5 Check-Out Time (14 page)

Fifteen minutes wasn’t a long time to take a breather, and Gertie was determined to make the most of it. After the sweltering heat of the kitchen, she relished the moments in the cool fresh air, smelling the seaweed and roses and the salty breeze from the ocean.

Today, however, she had Jack the Ripper with her in the form of one Master Stanley Malton. And she was going to need her bleeding wits about her to keep him in line. If she’d had her way, she’d have put a dog lead around his neck, hoping he’d bloody strangle if he tried to hop it.

Mrs. Chubb had nearly had kittens when she’d suggested it. Just let the housekeeper try to make the little bugger behave like a human being instead of some horrible monster. See how she’d like it.

“Why is your belly sticking out like that?” Stanley said as they tramped across the grass together, his hand imprisoned in her strong grip.

“ ’Cause it’s got a blooming baby in it, that’s why.”

Stanley laughed uproariously. “That’s stupid.”

“You’re bleeding telling me. Stupidest thing I ever did, I can tell you.”

“Have you got some deadly disease? My father says that there are diseases that make you blow up like a balloon until you explode.” He poked a finger into her belly, making her yelp. “Are you going to explode?”

Gertie gritted her teeth. “If I do, I’ll make bleeding sure it’s all over you,” she muttered. Eyeing the pagoda up ahead, she changed her tone. “I’m going to sit down for a minute or two and rest. Did you bring your pegboard with you?”

“It’s boring. I brought a knife to practice mumblety-peg.” He pulled a dinner knife from his pocket and waved it at her. “If I stick this in your belly, will it explode?”

Gertie halted and, twisting around in front of him, grabbed his arms and gave him a shaking so hard his teeth rattled. The knife fell from his hand to the ground, and she put her foot on it.

“If you so much as think about sticking that knife into anyone, Master Stanley-bleeding-Malton, I’ll tell the constable to come and take you away, and lock you up with all the rats in a dungeon for the rest of your bloody life.”

For a moment she saw stark terror cross his face and was immediately ashamed of her outburst. She let him go and picked up the knife. “You may be a little monster,” she said, struggling to calm her temper, “but even a twit like you knows not to stick a knife into someone.”

“I won’t,” Stanley said sulkily, kicking at the grass with the toe of his boot. “I was just teasing you.”

“Well, I don’t like to be bloody teased. Especially about things like that. So are you going to behave, or do I have to take you back to the blinking hotel and lock you in Samuel’s room for the rest of the afternoon?”

He looked up at her with such an anxious expression she felt like a witch. “I’ll behave,” he promised. “I will, I will. I promise.”

“All right, then.” Feeling pleased with herself for getting the upper hand, Gertie trudged toward the pagoda. She reached the welcome shade and plopped down on the seat, puffing out her breath. “We have to go back in a minute, so don’t go running off, all right?”

“Can I have the knife back?”

She stared at him suspiciously. “Whatcha going to do with it?”

“I told you, practice mumblety-peg.”

Gertie looked at the knife. “This ain’t the kind of knife you use for that. You need one that will stick in the ground when you throw it down.” Looking at his crestfallen face, she decided to make amends for her earlier fit of temper. “Tell you what. When we go back, I’ll pinch a proper knife and I’ll show you how to do it, all right?”

Stanley immediately looked more cheerful. “That would be very nice.”

Gertie studied the smiling face. The kid wasn’t that bad after all. Just needed a firm hand, that was all. And if anyone could give it to him, it was bleeding Gertie Brown. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to bring up a kid as she imagined.

She watched Stanley dig into his pocket. After a moment he fished out a large gold watch on a chain. “Isn’t this a pretty watch?” he said, holding it up to where the sunlight bounced off the case and flashed in her eyes.

“Whose is it?” she said, guessing that it was his father’s.

“I found it.” Stanley started swinging the watch back and forth in front of her eyes. “Watch it. See how the sunlight shines on it? See it swing to and fro … to and fro….”

Gertie narrowed her eyes. The elusive memory, the scene she couldn’t quite capture in her mind, was hovering just out of reach again.

“It’s a lovely watch,” Stanley was saying, his voice getting low and very quiet. “Look at it. Do you recognize it? Does it belong to you?”

“Course not,” Gertie said. “It’s a man’s watch.”

“Do you know who it belongs to?”

