No Clue at the Inn (Pennyfoot Hotel Mystery Book 13) (16 page)

James turned immediately onto his side and closed his eyes.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Gertie crept over to where Ross waited for her by the door. "There, they'll be asleep any minute. Mrs. Chubb should be back soon. She went down to dinner an hour ago with Daisy and Samuel. Once she gets here, we can go down to dinner. I'm bloody starving, I am."

"Gertie." Ross sounded beaten, as if he'd been tramping Putney Downs all day instead of spending most of it resting in their room.

Gertie stared at him in concern. Now that she really looked at him, he looked really poorly. "Aren't you feeling well, luv?" She placed her hand on his arm. "What is it, then?"

"I've got something to tell you. I should've told you this morning, but I didna want to tell you in front of everybody."

His Scottish accent sounded even more pronounced than usual—a sure sign he was upset about something. Now she was really worried. "Tell me what, luv? What's wrong?"

He raised his chin to look up at the ceiling, then looked down at her with such sorrow in his face she wanted to cry out. Fear gripped her with a cold hand, and her lips felt numb with cold.

"I've sold the business, lass," he said at last. "I just couldna cope with it anymore."

Relief made her weak. "Is that all? Blimey, Ross, don't frighten me like that again. Don't worry, luv. Something will turn up. You'll have to get a job, that's all. Plenty of work around for a strapping lad like you."

"I don't know about that. I'm no' such a lad anymore. More like an old codger."

"Don't talk rubbish." She shook his arm. "Why, you're twice as big and three times as strong as any young lad I know. And four times as blinking handsome, and all."

His eyes softened, and he pulled her into his arms. "Ah, Gertie, my sweet, adorable love. What would I do without ye. Any other woman would be weepin' and wailin' at the news."

"Yeah, well, I'm not any bloody woman, am I. Things always have a way of working out, that's what I say, so what's the bleeding use of worrying about it."

Mrs. Chubb knocked on the door at that moment and Gertie welcomed the interruption. She'd made light of the situation, but her insides were churning like a keg of butter. It wasn't so much that Ross had sold the business. She was happy about that. She'd worried about him working such long hours in the harsh Scottish winters. And she was quite sure he'd soon find work again.

It was more the fact that he'd given up. Ross didn't give up easily on anything, and next to his family, the business was his life. Something had to be really wrong for him to get rid of something that had meant so much to him.

Making up her mind to have a word with Dr. Prestwick just as soon as she could, Gertie said good night to her babies and Mrs. Chubb, then took her husband's arm. They could never afford to stay in a posh hotel like this one. This was the one and only chance of a lifetime to live like the toffs for a little while, and she was determined to enjoy every single second of it.

Putting her worries out of her mind for the time being, she walked with her husband toward the stairs. In spite of the battles she'd had with Michel, she knew quite well that he was one of the best chefs in the country. She was really looking forward to her meal.

They were halfway down the corridor when she caught sight of someone moving in the shadows at the far end. The couple drew apart as they approached and the lady disappeared into a suite, while the gentleman turned his back and pretended to study a portrait hanging on the wall.

At the head of the stairwell, which was centered in the middle of the long corridor, Gertie glanced back at the lone figure farther down the hall. She'd recognized the
woman as the French wife of one of the toffs. Lady Something-or-other. Now she recognized the gentleman. It was the handsome bugger whose wife had all that flaming red hair. Peebles, that was his name. Roger Peebles.

Intrigued, Gertie descended the stairs, wondering just what the Frenchie was up to lurking in the corridor with one of her husband's colleagues.

Jeannette grunted as she dumped the heavy tray of soiled plates onto the kitchen table. "Look at this lot," she mumbled to no one in particular. "It will take me all night to get these washed and drained."

"It will if you stand there talking about it," Miss Bunkle said sharply. "Moira will be back any minute with another load, so you'd better get started."

Muttering to herself, Jeannette rolled up her sleeves past her elbows and stomped over to the stove, where a cauldron of hot water sat bubbling and steaming. "All this soap and hot water is drying out me skin. Me hands look like they came off a crocodile."

Miss Bunkle grunted. "How would you know what a crocodile looks like?"

