Herald of Death (26 page)

Just as she was about to find her way down there, she heard a scuffling sound from close to the ballroom doors. Squinting, she peered into the black shadows, but couldn’t see anything moving.

“Clive?” Her voice sounded loud, and a little shaky. She cleared her throat. “Are you there?”

From inside the ballroom came the shuffling noise again. She tried not to think of golden angels and missing locks of hair. The Christmas Angel couldn’t possibly be in the Pennyfoot, could he? She remembered Lizzie’s words, saying as how the killer went around chopping off people’s heads.

Little rivers of fear trickled down her back.
Don’t be bloody daft. It’s not the killer.
She called out again. “Clive?”

The scuffling stopped. The silence that followed was even more terrifying. Panic swept over her so suddenly she had no way to fight it. Uttering a yelp of fright, she dropped the box of wicks and spun around, intent on making it back to the foyer and the light. She charged forward and ran full tilt into a large, warm body.

“Oof!” Clive’s voice spoke in her ear as his arms wrapped around her. “What the devil?”

Warm with embarrassment, she shoved him away and backed off a few steps. “You bloody scared me to death,” she said, holding a hand over her heart. She could actually feel it pounding beneath her fingers.

“What are you doing up here this time of night?”

She peered up at him. He looked different against the flickering glow from the gas lamps behind him. Sort of dark and mysterious.

She felt awkward again, and wished he would go back to being the familiar friend who’d always made her feel comfortable. “I brought you some wicks.” Remembering that she dropped them, she looked back behind her. “They’re down there somewhere.”

“Wicks?”

His voice sounded funny, and she frowned. “Yeah, wicks. Pansy said you needed some new ones and she hurt her knee so I brought them up instead.”

“I see.”

He still sounded strange. She turned back to look for the box, mumbling, “I wish I did.”

“Never mind, Gertie. I’ll find them.” He came up behind her, and she flattened herself against the wall to let him pass.

“Wait!” Suddenly remembering what had scared her in the first place, she grabbed hold of his sleeve. “I think there’s someone in the ballroom. I could hear him moving around. I thought it was you.”

“In the ballroom? I’ll take a look. Wait here.”

“Not on your bloody life. I’m coming with you.” She took a tighter hold of his arm. “I don’t want to be alone out here.”

“All right, but stay behind me. Just in case.”

In case of what?
She decided she didn’t want the answer to that. Creeping along behind his bulky body, she felt both scared and strangely exhilarated. Clive could take care of anyone, she told herself. Even the Christmas Angel. He would protect her. She liked the idea of that.

Clive halted, making her bump her nose on his back. “Sorry,” she muttered, then shut her mouth when he sharply lifted his hand.

She could just make out the outline of the doors to the ballroom. Very carefully, Clive pushed one open and stepped forward.

Gertie had a desperate urge to wrap her arms around his waist, but managed to restrain herself. She realized she’d been holding her breath too long and let it out on a puff of anxiety.

She heard the sound of rustling from across the room and ducked behind her protector, closing her eyes, though it was too dark to see anything anyway.

Clive stood so still she wondered if he was paralyzed with fright. Then, without warning, he uttered what sounded like a low curse and strode forward into the shadows, leaving her shivering alone by the door.

Her first instinct was to turn and run for her life, but the thought of Clive at the mercy of a deranged killer was too terrible to bear.

Flinging herself forward, she yelled, “You leave him alone, you murdering sod, or I’ll tear out your bleeding liver with my bare hands!”

Clive was over by the window. She could see his outline as she belted toward him.

He called out, “Gertie! Wait!” but she was on him, trying to drag him back toward the door.

“Come on, come
on
,” she said, over and over when he refused to move.

“Gertie.” His voice was gentle and not at all scared, like she would have expected him to be when facing a murderer.

It dawned on her then that maybe it wasn’t the Christmas Angel threatening him after all. In fact, she realized several things at once. That the window behind Clive was partly opened and the rustling sound was coming from the garlands hanging above them. That Clive smelled like the woods after a rainstorm—clean, fresh, and earthy. That he had his arms around her. That she liked it.

