No Clue at the Inn (Pennyfoot Hotel Mystery Book 13) (18 page)

"Does she have a young man?"

"Yes, m'm. Wally Diggett. But she weren't going to see him. She told me they broke up."

"Perhaps she was going to mend their quarrel."

Moira gave a definite shake of her head. "No, m'm. She was going to meet someone else. She told me that much, but she wouldn't tell me who it was." She started to cry
again. "She's going to hate me for telling you, I know she is."

"Please don't worry, Moira," Cecily said gently. "I won't let her know you told me anything. Which room are you in?"

"Number three, m'm. And thank you." The girl managed a weak smile. "I'm much obliged."

The door closed behind her, and frowning, Cecily made her way down the hallway to the maids' quarters. Reaching the door with a brass number three on it, she tapped, gently at first. When there was no answer from inside, she rapped loudly. "Jeanette? Are you in there?" After a moment's hesitation, she turned the handle and went inside.

She had forgotten how cramped the maids' quarters were. The room was barely big enough to hold the two cots, which sat close together with a gap just big enough for knees to pass in between. A small wardrobe took up the space in one corner, and a narrow dresser bearing a washbasin and jug stood in the other.

The only mirror in the room was a small oval one in a carved metal frame that hung on the wall over the dresser. The tiny window looked out on the kitchen yard, barely ten feet of paving before it reached the high wooden fence on the other side.

No wonder the young girls were leaving the service in droves to find jobs in the city. The pay for a servant was small, the hours long, and the work arduous. The compensation of having room and board thrown in was hardly an incentive anymore, when compared with the freedom of returning to one's own home at night in the city. Even if that home was no more than a cramped room in a boardinghouse.

Freedom
, that was the key word. Freedom to come and
go where and when one pleased, once the day's work was done. It made all the difference. Cecily sighed, and went to the wardrobe to open it. Two afternoon dresses hung there, and beneath them, two pairs of black patent-leather shoes. On the top shelf sat two large traveling bags.

After closing the door, she wandered over to the dresser. A hairbrush sat on one side of the washbasin, together with a face flannel, a comb, and a toothbrush. It certainly would appear that Jeanette had planned to return to the Pennyfoot. So now the question was, why hadn't she?

Cecily left the room and closed the door behind her. She had a very bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. It would seem that the ill luck that had haunted the Pennyfoot ever since James's death was still with them. She could only hope that the girl was safe and sound.

CHAPTER

13

Baxter seemed less concerned with Jeanette's disappearance than Cecily would have liked. "She's probably gone off with her young man for a day or two," he said, looking disdainful. "You know what these young girls are like nowadays. Disgraceful, that's what I call it. I don't know what's happening to women lately. This blasted Women's Movement is causing more trouble than I ever imagined. What with women digging up golf courses, breaking windows, and starving themselves in prisons, the whole world is going to rot. And for what? What do they really hope to achieve?"

"The vote, for one thing," Cecily said mildly. "To be on an equal footing with men, for another. To be allowed to enter any room in any establishment, such as the card
rooms and the bar of this country club. In other words, to be treated and respected as a human being."

"Are you saying I don't treat you with respect?"

"Of course not, dear. But then you are the exception." She smiled fondly at him. She had long ago learned that it was a waste of time to argue with his favorite grievance, much as she disagreed with his opinions. Ignoring his snort of exasperation, she poured out his tea from the silver teapot.

He had abandoned his office for a short while in order to take afternoon tea in the suite with her, a treat she truly enjoyed. Ever since they had arrived at the Pennyfoot, he had been closeted in his office for the most part.

Although he spent a great deal of time at home with his business, he'd at least had time to share meals with her, whereas here in the Pennyfoot, with the exception of a late supper at night, they were fortunate to snatch a few moments here and there over a cup of tea or a glass of sherry.

This afternoon, however, was a delightful departure from his normal routine, and she was determined to enjoy every moment. Even so, she'd deemed it necessary to inform him of Jeanette's unexplained absence.

"I'm particularly worried about Jeanette," she told him, "because Miss Bunkle said that she was coming down with a bad cold yesterday. I do hope she hasn't fallen ill somewhere and is lying in a hospital bed. She'd be so miserable and lonely with no one to pay her a visit."

"I think we would have heard if that had happened. Someone would have notified us by now."

"Well, Jeanette might seem a little frivolous at times, but she doesn't seem the sort to simply take her leave without a word to anyone."

"Who knows what these young girls will do just to please a beau."

"Moira told me that Jeanette was planning to meet someone other than her young man. Miss Bunkle is convinced that Jeanette stole her pearls and has gone off to London to sell them."

"Well. There you are then."

"I don't believe that for one minute. Jeanette was quite indignant that we should even suspect her of stealing the pearls."

"That could have been a well-executed piece of acting. You'd be surprised what these girls are capable of doing."

"I suppose." She sighed. "I hate to think of a young girl like that involved in crime at such a tender age."

"Well, I suggest we let the constables take care of it. Has anyone reported her as missing?"

"Not yet. We're all rather hoping she'll soon return with a feasible explanation."

"I wouldn't wait too long on that expectation." He lifted a miniature mince pie from the tray of pastries. "This is what I enjoy most about Christmas," he added after taking a bite with a look of supreme pleasure on his face. "I really don't understand why we can't have Christmas food all year long. It seems such a waste to wait until the end of the year to enjoy plum pudding and Christmas cakes."

"Ah, but you wouldn't enjoy them half as much if you could have them anytime you wanted." Abandoning her concerns about Jeanette for the moment, Cecily helped herself to a mince pie. "Besides, it's a tradition, such as Easter eggs and hot cross buns."

"Another waste, if you ask me." He leaned back with his cup and saucer balanced on his knee. "To blazes with tradition, that's what I say."

