5 Check-Out Time (13 page)

First thing the following morning Cecily cornered Baxter in his study. “I’d like to check in on Colonel Fortescue,” she said as Baxter rose from his chair, hastily buttoning his coat. “I’d like you to come with me, if you will.”

“Of course, madam.” Baxter shuffled the papers on his desk into a neat pile, then followed her out into the hallway. “Ethel tapped on his door earlier this morning,” he added as they made their way to the staircase.

“Did he answer?” Cecily felt a pang of apprehension. “I can’t help wondering what would have happened if he’d had another turn like the one last night and attacked Ethel. The man really isn’t safe to be around people anymore.”

“Regrettably I had come to the same conclusion, madam.”

Cecily began climbing the stairs, with Baxter following behind her. She felt sad at the thought of losing one of her most valuable customers. But the safety of her guests was paramount, and she couldn’t afford to take risks.

“We’ll see how he is this morning,” she said as they reached the landing. “He is due to leave at the end of the
week. If he seems to be stable, we’ll let him stay until then. After that, we’ll have to refuse to accept his reservation.”

“And if he comes down without a reservation?”

“Then we’ll have Arthur stop him at the door.”

“Of course. Sir Lancelot to the rescue,” Baxter muttered.

Cecily sent him a surprised look. “Really, Baxter, this isn’t like you at all. I do wish I knew why you seem to take offense to this man.”

“My apologies, ma’am. Please put it down to a sour stomach. I did not sleep well last night.”

Cecily paused at the colonel’s door. “I’m sorry to hear that. Was it something you ate? If it was, for heaven’s sake don’t tell Michel, or I’ll have another crisis on my hands.”

“If I might be so bold, madam, there are times when I have the distinct impression that my needs come far behind those of the other members of this staff. I have to wonder what it is I am doing wrong to suffer such neglect.”

Cecily looked at his pained expression and felt immediate remorse. “Oh, Bax, I’m sorry. It’s just that I don’t think of you as a member of the staff. You are my right hand, my business partner, my confidant, and my friend. I’m very much afraid that at times I do take you for granted. Please forgive me?”

In the dim light of the hallway she saw an odd gleam in his eyes as he looked down at her. He was standing quite close. Too close, if the fluttering of her pulse was any indication.

His expression softened, and he said gently, “Madam, it is my lot in life, and my pleasure, to forgive you anything.”

She swallowed, and turned quickly to the door, lifting her hand to rap on it. “Thank you, Baxter,” she said, sounding a trifle prim.

“No. Thank you, madam.”

To her immense relief, the colonel answered sleepily. “Who’s there?”

“It’s Mrs. Sinclair and Mr. Baxter,” she called out. “May we come in?”

“Yes, yes, come on in, old bean.”

Opening the door, Cecily peered in.

The colonel sat propped up in bed, his red silk pajamas a startling contrast against the pale blue sheets. He made an effort to smile when she entered, with Baxter on her heels. She could see that the man in the bed looked drawn, and his eyes had some trouble focusing on her.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Colonel,” she said, taking a chair by the bedside, “but I’m afraid your little outburst last night could have had some serious consequences. I feel we must demand an explanation for such unwarranted behavior.”

In the tense silence that followed, Cecily saw nothing but confusion on the colonel’s face. Her heart sank as she stared at the elderly gentleman. She was going to miss him, she thought sadly. She was going to miss him a great deal.

She was startled when he suddenly sat up straight, looked her full in the eyes, and said clearly, “He sings, you know.”

CHAPTER
13

“Who sings?” Cecily said, already anticipating the answer.

“That blasted doorman. He sings.”

She frowned. “Is that why you attacked him?”

He stared at her, bewilderment in his pale eyes. “Attacked him? Great Scott, dear lady, why would I want to attack the doorman?”

Baxter moved to the bottom of the bed. “You do not remember attacking Barrett last night?”

“Of course not. Utter rubbish.” He sank back against the pillows, muttering, “Damn kid. Ought to be in school, not running around bothering people.”

Cecily exchanged a worried glance with Baxter. “Arthur doesn’t go to school, Colonel. He works here, remember?”

