6 Grounds for Murder (10 page)

Narrowing his eyes, he murmured, “Something tells me I shall regret holding this conversation with you. I have the distinct impression that you are not being as forthright with me as I am with you.”

“Your imagination, Doctor. Now, the murder weapon. Could it have been a sword?”

After a long pause, Kevin Prestwick shook his head. “No, I do not believe so. The blade that was used caused a jagged edge to the neck. A sword would have sliced through far more cleanly. I would say it took several blows before the head was actually severed from the body.”

Cecily felt bile rise in her throat and fought to maintain her composure. “In both cases?”

Her discomfort had not escaped the doctor. He peered closely at her face with a frown of concern. “I am sorry, my dear, I did warn you. Yes, I would say the same weapon had been used both times. Now, I really cannot tell you any more than that. I’m afraid I may have already told you far too much.”

“I won’t keep you any longer, Doctor.” Cecily swallowed hard as she held out her hand. “Thank you so much for satisfying my curiosity.”

Kevin Prestwick took her hand and bowed low over it as he touched her gloved fingers with his lips. He looked up, his head still bowed over her hand. “Please, my dear, promise me you will not involve yourself in this case. It is brutal, and seemingly without reason. One would be foolish indeed to attempt to deal with a madman such as this. When faced with a crazed killer, one can only destroy, before he himself is destroyed.”

“I trust I shall never be forced to make such a decision,” Cecily said with feeling. “Good day to you, Doctor.”

“Kevin.”

She smiled down at him. “Kevin.”

Letting go of her hand, he straightened. “I trust it will not be so long before I see your lovely face again. Not in my surgery, that is.”

Before she could stop to think, the words popped out. “Perhaps you would care to come to the Guy Fawkes Ball on Thursday? You are quite welcome to bring a guest, if you would like.”

“Thank you, my dear. I would like that very much.” He paused at the gate and pulled it open for her.

Passing through, she reflected that Baxter would be most displeased when he learned of the doctor’s presence at the ball. Baxter thoroughly disliked Kevin Prestwick, though Cecily had yet to learn the reason why.

She could only assume that Baxter highly disapproved of the doctor’s manner, not understanding that it was simply a way of relaxing his patients. She had heard it referred to as a good bedside manner. Dr. Kevin Prestwick had the very best bedside manner she had ever encountered.

She thanked him as he gave her his arm to assist her into the trap. “It was good to see you again,” she said, settling herself on the creaking leather seat.

“The pleasure was entirely mine.” He inclined his head in a slight bow. “I shall look forward with great anticipation to the ball. Perhaps you will allow me one dance?”

She felt like a young girl again as she gave him a smile, murmuring, “Perhaps.” She basked in the memory of the admiration in his eyes on her return to the hotel.

The sea looked gray as the trap sped along the Esplanade. With an anxious eye Cecily surveyed the white flecks in the waves surging toward the beach. The morning sun had
disappeared behind dark clouds, and the wind whipped sand across the empty road, sending little whirls of dust into the shop doorways.

A large brown and white dog loped along the sands, no doubt hurrying for shelter from the coming storm. Cecily shivered as the chill settled about her shoulders. She was quite anxious herself now to return to the warmth and comfort of the Pennyfoot. The images that Dr. Kevin Prestwick’s words had left in her mind were too horrible to contemplate.

To her surprise, Baxter stood at the top of the steps as the trap halted in front of the hotel. Before Samuel could spring from his seat, the harried-looking manager ran down the steps and offered his hand to Cecily.

“I was becoming concerned, madam,” he said as he put her gloved hand in his. “There is a storm coming, and I worried that you might be caught in it.”

Eyeing him, she wondered if that was all he was worried about. Stepping down from the trap, she gave him a wide smile. “I have been caught in storms before, Baxter, and I have survived.”

“Yes, madam. Nevertheless, I am relieved you have returned before the deluge. I should not want you to become ill, with all the festivities of the weekend approaching.”

A large drop of rain spattered on the pavement at her feet, followed quickly by another, then another. In the distance a low rumble warned of the incoming storm.

“I’m sorry if I worried you, Baxter, but it would seem that I arrived back in the nick of time.” Cecily lifted her skirt and quickly mounted the steps as Samuel urged the chestnut into a trot.

