Herald of Death (9 page)

“Not as far as I know.”

“They must have had something in common. A common enemy, don’t you think?”

“Exactly.” Cecily leaned forward. “I was hoping you could help me with that.”

“Me? But I didn’t know . . . Oh!” Madeline’s face cleared. “Well, I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t promise anything. After all, I didn’t know Jimmy and I really didn’t know Thomas all that well.”

“Just do your best—that’s all I ask.”

Watching Madeline go into a trance was always an unsettling experience for Cecily. She had seen the transformation many times, but it never failed to raise goose pimples up her arms.

She sat quietly now as her friend closed her eyes and started to rock gently back and forth.

Madeline’s eyelids began to quiver, her mouth twitched, and she made soft little sounds at the back of her throat. Suddenly she arched her back with a little cry, sending a cold chill down Cecily’s back.

Madeline started whispering, words that made no sense, punctuated by low moans. Her hands rose, fingers outstretched as if warding off some kind of threat. Then, abruptly, it was over. Madeline fell back on her chair and opened her eyes.

Cecily waited until her friend’s gaze focused on her, then asked anxiously, “What did you see?”

“An evil mind.” Madeline looked shaken. “A dabbler in black magic. There is nothing more dangerous than a neophyte playing with the occult.”

“Could you see him?”

“No. I saw only the black, boiling cloud that enveloped him.” She shuddered. “You must stop this killer, Cecily. Soon. He is clever and extremely dangerous. His mind is filled with hate and revenge—a mind that will stop at nothing.”

“Revenge for what?”

Madeline lifted her hands and let them drop. “That, I don’t know.”

“I need more.” Cecily leaned forward. “What did Jimmy and Thomas have in common? Could it be that the two murders are not connected at all? That there are two killers?”

“I saw only one.” Madeline sat up, her dark eyes gleaming with an intense light. “One thing I do know. It’s not finished yet. There will be more. He must be stopped.”

“That’s all you can tell me?”

“I’m sorry.” Madeline got up, shaking out her skirt to cover her bare toes. “I wish I could tell you more. Rest assured, Cecily, if I do see anything else I shall see that you know it.”

Disappointed and more than a little fearful, Cecily rose and followed her friend to the door. “Thank you, Madeline. I know you don’t feel comfortable using your powers this way, and I do appreciate it.”

“You are a dear friend, Cecily. I would do anything for you. I do have one suggestion that may be of help. Thomas had an assistant, who is now managing the shop. His name is Lester Salt, and he might be able to give you answers.”

“That’s an excellent idea!” Cecily hugged her friend. “Thank you, Madeline. I knew you would point me in the right direction.”

“Just be careful—that’s all I ask. You could be dealing with a very dangerous adversary.” Madeline looked worried for a moment, then seemed to shrug off her concern. “If you want to repay me, please keep Phoebe and that idiot husband of hers out of my way.”

Cecily smiled. Her two best friends had been bickering ever since they had met years ago. They couldn’t be more opposite in nature or ideals, yet Cecily knew quite well they harbored a fondness for each other that neither of them would ever admit. “Don’t worry. Phoebe will be busy with rehearsals, and the colonel will no doubt spend his time in the bar.”

“Good. Then I shall be off to turn this decrepit old building into a Christmas wonderland.”

“Do your best,” Cecily said, laughing as she opened the door. “We will be overrun with children this year. Phoebe is presenting
Peter Pan
for her pantomime. There will be children in the cast, and I do believe she is asking Gertie’s twins to participate. Doris will be here in the next day or two, and she’s bringing her little daughter, Essie, so your hard work will be much appreciated and admired, I’m sure.”

Madeline’s face lit up. “Children! How marvelous. I shall make sure to include something just for them in my decorations.” She sailed off, her frock billowing out behind her.

Cecily closed the door and walked slowly back to the fire. Madeline’s vision worried her. If she hadn’t known what her friend was capable of, she might have been able to dismiss the warning. After all, it had all sounded rather bizarre.
It’s not finished yet. There will be more.

