Herald of Death (22 page)

Phoebe uttered a little scream as her husband lunged forward with an imaginary sword, narrowly missing her head with his fist.

“Colonel—” Cecily began, but now the colonel was at full throttle and cut her off with an expansive flourish of his hand.

“I caught up with one of them and
charged
!” Once more he dove forward, and this time Phoebe managed to lean back out of harm’s way.

“Frederick!”
She sat up, tugging on her hat to straighten it. “Stop this nonsense at once!”

“I stabbed at the blighter and . . .” The colonel paused, his face going blank. “And then . . .”

Both Cecily and Phoebe stared at him in expectation. After a moment, Phoebe prompted, “And then?”

“He flew off.”

Phoebe rolled her eyes. “Flew off?”

The colonel gave her a sheepish smile. “Must have been a blasted pheasant.”

Cecily hid a smile, while Phoebe uttered a guttural sound of disgust. “I don’t know why I humor him so.” She glared at her husband and stood up. “Come, Frederick, it is time we went home. We have inconvenienced these good people quite enough for one day.”

“But what about my brandy?” Colonel Fortescue appealed to Cecily. “You did send for brandy, didn’t you, old girl?”

“I did, and you are most welcome to it.” Cecily glanced at Phoebe, who gave her a fierce shake of her head. “I think, however, that it will have to wait for now.” She rose. “I will make sure there is a snifter waiting for you when you bring Phoebe back for rehearsal tomorrow.”

The colonel sighed. “Oh, very well. Much obliged, old bean.” He took hold of Phoebe’s arm. “Come along, then, ducky.”

Phoebe looked as if she would like to resist but allowed him to escort her to the door. “Until tomorrow, then, Cecily!” She waved, then disappeared as the colonel tugged her out into the hallway.

A few minutes later Cecily opened the door to find her husband standing outside with a tray of glasses and a bottle of brandy.

“I passed Gertie on the way up,” he said, as she stood back to let him in. “Thought I’d save her a trip.”

“That’s very accommodating of you, my love.”

Baxter looked around the room. “Everyone gone home?”

“Yes.” Cecily walked back to the fireplace and sank onto her chair. “It’s been rather a long day.”

“Aren’t they all?” Baxter placed the tray on the side table. “Since we have a bottle of excellent brandy right here, we might as well enjoy a sip, don’t you think?”

She smiled, feeling suddenly weary. “Excellent idea.”

He gave her a hard look as he handed her a glass. “Investigation not going well?”

Deciding there was no point in keeping everything from him, she told him all that had transpired that day. “I don’t seem to be getting any closer to solving this one,” she said, while Baxter sat stern-faced and silent. “If only I could understand the reason behind the killings, and by what criteria the Christmas Angel selects his victims, perhaps I could pinpoint the culprit. He is clever. Except for the angel stamp and the missing lock of hair, he is meticulously careful to leave no clues.”

“You don’t have any suspects?”

Cecily took a sip of the brandy, wincing as usual as it burned her throat. “Oh, I have suspects. I just can’t seem to connect them to all of the crimes. Each suspect has a motive for killing one of the victims, and none of the others.”

“Maybe they’re all copying the first one.”

“I thought of that.” Cecily sighed and put down her glass. “But that would mean there are four killers running around out there. I find that hard to believe.”

“It does seem improbable.” Baxter tipped his head back to savor a mouthful of brandy before swallowing it. “So, what’s the answer?”

“I don’t have one.” Cecily fought a wave of depression as she gazed at her husband’s troubled face. “For the first time since I began this questionable pastime, I really believe I am out of my depth. This killer might be just too clever for any of us. If that’s so, we are all in terrible danger.”

 

 

The following morning, Cecily woke up early, determined anew to attempt to track down the Christmas Angel. Her destination, she told Samuel, was to the paper factory in Wellercombe.

She had to wait more than half an hour for Basil Baker to join them in the drafty entrance. He seemed ill at ease and refused to look Cecily in the eye when she greeted him. Instead, he pretended to have an intense interest in a printed advertisement for soap that hung on the wall.

“I spoke to your manager the other day,” Cecily said, coming straight to the point. “He tells me you have Sundays off. Is that right?”