Fortescue waved a weak hand back and forth. “Not him. That blasted boy. Never seen such an ill-behaved brat in my
life. Put him in the army out in India for a spell. Teach him some damn manners, that’s what. What?”

Cecily sat back with a sigh. “Stanley.” She glanced up at Baxter. “I found him tormenting Colonel Fortescue the other day and sent him packing. He really is a problem child. I’ll be so very happy when his mother is fit enough to take care of him again.”

Baxter nodded, his gaze still intent on the muttering man in the bed. “Colonel, do you remember me helping you to bed last night?”

The colonel blinked furiously and twitched his mustache. “By Jove, now that I think about it, I do remember a stout arm assisting me up the stairs. Had a drop too much, did I?”

Baxter shook his head. “No, I don’t believe so. You would not have recovered so fast had that been the case.”

The colonel shook his head. “Dashed if I know, old boy. Touch of the sun probably. Saw a lot of it in the tropics. Our sergeant major—big chappie, he was. Had a chest like a grand piano and biceps hard as cricket balls. Stood to attention one day at a parade …” He smacked his hand down on the bed, making Cecily jump.

“Went down like a wounded rhino,” the colonel finished. “Thought he’d been blasted shot.” He peered up at Baxter and nodded his head slowly up and down. “Sun got him. Poor fellow never was the same again. Took all the guts out of him.”

Baxter cleared his throat. “Colonel, please think back to last night. You were wielding a saber, and I took it away from you. Apparently you wanted to use it on Arthur Barrett.”

The colonel stared at him in horror. “Are you insane, old chap? A saber is sharp enough to cut off an ear with one slice. If I’d used it on Barrett I would have darn near cut him in half.”

“Precisely,” Baxter said grimly.

“Colonel.” Cecily leaned forward, fixing an intent gaze
on his face. “Why did you want to harm Arthur Barrett? Did he do something to upset you?”

“Upset me? Upset me?” The colonel lay back, seemingly exhausted. “That damn child upsets me, that’s what. What? Can’t abide a child who won’t do what he’s told. Told him I didn’t wear a watch, and he insisted on swinging that dashed thing around. Made me quite dizzy. Then he disappears.” He flicked his middle finger against his thumb. “Just like that. Into thin air. One minute he’s there, the next he’s gone.” He closed his eyes and went on mumbling words that were unintelligible to Cecily.

She shook her head. “I think we’ll have to let him rest,” she said, rising to her feet. “He obviously doesn’t remember anything about last night.”

“Perhaps he doesn’t want to remember,” Baxter muttered, starting across the room to the door.

Cecily was about to follow him when the colonel said distinctly, “He sings.”

She turned back to the bed. “Arthur Barrett? Yes, I know he sings. I have heard him sing and whistle about the place. I think it’s very nice.”

“Madam—” Baxter began, but she silenced him with a quick raise of her hand.

“I think it’s wonderful that a man can feel happy enough to want to sing all day,” she continued, watching Colonel Fortescue’s face.

He slowly shook his head. “Not all day,” he mumbled.

“Most of the day. Is that what bothers you? His singing and whistling?”

“Bothers me?” The colonel opened his eyes and blinked at her. “No, doesn’t bother me, old bean. Not at all. I like it. Just couldn’t remember where I’d seen him before, that’s all.”

Her interest caught now, Cecily moved closer to the bed. “You’ve met Arthur Barrett before?”

“Yes, long time ago. On the stage. Music Hall.”

Cecily made a small exclamation of surprise. “You were on the stage?”

This time he gave a violent shake of his head. “No, no, dear lady. He was. Barrett.”

“Arthur was a performer? What did he do?”

The colonel mumbled something Cecily couldn’t hear. Then he added something else, and this time she caught it. “Damn fine singer. Wasting his time.” The words were followed by a loud snore.

“And the top o’ the morning to you,” Arthur sang out as Mrs. Chubb hurried across the foyer. “My, but aren’t you the very picture of health, with those roses blooming in your cheeks an’ all.”

Mrs. Chubb gave a breathless laugh. “I don’t know so much about good health. But if you had to run up and down stairs as often as I do, you’d have roses in your cheeks, too.”

“Ay, and I’d love to run up and down stairs with you, that I would.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” She couldn’t help giving him a smile as she passed him, though. “A quick cuppa later on?”