As the clatter of hooves disappeared around the side of the hotel, Baxter said behind her, “For which I am truly thankful. I can only hope that will always be the case.”

Cecily wondered if the uneasiness she felt was due to the approaching storm or Baxter’s unwarranted concern. Or perhaps it was due to the image of a young girl’s body, lying decapitated in the dark woods on Putney Downs.

CHAPTER
10

Having warmed herself by the leaping fire in the library, Cecily began to feel more comfortable, though Baxter still hovered anxiously at the end of the table.

“I have ordered a cup of tea from the kitchen,” he said, running a hand over his ruffled hair. “I suggested a spoonful of brandy in it. I think it might be of some help to keep out the chill.”

His gesture reminded Cecily of Dr. Prestwick, and she smiled. “Thank you, Baxter. That was very thoughtful. Though I’m quite sure all of this nurturing is unnecessary.”

“I sincerely hope so, madam.”

Her smile faded as she studied him. “Baxter, is something wrong? Has something else happened?”

“Not that I’m aware of, madam.”

“You seem upset about something. I do hope you’re not keeping anything from me.”

“Would that I could, madam.”

“Then what is it?”

He coughed, fidgeted with the button on his jacket, then looked down at his feet. “I have been concerned about your health. You mentioned a problem with headaches. I was wondering if Dr. Prestwick has been able to diagnose the problem.”

Cecily’s face cleared. “Is that all? Oh, think no more about it, Baxter. I’m afraid that was simply an excuse to see the doctor. I thought you might give me an argument if I told you I was going to see Dr. Prestwick in order to ask him about the murders.”

Baxter looked up, his eyes glinting like the frozen surface of Deep Willow Pond. “Then I have been worrying unnecessarily, madam. I trust the good doctor was forthcoming with the information?”

Feeling guilty, she nodded. “I’m sorry, Baxter. I didn’t mean to worry you. Dr. Prestwick was helpful, yes, inasmuch as he could tell me.”

“I’m happy that your journey was not wasted. Now, if you will please excuse me, I have urgent matters that need my attention.”

Cecily looked at him, distressed by his reaction. “Don’t you want to know what he told me?”

“Unless he insisted that you go immediately to the police, I can only assume that whatever he told you only served to strengthen your inimitable resolve to involve yourself in affairs that could very well prove to be your undoing.” He reached the door and looked back at her. “As you very well know, madam, I would prefer not to be drawn into any more of your misadventures.”

Hurt by his stubbornness, she said quietly, “I should miss your help, Baxter.”

She didn’t care for the look he gave her, or for the way he muttered, “For what it is worth, madam.”

He closed the door quietly after him, and she stared at it for a long moment, then let out her breath in an explosive sigh. She had no idea what had nettled him so, but she didn’t have time to worry about it.

Someone in the hotel had been writing notes to her about a man called George, who could be a crazed murderer. It was imperative she find the author of those notes and get at the truth. It was entirely possible that he had witnessed the actual murders.

Cecily’s gaze drifted to the portrait of her late husband. “What do you think, James?” she murmured. “Perhaps I should talk to our guests and try to discover where they were yesterday afternoon when the murder took place.”

She waited a moment, her gaze on the painted eyes of James Sinclair. Then she said softly, “Yes, I thought you would agree with me. And please don’t worry about Baxter. He’ll eventually see things my way.”

Even so, she felt a nasty little ache in her midriff when she spoke the words. She could never be quite sure what went on in Baxter’s mind. She could only hope that he hadn’t meant those words he’d spoken to her, or lost patience with her entirely.

It was at times like this, when all was not well between them, that she realized how very much she depended on him, how lost she would be without his stalwart presence and loyalty.

Now, if only he could offer her the admiration and affection that Kevin Prestwick was apparently so willing to give, her life would be complete.

Once again her gaze strayed to the portrait. “Forgive me,
James,” she said quietly, “but nowadays I’m afraid my thoughts are constantly centered on Baxter. I do hope you’re not resentful of your replacement. He is here, and you are not, you see, and once in a while a woman needs a man to care for her. Despite the efforts of women everywhere to establish their independence, I have no doubt that no matter how much we achieve, there will still be room in our hearts for love and support.”

Propping her hands on her chin, she smiled at herself. People would think her quite ridiculous for talking out loud to a portrait. But it certainly helped to put things into perspective.