Basil shrugged. “Yeah? So what?”

Samuel made a movement, and Cecily held up her hand before he could say what was on his mind. “Jimmy Taylor died on a Sunday.”

Basil didn’t answer, but his mouth started twitching at one corner.

“You were not working that day, Basil. I want to know why you lied.”

For a moment she thought he was not going to answer her, but then he turned so suddenly he made her jump. “I lied because I knew you wouldn’t believe me when I said I didn’t kill Jimmy. I knew you’d find out we had that fight, and I thought you’d blame me for his death. I wasn’t anywhere near him that day. It wasn’t me what threw that rock, I swear it.”

“Very well, but there’s something else I need to know.” Cecily watched him carefully. “What I want to know is if you paid Colin Mackerbee a visit this week.”

Pure amazement crossed his face. “Mackerbee? Why would I go over there?”

“You used to work for him, I believe.”

“Yes, I did, but—”

“I understand that he considered you unsuitable for farmwork.”

Basil’s face darkened. “He had no right to tell me that. I worked hard, I did, and that man got rid of me even though I was taking good care of his animals. He should have been grateful, but instead he threw me out like I was a criminal or something.”

“And you were angry with him about that.”

“Not only that.” Basil swiped at the advertisement with his hand, knocking it to the ground. “He told every other farmer I went to that I wasn’t cut out for farmwork. He cost me a lot of jobs, and I have him to thank for me ending up in this rotten hole.”

“So you decided to punish him.”

“What?” Basil looked straight at her for the first time since the conversation began. “I’ve never punished no one. I haven’t seen that miserable bugger since the day I left the Mackerbee farm.” His eyes narrowed. “Why are you asking me all these questions about him, anyway? What’s it to you?”

“Colin Mackerbee was killed the other day. Someone took a knife into the barn where he was working and stabbed him.”

Basil’s jaw dropped. “Blimey, not another one.”

“So you’re saying you didn’t know?”

“No, I didn’t know.” Basil thrust out his jaw. “And don’t you go putting this on me, neither. I ain’t been near that farm since the day I left, and that’s the truth. Now I’ve got to get back to work or I’ll be losing this flipping job as well.”

Cecily let him go, knowing there was nothing else she could get out of him. Disgruntled, she said little to Samuel as they made their way back to the carriage.

She was getting tired of spinning her wheels with nothing to show for it. She could neither pin down a suspect nor eliminate one entirely. The only logical conclusion was the theory that the killer was totally unrelated to his victims and therefore an unknown factor in the investigation.

She would be more inclined to believe that if it wasn’t for the annoying niggling feeling in the back of her mind that she already knew what she needed to know and just couldn’t recognize it.

This had happened so often in the past now that she clung to it like a life raft. Sooner or later, she was sure, the solution to the puzzle would reveal itself. She could only hope that happened before someone else lost his life.

 

 

Pansy was in a fever of impatience as she cleared the tables after the midday meal in the dining room. Her first rehearsal was starting in a few minutes, and she wanted to get there before Doris to show her eagerness to do her part.

She was placing the last of the dishes on the tray when two arms snaked around her waist, making her squeal.

Her face warming, she turned to greet Samuel. “Whatcha doing here?”

“I just got back from taking madam into Weller-combe.” Samuel unbuttoned his coat. “It’s getting warmer outside.”

“Yeah, I know.” Pansy went to lift the tray but Samuel took it from her. “I don’t suppose she’s caught the Christmas Angel?”

“Not yet.” He pulled a face at her. “She wasn’t happy that everyone found out about it. I told you not to tell anyone.”

“Sorry.” Pansy walked ahead of him to open the door. “It just sort of slipped out while I was talking to Gertie and dopey Lizzie heard me and went around telling everyone that a killer was chopping off people’s heads.”

“Yeah, so I heard.” The glasses rattled on the tray as Samuel carried them to the dumbwaiter. “This is a bad one. I can tell madam’s worried about it. She’s afraid if she doesn’t find him soon someone else will get bumped off.”

“What are the constables doing about it, then? Isn’t it their job to find him?”