Arthur glanced at the grandfather clock. “I can come down now, if it’s all right with you, lovely lady. It’s time for my elevenses.”

Mrs. Chubb followed his gaze. “It’s not yet ten,” she said, trying to sound stern.

“So I’ll take it a bit early this morning. It’s quiet at the moment, and I don’t want to miss the chance to gaze upon your sweet and lovely face.”

Mrs. Chubb grinned. “Go on with you,” she said. “I can tell you’ve been kissing the Blarney Stone.”

Arthur staggered backward with a hand on his heart. “Oh, dear lady, how you wound me. When every word I’ve spoken is the truth, to be sure.”

“Well, I have some time myself, so come along.” She
raised a hand as Arthur bounded forward. “Just a few minutes, mind. That’s all I can spare.”

He reached out and took her hand in his. “Altheda, me darling, I’ll take whatever you can offer.”

Snatching her hand away, Mrs. Chubb shot a look around the empty foyer. “You’d better behave yourself, Arthur Barrett, if you don’t want to be the object of malicious gossip. There are too many eyes around this place, with flapping mouths to go with them.”

Arthur placed his palms together as if in prayer. “Ah, and sure I’ll be a perfect saint, I promise.”

Smiling in spite of herself, Mrs. Chubb led him down the stairs to the kitchen.

She had to admit she felt warm and cozy seeing Arthur seated at her table again. It had been so long since Fred had died that she had almost forgotten the sheer pleasure of feeding a man and watching him enjoy the meal.

Happily she cut off a thick slice of jellied veal and pasted it between two hefty slices of a fresh farm loaf. After decorating the sandwich with pickled onions, sliced tomato, and cucumber, she carried the plate to the table and stuck it in front of him.

“Here, get that down, you. You look like you don’t eat enough to keep a sparrow alive.”

Arthur licked his lips, his hand roving over his stomach. “Just tell me one thing. What is the matter with the men around here that they haven’t snatched up a good woman like you? Why aren’t you at home feeding a husband, that’s what I want to know.”

Cutting a huge wedge of Dundee cake, Mrs. Chubb tried to keep her hand steady. This was getting to be serious talk, indeed. She had better watch her tongue before she let it run away with itself and get her into trouble.

“I had a husband once,” she said, slapping the cake onto a plate. “He died and left me to bring up a daughter alone. I didn’t have the time or the inclination to look for anyone else.”

She picked up the knife and took it over to the sink. “That’s if anyone would have had me,” she added almost under her breath.

Arthur’s quick ears had picked up on her words, however. “Sure, and why wouldn’t they have you, Altheda? You are a good woman and a fine-looking colleen. Why, any man would be only too happy to be so blessed.”

Laughing, Mrs. Chubb returned to the table. “Don’t you think I’m just a little too old in the tooth to be a colleen?”

Arthur reached up and touched her cheek with his fingertips. “You are never too old, Altheda. It is what is in your heart that counts. Always remember—”

The door swung open, cutting off his words. Mrs. Chubb swung around, feeling guilty for some strange reason. She relaxed when she saw Phoebe standing in the doorway, looking like the Gibson girl in a pale orchid gown with a waist so tight it looked as if the woman would snap in half.

The gown clung lovingly to Phoebe’s ample bosom, while the skirt fitted over her hips like wax, falling in graceful folds to flare out above her dainty feet. A parasol dangled from a gloved elbow, while the ever-present hat sat at a rakish angle, appearing ready to dump on the floor the entire garden of flowers that decorated the brim.

Beneath the luxuriant foliage, Phoebe’s face seemed to be frozen in mid-smile as her gaze rested on Arthur’s beaming face.

“Well, now,” he said softly, “isn’t this a little bit of heaven, to be sure. It isn’t every man who is lucky enough to be entertained by two such lovely women at the same time.”

Mrs. Chubb felt a painful lurch in the region of her heart. Something she must have eaten, she assured herself as she watched Phoebe glide forward, letting the door swing to behind her.

“So this is where you are,” Phoebe said, her tone obviously implying that it was the last place on earth she expected to see the doorman.

