Decked with Folly (8 page)

Cecily was also fairly certain that Baxter harbored the same fears she did, about Gertie being somehow involved, which was perhaps another reason why he had agreed not to stand in her way. Yet he did issue a host of dire warnings and extracted a promise that she would keep him informed of her every move. That was something she had found almost impossible to do in the past and no doubt it would prove equally difficult in this case.

Deep in her dark thoughts, she almost passed by the constable, who hovered at the foot of the stairs, clutching his helmet under his arm.

“I knew it!” he exclaimed, as she greeted him. “I knew it would turn up as a murder, the minute I heard he’d drowned in two feet of water.”

“Hush!” Cecily glanced around the lobby in alarm. “We don’t want to upset the guests.”

“Oh, of course not. Sorry, Mrs. Baxter. Wasn’t thinking, was I.”

Baxter rolled his eyes, his face clearly expressing his displeasure.

“Let us go to my office,” Cecily said hurriedly, sensing her husband’s imminent explosion of wrath. “We can talk freely there.”

She led the way, keeping up a cheerful conversation about the holly wreaths on the walls, and how Madeline had woven them herself. “It’s really a shame you don’t spend your Christmas in Badgers End,” she said, as she opened the door. “You could have attended our Christmas pantomime. Phoebe Carter-Holmes Fortescue has worked very hard on this year’s presentation. It promises to be quite lovely.”

She couldn’t blame the skeptical look on the constable’s face as he murmured an answer. Phoebe’s presentations, largely consisting of ill-conceived performances by her unwieldy dance group, were more often than not a total disaster.

The fact that Cecily’s audiences enjoyed them, at least those who did not sit close enough to be wounded by flying objects, was based more on their anticipation of a fiasco than on appreciating the nonexistent artistic talent.

Having closed the door, Baxter ushered Northcott to a chair while Cecily took her seat behind the desk. The lack of space in the tiny room, which held little more than her desk, four chairs, and a filing cabinet, always made her feel somewhat constricted when there was more than one person in there with her.

Never was that feeling more pronounced than when Sam Northcott was present. She assumed it was because more often than not he was either the bearer of bad news, or she was in the unfortunate position of having to impart unpleasant news herself.

Sitting back in her chair, she tried to calm her thoughts by clasping her hands together. “Well, Sam, I’m afraid we are dealing with yet another troublesome problem.”

“We are, indeed, m’m.” Northcott stole a glance at Baxter. “Please accept my condolences. I know you were fond of the deceased.”

“He was once one of my favorite servants,” Cecily agreed carefully.

Baxter cleared his throat and she sent him a warning glance. He had agreed not to interfere with her discussion with the constable, and she knew he had set himself an almost impossible task.

“Yes, indeed.” Northcott withdrew his notebook, then took out a pencil and licked it with disgusting relish. “Now then, I think it is safe to say that this h’is an open-and-shut case, so to speak.”

Cecily raised her eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

Northcott scribbled something down then raised his head. “Well, I think it’s obvious who done Ian in.” He coughed. “I mean who perpetrated the crime. It had to be his ex-wife what murdered him—Gertie McBride.”

Baxter made a strangled sound in his throat, while Cecily could only stare at the constable’s round, flushed face, searching for words that would not come.

Northcott nodded. “I have it on good authority from an h’eyewitness what ’eard the suspect say she was going to kill him. In fact, according to my source, Gertie McBride took a knife to the deceased on the very night he died and threatened to slit his throat.”

Cecily felt as if all the air had rushed out of her lungs. She gripped the edge of the desk and struggled to sound calm as she forced out the words. “Who told you that?”

Northcott shook his head. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say, m’m.”

“Good Lord, man!” Apparently unable to keep his promise, Baxter rose from his chair and loomed over the wary constable. “You can’t possibly believe that Gertie McBride would do such a thing?”

“Besides,” Cecily said quickly, “Ian didn’t die from a knife wound. We believe he was hit over the head with one of my candlesticks. I told you that when I rang you.”

“A candlestick, which, I believe, was standing on your ’allstand in the hall.”

“And could have been picked up by anyone in this hotel,” Baxter put in.

