5 Check-Out Time (5 page)

“Michael, I have no right to make judgments on your decisions. If I am unhappy about anything, it is that I was not invited to the wedding.”

His short laugh was without mirth. “Take my word for it, Mother, you would not have enjoyed it at all. It was quite primitive by your standards.”

She couldn’t help the flash of resentment. “I am not unfamiliar with primitive surroundings. I endured extremely uncivilized conditions when I traveled the world with your father. And I had the added responsibility of two small boys, if you remember.”

His expression suggested that she had no idea what she was talking about. But all he said was, “Quite. So, what brings you down to the George? You must be rushed off your feet at the hotel. And where is your faithful escort? Don’t tell me he had something better to do this evening.”

Again Cecily had to hide her resentment. Michael had made no effort to conceal his mistrust of her manager. He had actually accused Baxter of having a mercenary interest in her.

Had Cecily not been so amused at the thought, she would have set Michael straight and sent him off with a flea in his ear.

As it was, the idea of Baxter having designs on the hotel was ridiculous. He knew full well that the Pennyfoot was
deeply in debt, thanks to the extensive costs of renovations, and it would be years before the loans could be paid off.

She saw no reason to concern her son with her problems, however. He had enough of his own. So, as usual, she ignored the barb and said instead, “I wanted to see you, for one thing. Since you won’t come to the hotel, I have to come here.”

His expression softened. “I’m sorry, Mother. But you know how it is when you have a business …” He waved a hand at the near-empty room.

“I do, indeed.” Cecily refrained from pointing out that there didn’t seem to be much business at the inn. “I also wanted to tell you, before the rumors got started, that we have had an unfortunate accident at the hotel. One of our guests, Sir Richard Malton, fell from a fourth-floor balcony this afternoon.”

After a moment of stunned silence, Michael asked in a strained voice, “He’s dead?”

“Yes, I’m afraid he is. Such a tragedy. He has left a young wife and son. One can only hope that he has provided for them—” She broke off, staring at her son in surprise. Michael actually looked happy at the news.

He quickly changed his expression to one of polite concern, but Cecily could not have mistaken the look of relief that had crossed his face at her words.

“Have you met Sir Richard, by any chance?” she asked, and was disconcerted when Michael averted his gaze.

He began busying himself by hanging up the tankards on the hooks above the counter. “He’s been in here,” he mumbled.

Cecily did her best to sound casual. “Oh? When was that?”

This time the pause stretched even longer. Vaguely she heard the colonel call out a good night, but her attention was on her son, who seemed to be having a great deal of trouble meeting her eyes.

“Two days ago.” Michael’s expression changed again, to
one of defensiveness. He slapped a tankard down hard on the counter, making Cecily jump. Her surprise turned to consternation when he added fiercely, “I’m not sorry the bastard is dead. In fact, I was tempted to slit his throat myself.”

CHAPTER
5

“Perhaps you had better tell me about it,” Cecily said, trying to ignore the flutter of fear that his words had produced.

Michael shrugged. “It isn’t a secret. There were a half dozen customers in here at the time. I had a few words with him, that’s all.”

Cecily rested her hip on one of the bar stools, earning another look of disapproval from Michael. Pretending not to notice, she demanded, “So tell me what it was about.”

“He was an absolute pig,” Michael said, hanging the tankard on its hook. “He saw Simani and made some beastly derogatory remarks about her dress and the color of her skin. Loud enough for everyone to hear.”

Cecily leaned across the counter and covered his hand with hers. “Oh, Michael, I’m so sorry. I know how distressing that must have been for you.”

He looked at her the same way James had looked at her when she’d said something thoughtless. “As well as for Simani,” he said deliberately.

“Of course, for both of you.” Inwardly cursing herself for her insensitivity, Cecily added, “I can quite see why you had words with him. He most certainly deserved them.”

“I was incensed that he should speak about my wife that way. Of course, he didn’t know at the time she was my wife, but even after I protested quite vigorously, he refused to apologize. I told him to leave.”

“In those words?”

Michael looked a little sheepish. “Well, no. If you must know, I used stronger language than that, of course. I wanted to physically throw the blighter out, but I didn’t want to upset the other customers.”

“That was probably wise. What happened then?”

Michael reached for another tankard and started twisting it around in his hands. “Well, he got really angry and began waving his fists and yelling that he was going to close down the inn. Said he was quite capable of doing so, and that it wasn’t the first time he’d closed down an establishment for causing him grief.”

Cecily sighed. “And then?”

“And then he left. Still shouting threats at me.”

“Had he been drinking?”

Michael shook his head. “No, apparently he doesn’t drink. In fact, that’s what started the entire fiasco. He’d ordered milk, and a couple of the farmers in here began sniggering. One of them said something that amused Simani, and she laughed out loud. You know what a hearty laugh she has.”

Cecily nodded, remembering the belly laugh that seemed so incongruous coming from that graceful, statuesque figure.

“Well, anyway, that’s what got Malton’s goat. The blasted coward turned on Simani, rather than face down the laborers. It was fireworks from then on.”