Gertie yawned. “I ain’t got the slightest idea.” She was getting sleepy. The pagoda was hot, even with the shade from the roof. The smell of the flowers made her head feel heavy. She couldn’t hold her chin up any longer.

“You’re getting sleepy,” Stanley said, reading her mind.

Again something nudged her memory. The voice …
the swinging watch … reminded her of something … someone …

Gertie sat up straight, blinking her eyes to clear her mind. The woman doctor. She’d used the very same tone and almost the same words. Only she hadn’t swung a watch, she’d used a pendant.

“ ’Ere,” Gertie said, giving Stanley a hard stare. “Where did you bleeding learn how to hypnotize people?”

CHAPTER
14

Stanley stopped swinging the watch and stared at her with a look of pure innocence. “What does hypnotize mean?”

Gertie waved an impatient hand. “You know, sending people to sleep so you can talk to their bleeding minds, that’s what.”

“You don’t have to send people to sleep to talk to their minds.”

“You do if you want them to believe what you tell them.” Gertie scowled at him. “That’s what you were bloody trying to do to me, weren’t you? Send me to flipping sleep so you could run off and do something horrible, and I’d be none the wiser.”

Stanley opened his eyes as wide as they would go. “Who, me? I don’t know how to send you to sleep.”

“You don’t, huh? Then what were you swinging that
watch for and saying all those things about getting sleepy?”

“I just thought you looked sleepy, that’s all. I was trying to wake you up by flashing the sun in your eyes.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, I don’t believe you. I think you were up to no bloody good, that’s what I think.” She stared at him, and he stared back, his mouth set in a defiant line.

Gertie decided it was waste of time trying to get him to admit anything. She got slowly to her feet, groaning as pain spread down her back. Another bloody three months of this yet, and she was already as big as a house.

“Come on,” she said, “we’d better bleeding get back to the hotel before they send a search party.”

“Race you!” Stanley shouted, and darted off before she could stop him.

“Like blue blazes, I will,” she muttered, trudging after him. It was all she could do to walk with her back aching that way. She just hoped the little bugger had gone back to the hotel. If not, she’d bleeding box his ears. Or worse.

Cecily leaned back in the trap and gazed across the sands, unaware of what she saw or heard. Her mind was on her daughter-in-law and how best to introduce the subject of voodoo.

She hadn’t been able in get her conversation with Madeline out of her mind. It was true, as Baxter had said, that Madeline’s interest in the supernatural was a little excessive at times. But she had been genuinely concerned about Simani’s strange pastime, and Cecily was inclined to agree with her.

It wouldn’t hurt to ask Simani about it, she assured herself as the trap left the Esplanade and turned onto the Dover Road. As long as she was diplomatic and didn’t say anything to offend the woman.

She shivered, wondering what Simani might do if she did offend her, then dismissed her fears as nonsense. Baxter was right, she was letting Madeline’s beliefs cloud her mind and her judgment.

She would wait until she’d discussed the matter with her daughter-in-law before forming an opinion one way or the other. After all, she had only the word of Madeline’s friend, whoever he might be. And since the man was leaving the George and Dragon at the time, it was quite conceivable that he’d consumed a fair amount of ale. In that case he most likely didn’t see what he thought he saw.

The trap halted with a creaking jerk, and Cecily sat up. So absorbed had she been in her thoughts, she hadn’t realized where she was.

She had deliberately arrived at lunchtime, using that as an excuse for the visit. Even so, she saw only one other customer in the private bar when she entered.

Michael stood behind the counter, his nose buried in the local newspaper. He looked up at the sound of her voice, a frown crossing his face. His greeting sounded offhand, and Cecily felt a pang of apprehension.

“Is everything all right?” she asked anxiously.

He folded the newspaper, nodding at the empty tables. “Take a look for yourself. I ordered two dozen Cornish pasties from Dolly’s, and I haven’t sold one of them. They’ll go bad before tomorrow. What a frightful waste of money. I might just as well have thrown it in Deep Willow Pond.”

Cecily’s heart ached for him. “I’m sorry, dear. I know how worrying it must be for you.”

“Well, there’s one good side to it.” He gave her a stern look. “There’s no one here to see my mother walk into a public house unescorted.”

Cecily sighed. Why was it, she wondered, that everyone was so concerned about her reputation? Was this not the twentieth century? The Victorian days were long gone, and good riddance to them.

“I’m in the private bar, Michael,” she said patiently. “As you well know, it’s quite acceptable for a lady to visit nowadays.”

