Decked with Folly (16 page)

Since Mabel seemed disinclined to answer, Cecily tried again. “Is anything wrong, Mabel? Is there something we can do for you?”

Mabel shook her head and muttered, “No thank you, m’m. Mrs. McBride is being really helpful and so is Mrs. Chubb.”

“Well, that’s good to hear.” Cecily smiled back. “Run along then, and don’t forget to tell Gertie I need a word with her.”

“Yes, m’m. I mean no, m’m. I won’t forget.” Looking as if she were desperate to escape, Mabel slipped from the room.

Cecily frowned, disturbed by the young woman’s obvious melancholy. She would have to talk to Mrs. Chubb about her, and see if there was something they could do to cheer up the new maid. She didn’t like to think that a member of her staff was unhappy with her job.

A few minutes later a thump on the door warned Cecily that Clive was about to enter. The big man seemed to fill the doorway as he stood waiting for her to speak.

“Come in, Clive, and close the door behind you.” She smiled, but her words must have struck a warning note, as he seemed wary when he sat down opposite her.

She wasted no time in coming to the point. “Michel tells me he bumped into you the night before last. I understand it was quite late.”

“Yes, m’m.” Clive looked down at the cap he held in his hands. “I was late leaving.”

“Very late. After nine o’clock, Michel said.”

“Yes, m’m.”

“Would you mind telling me what you were doing in the yard at that hour?”

“I was on my way home, m’m.”

Cecily frowned. “But your day ended at six. I don’t remember asking you to stay after that.”

“No, m’m. You didn’t. I . . . had a job to do and it took a lot longer than I thought it would.”

“I see.” She rested her hands in her lap. “What kind of job?”

He glanced up at her, then back down at his feet. “I . . . ah . . . was down in the wine cellar working on the water pipes.”

Worried now, she leaned forward. “Do we have a problem with the pipes?”

“Not anymore, m’m.”

She pressed her lips together. He gave her the distinct impression that he was avoiding the truth. She had to ask herself why, and she didn’t like any of the answers that presented themselves. “Gertie tells me you came to her aid that night, when Ian was pestering her.”

“Yes, m’m.”

“What happened exactly?”

Clive took his time thinking about that. After a long pause, he said slowly, “I was walking past the door and he was in the kitchen and I heard her yelling at him. I opened the door and she had a knife in his face. She was quite angry, and I was worried she might use the knife on him, so I hustled him out of there and out of the gate.”

“Just like that?”

Clive shuffled his feet. “He took a bit of persuading, m’m.”

“I imagine he did.”

“He came back later, though.”

Cecily straightened her back. “Ian came back after you threw him out?”

“Yes, m’m.” Clive hunched his shoulders and twisted his cap in his hands. After a significant pause, he blurted out “Gertie told me later that night that he’d come back. He wanted to see the twins, she said.”

“Did you escort him off the premises again?”

Again the odd pause before he muttered, “No, m’m. He wasn’t there when she told me that so he must have gone home.”

“I see.” Cecily leaned back in her chair. It seemed that Gertie had left out quite a lot of what had happened that evening. “Did Gertie happen to mention what time Ian left the second time?”

Clive thought about it. “Must have been about nine o’clock, or thereabouts.”

Nine o’clock. So Sam Northcott could have been right. Gertie might well have been the last person to see Ian alive. But then, how did the constable know that? Who was giving him all this information?

She gave Clive a stern look. “Have you been talking to P.C. Northcott about this?”

The maintenance man looked offended. “I have not, m’m. I haven’t spoken to the constable in quite some time.”

Remembering Northcott’s cryptic comment the day before, Cecily was tempted to ask Clive about his former association with the constable. Before she could do so, however, he supplied the answer.

“I haven’t spoken to him since he tried to arrest me for trespassing.”

“Trespassing?”

“Yes, m’m.” Clive shifted his feet. “It happened before I came to work here. I was doing odd jobs around town and I’d been hired to repair the roof of one of the cottages down by the harbor. The owners were visiting relatives while I worked on it and the constable came by to call on them. He saw me in the backyard and arrested me for trespassing.” He pursed his lips. “It took quite a while to sort everything out. He never did apologize for arresting me and hauling me off to the station. I haven’t spoken to him since. Except for when I bumped into him yesterday, that is.”

Cecily really hadn’t believed Clive to be the informant, but had felt compelled to ask. Someone had been very forthcoming with the constable, however, and she was becoming convinced that finding that person would lead her to the killer. “Thank you, Clive. That will be all.”

“Yes, m’m.” He stood, hesitating in front of her desk until she looked up at him. “Gertie didn’t kill Mr. Rossiter, m’m. I’d stake my life on it.”

With a heavy sigh, she nodded. “I hope you’re right, Clive. Right now, I don’t know what to think.”

“We’ll soon find out who did it, m’m. I can promise you that.”

She looked at him in alarm, worried that he’d start investigating on his own. She knew from experience how much trouble that could cause. “We should leave that to the police. Apart from the fact that it’s dangerous to meddle with murder, the constabulary won’t thank us for interfering in their business. Let them handle it, Clive.”

His expression portrayed clearly what he thought of the constabulary, and considering his false arrest, she could hardly blame him. She was relieved, however, when he gave her a brief nod. “I’ll get back to my work then, m’m.”

She watched him leave, feeling a deep sense of sympathy. Clive was an educated man, once a respected teacher in a London school. Unfortunately he’d taken to drinking and it had eventually cost him his career and his marriage. He’d taken steps to control his addiction, but he would never again be trusted to teach children.

