Decked with Folly (4 page)

“I suppose so.”

“By the way, how’s that new footman, what’s his name, getting along?”

Recognizing that he’d deliberately changed the subject, Cecily smiled. “Sidney Barrett? All right, I suppose. I haven’t had any complaints. He seems a friendly young man, very eager to please. I was surprised how much he knew about the Pennyfoot’s staff. He obviously did his homework before applying for a position here.”

“Good.” Baxter straightened. “It’s hard to find good servants these days.”

“It certainly is. We are so lucky to have good people to work for us.” Cecily glanced at the door. “I wonder what’s keeping those men. I told Clive to report back to me once they had hidden Ian’s body in the stables.”

Just as she spoke a light tap on the door answered her. At her summons the two men entered. Clive wore a worried frown that darkened his rugged features, while Samuel, her young stable manager, kept shaking his head, as if he still couldn’t believe what had happened.

“That were a close one,” Samuel said, scratching the back of his head. “Right after Mr. Baxter left, one of the guests came into the stables and started up his motorcar. One of the horses got spooked when the motor backfired and just missed giving Clive a nasty kick in the head.”

Cecily looked at her maintenance man in alarm. “Clive! Are you all right?”

“Yes, m’m. Quite all right. Shook me up a bit, but more because I thought the bloke would see us hiding the corpse under the straw.”

Hearing Ian referred to in such a callous way made Cecily shudder. She still couldn’t reconcile a lifeless body with the lively young man who had once been so much part of the Pennyfoot family.

It was a sad business, and couldn’t have happened at a worse time. No matter how hard everyone tried to keep Ian’s death a secret, she had no doubt that word would eventually get out. Once more she would be faced with the task of maintaining a cheerful, joyous atmosphere for the guests in the midst of tragedy.

Such was the Christmas curse of the Pennyfoot country club, and it had descended on them once more.

CHAPTER 3

“So what happened? Why did madam want to see you? Are you in trouble over something?” Pansy’s eyes gleamed with speculation as she peered up at Gertie. “Go on, you might as well tell me, ’cos if you don’t I’ll ask Samuel. He knows everything what goes on here and he’ll tell me.”

Piling up the dirty dishes on the dumbwaiter, Gertie sniffed. “Don’t be too bloody sure of that. How’s that new maid, Mabel, working out, anyway?”

“Don’t change the subject.” Pansy balanced a tray of milk jugs on top of the dishes and tugged the rope. The waiter jerked, rattling the dishes, then descended out of sight to the kitchen below. “I want to know why madam sent for you.”

“It’s none of your bleeding business.”

“I thought we was friends.”

“We are, it’s just . . .” Gertie paused to take a deep breath, then turned to the other girl. “If I tell you, will you promise to keep your flipping mouth shut and not tell a soul? Madam will have my hide if she thinks I blurted out the news all over the club.”

Pansy’s face lit up with excitement. “What news? Is it something good?”

Gertie shook her head, wiping the smile from Pansy’s face. “What then? Tell me!”

Gertie leaned forward and whispered, “There’s been an accident.”

Now there was nothing but fear in Pansy’s eyes. “An accident? Not Samuel, is it? Please . . .” She tugged at Gertie’s sleeve. “Please tell me it’s not Samuel.”

Gertie puffed out her breath. “I don’t know why you waste your feelings on that man. He treats you like dirt.”

“He does not!” Pansy drew herself up, which wasn’t very far. “He’s a good man, our Samuel. He’s just not . . . well, he’s not . . .”

“Reliable?”

“Romantic!” Pansy glared at her. “What do you know, anyway? You’ve been going out with that Dan Perkins for more than a year and you still don’t know if he’s going to ask you to marry him.”

Gertie tossed her head. “Who says I want to marry him, anyway?”

“Well, don’t you?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“So did Samuel have an accident or not?”

“No. You can keep your bloody hair on. It wasn’t Samuel.”

“Well, who was it then?”

Gertie was about to tell her when Mabel staggered toward them, her tray loaded down with china tureens and bowls that looked as if they would all cascade to the floor and smash into smithereens at any minute.

“Bloody heck.” Gertie rushed over and took the tray. Mabel had plenty of flesh on her but it was flabby, while Gertie’s stocky build was toned by years of hard, physical work.

