Decked with Folly (22 page)

Clive nodded. “I guessed it was Gertie in trouble again so I ran to the kitchen. By the time I got there, she was alone, but she told me Ian had come back and that he was drunk and she’d locked him in the coal shed.”

“Yes, that’s what she told me.”

“Well, she gave me the key and asked me to let him out and make sure that he left. I went back to the shed, but the window was open. He must have climbed up somehow, opened the window, and got out, because he was gone when I opened the door.”

“So you took the key back to the kitchen.”

“Yes, m’m. Gertie wasn’t there, and I waited a while but she didn’t come back, so I left. I saw Michel as I was crossing the yard. I knew he was coming back to take out his plum puddings. I could smell them when I was in the kitchen.”

Cecily was silent for a moment, turning over his words in her mind. He’d more or less repeated what Gertie had told her, yet his secrecy about what he was doing bothered her. A Christmas present. It was an easy enough excuse to think up, and covered a lot of ground.

There didn’t seem to be anything else she could ask him that would be useful. Still troubled, she got to her feet. “Well, thank you, Clive. That will be all for now.”

“Yes, m’m.” He leapt to his feet, anxiety written all over his face. “I didn’t kill Ian Rossiter, m’m. I swear it.”

“All right, Clive.” She watched him leave, still wondering how much she could trust him. He hadn’t worked for her as long as most of her staff, but she had come to rely on him a great deal, to help keep the Pennyfoot running smoothly. Not only that, she had grown fond of him. She considered all of her permanent staff a surrogate family, and Clive was no exception.

She hoped, with all her heart, that he hadn’t lost his temper that night and dealt Ian Rossiter a death blow.

 

 

 

Gertie hovered in the doorway of the dining room, disgusted to see that most of the tables were still occupied. She had been in a fever of impatience all through the midday meal, wondering if the guests were ever going to stop talking and get on with the eating.

Pansy and Mabel stood over by the dumbwaiter, whispering together about something. Gertie paid little attention to them. Her stomach was tied up in knots just thinking about the questions she needed to ask Dan, and what his answers might be.

She’d know if he wasn’t telling her the truth this time. What she didn’t know was what she’d do if she did catch him lying. How could she believe that her Dan, the man she loved with all her heart, had tried to make her look as if she was a murderer?

One thing she did know, if he’d been the one to kill Ian, she wasn’t going to take the blame for it. Her babies needed her, and she wasn’t going to prison for something she didn’t do. She’d turn him in herself if she had to, no matter how much it hurt.

That would be the hard part, turning him in to the bobbies. She didn’t know if she could do that, neither. Swamped in misery, she dug her hands into the pockets of her apron. It was so hard for her to believe that Dan was capable of hurting anyone.

Her Dan—the bloke who crept into the orphanage on Christmas Eve to leave presents for the children, and never let on to anyone he was the one what done it. Dan, who played with James and Lillian and gave them rides on his back.

Gertie cleared her throat. The twins would be shattered if Dan had to go to prison. They’d miss him something terrible, and so would she. Closing her eyes, she sent up a brief prayer.
Just don’t let it be him.

Someone brushed past her, and she snapped her eyes open again. The guests were leaving the dining room at last. Now she could get on with clearing the tables, and then get down to the kitchen. The sooner she got done with her chores, the sooner she could get things settled with Dan. One way or another.

It seemed to take forever to get the tables cleared. Gertie could hardly control her temper as Mabel dawdled about, and even Pansy, usually so quick and light on her feet, trudged back and forth as if she was carrying a sack of coal on her shoulders.

“What’s the blinking matter with you?” Gertie demanded, when Pansy, after loading an armful of dishes into the waiter, just stood there leaning against the wall.

The young girl shrugged, and turned away. “Nothing. I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“Well, you’d better bleeding buck up.” Gertie gave her a little push to get her going. “We’ve still got four more tables to clear and it’s getting late.”

“I don’t feel like hurrying.”

“What’s the matter? Samuel giving you bloody trouble again?”

“He didn’t come to the pantomime and he promised me he would.”