No matter how much she might long for it, Baxter would never be able to give her the kind of love and companionship she sought. Since she was far too old, or unwilling, to search for it elsewhere, it would seem she was destined to spend the rest of her life alone in that respect.

In which case, she told herself as she rose from her chair, she had better become used to the idea and accept it. There were far worse situations in which to be, and at least she still had her head. Not like those poor young women who had lost their lives before they had known what life was really all about.

Firmly putting her spat with Baxter out of her mind, she left the library and headed for the drawing room.

When she entered the room a few moments later, she hoped she would encounter some of the guests enjoying a cocktail or two before dinner.

She might have known Colonel Fortescue would be there, swallowing as many gins as he could consume before staggering into the dining room, where inevitably someone had to guide him to his table.

Cecily really didn’t think there would be any point in questioning the colonel, but one never knew what tiny clue
could be picked up from even the most inane conversation. And conversations with the colonel were nearly always inane.

She was surprised to see quite a gathering in the drawing room, after all. The storm rumbling outside must have unsettled the guests, for everyone was there.

Lady Belleville sat in the high-backed Queen Anne chair, murmuring to an imaginary bird on her shoulder, as usual. Cyril Plunkett had chosen a chair by the window, where he sat nervously watching the lightning dazzling the sky through the gap in the half-drawn curtains.

The colonel sat slouched in the leather armchair, his head nodding, a glass of gin tilting in his hand, while Ellsworth Galloway paced back and forth across the carpet muttering to himself.

The colonel roused himself when Cecily called out a greeting. “What ho, old bean! Jolly good storm going on outside, what? Listen to that wind howling in the chimney. Makes one dashed glad he’s not out on the ocean on a night like this. Why, I remember once—”

A loud clap of thunder interrupted his words, and Lady Belleville uttered a low cry. “Oh, my poor dear birds. How they do despise this dreadful weather. I don’t know why I come to the seaside in wintertime. Such awful weather. Awful.”

Ellsworth Galloway made a sound of disgust in his throat. “I cannot imagine why any of us bury ourselves in this despicable hole. I could be enjoying the nightlife of London right now. If it wasn’t for the ball on Thursday, I would pack my bags and return on the next train.”

“Are you certain the ball will be worth your confinement here?” Cecily asked, holding a pleasant smile on her face. “I should not want you to be disappointed.”

“I’m only staying to hear Freidrich sing.” Galloway
parted his feet and struck a pose with his thumbs hooked inside his waistcoat. “I will be partnering the lady next month in a recital and I want to hear her range. It’s always best to be prepared, just in case.”

In case of what? Cecily wondered. It sounded like a lame excuse to her, and she wondered what could be the real reason Galloway was staying on.

The thunder cracked again, louder this time. Waiting until the noise had died away, Cecily said casually, “At least this weather might discourage our murderer from striking again.”

“As long as he limits his victims to gypsies,” Galloway said nastily, “I really can’t see how he concerns us. As for the weather, I find it a darn nuisance. I like to spend the afternoons on the beach, practicing. It’s peaceful down there this time of year without all the rabble that flocks there in the summer.”

“I trust you got your practice in yesterday, then, Mr. Galloway?” Cecily inquired.

The baritone looked at her as if surprised she had addressed him. “As a matter of fact, I did, if you must know. I spent the entire afternoon down there, until it got dark, that is. That’s another thing, it is dark by half past four this time of year. Damn days are over before you have time to get started on anything.”

Maybe if he got up early in the morning he’d accomplish more, Cecily thought. But at least he’d answered her question.

“Well, I’m afraid I must have my afternoon naps,” Lady Belleville said, lifting a finger to her shoulder for one of her birds. “I just cannot survive through dinner unless I have slept most of the afternoon.”

She peered at her outstretched forefinger and chirped at it. “Not that I slept very well yesterday afternoon. In fact,
hardly at all.” She glared at Cecily as if it were her fault, compelling her to answer.

“I’m sorry you slept badly, Lady Belleville. Perhaps the murder played on your mind?”

The dowager shook her head so violently the veil on her hat dropped down and covered her face. Lifting the netting with her gnarled fingers, Lady Belleville said crossly, “I spend no time mourning the passing of those savages. Things like that happen, I suppose, but it is no concern of mine. After all, it isn’t as if they belong in this world, is it?”