“Ay, so it is,” Arthur said, his gaze traveling over Phoebe’s voluptuous body with obvious appreciation. “And it’s happy I am that you found me, to be sure.”

Phoebe sniffed, tossing her head in the air and setting the flowers on her hat trembling in apprehension. Transferring her cool gaze to Mrs. Chubb, she added, “I arrived a short while ago to find no one at the door. I’m sure Cecily would be most put out to know that you were deliberately keeping her employees from their duty.”

Still smarting from Arthur’s blatant transfer of interest, this added insult was too much. Shocked, Mrs. Chubb could only stare for a moment. Then she found her tongue. “What I do in my kitchen and with whom is no concern of yours, Mrs. Carter-Holmes. I’ll thank you to keep your acid comments to yourself.”

Arthur sat back in his chair with the air of someone about to enjoy some exciting entertainment.

“It is my business when it concerns my welfare,” Phoebe announced imperiously. “I needed assistance when I reached the door of the hotel, and no one was there to help me. Because the employee concerned is sitting down here in your kitchen—” She jerked her arm up to point at Arthur, apparently forgetting the parasol hanging from the crook of her elbow. The long, pointed tip shot up in an arc. It deftly caught the handle of a pewter jug on the low shelf of the dresser and hooked it into the air.

With a deafening crash the jug landed on the table and sent Arthur’s cup flying. A large puddle began spreading over the edge to drip on to the floor.

Mrs. Chubb, battling with indignation and resentment at Arthur’s fickle nature, dug her fists into her hips. “Now look at the mess you’ve made. You did that on purpose, Phoebe Carter-Holmes. I’ve a good mind to make you clean it up.”

“Why don’t you make him clean it up?” Phoebe snarled, glaring at Arthur. “It might do him good to do some honest work, instead of whiling his days away charming whatever lady has the misfortune to cross his path.”

“Ah, you don’t mean that, sweet lady,” Arthur murmured. “Sure, and there’s enough of me to go around, is there not?”

Phoebe’s eyes looked like they would explode right out of their sockets. She took a deep breath, expanding her bosom even further, to Arthur’s obvious enjoyment.

Then, in a voice that trembled with quiet rage, she said, “I have no wish to associate with another person’s discards. Mrs. Chubb is welcome to your doubtful charms, Mr. Barrett. Personally I find them, and you, quite despicable. Good day to you both.”

She swept quite magnificently out the door, and Arthur sat back in his chair with a sigh. “Ah, the good Lord save me from a jealous woman.” He looked up at Mrs. Chubb with an impish smile. “Now, how about filling me cup up, Altheda, me darling? I had only a small mouthful of that delicious brew before the dragon sent it flying.”

Mrs. Chubb folded her arms across her breasts. It was bad enough to see Phoebe mortified in front of her eyes. The fact that she had been just as gullible and as foolish as her friend, responding with such immature naiveté to a heartless rake, added fuel to her wrath.

“If you want any more tea, Arthur Barrett,” she said, fixing him with her darkest scowl, “you can darn well lick it up off the floor. And I’ll thank you to address me by my proper name in future. I’m Mrs. Chubb to you, sir.”

Arthur pushed back his chair, his smile rapidly fading. “Surely you don’t mean that, lovely lady? I was only being nice to everyone, the way Mrs. Sinclair instructed me. Sure, and isn’t that what she pays me for?”

“She pays you,” Mrs. Chubb said carefully, “to greet the guests at the door and assist them with their luggage, or whatever help they might need. You are not paid to dazzle every woman you meet with your so-called charms and cause trouble.”

Arthur’s jaw dropped. “But—”

“I’ll tell you this, Arthur Barrett,” Mrs. Chubb went on relentlessly, “if I have lost a good friend over this, I suggest
you stay out of my way and pay very close attention to your job. Or I might be tempted to see that you lose it.”

Arthur stared at her for a moment, while she steeled herself to resist that roguish twinkle in his eye. Then he shrugged, touched his forehead with his fingers, and quickly left the room.

Mrs. Chubb sat down rather heavily in the chair he’d vacated. She felt a strong urge to throw her apron over her head and bawl like a baby. But that wouldn’t solve anything. And it was her pride that was hurt, more than her heart. She just hoped she could say the same for Phoebe.