best to dismiss the problem from her mind. Ellie would be found sooner or later, no doubt unrepentant for causing so much upheaval. In fact, if the young girl did return to work, Cecily intended to make it her business to have a word with the maid, and try to impress upon her the error of her ways.

  Having arrived at that conclusion, she alighted from the carriage, thanked Samuel, and hurried up the steps to the front doors.

  The moment she stepped into the foyer, she remembered her last words with Baxter. She glanced at the grandfather clock. Almost half past two. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to have a small meal with him, though she had little appetite after eating that delicious bread and jam at Ellie’s house.

  In her haste to reach her suite, she failed to see Sir Walter Hayesbury until, just as she reached the foot of the stairs, he called out her name.

  Reluctantly she paused, and turned to face him. “Sir Walter! I trust you are having a good day?”

  “As well as can be expected, madam.” The gentleman before her looked grave, his classic features drawn into harsh lines. His mouth was pinched, as if he was in pain.

  He must have been remarkably handsome in his youth, Cecily thought, as he peered down at her over his white silk cravat. Too much indulgence in food and spirits had now begun to rob him of his looks and possibly his health.

  If he continued on that path, it would be only a matter of time before he would acquire a heavy paunch and sagging jowls. That would, indeed, be a shame. There was something distinctly charismatic about the man.

  “I understand you have suffered a tragedy this morning,” he said, his voice low and apprehensive. “One of your staff has passed away?”

  Inwardly cursing the loose tongue that had betrayed her rules, Cecily did her best to look composed. “We had an unfortunate accident, yes, involving one of our footmen. I can assure you, Sir Walter, that there will be no inconvenience to our guests, and I would greatly appreciate it if you would not discuss the matter in public.”

  He nodded emphatically, then winced, passing a hand across his forehead. “Of course, madam. You can rely on me not to betray your confidence.”

  “Thank you, Sir Walter. We would rather not depress our guests with such tragic news. Rest assured that we shall endeavor to carry on with the festivities as usual.”

  “Oh, quite, quite, madam. I quite understand.” He appeared to make an effort to dismiss his concern. Tilting his head to one side, he smoothed his mustache with the tips of his fingers. “My wife tells me there is to be a ball tonight in the ballroom. Is that so?”

  Relieved at the change of subject, Cecily brightened. “Yes, indeed. I do hope you and your wife will join us?”

  “Oh, most certainly, madam.” He moved closer to her, bringing with him a faint minty fragrance of snuff. “May I be permitted to take this opportunity and extract a promise for a dance or two?”

  Taken aback, Cecily momentarily lost her tongue. Before she could find it again, a familiar voice spoke from behind her, with some considerable force. “Do pardon my intrusion, sir, but my wife will be fully engaged this evening, taking care of her guests.”

  Cecily swung around to face the cold gaze of her husband. She was not in the least interested in dancing with Sir Walter, but neither was she about to allow her husband to dictate her actions in such an arbitrary manner. “Why Baxter, darling, I can’t possibly refuse such a charming request from one of our esteemed guests.” She turned back to Sir Walter. “Thank you for your kind invitation. I shall be delighted to join you for a dance this evening.”

  Sir Walter lowered his head in a stiff bow, then sent Baxter a look that clearly stated his victory before heading away toward the main doors.

  Baxter’s gray eyes were pure ice. “I had no idea you were so enamored of that pompous ass.”

  Cecily smiled. “Actually I find him rather charming. His manners are impeccable.” Her tone suggested that she found her husband’s manners, on the other hand, somewhat wanting. “Besides,” she added, as he made way for her to mount the stairs, “his wife is rather pretty. Since you will be forced to reciprocate and invite her to dance, no doubt you will enjoy the exchange.”

  Baxter’s snort assured her otherwise, and still smiling, she climbed the stairs.

  Gertie’s afternoon walk with Dan was not turning out as she’d envisioned. For one thing, he flatly refused to walk on the pier. “Why the hell would you want to walk out over the ocean in a wind that could cut you in half?” he complained, when she suggested it.