“If her escort is in the public bar, yes. Not to walk in here totally unaccompanied.”

“I am well chaperoned by my son, darling. Doesn’t that make it all right?” Cecily patted his hand. “Besides, as you pointed out, there is no one but old Billy Gates over there to see me, and he is too engrossed in his farming magazine to take much notice of me.”

Her eyes fell on the back page of the newspaper Michael still held in his hand. Struck with an idea, and thankful for the change of subject, she said, “Since you buy so much merchandise from Dolly’s, perhaps she’d allow you to put up a poster advertising the inn?”

She didn’t really expect to get much response to her suggestion. Michael surprised her, however, by slapping the paper on the counter with an exclamation of delight.

“Hey, that’s a spiffing idea! It might just work. After all, we sell a lot of the pastries that make Dolly’s so popular. If people were aware that they can get the same product here at the inn, plus enjoy a change of scenery, and Dolly doesn’t sell beer or spirits …” His face split into a grin. “Thanks, Mother. I’ll go down this afternoon and set it up. Now, what can I write on the poster?”

He gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling, and Cecily laughed. “That’s something you’ll have to work out for yourself. Perhaps Simani can help you.” She looked around the room. “Where is she, by the way?”

Michael gave her a vague look, his mind obviously on the poster. “Oh, she went off somewhere. To the High Street, I think. Shopping.”

Disappointed at her wasted journey, Cecily said casually, “I don’t imagine you know what time she intends to return?”

“No, I don’t.” Belatedly absorbing the question, Michael gave her a sharp look. “Why?”

“I was going to invite her to Dolly’s for afternoon tea.” Cecily tapped her fingers thoughtfully on the counter. “I suppose I’ll have to do it another time.”

“Any special occasion?”

She shook her head. “I’d simply like to get to know her better, that’s all.”

Michael looked relieved. “That’s wonderful. I’m sure she would like that. She admires you, you know.”

Amazed by the statement, Cecily stared at him. “She does?”

“Yes, she does. She thinks you are very brave to go on running the hotel all by yourself.”

“Well, I assure you I can’t take all the credit for any success in that respect,” Cecily said modestly. “Baxter is a tremendous asset and a very great help to me. I really don’t know what I would do without him.”

“I’m quite sure you would manage admirably, Mother. In fact, more than likely you would do even better if you were left to your own devices.”

Cecily smiled. “I doubt that very much. Baxter is my right-hand man. He has helped me out of more trouble than you could possibly imagine.”

“Trouble?” Michael’s eyebrows shot up. “What kind of trouble?”

“You don’t want to know, darling. Nothing too drastic, though, I promise.” She gazed at him, wondering how to phrase the question uppermost in her mind. “You’ve been out in Africa,” she said finally. “Tell me what you know about voodoo.”

Michael narrowed his eyes. “Why? What could you possibly find interesting about that nonsense?”

“Is it nonsense? Don’t you think there could be some truth to the theory that the practitioners of voodoo can achieve some very startling results with their curses?”

“Perhaps, but only if the person involved is overly superstitious and believes all that rot. Anyone who absolutely refuses to believe that black magic is possible would not be affected at all.”

Cecily looked at him thoughtfully. “You may have a point.”

“It’s all a load of tommyrot, anyway. No one can really put curses on anyone. It’s a lot of religious balderdash.”

“Maybe Simani doesn’t share your opinion.” She’d said it carelessly, but Michael’s chin shot up.

“What has this got to do with my wife?”

Inwardly cursing herself for her tactless words, Cecily said hurriedly, “I only meant that having come from Africa, she might be more inclined to believe in the ancient customs.”

“I know what you meant.” His eyes were cool when he looked at her. “You mean that because Simani is colored she’s more likely to indulge in all that mumbo jumbo, isn’t that it?”

Distressed that his words had cut a little too close, Cecily said defensively, “I most certainly did not. Voodooism originated in Africa, did it not? I merely wondered if Simani might have knowledge of it, that is all. Having lived there all her life, it is possible she would know about it from her people.”

Michael passed a hand across his eyes. “I’m sorry, Mother. This lack of business has made me a little testy. And there are too many people who treat my wife as if she were a creature that had escaped from the zoo. Forgive me if I have taken out my frustrations on you.”

Feeling a little guilty, Cecily patted his hand again. “It’s all right, Michael, I understand. I must return to the hotel now, but please tell Simani that I would like to issue an invitation to her to Dolly’s in the near future.”