Coming to her senses and feeling foolish now, she backed away from him. “I thought . . .” She couldn’t finish what she’d thought.

“I know what you thought.”

Anyone else would have made fun of her, but he didn’t sound in the least bit amused. In fact, his voice sounded strange again, as if he was having trouble getting the words out.

She felt all shivery herself, hot and cold all at the same time. “So it was the wind making the decorations move,” she said, striving to sound normal.

“Yes.” He took a step toward her and she wished she could see his face. “Look, I don’t blame you for thinking it was . . . an intruder. I thought the same thing myself when I first came in here.”

“You did?”

“Yes, I did. And, Gertie . . .”

“Yes?”

“That was very brave, and extremely good of you to come to my aid, considering what you thought was out there.”

She couldn’t seem to find the words she wanted. All she could manage was a mumbled, “That’s all right.”

“I won’t forget it, Gertie.” He took another step forward. “It meant a great deal to me.”

Warning bells started going off in her head. She didn’t want to feel this way. This was how it had started with Dan, and look at what had happened there. He’d broken her heart. She couldn’t go through that again. She didn’t ever want to hurt like that again.

“It’s nothing,” she said, backing away. “I would have done it for anyone.” With that, she turned and fled from the ballroom and didn’t stop running until she was safely inside her room with the door shut firmly behind her.

“We will be going to Caroline’s Blanchard house,” Cecily told Samuel the next morning. “My gown should be ready by now.”

Holding open the door of the carriage for her, Samuel’s face lit up. “I’ll be happy to take you there, m’m.”

Cecily hauled herself up into the carriage. “Well, I also have to do a little shopping in town, so we’ll go there first.”

“Yes, m’m. Where to, then?”

“To Willow’s shoe shop. But before we go, I need to talk to you about something.” Cecily leaned forward and patted the seat opposite her. “Come and sit here for a moment while I explain. We won’t be overheard in here.”

Samuel’s expression grew guarded. “We’re not going to do anything dangerous, are we, m’m?”

“No more than usual, Samuel.” Cecily patted the seat again. “Come, we have no time to waste.”

Samuel took his time climbing onto the seat opposite her. “You know what Mr. Baxter said about me letting you get yourself into trouble again?”

Cecily pulled a face. “No, but I can imagine.”

“He said he’d send me packing.” Samuel folded his arms. “That’s what he said.”

“Piffle. You know very well we could not manage without you.”

“He was very clear on that, m’m.”

“Well, he doesn’t do the hiring and firing in this establishment. I do, so don’t you worry about it.” She smiled at him. “Cheer up, Samuel. This is another adventure and you know you always enjoy our adventures.”

“I have a nasty feeling I’m not going to like this one.”

Cecily sighed. “Let me tell you what I have in mind. Then, if you decide you don’t want to come along, I’ll understand.”

He gave her a suspicious look. “All right.”

Cecily leaned forward and, in spite of the rattle of carriages and clip-clop of horses’ hooves passing by, lowered her voice. “I have reason to believe that Lester Salt is the Christmas Angel.”

Samuel’s eyes widened. “Go on! What makes you think so?”

“Well, Madeline told me that there’s a ritual involving the locks of hair belonging to the dead. It’s supposed to send their souls to the devil.”

“Blimey.” Samuel rubbed his arms as if he were cold. “But what makes you think it’s Lester Salt?”

“I noticed a book by the fireside when we were there. It was called
Tales of a Mystic
. I think Mr. Salt is practicing black magic.”

Samuel frowned. “But why? Why would he want to kill all those people?”

Cecily leaned back. “Well, I have to admit, I don’t think he killed Jimmy Taylor. I do believe, however, that he killed Thomas Willow. Lester was deeply in debt and being threatened. I think he had been trying to think of a way to get his hands on the shop for some time.”

“So he killed Thomas to get the shop?”

“Yes, so he’d have the money to pay back Sid Tippens. I think he saw who killed Jimmy Taylor, and saw a chance to kill Thomas and put the blame on Jimmy’s killer.”

Samuel’s frown deepened. “But if he saw who killed Jimmy, wouldn’t he have told the bobbies?”