“And you threw him out.”

“Like a shot. That’s when he started threatening me with closure. I don’t mind admitting it, Mother, I was worried. With his connections as a barrister and his influence with some of the wealthiest men in London, he could easily have put me out of business. Not that business is that great, anyway.”

Cecily wriggled off the stool. “Well, you won’t have to worry about Sir Richard and his threats anymore. As for your customers, they’ll come back once the word gets around that the George is open for business again.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, darling, it will all turn out for the best, I’m sure. Please say goodbye to Simani for me, and tell her I look forward to her calling on me sometime soon.”

Michael nodded but didn’t look too optimistic. Cecily left him, wishing heartily that Michael had chosen someone a little closer to home to marry. Baxter could say what he liked, but she couldn’t help thinking that maybe there would be more customers patronizing the George if they didn’t have to contend with Michael’s new wife.

She was barely outside the door before she chided herself for her intolerance and prejudice. At least one question had been verified, she thought, as she allowed Samuel to help her into the trap. Sir Richard Malton had ordered milk at the bar. Lady Lavinia had not been mistaken when she stated that her husband did not drink alcohol.

Frowning, she thought about Michael’s confrontation with the dead man. How serious had Sir Richard’s threats been? she wondered. And what would have happened to Michael’s business if the wealthy barrister had not met with his unfortunate demise? Shaking off her morbid thoughts, Cecily settled back in the trap and prepared to enjoy the drive back to the hotel.

The summer had brought a kaleidoscope of colors to the hedgerows and fields. Bright red poppies, pink foxglove,
and mallow crowded with yellow tansy and tiny blue forget-me-nots at the sides of the road.

Passing under the leafy branches of an ancient beech tree, Cecily felt the salty sea breeze brush her cheeks and gently lift the ribbons on her hat. How she loved this season, when the gardens in the Pennyfoot were lush with roses, and the lawns echoed with the smack of a tennis racquet and the hard whack of a croquet ball.

This had been James’s favorite season, too, in spite of the extra work it brought with the influx of visitors. And this year was turning out to be no exception.

Cecily’s smile faded. How long, she wondered, could they keep the business if they continued to endure the misfortune that seemed to plague the Pennyfoot? Though generally everything invariably seemed to turn out all right in the end, the constant appearances of the constabulary could well be a deterrent to the wealthy citizens who escaped the heat of London to enjoy their privacy at the seaside hotel.

In future, Cecily decided, if, heaven forbid, something else untoward happened, she would have to make every effort to resolve it herself, before sending for the police constable. She was quite sure Baxter would have more than a few words to say about that.

The steady clip-clop of the chestnut’s hooves calmed her worries, and she turned her thoughts to the colonel, whose stout figure she could see farther on down the narrow lane that crossed the grassy slopes of Putney Downs.

It would be a shortcut for him, since he was on foot, though sometimes she feared that one fine evening he might wander off the trail and fall over the cliff to the rocks below.

The colonel usually took great pains to ensure he was back at the hotel by nightfall, but there had been an occasion or two when he had forgotten the time and had been forced to walk back in the dark.

Sometimes she wondered how he found his way back at
all. There were even times when, in his confusion, he had trouble finding his way around the hotel.

Cecily tucked her wrap closer around her shoulders as the breeze freshened. The colonel’s remarks about Simani still hovered in her mind. Quite ridiculous, of course. Even so, some people might actually believe the ludicrous statements. Perhaps she should have a word with him and try to convince him he was mistaken about her daughter-in-law, though convincing the colonel of anything was a major undertaking.

She smiled when she remembered his comments about Madeline.
Miss Pengrath. Super with plants, you know. Does wonders with weeds and such. Dashed marvelous, I must say.

He was right about that. Madeline’s expertise with healing herbs and flowers was quite remarkable. Cecily felt a pang of guilt when she realized how long it had been since she’d seen her friend. On impulse, she leaned forward and called out, “Samuel, I’ve decided not to go straight back to the hotel. Would you please take me up to Miss Pengrath’s cottage instead?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Samuel touched his hat with his whip, and Cecily sat back, anticipating with pleasure her visit with Madeline.

Gertie paused for a moment in the backyard, watching the sun sink behind the high slopes of the Downs. As the last of the gleaming yellow globe disappeared behind the hills, the sky above it darkened to a deep red, then purple. Bloody beautiful, it was, she thought with a sigh of satisfaction.

Gertie never tired of watching the sunset, though she would prefer to do it somewhere other than the backyard behind the kitchen of the Pennyfoot Hotel. Nowadays she always felt an ache in her heart as she watched another day fade away.

The baby inside her stirred, and she absently patted her swollen belly with her free hand. The other held a scuttle of
coal for the stove. In less than four months now, the baby would be born.

Gertie lifted her face to the sky and cursed. Trust her to get bleeding lumbered the very first time she did it. Married in February, and by May Day she’d found out she was bloody pregnant.