  “It will do you good.” She took his arm and began to pull him toward the jetty. “Blow the cobwebs out of your head.”

  “That wind would blow my ears off.” He shook her off. “Why don’t we go back to my cottage where it’s warm.”

  She felt her heart thump. So far she’d resisted his efforts to take her back to his home. She knew where that might very well lead. That’s how she’d ended up with the twins, thank you very much. Wild horses wouldn’t drag her into that situation again.

  Still, she couldn’t help remembering what she’d told Pansy just that morning. If you want a man you have to grab every opportunity he gives you. After all, she was big enough and old enough to take care of herself, wasn’t she? Besides, she trusted Dan. He wouldn’t do anything she didn’t want him to do.

  She ignored the little voice that warned her she might want more than was good for her. She was a big girl. She knew what she was doing. “All right,” she heard herself saying, before she had time to really think about it. “If that’s what you want, we’ll go to your cottage.”

  Dan looked at her as if she had invited him to fly to the moon. “Really? You sure?”

  No, she wasn’t sure. She studied his face. He was the best-looking man she’d ever set eyes on, and she’d spent many sleepless nights wondering what it was he saw in her. She loved him as she’d never loved anyone before, and all she wanted was to be his wife and make him happy for the rest of their lives.

  The trouble was, Dan didn’t seem to want to settle down. He was happy the way things were, he’d told her, though she knew by the way he kissed her good night that he wanted more than she could give him.

  “It’s not as if it’s your first time,” he’d told her once. That had made her angry. He just didn’t understand. She’d made that mistake once before, and she wasn’t about to make it again. This time she wanted a ring on her finger before she did anything like that again. And much as she adored him, nothing Dan could say or do would ever change her mind about that.

  Still, she’d told him she’d go to the cottage and she could hardly take it back now. “Of course I’m sure,” she said, and inwardly prayed that she wasn’t making a big mistake.

  In spite of her depleted appetite, Cecily managed to enjoy a light lunch of cheeses, fruit, and pickles, and even succeeded in reviving her husband’s good humor. In fact, he seemed so much more cheerful than previously, she felt compelled to question him about it.

  “I assume that whatever was worrying you earlier has been resolved?”

  To her dismay, he avoided her gaze as he reached for another slice of Gorgonzola cheese. “What gave you that assumption?”

  She hesitated, before replying, “You just seem a little more lighthearted. You’ve been walking around with a ferocious scowl for the last two days.”

  “Ah.” He broke off a piece of cheese and popped it in his mouth. “As a matter of fact, I would like to talk to you about that.”

  She felt an uneasy thump of her heart. “I hope it’s not bad news?”

  “That depends on how you look at it.”

  “Look at what?”

  “Well, my dear, I think you should know that-” He broke off as a loud rapping on the door interrupted him. “Blast it! Are we ever going to have any peace in this place?”

  “I’m sorry, dear. I won’t be a moment.” Feeling flustered, Cecily crossed the room an
d opened the door. Pansy stood outside, her forehead scrunched up in a worried frown. “I’m sorry to disturb you, m’m, but I’m worried about the gentleman in room nine.”

  Cecily thought hard for a moment, then nodded. “Oh, yes, Mr. Mortimer. Is something wrong?”

  “I don’t know, m’m. He’s not answering his door. I went to fetch his tray that I took up two hours ago and it’s not outside in the hallway like he usually puts it, and I knocked and knocked on his door but he’s not answering.” She swallowed. “Not even to tell me to go away.”

  “He’s probably gone out for a walk.”

  “Then why didn’t he leave his tray outside like he always does?”

  “Perhaps he forgot.”

  Pansy looked unconvinced. “I don’t know, m’m. He’s mentioned before that he wasn’t feeling well. I just got a feeling that something’s wrong. I would ask Mrs. Chubb, but she’s resting in her room and gets really cross if I disturb her. Perhaps if you could come and knock on his door…?”