"I seen one of them toffs wearing shoes made from crocodile skin. Look just like me hands, they do."

Miss Bunkle gave her a sharp look. "I hope you haven't been poking around amongst the guests' personal belongings again. You almost lost your job the last time when Mr. Wrotham caught you snooping in the wardrobes. If you get caught again doing that, you can say goodbye to the Pennyfoot, that's for sure."

Jeannette sniffed, and wiped her nose with the back of her finger. "This ain't the only place around here. I could
get a job anywhere doing what I do and getting better paid for it, too."

"That I doubt very much." Miss Bunkle shook a finger at her. "But you'll soon have the opportunity to find out if you don't get those plates in the sink this minute. And for heaven's sake, blow your nose. All that sniffing is driving me crazy."

"I'm getting a bloody cold, that's what." Jeannette grabbed the handles of the steaming cauldron and hauled it off the stove. She carried it to an empty sink next to the other two kitchen maids, who were feverishly plunging glasses, plates, and an assortment of cutlery in and out of the soapy water. "If I'm ill," she muttered, "you'll soon find out how much you'd miss me. What with all the guests here for Christmas and all."

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." Miss Bunkle picked up a fork from the other sink and examined it. "This fork isn't clean," she told the timid maid. "Make sure you scrub the prongs." She turned back to Jeanette. "Take some cod liver oil when you go to bed. That'll soon put you back on your feet. I'm going into the dining room. Make sure those plates are clean by the time I get back."

Jeanette waited until the kitchen door had swung to behind her before muttering, "Silly old cow." She mimicked Miss Bunkle's grating voice. "Take some cod liver oil."

The girl next to her giggled.

"I'd like to shove cod liver oil down her throat and see how she likes it." Jeanette swished a plate in the water and held it up to let the soap bubbles slide off it before placing it in the draining board.

The door swung open again and Moira staggered in,
bearing the weight of yet another tray of dirty dishes.

"Blimey," Jeanette said as her friend dumped the tray on the table. "How many bleeding more are there out there?"

"That's the lot, I think." Moira swiped at her forehead with the back of her arm. "There's just the coffee cups and saucers now."

"Thank Gawd for that." Jeanette beckoned to Moira. "Here, I want to ask you a favor."

Moira came forward with a good deal of reluctance. "What is it? The last time I did you a favor, it got me in trouble."

Jeanette made a face. "It weren't my fault. How was I to know they was Miss Bunkle's knickers hanging on the line? I just wanted to have a bit of fun, that's all."

"Miss Bunkle didn't think it was funny when she saw her knickers hanging on the cherub's head in the middle of the fountain. She knew I knew who dunnit. I should've told her it was you. She knew I was keeping her busy so she wouldn't see who did it."

"Well, you didn't tell her it were me and that's why you're me best friend." Jeanette nudged her with her elbow. "You are me best friend, aren't you?"

Moira shrugged. "I s'pose."

Jeanette glanced at the other two girls, both of whom were busy chattering about what they'd like for Christmas. Drawing Moira to one side, she whispered, "I have to go out tonight."

Moira stared at her. "Tonight? But it's not your night off. You can't go out tonight. Besides, you went out last night."

"No, I didn't. I had a big row with Wally and he went off in a huff."

"I know. I heard you. I thought you'd made it up with him."

"Well, I didn't. I went to bed early 'cos of me cold."

"Well, that was your night off. You can't just go tonight instead. Not without permission from Miss Bunkle."

"I'm not going
to
be that long. I just have to meet someone, that's all."

"Who, Wally? You going to make up with him?"

Jeanette shook her head. "Not Wally. We broke up."

Moira gasped in dismay. "Then who?"

"Never mind who. I just need you to tell Miss Bunkle that I'm not feeling well so I've gone to bed. I'll get these plates finished and then I'll leave."

Moira tightened her lips. "I'm not doing it unless you tell me who you're going to meet."

Jeanette glared at her in frustration. "I can't tell you, can I? At least, not now. I'll tell you later. I swear I will."

"Well, I don't know." Moira frowned. "I hope you're not getting yourself in no more trouble. You're in enough trouble as it is."