Cecily frowned. “I was under the opinion that we all shared the same world, Lady Belleville. We are, after all, human beings.”

“I do not consider the gypsies on the same level with decent human beings.” The elderly woman looked down her nose as if the very thought repulsed her. “Anyway, I have far more to worry about. One of my birds is missing, as I told you earlier. I just cannot find it anywhere. I want you to ask that manager of yours to search my suite, and if the poor baby isn’t found, I must insist on a thorough search of this hotel.”

This would not please Baxter in the least, Cecily thought, remembering his frame of mind when she last saw him. Nevertheless, she could hardly refuse one of their more wealthy and consistent guests.

Hoping she wasn’t alienating Baxter beyond recall, she said soothingly, “Of course, Lady Belleville. I will ask Baxter to conduct a search as soon as the evening meal is over.”

Apparently mollified, Lady Belleville nodded her head. “Thank you. I must ask that all the rooms be searched, of course. I can only hope that the poor little thing hasn’t flown through the front door and out into the wicked world. I
would simply die if my baby fell into the filthy hands of those terrible gypsies.”

“Oh, good Lord,” Galloway muttered. “I do not have to sit and listen to this twaddle.” He strode purposefully from the room without a backward glance, with Lady Belleville staring after him.

“Well, really! How rude. That man is really quite detestable.”

The thunder cracked in answer to her words. At the same time the wind roared down the chimney, sending a puff of smoke into the room.

The colonel, who had lapsed back into his doze, sat up straight in his chair, spilling his gin over the arm. “Rude? I assure you, madam, I had no intention of being rude. If I have offended you, I most heartily apologize. A gentleman is never rude to a lady, not at all. Would never do. No, no, no—”

“Be quiet, you silly man. Between you and the thunder, my birds are becoming quite frightened. I wasn’t talking about you, in any case.”

The colonel looked confused and stared at Cecily for help. “Did I miss something? Was I rude to the birds?” He looked wildly around the room, spilling more gin. “Where are they, then? Did I frighten them away?”

Cecily winced, making a mental note to have Doris clean the chair later. “It’s all right, Colonel,” she said, resisting the impulse to go over and dab up the spill. “You did nothing to upset anyone, I assure you.”

“Oh, jolly good, jolly good.” The colonel blinked his eyelids several times, then erupted in a gigantic sneeze that made Lady Belleville start up from her chair.

“Mercy me,” she said, gasping, “I felt quite certain we had been hit by lightning. My poor little babies’ hearts are fluttering like butterfly wings.”

“Dreadfully sorry, madam. Must be the fire. Dashed smoke makes me sneeze.” The colonel sniffed, leaning on one side to search his pocket for a handkerchief.

Finally locating one in his breast pocket, he drew it out and proceeded to blow his nose in a loud trumpet of sound that almost matched the thunder.

“I say,” Cyril Plunkett said, starting up from his chair, “that was a wild flash of lightning just then. It lit up the entire Esplanade.”

His words were almost drowned out by the crash of thunder that followed.

“Dashed good job it wasn’t yesterday evening,” the colonel remarked, draining the remains of the gin. “I was on my way home from the George. Would have been caught in this lot. Lost my way coming back here. Seem to do that a lot lately. Must be the old noggin getting old, what? Had a damn good meal down there, though.”

Lady Belleville looked horrified. “You
ate
there? You actually ate that inferior food when you could have enjoyed Michel’s delectable meals? What were you thinking of, my good man?”

“I say, madam,” the colonel said, obviously put out. “I agree the chef here is top-hole and all that, but I happen to enjoy the Cornish pasties and Scotch eggs at the George once in a while. Dashed good stuff if I may say so, what?”

Unable to keep quiet any longer, Cecily said warmly, “I’m glad you enjoyed the meal, Colonel. My son would be happy to know that.”

Obviously having forgotten that Cecily’s son owned the pub, the colonel looked confused again. “Oh, quite, quite.” He said nothing more for a moment, his chin getting lower and lower on his chest.

“I think I will go to the dining room,” Cyril Plunkett said in his thin voice. “The thunder might not be so noisy in
there. I never could abide storms, and they always seem so much worse at the seaside.” As if in answer to his words, thunder once more growled overhead.