“Not if he thought that Jimmy’s killer could prove he didn’t kill Thomas, then the constables would be looking for who did kill him.”

Samuel shook his head. “I don’t know how you worked all that out, m’m, but it’s clever. But what about all the other murders? Why did he do that?”

“I’m coming to that.” Cecily tightened her scarf about her neck. “Lady Marion mentioned that Thomas Willow was also deeply in debt. Apparently the shoe shop wasn’t making any money. When Lester found out, he was desperate. Perhaps the bookmaker threatened him again.”

“So he had to find the money from somewhere else to pay Sid back.”

“Mrs. Mackerbee told me that the farm had done very well, and they’d had the best year they’d ever had. She also said that her husband had visited the shoe shop. No doubt he told Lester Salt what a great year he’d had.”

“So good old Lester decides to take some of it for himself.”

Cecily nodded. “That’s what I think. I think Lester went to the farm to rob the Mackerbees, Colin Mackerbee caught him, and there was a fight.”

Samuel rubbed his chin. “He must not have got any of the money, though.”

“Very good, Samuel.” Pleased with her stable manager, Cecily beamed at him. “Lester must have come away empty-handed and decided to rob the Bellevue mansion instead. According to Lady Marion, he was well acquainted with both the gamekeeper and Lord Bellevue.”

“So you think Henry Farnsworth caught him trying to break into the mansion, and Lester shot him?”

“Precisely.”

Samuel stared at her. “But what about the Fox Hunters Club? What happened there?”

Cecily shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe Lester broke in to rob the place and accidentally set it on fire.” She turned her gaze to the street outside. “I have to admit, Samuel, this is all guesswork and theory. That’s why I have to visit Lester Salt today. I have to somehow make sure I’m right before I set off my plan.”

Samuel sat up. “What plan?”

Quickly, Cecily outlined it for him.

Samuel immediately shook his head. “No, it’s too dangerous. I can’t believe Mrs. Prestwick agreed to help you with this.”

“Actually,” Cecily said, feeling guilty, “Mrs. Prestwick hasn’t agreed. I haven’t discussed it with her yet. But once I do, I’m certain she will want to help me stop this madman before he kills anyone else.”

“Well, I hope she refuses to help you. If anything happened to you, m’m, I’d never forgive myself. I just can’t let you do this.”

“You really don’t have any choice, Samuel. With or without you, with Madeline’s help I intend to trap our killer.”

She could see the struggle going on in his head. Finally, he let out his breath on a puff of frustration. “All right. If I can’t stop you, then I’m coming with you.”

She smiled. “I thought you would, Samuel. Now, let’s be on our way. We have a long day ahead of us.”

“Yes, m’m.” His face creased in worry, he climbed out, closed the door, and jumped up to his seat. With a flick of the reins they were off, and Cecily sat back with a sigh of relief.

She had expected Samuel to put up a fight, but she knew her stable manager. He’d die first before allowing her to face danger without him. She could only hope and pray it wouldn’t come to that.

 

 

Gertie had spent a fitful night, waking up at intervals with an ache that had nothing to do with the bread and cheese she’d consumed just before retiring.

She kept hearing her own words over and over in her head.
I would have done it for anyone.
How ungracious that sounded now. She’d blurted it out without thinking, anxious to get away from the temptation to take that step that would bring her closer to Clive.

All through the breakfast rush she kept thinking about it, until Pansy declared with more than a hint of impatience, “What is the matter with you this morning? Get out of the wrong side of the bed?”

Gertie scowled at her. “Very funny.” She hesitated, her tray of dirty dishes balanced on her hip. Maybe if she talked about it she wouldn’t feel so guilty. After all, it wasn’t as if she’d said anything nasty.

Pansy was about to turn away when Gertie added, “If you must bloody know, I said something I shouldn’t have yesterday and I’m wondering if I should apologize.”

Pansy looked over her shoulder at her. “That’s nothing new. Who did you say it to?”

Gertie paused again, then said sheepishly, “Clive.”

Pansy’s cry of dismay took her by surprise. “What? You didn’t! What did you say to him?”