  Cecily sighed, and glanced back at her husband. “I won’t be a moment, dear. I have to go downstairs to enquire after Mr. Mortimer.”

  “Quite all right, my love. I have to take care of some business myself. We’ll talk later.” He got up from his chair, crossed the room, and followed her out the door.

  Reluctant to see him go, Cecily led Pansy down the hallway to the stairs. She would not rest now until she’d heard what Baxter had to say about what had been troubling him so. He had aroused her curiosity, and not without a certain amount of alarm. She knew him well enough to know that this was no frivolous matter he wished to discuss.

  She couldn’t imagine what it was, but she had a nasty feeling that it concerned her, and could possibly affect her life in some way. But there was one thing she would not do, no matter what it was he had to tell her. She would not give up her position at the Pennyfoot Country Club. Somehow he would have to understand and accept that. Deeply troubled, she walked down the stairs and along the landing to room nine.

  After smacking the door with her knuckles several times and receiving no answer, Cecily told her maid to fetch the master keys. Fitting one into the lock, she turned it and carefully opened the door.

  Pansy stood shivering outside while Cecily edged into the room. It was in total darkness, the curtains drawn against the fading daylight. She could see nothing except the faint outline of the window.

  Wishing she’d bought a lamp with her, Cecily coughed. “Mr. Mortimer? Are you there?”

  She jumped violently when a harsh voice answered her from the direction of the bed. “What the blazes…? Who are you? What the hell do you want?”

  Cecily backed away, bumping into the door and sending it closed shut. Frantically seeking the door handle in the dark, she muttered, “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Mortimer. My maid could get no answer and we thought you might be indisposed.”

  “For heaven’s sake, woman, I’m taking a blasted nap! Why on earth do you give me a room with a lock if you’re just going to barge in here whenever you feel like it? Surely I’m entitled to a little privacy?”

  Cecily went on fumbling for the door handle. “Of course, sir. Please accept my sincere apologies. It’s just that you didn’t answer your door and your tray is not outside in the hallway and-”

  The irate voice interrupted her. “I didn’t hear anyone at the door. I was asleep. My tray is still here because there’s still food on it. Now, is there anything else you’d like to know?”

  At long last her fingers closed around the handle. Pulling open the door, she backed outside, still muttering apologies, then closed the door with a loud snap.

  Pansy stood with her head down, her hands clasped in front of her. “I’m sorry, m’m. Really I am. I was worried about him, that’s all.”

  Cecily let out her breath on a puff of exasperation. “It’s quite all right, Pansy. You were showing concern for a guest and that’s commendable. Mr. Mortimer is a rather unpleasant man who could use a lesson in manners. Just do your best with him and try not to let him upset you.”

  She had raised her voice deliberately in the hopes that the man inside would hear her. There was no doubt in her mind that Mr. Mortimer had deliberately refused to answer their frantic assault on his door. Drat the man. As if she didn’t have enough problems.

  Pansy dropped a curtsey, and sent an apprehensive glance at the door of room nine. “Yes, m’m. Thank you, m’m. I’ll be getting back to the kitchen now.”

  “Please do. Oh, and tell Mrs. Chubb we need all those coal scuttles filled to the brim. It looks as if we’ll have a cold night.”

  “Yes, m’m.” Pansy turned and ran for the stairs, disappearing down them at a speed that Cecily envied. Once she’d been able to run that fast. It seemed a century ago. Things had seemed so much simpler then.

  Now she had so much more to contend with-rude, disgruntled guests, a husband with a troubling secret, not to mention a missing maid and a murder to solve. To echo Baxter’s sentiments, were they ever going to have any real peace again?

  CHAPTER 7

  “Gertie!” Mrs. Chubb’s voice rang out across the kitchen.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m bloody putting the dishes away,” Gertie yelled back. “What do you think I’m doing?” She smacked the last dish down on the shelf and slammed the cupboard door.

  “What’s got your hackles up?” The housekeeper sounded cross as she marched out of the pantry, closing the door behind her.