“Have you heard anyone else threaten to slit the victim’s throat with a knife?” Northcott preened when neither one of them answered. “H’I rest my case.”

Actually, Cecily thought, she had heard more than one person threaten Ian in the past. Clive for one, when he had come to the rescue when Ian had tried to abduct little Lillian. And Gertie’s boyfriend, Dan, when he’d heard what Ian had tried to do. Why, even Baxter had threatened to thrash the man within an inch of his life for terrifying his precious goddaughter.

For that matter, Madeline had once threatened to turn Ian into something quite nasty, which might or might not have been an empty threat. But it was a measure of how many people wished Ian Rossiter ill will.

She could hardly relate all that to the constable, however. Not in detail, anyway. “I have heard several people make various threats at times,” she said firmly. “None of which, I haven’t the slightest doubt, were meant to be taken seriously. Gertie’s included. You can’t accuse someone of murder based on such flimsy evidence.”

“From what I understand,” Northcott said, still scribbling in his notebook, “there have been many an occasion when your housemaid has made similar threats. What’s more, she was the last one to see the victim alive last night. Right here on these premises. I think that’s quite enough reason to take her down to the station for questioning.”

Cecily swallowed, while Baxter seemed at a loss for words. His eyes held a desperate look, signaling her to do something. The problem was, right then and there, she had no idea what to do. All she could think of was Gertie’s voice, low and full of bitter venom.
I’m not really sorry he’s dead. I’m not.

The constable was right. Gertie had threatened Ian on more than one occasion. Had she finally endured more than she could bear and struck back? If so, Cecily thought with a pang of desperation, there was little she could do to save her. Gertie would be doomed to spend the rest of her life in prison, and two children would have to grow up without a mother or a father. It just didn’t bear thinking about.

Cecily took a deep breath. No. She could not, would not believe Gertie McBride was a killer. “Sam,” she said, silently cursing the tremor in her voice, “I know you are in a great hurry to begin your Christmas holiday. Arresting Gertie and questioning her will take time. All the paperwork, for instance. What’s more, Gertie has the afternoon off. I believe she has taken the twins out for a walk. She won’t be back for at least another hour or two.”

She leaned forward, giving him her warmest smile. “Can’t this wait until you get back? That way you can start off your holiday without upsetting your wife, whom I know must be anxiously waiting for you right now.”

Northcott wavered, uncertainty all over his face. “Well, it’s not proper procedure, is it.”

“We could make absolutely certain that once Gertie returns to the hotel, she will not be allowed to leave again until you return.” Cecily glanced at Baxter, who finally found his tongue.

“House arrest.” He nodded to emphasize his words. “That’s what we’ll do. We’ll hold Gertie under house arrest. She won’t make a move without us knowing it.”

Hope crept across Northcott’s ruddy features. “Well . . . if you think . . .”

“Absolutely.” Baxter thrust out his hand. “You have my solemn word on it. Gertie will be under our care until you can arrest her properly.”

Cecily made a small sound of protest but Baxter frowned at her, warning her to keep silent.

“All right, then.” Northcott folded his notebook and tucked it in the vest pocket of his uniform. “In that case, I’ll be off.”

Heaving a huge sigh of relief, Cecily rose from her chair. “Thank you, Sam. We do appreciate your understanding.”

Northcott struggled to his feet and wagged a finger at her. “Mark my words, Mrs. Baxter. If I come back to find Gertie has scarpered, I shall come down on you very hard.” He leaned forward to make his point. “Very ’ard indeed.”

Longing to bite the finger pointed at her, Cecily nodded. “I understand. Happy Christmas, Sam.”

Northcott nodded, then turned to Baxter. “I hold you entirely responsible for the prisoner until I get back. I hope that’s understood.”

“Have no fear my good man.” Baxter slapped him on the shoulder so hard the constable stumbled forward. “We will take good care of her.”

Coughing, Northcott glared at him. “Make sure you do.” He reached the door and looked back over his shoulder. “Happy Christmas all.”

The door closed behind him, and Cecily sank weakly onto the chair. “Goodness, that was a close shave. I had visions of Gertie spending Christmas all alone in that miserable jail. Can you imagine those poor babies if their mother wasn’t there for Christmas morning?” She shuddered. “I just can’t stand the thought of it.”

