Herald of Death (12 page)

“It will end with us capturing this fiend,” Cecily declared, with a lot more confidence than she felt. “Have you uncovered anything about this case that might be helpful?”

Northcott shook his head. “We searched the barn from top to bottom and found nothing at all. I’m completely baffled, Mrs. B. I don’t even know where to start looking.” He buried his face in his hands. “The missus is going to kill me if I have to stay here over Christmas because of all this.”

Cecily thought he had a lot more to worry about than missing a trip to visit relatives he didn’t like in the first place, but she held her tongue.

She had quite enough to worry about herself without fretting over Sam Northcott’s woes. She had another murder on her hands, and if word of it got back to London, there could well be a whole list of guests canceling for Christmas.

“Have you reported this to the inspector yet?” she asked, as the constable continued to mumble to himself.

Northcott shot up his chin. “No, I haven’t. I was sort of hoping we could solve this case without bothering the inspector. He’s got a lot on his plate right now.”

Cecily knew quite well that Northcott was worried the inspector would come down hard on him for not solving the case sooner. “Well, perhaps we could keep this latest murder quiet for a little while? It might give us a little more time to sort all this out, don’t you think?”

Northcott’s frown cleared. “I do, indeed, Mrs. Baxter, and I have the utmost faith in your deductive talents. I feel quite sure that given enough time, so to speak, you will unravel this puzzle and find the monster that’s doing this. Just one thing.” He wagged a finger at her. “I trust that when the time comes, you will not take matters into your own hands and attempt to apprehend the criminal.”

Cecily smiled. “Rest assured, Sam, I shall call upon your assistance, should I identify our killer.”

“Good. Then I shall continue to investigate as usual, and I hope between us we can come up with some answers. And soon.”

Cecily rose, gathering up her scarf. “I certainly hope so.”

Northcott scrambled to open the door for her. “One last thing. If word got back to the inspector that I had asked you to . . . ah . . . assist in this case—”

Cecily silenced him with a raised hand. “As I said, Sam, I try to avoid the inspector as much as possible. He will never know.”

“Thank you, m’m. Much obliged, I’m sure.”

“You can thank me when we have the killer safely locked up in prison.” She left him standing there and hurried across the lobby to the door.

Samuel was already waiting for her, one hand on the handle ready to open it.

The cold wind took her breath away as she stepped outside. Twilight had crept in while she was talking to the constable, and the lamplighter was making his way down the High Street, his long pole reaching up to set the lamps aglow.

Housewives hurried along the pavements, their bulging shopping bags swinging at their sides. It was almost closing time, and Baxter would most likely be chomping at the bit by now, wondering where she had gone.

“Tomorrow,” she told Samuel, “we will visit the Mackerbee farm, and on the way back we will call on Caroline Blanchard again.”

Samuel’s face split into a grin. “Yes, m’m. I’ll be more than happy to take you there.”

Cecily had no doubt of that, and once more her thoughts flew to Pansy. For the sake of the young girl, she hoped that Samuel’s interest in the seamstress was just a passing fancy. For if not, her young housemaid was in for a disappointing Christmas.

 

 

Doris arrived late the next morning, having caught the early train from London. Gertie happened to be passing through the foyer when Doris walked through the door, followed by a tall, thin-faced man sporting a luxuriant mustache and a young woman who carried a wiggling child in her arms.

The minute she spotted her friend, Gertie rushed over to welcome her. “Doris! You look bleeding gorgeous. Is that real fur?” She touched the fluffy collar with her fingers. “I’ve always wanted a coat with a fur collar.”

Doris laughed. “It’s so good to see you, Gertie.” She turned to the nanny and held out her arms. “Give her to me, Adelaide. She needs to meet her Auntie Gertie.” Taking the child from her, she added, “This is my husband, Nigel, Gertie. Nigel, meet Gertie Brown McBride. The most efficient chief housemaid in England.”

“Go on with you.” Gertie felt her cheeks growing red as she dropped a quick curtsey to Doris’s husband.

He smiled at her, and Gertie could see why Doris had fallen for him. He was a handsome devil, with kind eyes and a gentle mouth.

