6 Grounds for Murder
Read 6 Grounds for Murder Online
Authors: Kate Kingsbury
Grounds for Murder
Kate Kingsbury
Copyright © 2013, Kate Kingsbury
Sincere thanks to Jita Fumich and Paige Wheeler for all the help and advice.
My great covers are the work of Rachel High. Thanks so much!
October drew to a close in a rash of blustery winds and chilling showers in the year of 1908. In anticipation of the winter storms that would roar in from the North Sea, the staff of the Pennyfoot Hotel in Badgers End battened down the windows of the upper floors, emptied the window boxes on the front terrace, and replaced the windshields on the chimney pots.
Warm and secure inside the stalwart walls, the planning committee feverishly worked on the arrangements for the Guy Fawkes Ball, destined to take place on the Fifth of November.
The festivities were not the only cause for excitement, however. Gertie Brown was expecting her baby to enter the
world within the next week or two, and the betting on the correct date had reached fever pitch.
Even Michel, who usually disdained such womanly goings-on, cast an anxious eye now and again at the pregnant housemaid. Occasionally he went so far as to forget his lofty stature of hotel chef and offered the housemaid a helping hand with the heavy cauldrons of steaming hot water, all the while pretending to ignore the smiles of gratitude from the hefty young woman.
Mrs. Chubb, whose arduous duties as housekeeper kept her own hands busy, was pleasantly surprised by this unexpected chivalry. “It really is amazing,” she told Gertie, who stood in front of the cast-iron stove warming her backside, “just how much a baby can change people’s attitude.”
“Well, it’s bleeding changed mine, I can tell you,” Gertie said, massaging her aching back with both hands. “I’ll be bloody glad when it’s all over and I can get this lump of lard out of me belly. I’m tired of carrying it around with me. It’s like lugging around a blinking sack of potatoes all day.”
“You should make the most of this time,” Mrs. Chubb said briskly. “Once the baby’s here you won’t have time to enjoy it. It will keep you hopping, mark my words.”
Gertie groaned. “All I can say is it’ll be bleeding lovely to hop anywhere after this lot.”
“And you will be hopping around, my girl. Now that Ethel has left you’ll have to take over her duties in the dining room.”
Gertie’s face turned red with indignation. “What, me? Bloody cheek! What’s wrong with that new girl, Doris? Got a wooden leg, has she?”
“You know very well that Doris doesn’t have enough experience to work the dining room. I’ll need her here in the kitchen where I can keep an eye on her.” Mrs. Chubb took
a pile of serviettes out of the sideboard and flipped through them with expert fingers, checking for creases. “It will be up to you to teach her what she needs to know.”
“Well, someone will have to do the dining room once the nipper arrives. Or am I supposed to go back to work as soon as it pops out?”
“There’s no need to be impertinent, my girl.” The housekeeper thrust the serviettes at her, then folded her arms across her ample chest. “Now, take these into the dining room. And you’d better look sharp and get that silver cleaned before we have to lay the tables for lunch.”
Having put a satisfactory end to the conversation, she turned her back on Gertie’s scowling face and headed for the scullery.
Behind her back, Gertie muttered, “Well, I bleeding hope it waits until after the Fifth. It would be just my blooming luck to miss the fireworks.”
At the committee meeting in the library upstairs, Cecily Sinclair—the Pennyfoot’s owner—found it difficult to hold the conversation to the topic of the coming festivities.
Phoebe Carter-Holmes, who was in charge of the entertainment, was certain that Gertie’s baby would be a girl. “I always wanted a daughter myself,” she declared, smoothing a crease from one of her elbow-length gloves. “So comforting to a woman if she has the misfortune to be left a widow, as I was. I’m afraid that my son is far too busy with his work in the church to give much thought to his mother.”
“I’m inclined to agree,” Cecily murmured, thinking of her own son. “Michael seems so preoccupied with running his business. Even so, I have to admit the George and Dragon is no easy operation to handle, and it’s not Michael’s fault his father died too young.”
“Men are simply too selfish to give much thought to the
women in their lives, no matter if they have all the time in the world.”
The dry comment had come from the third member of the group, Madeline Pengrath. Meeting Phoebe’s icy stare, she tossed her long, silky black tresses over one shoulder with a gesture of contempt.
Phoebe bristled. Raising both hands, she gave the immense brim of her hat an unnecessary tug. “Algie has a great deal to do as vicar of this parish, and naturally his work is of the utmost importance. I should be most upset if I thought he placed me before his parishioners.”