Carrying the tray over to the dumbwaiter, Gertie wondered, not for the first time, what kind of work Mabel had been doing before she got the job at the Pennyfoot. It couldn’t have been housemaid work. She was much too soft and sluggish, and it puzzled Gertie why madam had hired someone like that at their busiest time of the year.

The shelf had been raised up again and Gertie dumped the tray on it. Pansy had already disappeared, having gone back to the dining room to finish clearing the tables. Mabel, however, stood staring down the hallway as if she was in a daydream.

Irritated, Gertie spoke sharply. “Have all the tables been cleared, then?”

Mabel started, her fearful eyes focusing on Gertie’s face. Then she shook her head, reminding Gertie of a rabbit she once saw staring into the jaws of a cultivator.

The new maid’s agitation only deepened Gertie’s annoyance. “Well, get a bloody move on then! It’ll be time to lay the tables again before we’ve got the blinking dishes washed up and put away!”

Mabel uttered a little whimper then scuttled away just as Pansy hurried back with another loaded tray. “Don’t yell at her.” She glared at Gertie. “She’s not used to doing all this work. She told me she looked after her grandmother until she died, and then her nephew took all her money, leaving Mabel out in the cold. She’s used to the finer things of life, not working her fingers to the bone like we do.”

Gertie shrugged. “We all have our hard luck stories to tell. She’ll have to get used to it if she wants to keep her bleeding job.”

“Well, you don’t have to be so nasty to her.”

“You’re just cross because I wouldn’t tell you who had the accident.”

Pansy dumped her tray on the waiter. “I don’t care now, anyhow.”

“All right, then I won’t tell you.”

Pansy shrugged, then as Gertie knew she would, turned to her. “Go on. You know you’re dying to tell me.”

Gertie leaned toward her. “It was Ian.”

Pansy’s eyes widened. “Your Ian?”

“Yeah. They found him in the duck pond. Drowned.”

“How can he drown in the duck pond? It’s not deep enough.”

“I dunno. He just did. Hit his head or something.”

Pansy stared at her. “You don’t seem very upset.”

“I’m not.” Gertie turned her back on her and tugged the rope of the waiter to send a signal below. “And I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” She watched the dishes sink out of sight, trying not to envision Ian lying dead in the duck pond. She was done with him, once and for all. That was enough.

 

 

 

Cecily regarded the two men in front of her with a grave face. “I want to thank you both for your efforts this morning. I must ask you not to mention anything about this accident to anyone. The fewer people who know about this awful tragedy the better.”

Clive rolled his hat around in his big hands. “What about Gertie, m’m? Who’s going to tell her?”

“I’ve already told her, Clive. She took it . . .” Cecily paused, then added quietly, “. . . rather well, under the circumstances.”

“Yes, m’m. I should imagine she would.”

Samuel gave him a sharp look but said nothing.

“Very well, you can both return to your duties. Samuel, when Dr. Prestwick arrives, please show him where you . . . ah . . . laid the body. I’ll try to keep the constable occupied until the doctor has finished his examination.”

“Yes, m’m.” Samuel touched his forehead with his fingers and turned to leave.

“And please see that no one else goes near it.”

Samuel nodded and glanced once more at Clive with an odd expression Cecily couldn’t interpret. Then, without another word, he left.

Clive turned to leave as well, and Cecily spoke quickly. “Clive, I trust you won’t bother Gertie with this. She’s had a nasty shock and won’t want to discuss it anytime soon.”

“Don’t worry, m’m.” Clive paused at the door and looked back at her. “I wouldn’t want to upset her any more than she is already.”

Cecily smiled. “Thank you, Clive. I knew I could count on you.”

Looking sheepish, Clive dragged the door open and charged out into the hallway. Seconds later a loud bump followed by a muttered curse brought Baxter’s brows together.

“What the--?” He strode to the door and flung it open.

“You blithering idiot! Why don’t you look where you’re going!”

“Sorry, sir. Didn’t see you.” Clive’s voice echoed down the corridor outside, fading into the distance as he added, “I’ll watch out for you next time.”

“Blasted clumsy clod,” Northcott muttered, as he appeared in the doorway. “Knocked me ’elmet clean off, he did.”

