Herald of Death (13 page)

She was crying in earnest now, and Samuel, who had been standing by the window, took a step forward, concern written all over his face.

Cecily shook her head at him. Just at that moment, the door opened and the housekeeper walked in carrying a loaded tea tray. She took one look at the farmer’s wife and glared at Cecily.

Mrs. Mackerbee, however, appeared to collect herself and ordered the housekeeper to lay the tray down on a small table.

Cecily suffered through an awkward silence while the disapproving woman poured the tea and handed her the cup and saucer.

Taking it from her, Cecily thanked her graciously, then waited until she had left the room before addressing the farmer’s wife again.

“I know these questions might be painful,” she said, as Mrs. Mackerbee sipped her tea, “but I believe they might help in the investigation. I would greatly appreciate it if you would try to answer them for me.”

Mrs. Mackerbee nodded. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Very well. First of all, can you think of anyone who might want to hurt your husband?”

The widow’s bottom lip trembled, and she struggled to hold back her tears. “Not a soul. Colin was a good man, a friend to everyone. He’d give his last crumb of bread to someone in need and go hungry himself. I never met anyone who didn’t like him. Except perhaps . . .” She paused and shook her head. “No, never mind.”

Cecily leaned forward. “You know of someone?”

Mrs. Mackerbee’s cup rattled in the saucer as she put it down with a shaky hand. “No really, no. It’s just . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she stared at the half-empty cup as if in a trance.

“Mrs. Mackerbee.” Cecily reached out and touched the woman’s arm. “I’d appreciate anything you can tell me about this dreadful matter. It’s vitally important we capture this evil monster.”

The widow started and gradually her eyes focused on Cecily’s face. “Yes, I understand. I just don’t want to get an innocent person in trouble.”

“If he’s innocent you have nothing to fear.”

For another long, painful moment the other woman hesitated, then she said slowly, “There was a young lad working on the farm not too long ago. Nice boy, but completely useless for farmwork. Colin had to let him go. He was upset about it—Colin, I mean—because he really liked Basil, but he had to be honest about it when the other farmers asked him for a reference. He told them Basil would never be any good on the farm. He just wasn’t cut out for it.”

Cecily could hardly wait for her to stop speaking before asking, “Would that be Basil Baker, by any chance?”

The widow widened her eyes. “Yes! It was! Do you know him?”

“I met him the other day.” Cecily paused, then added, “Would you say he was hot-tempered?”

“No, no, not at all.” Mrs. Mackerbee held out her hand in appeal. “Please, Mrs. Baxter, don’t take anything I say the wrong way. Basil was upset when he lost his job, and there was a bit of an argument, but he would never hurt a fly, I’m sure of that. That’s why he wasn’t any good on the farm. He couldn’t stand it when the pigs had to be slaughtered. Broke his heart, it did. He treated all the animals like they were his children. He was just too softhearted for this kind of work.”

“But he was upset with your husband.”

“I suppose so.” She reached for her cup again, shaking her head. “No, it couldn’t have been Basil. I just can’t believe he would do that.”

She didn’t want to believe it, either, Cecily thought, but she’d been fooled too many times in the past to take anything for granted. She leaned back. “Was your husband acquainted with Thomas Willow, or Jimmy Taylor?”

“I don’t know about the first gentleman, but I believe Colin knew Jimmy.” Mrs. Mackerbee choked on the tea and quickly put down the cup. “Jimmy died last week. Are you saying there’s some sort of coincidence?”

Cecily hesitated, then said reluctantly, “Not a coincidence. There’s a possibility the deaths are linked.”

“How very strange.” The widow frowned. “You think the same person who killed my Colin killed Jimmy Taylor as well?”

“Yes, as well as Thomas Willow, the shoemaker. They all were found with gold stamps on their foreheads.”

The fear was painfully evident on the widow’s face. “The saints preserve us. I wonder who’s next.”

“Exactly. Which is why we have to be aggressive in our search for this killer.” Cecily drained her cup and set it down in its saucer. Rising to her feet, she added, “Since you weren’t acquainted with Mr. Willow, I assume you haven’t met his former assistant, Lester Salt.”