Samuel snorted. “Supposed to be, isn’t it. Those twerps couldn’t find a murderer if he danced in front of them. Though I must say, this one is clever. He doesn’t make mistakes or leave clues behind. Unless P.C. Northcott isn’t telling us everything.”

“You think he’s hiding something from madam?”

“I don’t know what to think. I just know that madam is having a lot of trouble with this one.” He placed the tray on the dumbwaiter and tugged on the rope. “Come on, I’ll walk down to the kitchen with you. I want a word with Mrs. Chubb.”

“I’m not going to the kitchen.” Pansy pulled off her apron and shoved it in on top of the dishes.

Samuel raised his eyebrows. “Where are you going, then? It’s not your afternoon off.”

“I know.” She took a deep breath, then added in a rush, “I’m going to help Doris with her costumes in the pantomime. I’m going to rehearsal now.”

Samuel’s eyebrows twitched even higher.
“Doris?”

His voice had come out all squeaky, and Pansy glared at him. “Yes, Doris. The big love of your life. She asked me to help her and I’m going to do it.”

For a moment Samuel looked as if he might be cross, but then he smiled. “That’s exciting, Pansy! I’m happy for you. Really I am. You’ll have a great time. Doris is a lovely person, and you’ll enjoy working with her.”

“Yeah, I know I will.” She studied his face, trying to read what he was thinking behind that smile. Was he still in love with Doris? If only she knew for sure. If only he would say he loved
her
, then she could stop worrying about the songstress.

“Well, I’d better let you go, then,” Samuel said, giving her a quick hug. “You’d better scram or you’ll be late.”

He walked off, leaving her staring after him, unsure now if she really wanted to help Doris after all.

Gertie smiled at the young woman hurrying toward her across the foyer. “Doris! I haven’t seen you since you bloody got here. Where have you been hiding?”

Doris paused, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. “I’ve been busy with rehearsals and trying to spend time with my husband and daughter. Mrs. Fortescue keeps us all on our toes.”

“Yeah, she’s a bloody slave driver, that woman. I’m glad I don’t have to work for her.” Gertie looked around. “Where is Essie, then? Is she with Daisy and the twins?”

An odd look crossed Doris’s face, giving Gertie a stab of uneasiness. “No, actually Daisy went into town to do some Christmas shopping.”

Gertie felt even more anxious. “She didn’t take the twins with her, did she? They’re supposed to be at rehearsal this afternoon.”

Now Doris looked really uncomfortable. “No, I thought you knew. The twins are with Clive. He’s taking care of them for Daisy.”

Gertie’s annoyance was tempered with relief. “Well, she might have bloody told me she was going to dump them on Clive. She should have asked me first.”

“I believe she did look for you but couldn’t find you. One of the footmen was going into town this morning and offered her a ride in the carriage. She thought about taking the twins, but Clive was there at the time and he suggested the children would be happier building a snowman with him. He said the snow would all be gone by tomorrow and this was their last chance.”

Gertie had to smile. “That sounds like Clive. He’s good with the kiddies. I heard he used to be a schoolteacher.”

“He was? I wonder why he stopped teaching.”

“Yeah, there’s a lot I don’t know about him.” Gertie peered at the grandfather clock, wondering if the twins had made it to rehearsal on time. If not, Phoebe would be having a fit by now. “I keep meaning to ask him about his past, but there never seems to be a good time.”

“He’d make a wonderful father.” Doris followed her gaze. “I’d better get down to the ballroom. Mrs. Fortescue will be screaming for me any moment. Clive took the twins down there a while ago.”

Relieved, Gertie waved a hand. “Oh, thank goodness. Good luck with the pantomime!”

She was about to head for the stairs when Doris called out, “He’s in love with you, you know.”

Gertie stopped dead, her heart skipping a beat. “Who is?”

“Clive, of course. You must know that. It’s obvious by the way he talks about you.”

Gertie laughed, though it sounded hollow, even to her. “Clive talks that way about everybody. He loves people, that’s all.”

Standing in the entrance to the hallway, Doris looked back at her. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “He’s in love with
you
, Gertie. He’s a good man. Don’t keep him dangling too long or you’ll lose him.”