Yet she did know Madeline’s powers. She had seen them for herself. As close as she was to the fire, Cecily shivered. She had dealt with killers of all kinds, and in many forms, yet this one seemed to pose more threat than any of them.

Maybe Baxter was right. Maybe this time she was taking on more peril than was wise. Part of her wanted to heed her husband’s warnings and let P.C. Northcott take care of the murders, as was his duty.

Cecily leaned back and closed her eyes. She must be getting old, to allow such weakness. This was one of the most interesting cases to come her way. Even if she did succumb to her caution, the intense desire to dig out the details and unravel the puzzle would not let her rest.

Besides, after all these years, Sam had asked for her help. She could not let this opportunity slip out of her hands. No, she must do what she could to bring this evil man to justice. If needs be, she would ask Madeline to help her. She was confident that her friend would be a match for anyone.

Thus resolved, she rose and tugged on the bell rope. She would have Samuel ready the carriage right away. With luck, Lester Salt would be able to send her on the right path.

Pansy picked her way through the snow, wincing as lumps of the cold white stuff found their way over the tops of her boots to sting her ankles.

On the first day of the storm she’d been excited to see the flakes falling so thick and fast, but now she’d had enough of it. She peered up at the gray sky, praying that the ocean winds would turn warm and bring the thaw.

Soon the Christmas guests would be arriving, and it wasn’t much fun drying out boots and shoes, cleaning up the mess in the foyer, stoking the fires in the bedrooms, or heating the beds with bed warmers.

The summer guests were so much easier to take care of, and personally Pansy couldn’t wait for the winter to be over with, Christmas and all.

She found Samuel in the stables as usual, romping with Tess. The big dog bounded over to her, ears flopping and tail wagging furiously.

Pansy crouched down to throw her arms around her furry neck. Samuel had found the stray wandering around the courtyard, half-starved, her coat matted and muddy.

Looking at her now, Pansy thought, as she stroked the silky head, it was like looking at a different dog. Samuel kept her bathed and fed, and she was quite the most beautiful animal Pansy had ever seen.

“Did you come to see me or my dog?” Samuel asked, his voice teasing as he approached them.

Pansy smiled up at him. “Both.” She stood, giving Tess a final pat. “Madam wants the carriage readied and at the door as soon as possible.” She tilted her head on one side. “She didn’t say where she was going.”

Samuel’s face assumed the mask he always wore when she questioned him about his jaunts with madam. “Most likely she wants to do some Christmas shopping.” He opened the gate to one of the stalls and whistled to Tess. “Here, girl. In your kennel. You can stay warm there until I get back.”

Pansy watched him close the gate, wishing she had somewhere warm and cozy to snuggle up in for a while. The question she wanted to ask him buzzed around in her head, but she didn’t quite know how to ask it.

He was halfway across the stables before she called out, “I heard Doris is coming for Christmas.”

She would have liked to have seen his expression when she told him, but he had his back turned toward her. He kept going for another step or two before turning to face her.

“Coming here to the Pennyfoot?”

“Yes.” She walked toward him, trying to read his thoughts, but Samuel was very good at hiding them. “Her husband and little girl are coming with her.”

“That’s nice.”

Pansy narrowed her eyes. “You still like her, don’t you?”

“I still like her, yes. We worked together a long time, and she’s a sweet lady. That doesn’t mean I want to be with her. I’ve told you that over and over.” Samuel spun around and marched over to the door, flinging words over his shoulder. “She’s married, Pansy. Stop fretting about her.”

He disappeared, leaving Pansy to nurse an ache that never quite went away. Samuel loved her, she knew that. He didn’t have to say it, she could tell by the way he kissed her and all the nice things he said and did for her. Still, if only she could hear the words, just once, she’d know for certain, and all these nasty feelings about Doris would go away for good.