Gertie sighed. “Maybe he had a job to do.” She stacked dinner plates one on top of the other like a pack of cards. “Here, take these. I’ll bring the rest.”

Pansy looked about ready to cry. “I think he’s gone off me.”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“What if he tells me he doesn’t want to go out with me anymore?”

“Well, at least you’ll know.” Gertie followed her to the dumbwaiter, her tray loaded with glasses, plates, and cutlery. She’d know, too, once she talked to Dan. She’d know whether or not she could still dream about a life with him, or if once more she would be left out in the cold, facing a lonely and miserable future.

By the time she got down to the kitchen, she was sure she was going to be sick. She hadn’t eaten anything since early that morning, yet the thought of putting food in her stomach made her heave.

She had to force herself to push the kitchen door open. The maids were busy at the sink, halfway through washing the piles of dishes on the counter. Michel had disappeared, and Mrs. Chubb had already left for her afternoon nap.

Gertie had no idea where Pansy had gone, though she suspected it was in search of Samuel. She sent up another quick prayer that her friend wouldn’t have to spend Christmas with a broken heart. And that she and the twins wouldn’t, either.

Of Dan there was no sign, and she felt relieved that she had a moment or two to try and calm down. She thought about sneaking into the pantry for a sip of Michel’s brandy. While she was still thinking about it, however, a pounding on the back door announced Dan’s arrival at last. Her stomach took a nosedive, and she hurried to open the door, ignoring the giggles and sly glances from the maids at the sink.

“Sorry I’m late, luv!” Dan dragged off his cap and stepped inside the kitchen. “I got caught up with some paperwork before I left.” He bent forward to kiss her but she stepped back, leaving him poked forward like a chicken searching for food.

Looking surprised, he straightened.

Gertie nodded her head at the maids, who were still stealing glances over their shoulders. “I need to talk to you. In private.”

He studied her, his face creased in concern. “What’s the matter, luv? Not another . . .” He hesitated, glanced at the maids, then finished lamely, “you know what?”

She frowned, too upset to work out what he meant. “Let’s go for a walk.”

“What, outside? It’s cold out there and it’s starting to rain.”

“We’ll go to the wine cellar.” She grabbed his sleeve. “Come on.”

He followed her, silent and obviously puzzled, as she marched across the yard, heedless of the cold rain spattering across her shoulders and head.

Reaching the door, she fished for the key that she’d dropped into her pocket earlier. The door swung open, and the familiar musty smell greeted her as she stepped inside.

Feeling around in the dark, she found the oil lamp hanging on the wall. She took it down and lit it with the matches she’d brought with her, then held it up to light the way down the stairs.

She heard Dan close the door behind them, shutting them inside the damp, dark cellar. Shivering, she wished she’d stopped for her shawl on the way out.

Reaching the floor below, she hung the lamp on the wall. It swung gently back and forth, sending shadows leaping across the wall.

Dan stepped down beside her, and pulled off his coat. “Here, put this around you before you freeze to death.”

Hugging the warm wool coat around her, she fought back tears. She never cried. Well, hardly ever. This was one time when she was determined not to let the tears fall.

“Now,” Dan said, leaning his shoulders against the wall behind him. “What’s all this about?”

From the far end of the cellar came the echo of voices from the card rooms. At one time, when gambling had been illegal in the Pennyfoot Hotel, the rooms had been hidden below the floor in a tunnel dug by smugglers long ago.

Now that the Pennyfoot had been turned into a country club, the card games were licensed, and the rooms had been opened up. The floor above them had been removed, so they were in a sort of pit. The guests loved the atmosphere, which still bore an air of decadence without the risk of breaking the law.

Even so, Gertie could sense that sinister feeling of something forbidden closing in on her. She turned an unhappy face to look up at Dan. Had he committed murder? Was he the kind, fun-loving fellow she’d fallen in love with, or a hot-tempered coward prepared to let someone else take the blame for his sins?

Dan’s eyes gleamed with the reflection of the flickering flame from the oil lamp. “What is it, Gertie? Have you had enough of me? Are you trying to say good-bye?”