Maintenance work was the only occupation he could find, and when she’d interviewed him, Cecily had sensed how very much he missed his vocation. She had appreciated the fact that he’d been honest about his past and had never regretted giving him the job. Though she often wondered how he could be happy doing menial work when he was capable of so much more.

Sighing, she opened her ledger again. She was no closer to finding out who killed Ian, or who had given the constable so much information. Time was ticking away, and unless she found out something soon, Sam Northcott would be back ready to arrest Gertie and take her into custody.

There was one question hovering around in her mind to which she would like an answer. She would very much like to know how Archie Parker knew that the murder weapon was taken from the hallstand in the foyer.

All in all, there was a great deal of information being passed around the Pennyfoot, and she would give anything to know who was doing the talking.

Gertie finished polishing the last wineglass and stuck it on the shelf in the cabinet. Mabel had given her the message earlier that madam wanted to see her, and Gertie was anxious to get it over with. Any time someone wanted to talk to her she got nervous now. She couldn’t forget that the constable thought she’d killed Ian, and she was really hoping madam was going to tell her that the killer had been found and arrested and that she had nothing more to worry about. But it was almost three o’clock, and she wanted to spend a little time with the twins before getting the ballroom ready for the pantomime that evening. The way things were going, it looked as if she’d get no more than five minutes with them.

Pansy had already disappeared, probably gone looking for Samuel. Mrs. Chubb was in her room and Michel was out somewhere for a walk. This was the quietest time of day for the staff, and Gertie always tried to make the most of it.

Hurrying along the corridor to her room, she thought about how she’d get the twins to make paper chains so they could hang them on the walls. It would keep their minds off Father Christmas and how soon he was coming.

She could hear their voices as she reached the room, arguing again. Pulling a face, she opened the door and looked in.

Daisy sat on the bed, reading as usual. The twins were playing tug-of-war with a toy boat, Lillian insisting it was her turn to play with it and James loudly arguing that it was his boat.

Gertie rolled her eyes. “James! Let Lilly play with that for a while. I have to go and talk to madam but I’ll be back in a little while and we’ll make paper chains, all right?”

The twins went on wrestling with the boat.

Daisy looked up. “Will you be long? I wanted to go into town to get some knitting wool.”

Gertie blinked as James raised his voice even higher. “I’ll only be a minute or two,” she said, raising her own voice above her child’s. “Try and keep those two quiet until I get back.” She shut the door on the noise and fled back down the corridor to the stairs.

She reached the main hallway and was halfway across the foyer when someone called her name. Turning, her stomach dropped when she saw Ian’s wife, Gloria Johnson, walking toward her. The last thing she needed was a fight with her. Clenching her fists, she waited for the other woman to reach her.

Gloria stopped a few feet from her, her face full of hostility. “I wanted to talk to you,” she said, her voice low and angry.

“What about?”

“About my husband, of course.”

Gertie glanced around the empty foyer. Everyone was taking a little time off or a nap in their rooms. Though it wouldn’t be long before someone would come in and disturb them. “What about Ian?”

“I want to know why he came to see you the night he was killed.”

“He didn’t come to see me. He came to see the twins.”

“That’s what he said.”

Gertie sighed. “That’s what he meant. There was no love lost between me and Ian. We hated each other.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

“Well, then you heard wrong.” Gertie made a move to leave, but Gloria’s next words stopped her.

“Do you know who killed him?”

Taking a deep breath, Gertie turned around. “I haven’t got the faintest idea who killed your husband. The last time I saw Ian Rossiter he was alive and kicking. You can bloody believe that or not, I don’t care.”

“I think your boyfriend killed him.”

Gertie blinked. “What? Who? Are you talking about Dan Perkins?”

“If that’s his name.” Gloria kept looking over her shoulder as if she were afraid of being overheard. “All I know is that he was punching the daylights out of my husband down at the pub the night he died.”

Gertie felt her jaw drop. “My Dan was fighting with Ian? What for?”

The front door opened suddenly, making Gloria jump. She sent a scared glance at the door then seemed to relax as an elderly couple strolled in. Moving closer to Gertie, she lowered her voice even more. “I don’t know what it was about, but yes, he was fighting with Robert. Where do you think my husband got that black eye? If you don’t believe me, ask them down at the pub. They’ll tell you. Lots of people must have seen them going at it.”

Gertie stared at her for a long moment, then said quietly, “I never pay any attention to gossipmongers. I have to go now.” This time she didn’t wait for Gloria to answer. Turning her back on her, she strode purposefully toward the hallway and didn’t stop until she reached madam’s office.

CHAPTER 13

Seated at her desk, Cecily raised her head at the sound of Gertie’s knock. “Come in!”

Gertie appeared in the doorway, her cap askew as usual and strands of hair falling across her forehead. She barged into the room and shut the door with a resounding thud. “You wanted to see me, m’m?”

Noting the two bright spots of red on Gertie’s cheeks, Cecily waved at a chair. “Sit down, Gertie.”

The housemaid sat, her chest heaving as if she was having difficulty breathing.

Cecily waited a moment to give her time to calm down, then enquired gently, “You seem to be upset about something. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Gertie pressed her lips together, then let out her breath in an explosive sound of exasperation. “Gloria. I just bumped into her in the foyer.”

“I see. I assume the exchange was less than cordial.”

“She wanted to know if I knew who killed Ian. She told me she thought it was Dan Perkins.”

“Oh, dear.” Cecily closed her ledger and set it aside. “I hope you set her straight.”

“You bet I bleeding did . . . sorry, m’m.”

“Quite all right, Gertie.”