“I will, Mother. And thank you. You’re a brick.”

Cecily left him staring at the newspaper, no doubt still composing the wording for the poster.

Arriving back at the hotel later, she heard the most awful caterwauling as she climbed the steps to the front door. Arthur stood in the doorway, his face turned toward the foyer, where the noise seemed to originate.

He spun around when Cecily said sharply, “Whatever is that dreadful noise?”

“Ah, madam, ’tis a sorry sight, I must say. Whatever is today’s youth coming to, that’s what I want to know. We were never allowed to cause such a scene in my young days.”

Frowning, Cecily stepped past him into the shade of the foyer. She was just in time to see Baxter leading a screeching Stanley by the ear toward the kitchen stairs.

“Baxter!” She strode toward him, all her senses set on edge by the earsplitting squeals from the struggling boy.

Baxter halted and turned his face toward her. Two spots of high color stained his cheeks, and his eyes glittered like icicles.

Cecily felt a jolt of dismay. She couldn’t remember ever seeing her manager quite so furious. He looked ready to erupt any minute. Even so, she couldn’t condone his harsh treatment of Stanley, whose face was as red as a beetroot.

“Is it really necessary to manhandle the child in that manner?” she said, putting her hands over her ears as Stanley emitted another shriek.

Baxter’s voice cracked when he answered. “This … child … has just demolished my office in spite of repeated demands that he leave. This was the only way I could get him to come back to the kitchen.”

“Don’t want to go back to the kitchen!” Stanley howled. “It’s too hot. It’s boring. I want to go to the beach.”

“You can’t go to the beach on your own. Your mother would never allow it, and rightly so. But if this gentleman will be so kind as to let go of your ear”—Cecily gave Baxter a meaningful stare—“and if you will promise to come with me quietly to the kitchen, I’ll see if I can find someone to go down on the sands with you. All right?”

Stanley nodded his head as best he could with Baxter still holding his ear. “Just get him off me!” he yelled.

With a sound of disgust, Baxter let go of the ear. “If I ever see you in the vicinity of my office again,” he said harshly, “I’ll lock you in the cellars.”

“I’d give him a sound thrashing,” said a voice behind
Cecily. No one had noticed the colonel creeping up on them.

Cecily gave him a disapproving look. “That doesn’t solve anything,” she said, including Baxter in her condemnation. “Bad behavior is a symptom of something deeply troubling a child. It is far better to discover the cause and try to remedy it than punish the child for doing his best to draw attention to the problem.”

“I’d like to draw attention where it does the most good,” Baxter said grimly. “In the space of half an hour this boy has managed to disrupt my entire office.” He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it ruffled on his forehead. “My ledgers are a shambles,” he said, glaring at the flushed face of the boy. “He managed to pour the entire contents of my inkwell over them. He pulled over the cabinet containing my records. It will take weeks to get them straightened out and back in order.”

“I was trying to climb up to the window,” Stanley said. “It’s not my fault if the cabinet was wobbly.”

“Wouldn’t have wobbled, no doubt,” the colonel muttered, “if it had not been forced to bear so much weight.”

Stanley stuck his tongue out at him.

“Pesky little devil,” Colonel Fortescue muttered. “The child needs a firm hand. Let him feel the bite of a belt strap, that’ll soon put him in order, what? What?”

“I don’t think so, Colonel,” Cecily said firmly.

She looked up at Baxter, upset to see the anger still burning on his face. “I’m sorry about the mess in your office, Baxter. Perhaps I can give you a hand to straighten it later on.”

He gave a brief shake of his head. “Thank you, madam. But I will manage perfectly well on my own.” He stalked off, holding his back as straight as a chimney stack.

Cecily felt a stab of irritation. Darn the man. He was getting far too sensitive lately. She looked at the colonel, who stood staring at Stanley, his lids flapping urgently up and down.

“Discipline, my boy,” he roared suddenly, causing Stanley
to back off a step or two. “Do you some damn good. Never have been the same since you waved that dashed watch in my face.”

Anxious to avoid another outburst like the one the previous evening, Cecily grasped Stanley’s arm firmly above the elbow. “Come, Stanley,” she said, “let’s see if Mrs. Chubb can find some more blancmange.”

They started down the stairs, leaving the colonel to grumble his way across the foyer.

“What do you like best about the sands?” Cecily asked as Stanley stepped with maddeningly short paces down the stairs.