  “Nothing.” Gertie seized the tray of silverware and started sorting out knives, forks, and spoons, slotting them into their compartments in the dresser.

  “Well, something’s up. You’re not usually this disagreeable to me.”

  “Sorry.” Gertie scowled as a knife slipped from her hand and fell to the floor. “Bloody hell. Now I’ll have to wash the flipping thing all over again.”

  Mrs. Chubb walked over to her and took the knife from her fingers. “I’ll wash it. The coal buckets need filling. Why don’t you go and fill them. The fresh air will do you good.”

  Gertie thought about arguing, then shut her mouth. Anything she said right now was going to come out wrong anyway.

  Grumbling to herself, she picked up the coal scuttles and slammed out of the kitchen into the dark, chilly yard. This was the crowning insult on a horrible day.

  She’d had a terrible row with Dan, bad enough that she didn’t know if she’d ever see him again. He’d accused her of tormenting him, when all she’d done was go with him to his cottage and let him kiss her.

  It wasn’t enough for him, though, was it? Oh, no. He had to go and spoil everything by trying to get more and got really nasty when she’d shoved him away.

  Tromping across the yard, she swung both coal scuttles so hard they almost came off their handles. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t get all upset again remembering all the nasty things he’d said. He was upset, and didn’t mean them. She knew that.

  He’d come around tomorrow and tell her how sorry he was and promise it wouldn’t happen again. He’d done it before.

  Only he’d broken his promise, and how did she know he wouldn’t break it again? How could she trust him when he couldn’t keep his hands to himself?

  A slight sound from across the yard brought her to a halt. The maids had been talking in the kitchen about the serial killer, making her sick with all the gory details of what he’d done to them poor girls.

  Not that she thought a killer like that would bother to come all the way down to Badgers End, when he had so many girls to pick from in London. Still, you never know.

  The sound came again. Shuffling feet, and some sort of swishing sound, as if someone was dragging something across the cold ground. A dead body?

  Gertie’s teeth started chattering, and she bit down hard to make them stop. If only she could see. Heavy clouds obscured the moon, however, and obliterated everything except the faint outline of buildings.

  Gertie could barely see the
coal shed. She never bothered to bring a lamp with her, because there was one hanging on a nail in the shed. With her hands holding two heavy coal scuttles, it was impossible to carry a lamp anyway.

  The skin on the back of her neck tingled as the shuffling sound came closer. It was just around the side of the building now, and any second whoever it was would turn the corner and be right in front of her. Very slowly and quietly, Gertie began to back up.

  She had gone no more than a few steps when her heel came down hard on a stone. Her shoe twisted sideways, wrenching her ankle. In an effort to prevent the sharp cry of pain, she slapped a hand over her mouth. Unfortunately, she had to let go of a scuttle to do so. It rolled away from her with a clattering and banging that would have awoken the dead.

  At the same time, a male voice uttered a startled oath. “What the hell was that?”

  Sheer relief gave Gertie the giggles as the coal scuttle finally came to rest against the wall with a resounding whack. “Sorry, Clive,” she said, between hiccups of laughter. “I thought you was the serial killer.”

  Clive muttered something, but her giggles smothered his words. She didn’t know why she was laughing, considering what a miserable day she’d had. She just couldn’t seem to stop. Then she wasn’t laughing at all, but crying real tears that ran down her cheeks and onto her shawl.

  Embarrassed, she turned away. She never cried. Not even when her mother died, or when she found out the father of her twins had somehow forgotten to mention he was married. She didn’t know why she was crying now. Angrily she dashed the unfamiliar tears away with the back of her hand.

  “Here.”

  Clive’s voice had softened. She squinted at him in the dark, seeing only his outline and unable to see his expression. She felt like a fool, furious with herself for acting like a baby in front of him.

  Something cold touched her hand and she realized he was handing her the coal scuttle she’d dropped. She hadn’t even seen him pick it up. “Thank you, Clive.” She took it from him, holding it awkwardly by the edge instead of the handle.