“This is Essie.” Doris turned the little girl to face Gertie, but the child ducked her head and refused to look at her. “She’s going through a shy stage,” Doris said, hugging her daughter.

“She’s beautiful.” Gertie glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner of the lobby. “I have to scram right now, but I’ll see you later.” She turned to Philip, who was watching them with a somewhat jaded expression on his craggy face. “Take care of the Lansfields, Philip. They’re very special guests.”

“My pleasure,” Philip murmured as he opened the register.

Gertie was almost at the bottom of the stairs when the front doors opened and Phoebe Fortescue swept in, pink feathers waving back and forth on her gray velvet hat.

Catching sight of her, Phoebe shouted out, “Gertie! I would like a word with you.”

Smothering a groan, Gertie spun around. “Yes, Mrs. Fortescue?”

Phoebe winced as the door, apparently driven by the wind, slammed shut behind her. “I was wondering if your little ones had made up their minds yet? If they want to be in
Peter Pan
they will have to be ready to start rehearsals in the ballroom this afternoon.”

Gertie sighed. Having felt compelled to keep her promise, she’d mentioned the pantomime to the twins the night before, trying to make it sound boring and difficult in the hopes they’d refuse.

They weren’t fooled for an instant, however, and had excitedly agreed to be in the show. Gertie had tried a few weak arguments but there was no stopping her twins once they got their teeth into something. “They said they want to do it,” she told Phoebe, “but don’t be surprised if it all becomes too much for them and they throw a temper tantrum. They can be difficult when they’re tired or upset.”

Phoebe sniffed. “I know how to handle children.” She tugged on her hat to straighten it. “Have no fear. Lillian and James will have the time of their lives up on the stage.”

Gertie still had serious doubts about that, but it was out of her hands now. She just hoped the twins wouldn’t cause any trouble. Phoebe’s presentations usually ended in disaster as it was, and all Gertie could hope for was that her children wouldn’t add to the confusion.

Promising to have them in the ballroom that afternoon, she started up the stairs. She had climbed three of them when Phoebe’s shriek tore across the lobby.

“Doris! I had no idea you were coming down here this year!”

Gertie turned to watch Phoebe rush over to the little group at the desk. Completely ignoring Nigel, Phoebe grabbed Doris’s arm. “You simply
have
to be in my pantomime! We’re doing
Peter Pan
and you’d be the absolute
perfect
Wendy.”

Doris started to protest, but Phoebe cut her off. “I simply
won’t
take no for an answer! Rehearsals begin this afternoon in the ballroom. Two o’clock sharp. I expect you to be there.” She leaned forward. “Oh, such a
beautiful
child! Hello, my precious little one!”

The little girl promptly howled and clung to her mother’s neck. Doris started to explain, but Phoebe was far too excited about her pantomime to care. Raising her voice above the child’s screams, she said something that Gertie couldn’t hear.

Climbing the stairs, Gertie rolled her eyes at the ceiling. Phoebe had the cheek of the devil, and it would bloody serve her right if this pantomime ended up a flipping mess like all the rest of them.

In the next instant, she took it back. Her twins would be up there, and she didn’t want nothing going wrong this time. Maybe, for once, Phoebe could pull off the perfect show. Gertie uttered a scornful laugh. Even she knew better than to expect miracles.

 

 

“You’re going out
again
?” Baxter picked up the cushion from his chair and gave it a thumping. “Where to this time?”

“I’m sorry, darling, but I must pay another visit to my seamstress. She needs another fitting before she can finish my ball gown.” Cecily took the cushion from him and put it back on the chair. “I shall try not to be too long. I thought you intended to go into the city today?”

“The trains are still running slow. I thought I’d wait until tomorrow. Maybe the thaw will have set in by then.” He gave her a suspicious stare. “You haven’t said much about your investigation.”

She met his frown with a smile. “That’s because there isn’t much to tell. Oh, by the way, the new owner of Willow’s shoe store, Lester Salt, hopes you will continue to shop there for your shoes. I have to tell you, though, he seems a little shifty to me. I don’t know that I trust him all that much.”

Baxter lifted an eyebrow. “Shifty?”

“Yes.” She pulled on a glove and smoothed it up to her elbow. “I think perhaps you should find another shoemaker.”