Mrs. Mackerbee struggled to her feet. “I’m not familiar with either name. Do they live in the village?”

“Mr. Willow owned Willow’s shoe shop until he died and left the business to Mr. Salt.”

“Oh! I know the shoe store. I pass it every time I go to the High Street.” Mrs. Mackerbee led the way to the door, nodding at Samuel when he stepped forward and opened it for her. “I’ve never been inside, though. Colin goes . . . went in there occasionally to buy boots. In fact, he was just in there last week.” Once more the mask of misery clouded her face. “I don’t know what I’m going to do now. It’s going to be hard without him.”

Cecily impulsively put an arm about her shoulders. “It will take time, I know, but you will be strong and survive. I lost my husband many years ago, and at the time I wanted to die, too. I’m very glad I didn’t, since I’m now married again and very happy. I hope you will be, too.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Baxter.” Mrs. Mackerbee paused by the front door as Samuel tugged it open. “I’ve heard that you’re clever in finding murderers. Much cleverer than our constables, though they do their best, no doubt. Anyway, I just want to say I hope you find this horrible man before he kills someone else. I wouldn’t wish this pain on anyone.”

“I will certainly do my best.” Cecily stepped outside, shivering as she dragged her coat collar closer around her neck. “Would you mind if I take a look around the barn where your husband died?”

The widow looked startled for a moment, then shook her head. “Not at all. It’s the one closest to you, right over there.” She pointed at a barn on the other side of the yard. “I could come with you if you like?”

Cecily could tell from the other woman’s tentative tone that it was the last thing she wanted to do. Assuring her that they would be perfectly fine on their own, Cecily beckoned to Samuel and headed for the barn.

It was obvious, the moment she entered, that it was unlikely she’d find anything of value. The barn had been meticulously cleaned out, with new straw scattered over what must have been the place where Colin Mackerbee had died.

After searching around for only a few moments, Cecily gave up and led Samuel back to the carriage. The deeper she dug into this case, the more confusing it became.

Someone out there had managed to dispose of three men without leaving a single clue behind. Except for the gold stamps and the missing locks of hair—a rather deliberate attempt to link the murders.

What kind of strange mind would go to such lengths? Who were they dealing with, and what was the killer’s purpose? Again she remembered Madeline’s words.
He is clever and extremely dangerous.
Cecily shuddered. Could it be that, for the first time, she was up against a foe so formidable she was helpless to stop him?

Maybe they should call in the inspector, after all. It could take the full force and expertise of Scotland Yard to apprehend a killer this devious.

Not yet.
P.C. Northcott had faith in her abilities, and she could not let him down now. She would find this madman and put him behind bars if it took all of Christmas to do so. She just hoped it wouldn’t cost her marriage.

Having wheedled an hour off from Mrs. Chubb, Gertie rushed her twins to the ballroom, where the rehearsal was already under way. As always, there was complete chaos as young women rushed to and fro, bumping into one another and arguing with wildly flapping arms, while Phoebe stood in their midst screeching instructions that everyone ignored.

Gertie was sorely tempted to take Lillian and James straight back to her quarters, but the twins dragged her over to the stage, loudly proclaiming their arrival.

Phoebe caught sight of them and yelled, “You’re late! All children are to go to the green room and
stay
there until you are called.”

Gertie felt like sticking out her tongue, but, mindful of her little ones, she contended herself with tossing her head before marching the twins backstage and into the green room.

The noise wasn’t much better in there. Three boys and two girls, all close to the twins’ age, were throwing stage props at one another, while one bored-looking mother sat knitting in a corner.

“The rest of the mums left me in charge of ’em,” she told Gertie, nodding at the screaming children. “They won’t take any notice of me.”

Gertie let go of the twins’ hands and yelled at the top of her voice.
“Qui-et!”

The yelling subsided, and one of the boys stuck his nose in the air. “Who are you?”

Gertie dug her fists into her hips. “I’m the one with the blinking rolling pin, that’s who. Any more noise from any of you and you’ll get a bloody bonk on the head with it. So shut up and sit down. On the floor. All of you.”