“It’s not over yet,” Baxter said grimly. “What did Northcott mean about Gertie being the last person to see Ian alive?”

“I don’t know. But I’m certainly going to find out.” Cecily leaned back and grasped the bell rope behind her. Giving it a sharp tug, she added, “I had no idea Gertie had seen Ian, or even knew he had come down to Badgers End.”

“I thought you said Gertie had gone for a walk with the twins.”

“So she will be.” Cecily smiled. “But not for another hour.”

Baxter shook his head. “Devious.” He stuck his thumbs into his trouser pockets and rocked back on his heels. “You don’t think that Gertie might have—”

“No,” Cecily said, cutting him off before he could say the words. “I don’t.”

“Well, neither do I, of course, but I have heard her threaten to kill him if he came near the twins again.”

“You have also heard me say I’d divorce you if you kept ordering me about.”

His wry expression was comical and she smiled. “You know full well I’d never carry out that threat.”

“Well, yes, but that’s a little different.”

Her smile faded. “Gertie didn’t kill Ian. She can be abrasive at times, and a little too belligerent for her own good, but she is simply not capable of taking another life. I’d stake my own life on it.”

“Well, let’s hope you don’t have to do that.” Baxter rose as a tap on the door disturbed them. “I’ll let you talk to her alone. She’ll be less intimidated if I’m not here.”

Cecily had to smile at the idea of Gertie being intimidated by anyone. “Good idea, darling.”

“You’d better inform her she’s to be a virtual prisoner until Northcott gets back.” He pulled a face. “That’s not going to go down well. Frankly, though, I’m surprised Northcott agreed to hold off arresting her. Usually he’s in his element when he can take someone into custody.”

“Which just goes to show he’s not confident about his judgement.”

A second tap on the door sounded louder than the first. Cecily nodded at Baxter then called out, “Come in!”

Gertie’s anxious face appeared in the gap. “You rang for me, m’m?”

“Yes, come in, Gertie. Mr. Baxter was just leaving, weren’t you dear?”

Baxter hesitated for one second longer, then strode out the door, shutting it firmly behind him.

Gertie still looked uneasy as she took the chair opposite Cecily. “Mr. Baxter didn’t look none too pleased. I didn’t do nothing wrong, did I?”

It was the second time she’d asked that. Realizing that gave Cecily cause to worry. Praying that she’d been right to defend her housemaid, she said quietly, “Why didn’t you tell me you saw Ian last night?”

Gertie’s shoulders jerked in surprise. “I didn’t think to, m’m. It weren’t no secret. I’d have told you if you’d asked me.”

She must have seen something in Cecily’s face since she leaned forward, a frown furrowing her brow. “You don’t think I had anything to do with him dying, do you? He was drunk. The doc said so, didn’t he? He fell into the pond and drowned. I wasn’t even there. I didn’t know—”

“Gertie.” Cecily paused, then said carefully, “We believe that someone hit Ian over the head with one of the Christmas candlesticks. We won’t know for certain until after the autopsy if the blow to the head killed Ian, or if it simply knocked him out and he drowned, but either way, it appears that the head wound was responsible for his death.”

Gertie’s face had paled considerably as she’d talked. She seemed to have trouble getting her tongue to work, and finally blurted out, “S-someone deliberately killed Ian?”

Cecily sighed. “We don’t know if the assailant intended to kill him, but at this point P.C. Northcott is anxious to arrest someone for murder.”

Gertie might not have had the benefit of a formal education, but she was astute enough to grasp the implication behind Cecily’s words. “So he wants to bloody arrest me,” she stated flatly.

“Gertie—”

“I didn’t kill him, m’m.”

“I know you didn’t, Gertie. Unfortunately, someone told the constable you threatened Ian with a knife. Tell me, is that true?”

Gertie hung her head. “Yes, m’m. I did.” She looked up again. “Just to frighten him off, though. I would never have used it, m’m. Never. Not even on
him
.”

“I believe you.” Cecily sighed. “This all seems very unfortunate at the moment, but I promise you Mr. Baxter and I will do everything in our power to find out who was responsible for Ian’s death before the constable returns from his Christmas holiday.”