Too bad she hadn’t waited three months. Too bloody bad she hadn’t found out that Ian already had a wife before she’d married him. Too bleeding bad. Now she was stuck with a baby, while he was back in the Smoke with pregnant Gloria, the wife he hadn’t bothered to tell her about until he’d given her a flipping bun in the oven.

Gertie sighed, a long drawn-out sound of abject misery. Gloria should be just about ready to drop her baby. Lucky bugger. At least she had a husband.

Not that Gertie particularly wanted a husband. Finished with men, she was. Besides, no one would want her now, not with another man’s baby to feed and clothe. No, she was stuck, good and proper. Thanks to that bleeding bastard she’d married.

Scowling, she turned to go back inside. Then her entire innards seemed to turn inside out. Right in front of her was the most horrible sight she’d ever seen. And she’d seen a few. Gertie dropped the bucket of coal, spilling the nuggets across the ground. Then she put her hands over her face and screamed at the top of her lungs.

Madeline opened the door at the first sound of Cecily’s rap on the knocker. “I heard the trap,” she said, smiling. “I hoped it was you. It has been so long since I’ve seen you.”

“Yes, it has. Much too long.” Cecily stepped into the cluttered living room and climbed over baskets of silk flowers, bags of embroidery, and a beautiful needlepoint footstool in order to reach the one armchair in the room.

Madeline made a sparse living creating handmade souvenirs for the tourists and used her living room as a workshop. Stepping into Madeline’s house was like walking
into an arts bazaar crammed with exquisitely crafted items, from tea cozies and tablecloths to dolls and baby clothes.

Cecily never knew what to expect when she entered the tiny cottage, but each visit brought something new and wonderful to exclaim over and enjoy.

“Can I take your wrap?” Madeline asked as Cecily set her parasol down at her side and gazed around at the bounty of craftwork.

“Thank you, but I’ll keep it on for now.” She felt a shiver touch her back and couldn’t be certain if it was a chill or the memory of Colonel Fortescue’s whispered accusation. “It is a little cool in here,” she added as if to reassure herself.

“I’ve had the door open all day.” Madeline clasped her hands together, her lovely face wreathed in smiles. “Isn’t this the most perfect weather? Clear summer skies and still nights. I just adore it. I can smell the night-scented stock from the bedroom window, and when the breeze is off the sea, I awake to the fresh fragrance of sand and seaweed. Wonderful.”

Her low laugh seemed to ripple across the room, and Cecily gazed at her friend with the sense of wonder that never deserted her.

Madeline’s youthful appearance belied her age by at least ten years, sometimes more. Her graceful figure and long, flowing black hair belonged more to a young girl than a woman past forty.

There was not too much difference in their ages, but Cecily felt positively ancient compared to her friend. Maybe it was the hair, though Cecily couldn’t imagine letting her own long tresses loose from the bun to fall about her shoulders that way.

Yet on Madeline it seemed so natural—if there was anything natural about Madeline. There were many who swore she was a witch, or at the very least a gypsy, possessed of strange and incredible powers.

There was no doubt that Madeline exhibited unusual capabilities, seemingly impossible at times. For some reason
a vision of Simani popped into Cecily’s mind. It took her a moment or two to heed the question Madeline asked her.

“I’m sorry.” Cecily stared up at her friend. “What did you say?”

“Well, well, you look positively bewitched.” Madeline peered closer at her. “Are you feeling unwell? Can I get you some herb tea? You look as if you need something to relax you.”

“When have I not?” Cecily answered lightly. “I’d love tea, but plain black Ceylon, please. I never did enjoy that brew that you are so fond of.”

“Much better for you.” Madeline seemed to float across the room, managing to look regal in a soft blue cotton gown that had long ago faded from being hung so many times in the sun to dry. “Herbs can cure so many ills, you know.” The bead curtain serving as a door rattled as she passed through, then slowly settled back into place.

Cecily leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes until Madeline returned with a loaded tray in her hands.

“I’m sure you haven’t had dinner yet,” Madeline said, “so you must be hungry. Help yourself to a Cornish pasty or sausage roll. I picked them up from Dolly’s Tea Shop today, so they are quite fresh.”

“No, thank you, just the tea.” Cecily took the cup and saucer from her. “I’ll be dining as soon as I get back to the hotel. I won’t stay long this time. I must get back, or Baxter will begin to worry.”

“It must be wonderful to have a man to worry about you.” Madeline lowered herself to the floor in one fluid movement and tucked her bare feet under the fabric of her voluminous skirt.

Cecily took a sip of her tea before answering. “Oh, you know Baxter, he worries about everything. He’s an old fussbudget, but he means well, I suppose.”

Madeline’s dark eyes rested on Cecily’s face. “One day, Cecily, my dear, you will know what is in your heart and in
your mind. Don’t wait too long, for devotion is only too fleeting and can disappear in a twinkling if neglected.”

Well used to Madeline’s flowery speeches, Cecily took little notice of the words. “Well, I have more to worry about right now than Baxter’s supposed devotion. I’m afraid we’ve had another death at the hotel.”

Madeline’s eyes widened. “No one I am acquainted with, I hope?”

“Not unless you were on personal terms with Sir Richard Malton.”