Considering he should have removed his helmet the minute he entered the club, Cecily could find little reason to sympathize. “Do come in, Sam.” She nodded at Baxter, hoping he would interpret her meaningful look. “The doctor should have arrived by now, Baxter. Do be a dear and see if you can find him for me.”

Baxter glanced from her to the constable, who was busily brushing imaginary dust from his helmet. “Right you are,” he said, and gave her a slight nod that assured her he understood. Northcott had to be kept from interfering with the doctor until he had completed his examination.

He left the room, and Cecily waved a hand, indicating that the constable should sit.

He did so, still rubbing the narrow brim of his helmet. “Good job he didn’t put a dent in it,” he muttered. “Or he’d have to cough up for a new one.”

“Yes, quite.” Cecily leaned back in her chair and linked her fingers in her lap. “Thank you for coming so promptly, Sam. This is all very distressing.”

“Yes, it certainly is that.” The constable pulled a tattered notebook from one chest pocket, then a stubby pencil from the other. Opening the notebook, he put on his officious tone. “Now then, Mrs. Baxter. Let h’us start at the beginning. When was the deceased found and by whom?”

“Earlier this morning, by Mr. Russell.”

“Ah yes, the big baboon that barged into me just now.” He licked the point of his pencil, then started scribbling. “Never did like that man. Too secretive if you ask me.”

Cecily looked at him in surprise. “I didn’t know you had many dealings with Clive.”

The constable’s expression took on a mysterious air. “I’ve ’ad reason to discuss a certain matter with ’im in the past. Before he came to work for you, that is.”

Cecily’s natural curiosity begged to know what sort of matter, but good manners kept her from asking. “I see. Well, in any case, Clive is of the opinion that Ian had been drinking and wandered into the duck pond.”

“Where he decided to take a swim,” Northcott said, chuckling at his own humor.

Cecily raised her chin. “I fail to see any amusement in the situation, Constable. A man is dead. A man, I might add, who once worked for me and for whom I still hold fond memories.”

Northcott gave her a sly glance. “Quite right, Mrs. Baxter. My apologies. Though I have reason to believe he wasn’t quite so welcome the last time he came around here.”

Cecily sat up straight. As far as she knew, no one had mentioned to the police the incident that had taken place a year earlier, when Ian had insisted that since he was the twins’ father, Gertie should relinquish one of them to him.

When Gertie had adamantly refused, Ian had tried to take Lillian by force, and only Clive’s intervention had stopped him. Afer much discussion, and despite the urging of both Cecily and Mrs. Chubb, Gertie had decided not to involve the constabulary. She was afraid that Ian would wriggle out of it somehow, and become even more hostile toward her, making him even more dangerous. Or worse, that he might somehow prove that he had a right to be involved in the children’s lives—something she would not tolerate.

Staring at Sam Northcott, Cecily wondered how he’d found out about the situation. Avoiding answering the comment, she said instead, “I have no idea why he was here this time. We didn’t even know he was in Badgers End. The last we’d heard he had gone back to London, where, I believe, he still lives.”

“I would imagine he came to see his babies.” Northcott licked the point of his pencil and scribbled some more words in his notebook. “Been drinking, you say?”

“Clive smelled spirits on the body. We assume he had been heavily imbibing.”

The constable nodded. “Well, h’I suppose I’d better go and see for meself. Where is the body then? Still in the pond, I hope?”

Cecily felt a stab of guilt. “Actually no, it’s not. I didn’t want any of the guests wandering by and seeing such a distressing sight. I had Samuel and Clive move the body. Since it was an accident—”

“Yes, well, we don’t know that for certain, do we.” Northcott heaved himself out of the chair and tucked his notebook back in his pocket. “I wish you hadn’t moved the body, Mrs. Baxter. Deaths around here do ’ave a habit of turning out to be a matter for police investigation. I shall have to h’ascertain for myself that the death is accidental. For the record, you understand.”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary.” Cecily rose from her chair. “Dr. Prestwick will fill out a report. Besides, aren’t you planning to leave for London shortly, for your annual Christmas visit to relatives there?”

Northcott beamed and nodded. “I am that, Mrs. Baxter. Nice that you remembered. I shall be leaving on the noon train tomorrow with my wife, so I shall have to close up this case right away.”