“Well, I’m sure there’s no danger of that.” Ignoring Phoebe’s offended gasp, Madeline turned to Cecily. “Let us hope, however, that in this case the unborn baby is indeed a boy. This will be a Scorpio child, the most powerful of all the zodiac. He will have tremendous drive and ambition, as well as untiring energy. He will be creative and could be successful at anything he turns his hand to, and all of that would be wasted on a girl unfortunately.”
“I don’t see why,” Cecily said mildly. “New and greater opportunities are opening up for women every day, thanks to the New Women’s Movement.”
“But not fast enough,” Madeline said, shaking her head. “If I could be born again into this world, I’d want to be a man.”
“Is that why you spend so much time looking for one?” Phoebe said sweetly.
Madeline’s dark eyes flashed fire, and Cecily said hurriedly, “Perhaps it might be better if we concentrated on the preparations for the ball. Phoebe, do you have anything confirmed for entertainment?”
Placed in the limelight, Phoebe preened herself, while Madeline smoldered in silence at the end of the long Jacobean table.
“I have secured the appearance of a remarkable songstress, Wilhelmina Freidrich,” Phoebe announced in ringing tones. “She has graced many a stage, so I believe, and is well thought of in operatic circles.”
Madeline groaned, and again Cecily hurriedly cut in. “That sounds wonderful, Phoebe. As a matter of fact, we have an opera singer staying here at the hotel this week. His name is Ellsworth Galloway. Have you heard of him?”
Phoebe clasped her hands together, her face lighting up with excitement. “Truly? Oh, how wonderful! He is a most engaging baritone. Perhaps he can be persuaded to join Miss Freidrich in a duet. Wouldn’t that be absolutely divine?”
“Quite,” Madeline murmured. “And perhaps we can persuade the audience to join in. A rousing chorus from
Hansel und Gretel
perhaps?”
Phoebe looked down her nose. “How awfully vulgar. But that’s to be expected from one who is sadly lacking in knowledge of the finer arts.”
“Madeline, have you decided on the flower arrangements?” Cecily asked, a little desperately.
Madeline yawned. “I was waiting to hear the nature of the entertainment before deciding. No doubt I shall be able to think of something to liven up the proceedings. That is, unless Phoebe has something innovative up her sleeve, like a stray snake, for instance?”
“Will you never let me forget that?” Phoebe cried, rising to her feet. “I am quite sure there have been times in your life when you have made mistakes. Ah, but then I forget, you have the dubious power to foresee any misfortunes before they arise, and can therefore avoid them.”
“If that were so,” Madeline said evenly, “I would not be seated at this table right now.”
“Ladies, please.” Cecily held up her hands in appeal. “Can’t we conduct ourselves in a more peaceful manner?”
“Never mind.” Madeline got to her feet and floated over to the door, her lavender cotton skirt swirling about her trim ankles. “I have work to do. I’ll be back as soon as I can conjure up a flower arrangement suitable for our windy warblers.”
She paused in the doorway and glanced back over her shoulder. “The moon is full this week. And All Hallows’ Eve draws near. If I were you, Phoebe dear, I’d take special care to avoid offending the wrong person. One never knows what evil lurks beneath a pleasant countenance. I should hate to see you spirited away to the underworld. How we should miss your inane comments.” With an airy wave of her hand, she disappeared.
Phoebe made an explosive sound. “Well, really!” Straightening her hat with both hands, she said in a plaintive tone, “I really don’t know why you put up with that dreadful woman. She can be quite barbaric at times.”
“Madeline might be a little unconventional,” Cecily said quietly, “but people who possess creative talents very often are a little unusual. In any case, she is a good friend.” She gave Phoebe a warm smile. “As you are, I would add.”
Phoebe picked up her parasol and, with a rustling of her silk skirt, headed across the Axminster carpet. “Yes, well, if I were you, Cecily dear, I’d be a little more cautious about choosing my friends. One never knows if someone like that could turn nasty and do something dreadful.”
Pausing halfway across the room, she turned to look back at Cecily. “If I owned a hotel such as this one, I’m quite sure I would be most wary about whom I invited to work in it. With all these rumors flying around about the gypsies being back on Putney Downs, one simply can’t be too careful.”
“I’ll bear that in mind,” Cecily murmured.