Dejected now, she plodded back to the kitchen, silently cursing the snow at every step. Would she ever be sure of Samuel’s love? Right now, it didn’t seem too likely.

Staring back at the sky, she changed her prayer. Let it snow. Hard. Piling up six or seven feet. That way, Doris wouldn’t be able to come, and she could have Samuel all to herself for Christmas. Hunching her shoulders, she opened the kitchen door and went inside.

 

 

“His name is Lester Salt,” Cecily said, as she climbed up onto the creaking, cold leather seat of the carriage. Shivering, she drew her scarf tighter under her chin. “He’s the new manager of Thomas Willow’s shoe shop.”

“In the High Street,” Samuel said, nodding. “I know where it is. It’s going to be busy down there today, m’m. You might have a bit of a walk to the shop.”

“That’s all right, Samuel. I’m sure the shopkeepers will have cleared the pavements.” She heard the big bay snorting as Samuel took the reins. She felt sorry for the poor animal. It wouldn’t be easy for it to drag the carriage through all this snow.

If only the rain would start and wash the cold mess away. She was really becoming quite anxious about her guests. This had to be the worst Christmas season weather she could remember in many years.

The carriage jolted forward, sending her back against the seat. Her hat tipped in front of her eyes and she straightened it, securing it more firmly with a hat pin. Bracing herself for another rough ride, she thought about the questions she would ask Lester Salt. She needed answers and as soon as possible.

The gentleman who filled the doorway at the shoe shop was nothing like the assistant she had imagined. Dressed in a loudly striped suit with a red waistcoat, starched white collar, and bow tie, he looked more like a circus ringmaster than a shoemaker.

He extended a massive hand as if about to take her fingers in his, which Cecily managed to avoid by pretending to brush snowflakes from her cape.

Seemingly unaffected by the slight, Lester Salt boomed, “Welcome to Willow’s shoe shop! How may we assist you this bright morning?”

Considering the sky was dark gray, Cecily thought the greeting a bit pompous. “I’m Mrs. Baxter, of the Pennyfoot Country Club,” she announced, forestalling Samuel, who was about to introduce her. Judging from Lester Salt’s demeanor, she decided, the man would not stand on protocol, and she had no time to waste. “I am here to ask you a few questions about Thomas Willow.”

The shoemaker’s change of expression hardly registered before it was wiped away by an effusive smile. “By all means, Mrs. Baxter! Come this way!”

He ushered her and Samuel into a small parlor at the back of the shop, leaving a couple of young lads to take care of any potential customers.

“It is indeed an honor to greet you, Mrs. Baxter,” he gushed, as he beckoned her to sit down. “I know your husband well. Such a nice man. Very well-spoken, if I may say so.”

Cecily wondered what Baxter would make of that. “Thank you, Mr. Salt. My husband would appreciate your kind words.”

“Not at all, m’m, and please, do call me Lester. Everyone does.” He laughed, a rather harsh sound that grated on her nerves.

“Thank you, Lester.” She chose a chair by the fire, where a pair of muddy boots sat next to a half-filled coal scuttle.

Samuel hovered near the door, looking anxious as always. Mindful of his sacred promise to take care of her, no doubt. Cecily was quite certain that Baxter had promised all sorts of dire consequences if Samuel failed to keep her safe.

She couldn’t help noticing that the sofa and armchairs were of poor quality brocade, though the faded curtains at the window had once been very fine velvet. The sideboard and mantelpiece were bare of ornaments except for a large clock ticking above the fireplace. A small table at her side held only a book, its pages marked with a slim piece of paper.

The title intrigued her.
Tales of a Mystic.
It was the heading on the bookmark that held her attention, however, until Lester spoke.

“Now, then,” he said, smoothing his drooping mustache with his fingers. “What can I do for you today, Mrs. Baxter? A nice pair of leather boots, perhaps, or a pretty pair of satin shoes to match a tea gown? I have a pair in black satin that are just exquisite.”