Despite her best efforts, a tear escaped down her cheek. “I don’t know.”

He shifted away from her, as if bracing himself. “What did I do?”

It was hard to swallow, and she took a moment to answer him. “You tell me.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

She couldn’t see his face, but she could hear his voice. She could swear he sounded genuinely confused. Taking a deep breath, she said unsteadily, “You came back to the Pennyfoot the night Ian died.”

The pause that followed terrified her. Dan’s voice sounded strange when he answered her. “Yes, I came to see you.”

“I know, but you came back again later. It must have been after nine o’clock.”

Again the pause. “Yes, it was. I told you, I came back to see you.”

A tiny flicker of hope caught fire. “I didn’t see you.”

“I know.”

Now he sounded cold, and the hope fluttered out. “I don’t understand.”

“Gertie, the first time I came to see you that evening, it was to give you and the twins your Christmas presents. I left them in the motorcar so you could help me carry them in. But you were so upset over Ian I decided it wasn’t a good time. So I came back later. You weren’t there. I went looking for you and you were having some kind of argument in the library with one of the maids. So I gave up. I decided to wait until Christmas Eve in the hopes you’d be in a better mood, and I left.”

She almost choked on a sob of relief. Before she could say anything, however, Dan spoke again, in a harsh voice that frightened her.

“You thought I’d killed Ian.”

“No, I—”

“Am I that hard to trust? Don’t you know me at all? I thought we had an understanding. Obviously I was wrong.”

Now she let the sob out. “I’m sorry, Dan, but when I found out about the fight you had with Ian, and then you lied about having an accident with the motorcar—”

“I did have an accident with the motorcar. It was my fault. I was still fuming about Ian and wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t tell you that or about the fight in case you blamed yourself. I didn’t want to upset you.”

She held out a trembling hand to him. “Dan, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t lie to you, Gertie. I might have left something out, but I didn’t lie to you. I thought you knew me better than that.”

“I do, but—”

“I think it’s time I left.” He turned and started up the stairs.

“Dan!”

Pausing at the top, he looked back at her. His face was lost in the shadows, but there was no mistaking the hurt and resentment in his voice. “You need to have more faith in the people you know. I never once doubted you, even though just about everyone thinks you killed Ian Rossiter.”

Her cry of anguish was smothered by the slamming of the door. Sinking onto the bottom step, she buried her face in her apron and sobbed.

CHAPTER 18

Cecily had spent most of the midday meal wrestling with her thoughts, and Baxter was noticeably put out as they left the dining room.

“I understand your eagerness to find out who killed Ian Rossiter,” he said, as they approached the stairs. “But I simply must object to the quest taking up your complete attention. I thoroughly dislike having to eat in total silence while watching you dissect every piece of information you might have come across. You used to discuss your thoughts with me. Am I no longer worthy of an opinion?”

Instantly filled with remorse, Cecily tucked her hand in his elbow. “I’m sorry, darling. Really. You’re right. I have been far too introspective with this dratted business. I’ll be happy to discuss it all with you once we reach the privacy of our suite.”

To her relief, Baxter seemed immediately pacified. Squeezing her arm, he murmured, “Once we reach the privacy of our suite I can think of something I’d much rather be doing with you.”

She uttered a little gasp of mock horror. “Mr. Baxter, are you suggesting what I think you are suggesting?”

Instead of answering, he looked beyond her, with an odd expression on his face.

Turning her head, she saw one of her most prestigious guests hovering at her side and quite obviously within earshot.

Embarrassed, Cecily withdrew her hand from her husband’s arm. “Good afternoon, Lady Roslyn! Is there something we can do for you?”

The woman’s cheeks were pink as she glanced from Cecily to Baxter then back again. “I . . . ah . . . I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I would like a quick word with you, Mrs. Baxter, if you could spare the time?”

“Of course!” Cecily looked up at Baxter, disconcerted to see his eyes twinkling with humor. “Go on up, dear. I’ll join you in a moment.”