Ignoring the other woman, who sat staring at her with her mouth open, Gertie pointed at one of the boys. “You. Pick up this flipping mess and put it all back where it bloody belongs.”

“It weren’t my fault!” he protested, but Gertie took a threatening step toward him and he darted off, snatching up clothes and wigs from off the floor as he went.

“All right, that’s better.” Gertie crossed her arms and glared at the children, including her twins. “From now on, you all sit still and don’t say a bloody word.”

A muttered chorus answered her.

“Good.” She dragged a chair from out of the corner and stuck it in front of her audience. “Now, you can all tell me your names, starting with you two.” She nodded at the twins.

James and Lillian both promptly announced their names, and the rest meekly followed. Just as the last little girl spoke her name, the door opened and Phoebe rushed in.

“Where are they? Oh, there they are.” She flapped her hands at the seated children. “Everyone up, up, up! It’s time to go onstage. Now file out in a line, one behind the other. That’s it! One, two, one, two . . .”

Gertie watched them all march out the door, then grinned at the mother. “I don’t bloody envy her one bit. She’s got her hands full, all right.”

The other woman folded up her knitting and shoved it into a bag. “I think you should be the one in charge of them. They pay attention to you. I don’t think they will behave that well with Mrs. Fortescue.”

Gertie patted her on the shoulder. “She’ll manage. She always does. Come on, let’s go and watch them from the front. It’s the first time mine have been in a pantomime. I can’t wait to see how they get on.”

She led the way out front, wondering just how long it would be before the children drove Phoebe crazy. That was always good for a bloody laugh, watching Phoebe Fortescue in one of her temper tantrums. It was usually the highlight of the whole flipping show.

Considering it was the first rehearsal, it didn’t go half-bad in Gertie’s opinion. Lillian burst into tears when told she was supposed to be a boy, but after romping around on the pirate ship for a while, she soon settled down.

Gertie was amazed at how fast Lillian and James took direction and remembered their parts. Phoebe strode about the stage giving orders and getting in everyone’s way, but somehow they all got through the scene without any huge mishaps.

Just as Phoebe called a halt to the rehearsal, Gertie felt a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t have to turn around to know who stood behind her.

“You did a lovely job on the pirate ship,” she said, smiling up at Clive. “It looks bloody real. Especially when it moves.”

He smiled back at her. “I’m still not happy with the wiring. It will take some more work before I allow anyone on it.”

“I’m just glad my twins don’t have to fly.” Gertie looked up at the harnesses hanging from the rafters. “It’s not that I don’t trust your work, but Mrs. Fortescue has a history of bad luck on this stage.”

“I know.” Clive followed her gaze. “That’s why I’m going to be extra careful.”

“Well, maybe this time nothing will go wrong.” She turned her head as Lillian called out Clive’s name and ran toward him.

He swept the child up in his arms and gave her a hug before setting her down.

Once again Gertie longed to know if he had children of his own. She knew, however, that this wasn’t the place or time to ask him. It would just have to wait until the sleigh ride. That was, if the snow didn’t all melt away before they could go.

To her amazement, he seemed to read her mind. “I think we should take that sleigh ride tomorrow,” he said, laughing as both Lillian and James let out a shriek of excitement. “If we wait too long there won’t be any snow left to ride on.”

“I’ll have to see if I can switch my afternoon off with someone.” Gertie saw the expressions of alarm on her children’s faces. “Don’t worry,” she told them. “I’ll manage it somehow.” She glanced at Clive out of the corner of her eye. “This time nothing is going to stop us going.”

Clive put his hand over his heart. “I promise. Tomorrow we go.”

Gertie watched the twins jump up and down and knew exactly how they felt. It had been a long time since she’d looked forward to something this much. All her previous doubts seemed to have melted away. Now tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough for her.

 

 

Cecily arrived at Caroline Blanchard’s home just as dusk was settling in over the countryside. The windows of the seamstress’s cottage glowed from the light of oil lamps, and a cheerful fire danced in the fireplace as she ushered her guests into the parlor.