"Course not. I know what I'm doing. This is going to get me
out
of trouble, you'll see." Jeanette glanced at the clock on the wall. "And I'd better get on with these dishes or I'll be late. If you help me and tell Miss Bunkle I've gone to bed, I'll make it up to you. I'll do anything you want."

Moira sighed. "Well, all right. But you'd better be careful. If Miss Bunkle catches you, there'll be bloody hell to pay."

Jeanette grinned. "Don't you worry about that. The old biddy won't catch me. Thanks, Moira. I promise, I'll tell you everything just as soon as I know that everything's going to be all right again."

"Just be careful, that's all I ask." Moira turned back to the table. "Now we'd better get these plates washed, before we're both in trouble again."

Jeanette moved back to the sink and reached for another plate. She wished she
could
tell Moira who she was going to meet. It was so exciting, just thinking about it. But she'd promised, and until she was sure everything was going to turn out right, she had to keep that promise. She only hoped she wouldn't make a mess of things this time. Everything depended on what happened tonight. Everything.

CHAPTER

12

When Cecily arrived at Baxter's office, she was delighted to discover that he had completed his tasks for the day. "It would seem that you are finally catching up on all the work that Barry Wrotham's absence left behind," she said, giving her husband a warm hug. "I'm so pleased. I hated the thought that you might have to struggle with it all through the Christmas week."

"I would have put it all aside until after Christmas in any case," he told her.

"Piffle!" She smiled up at him. "You know very well you find it impossible to put aside work that has to be done."

"I seem to remember putting a great deal of my own work aside in order to come down here and manage this place for a month," Baxter said dryly.

"Ah, well, that was different." She glanced up at the clock. "In any case, since you are finished for the evening, what do you say to taking dinner in the dining room tonight? I'm tired of eating in our suite and snacking in your office. I would like to dine in style for a change."

"Anything you desire, my love. But I think it's a little late for Michel to cook us dinner now."

"Oh, they'll find something for us in the kitchen, I'm sure." She took hold of his arm. "Come, I have some delicious tidbits of news I'm just dying to share with you."

"Not gossip, I hope. You know how I abhor listening to gossip."

"Well, not strictly, no. This came straight from the horse's mouth. Besides, you'll be very pleased to hear that the mystery of Barry Wrotham's death has been explained. At least, I think it has. Though I can't help feeling that I haven't heard the whole story."

Baxter folded the ledger with a snap, then opened the door before turning out the gas lamps on the wall. "Well, my dear madam, you have succeeded in intriguing me. Let us proceed to the dining room this minute, so that we might satisfy both my curiosity and my appetite."

She accompanied him eagerly to the dining room, where to her delight, she found Gertie and Ross, still seated with Samuel and Doris, enjoying a lingering cup of coffee.

The men rose as she approached the table ahead of Baxter, who had paused to give their order to one of the serving maids. After greeting them all, she concentrated her attention on Doris, whom she barely recognized.

A picture of elegance in a high-throated gown of pale pink batiste, generously trimmed in Point de Paris lace,
the young lady seemed nothing like that frightened little scullery maid who'd dropped everything she'd picked up and had spoken only in whispers.

Now a seasoned performer on the London stage, Doris had grown into a poised, glamorous young woman. Still not a star, perhaps, but definitely on her way there. Only her shy smile reminded Cecily of the child she once was.

"Doris!" Cecily grasped both of the young girl's slender hands. "How utterly marvelous to see you again. You look exquisite. Quite the London celebrity. How are you enjoying the stage?"

Doris's eyes glowed with warmth. "It's wonderful, m'm. I've never been so happy in all my life." Her smile faded a little. "Well, except for when I worked here at the Pennyfoot, that is."

Cecily laughed. "Come now, Doris, we can hardly compare to the excitement and glamour of the stage. But I hope you miss us just a little bit."

"Oh, I do, m'm." Doris waved a hand at Gertie. "I miss Gertie and Mrs. Chubb. And especially you and Mr. Baxter. You were like parents to me. I'll never forget that. Never."

Cecily felt a warm glow herself. "We've always considered the staff of the Pennyfoot our family. We miss you all very much."

Doris folded her serviette and placed it on the table. "Gertie was telling me you want to put on a pantomime."