Phoebe patted the brim of her hat as she reached the door. “I must be off, in any case. Algie will be waiting for his
lunch.” She swept out, leaving Cecily to stare beseechingly up at the portrait of her late husband.
James Sinclair had died much too young, after a bout of malaria he’d first contracted while serving in the tropics in Her Majesty’s army. There were times, even now, almost three years later, when Cecily found it hard to believe he’d gone.
The portrait had brought a measure of comfort in the early days, when the pain had been almost too intense to bear. Now the pain had subsided, and even the dull ache that had replaced it rarely bothered her. Except for the occasional bittersweet pang of remembrance, her period of mourning was over.
Even so, she still addressed the portrait at times to air her grievances and opinions. With Phoebe’s words still ringing in her ears, she gazed pensively at the image of her dead husband. “James,” she murmured, “I do believe I agree with Madeline. All in all, Gertie’s baby might do well to be born a boy.”
“Cor blimey, Doris, I know you’ve only been here two days, but how many times do I have to tell you the forks go in this drawer, not that one.” Gertie dug her fists into her ample hips in a fair imitation of Mrs. Chubb. The gesture lost some of its effect in view of her swollen belly, but her scowl made up for that.
The diminutive girl standing in front of her looked as if she were about to cry. Despite her frustration, Gertie felt a tug of sympathy for the child. Doris didn’t look old enough to be working. Her black skirt swept the floor, covering up her shoes, and she looked lost in the folds of the white pinafore apron that swamped her skinny figure.
Even her cap seemed too big for her, seated squarely on top of her head and pinned to the large knot of light brown
hair. Or maybe it was just her eyes that made her face look too small. Huge eyes they were, and seemed to change color, looking brown one day, green the next.
“I’m sorry, Miss Brown, I am honestly,” she whispered in her little girl voice. “I am trying, but there’s so much to remember.”
Gertie let out her breath on an exasperated sigh. She’d been fourteen bloody years old herself when she’d started, but she’d had more gumption in her little finger than this twit had in her entire body.
“I know there’s a bleeding lot to learn, but you ain’t going to learn nothing if you don’t pay attention. I explained to you just yesterday about the knives and forks, didn’t I?”
Doris nodded miserably.
“Then pay bloody attention. I ain’t going to waste my blinking breath telling you the same things over and over again. Now you flipping listen to me, Doris ’oggins. If you don’t do things right, it’s me what will get the blame. I’m supposed to be teaching you. I don’t want Mrs. Chubb breathing hot fumes down me bloody neck ’cause you’re not listening to me.”
Gertie jumped as a strident voice declared from the doorway of the kitchen, “Gertie! Whatever are you screeching about? I could hear you all the way down the hallway.”
Gertie sent the housekeeper a pained look. “I’m trying to teach this little twerp how to be a housemaid, that’s what. I’ve got to yell at her, to make her listen to me.”
“As long as the child isn’t deaf, there is really no need to raise your voice like that.” Mrs. Chubb bustled into the kitchen, smoothing her plump hands over her hips. “We don’t want the guests to know all our business belowstairs, now do we? You know how madam feels about gossip.”
Irritated that she should be the one to receive a reprimand, Gertie said in a tart voice, “I’m not the one spreading gossip
around. I wasn’t the one what talked about the gypsies being back, now was I?”
Mrs. Chubb’s round face flushed. “No need to be cheeky, Gertie Brown. I had no idea that strange woman was standing behind me when I mentioned it to you.”
Gertie grinned. “That Lady Belleville is bonkers, all right. Every time she comes down here to stay, she’s more batty than before. I thought she was going to wet her drawers when she heard about the gypsies.”
“She’d wet them for sure if she heard the latest news.” An expression of dismay crossed Mrs. Chubb’s face, and she shot a glance at the new housemaid, still standing forlornly by the huge scrubbed-wood table.
“Doris,” the housekeeper said quickly, “would you please fetch that jug of milk from the pantry for me? It’s on the top shelf in the corner.”
Realizing that the housekeeper had sent Doris out on purpose, Gertie could hardly contain herself. This had to be bloody good. She could tell from the way Mrs. Chubb’s eyes sparkled with excitement.
“Go on,” she said when Doris had disappeared, “what’s up, then?”
Mrs. Chubb put a finger to her lips and crept closer. “A murder,” she whispered in a voice that sent cold shivers down Gertie’s back.
“Bloody ’ell,” Gertie whispered back hoarsely. “What, here in the hotel?”