“I’ll keep it under consideration.” He continued to regard her with an intense frown. “What were you doing in the shoe shop, anyway?”

She gave him another expansive smile. “Buying Christmas presents, of course.”

“Why do I have the feeling you’re not telling me everything?”

She managed a light laugh. “Darling, you are far too concerned about me. I will tell you if there’s anything significant happening.”

“I wish I could believe that.”

“I wish you could, too.” She reached up to plant a kiss on his cheek. “I shall be home again soon. Oh, by the way, Phoebe will be holding rehearsals in the ballroom this afternoon, and I’m expecting Doris and her family to arrive any minute. Would you be a dear and take care of things for me until I return?”

“If you insist.” He walked with her to the door. “I sincerely hope all this running back and forth will be over with by the time our Christmas guests arrive. I can’t imagine how everything would get done without you.”

“You give me entirely too much credit. We have admirable staff who are capable of keeping things running smoothly under the worst possible conditions.”

“Ah, but they need supervision, and only you can manage that effectively.”

She looked at him in surprise. “Why, Bax, darling, I cannot remember you ever being so effusive with your compliments. Perhaps it is you who is not telling me everything. Are you, by any chance, waiting for an opportunity to give me some unpleasant news?”

Both of Baxter’s eyebrows shot up. “News? Not to my knowledge. I was merely attempting to stir up some of that Christmas spirit you’re always talking about.”

“Thank goodness.” Cecily waved at her face with an imaginary fan. “I thought for a moment that you had accepted that position abroad.”

An enigmatic expression that worried her crossed his face. “I would not do that without consulting you first, my dear. You must know that.”

“Yes, but—”

He laid a finger over her lips, cutting off her words. “Hush, now. This is not the time to be making life-changing decisions. We can discuss the matter after Christmas, when there are few guests to worry about and we have time to think.”

So, as she feared, the matter was not ended. She bid him good-bye and hurried down the stairs, her mind full of misgivings. It seemed that this opportunity would always be between them. Her husband dearly wanted to accept it, and she did not. It was as simple as that. If only the solution to the problem were as simple.

She put the matter out of her mind on the way out to Mackerbee’s farm. There were other matters that had to take precedence over her personal worries.

Although no more snow had fallen, the icy ruts on the lane that led to the farmhouse had the carriage bouncing up and down hard enough to rattle Cecily’s teeth.

Stepping at last onto the frozen ground, she wished she’d brought a pillow to sit on. Her bones ached as she followed Samuel up the redbrick path to the door.

The housekeeper who answered their knock seemed reluctant to allow them to enter. It wasn’t until Cecily mentioned that P.C. Northcott had told her about the murder that she finally ushered them into a tidy parlor and asked them to wait.

Minutes later a puffy-eyed woman entered the room, continually dabbing at her nose with a man’s white handkerchief. “I hope you will excuse me, Mrs. Baxter,” she said, her voice catching on her words, “but I have just lost my husband, and I’m still feeling the shock.”

“Of course,” Cecily murmured, feeling guilt wash over her. Although questioning the recently bereaved was not new to her, it was never easy. She could imagine how she would feel if she lost Baxter under such circumstances.

She looked up at the woman, her voice registering her sympathy. “I’m dreadfully sorry for your loss. I humbly apologize for intruding at this time, but I’m sure you would want whoever did this dreadful deed caught and punished, and the sooner we can find him, the less chance there is of him depriving someone else of a loved one.”

Mrs. Mackerbee sank onto the couch, tears running down her face. “I will tell you what I can, but like I told the constable, I don’t know anything, really. Colin had been slaughtering pigs for the market. We’d had an exceptionally good year, and he was getting a good price for them.” She stifled a sob. “The best year we’ve ever had, and he won’t be here to enjoy the proceeds.”

“I’m sorry.” Cecily waited a moment for the woman to collect herself, then prompted, “You were saying?”

“Oh, yes.” The widow hunted for a handkerchief, found one in her pocket, and blew her nose. “Well, like always when he’s that busy, he wasn’t home when I went to bed. I woke up in the night and he still wasn’t home, so I went looking for him.” She started to sob. “I’ll never forget the sight of him lying there with that gold thing stuck on his face. . . .”