She burst out laughing. "Why, Bax, I never thought the day would come when you would give up on tradition. You're always fighting progress and change. Except for the motor car, that is."

"Ah, well, that's the only sensible thing to come out of all this rush to modernize the world. I'm thinking of asking young Samuel to teach me to drive an automobile. I think it would be a great asset for getting around in my business."

Cecily regarded him over the rim of her cup. "You always meet your clients at the club, which is a twenty-minute walk from our house. By the time you managed to crank up the engine of a motor car, climbed in, drove it to the club, deposited it, and got out of it, you could have walked the distance in half of that time."

Baxter frowned. "It's not the time involved, Cecily, it's the impression one gives when arriving in an automobile. Prestige!" He wagged a finger at her. "That is the key to a successful business."

"Well, my love, no one can deny that you have a very successful business, so your prestige must be in excellent condition already, in which case, you do not need a motor car to enhance it."

He frowned at her for a moment, then his face softened. "Has anyone ever told you, Mrs. Baxter, that you have an infernal way of turning an argument in your favor?"

She grinned. "I learned from a master. James could argue his way out of the dungeons in the Tower of London."

"Indeed he could." He studied her with a pensive expression. "You still miss him?"

"Not anymore." She got up from her chair, leaned over her husband, and kissed him. "How could I, when I have someone who fulfills me as you do?"

He sighed. "There are times when I feel I don't give you enough of myself. What with the business and now this . . . " He waved a vague hand in the air. "It seems we have so little time together these days. It was my biggest complaint when we worked here in the past."

She returned to her chair and reached for her tea. "Well, I must admit I was becoming a trifle bored at home, being left alone to my own devices. But now that I am back here at the Pennyfoot, I can find plenty enough to fill in my time. Though I will always welcome the chance to share a few minutes alone with you, my dear husband."

"It won't always be this way."

"I know." She sipped her tea, then replaced the cup in its saucer. "I am a patient woman, Bax. I know that one day we will have all the leisure time in the world together, and that is well worth the wait."

"I promise I will make it worth your while."

She smiled at him, content for now in knowing how much he cared for her. She was, indeed, a fortunate woman.

"It's very nice of you to invite us to help you decorate the tree, Miss Pengrath," Daisy said as she sat the twins down at a small table in the library. "The little ones have been looking forward to it all day, haven't you, ducks?"

Lillian nodded, while James looked bored. Daisy hoped he wouldn't give her any trouble. The twins had really grown up a lot since she'd last seen them. They were becoming quite a handful.

"I'm delighted to have the help," Madeline said in her low, musical voice. "It will give their mother and Mrs. Chubb some time to themselves."

Daisy wished fervently that she had a voice like Madeline's. She'd tried to speak like that now and then, but all she managed to do was sound as if she had a bad cold. "I know Gertie and Mrs. Chubb will like that." She beamed at the twins. "And it will be fun to help, won't it, luvs."

James pouted. "Don't want to," he muttered.

"Yes, you do," Madeline said firmly. She rummaged inside the large tapestry bag she'd brought in with her, and came up holding two peppermint sticks. "We'll have lots of fun, and this will be your pay for helping me."

Lillian's face lit up, and James held out a chubby hand. "I want it
now
," he demanded.

"Only when you've finished helping." Madeline dropped them back in the bag and pulled out a thick wad of paper strips. She laid them out on the table in piles of pink, blue, green, yellow, white, and red. Next she put out a large pot of paste with a brush fixed to the cap. "Now, this is how you make a paper chain."

Daisy watched her dab the paste brush on one end of a pink strip and fasten it into a circle. Then she threaded a blue strip through the circle and fastened the ends of it with the paste. "Now, do you two clever little people think you can do that?"

Lillian nodded eagerly and reached for a strip of paper. Even James seemed intrigued, in spite of his best efforts not to look interested. Daisy helped them put the paste on the strips and fasten the ends, then let them choose the next strip.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Madeline hang the glass ornaments, hand-sewn lace-trimmed hearts, and red velvet bows on the tree.

Seeing her at work, so graceful and serene, Daisy found it hard to believe the stories they told about Madeline in the village. In that white cotton dress with its little red bows, she looked just like an angel. A very beautiful angel. If she was dressed in a proper gown, she'd put all them toffs to shame. It didn't seem right that she wasn't married. But then, not many men would want to take the chance of marrying a witch.

"James took my paper," Lillian wailed. "I wanted that pink one."

"It's mine," James declared, holding the strip to his chest, where it promptly stuck to the bib of his apron.

Daisy peeled it off, tearing it in the process. Both twins wailed and it took a minute or two to restore harmony.

"Here," Madeline said as she lifted the uneven chain of paper from the table. "You can help me hang it on the tree now, and then we'll put all the Christmas crackers in between the branches."

"What are crackers?" James asked as he draped one end of the chain over a low branch of the tree.

"They have snaps inside them," Daisy explained. "You hold one end and I hold the other, then we pull and the cracker pops with a bang and a present falls out of it."

"And a hat," Madeline added. "Here, I'll show you." She hunted in her bag again, and then handed Daisy a box filled with long colored paper tubes, gaily decorated and frilled at each end. "Take one out and we'll let them pull it."

Daisy took a cracker out of the box and helped each
twin grasp the end of it. "Now pull," she told them.

They both tugged hard and the cracker popped open with a loud snap that made Lillian jump. Something fell to the floor and both twins dove for it. James came up holding a tiny silver horse, and Lillian pouted.

"He always gets everything," she wailed.

Madeline unwrapped the remains of the cracker and pulled out a paper hat, which she placed on Lillian's head. "Ah," she said softly, "but you are the one who is crowned the queen."

Lillian's tearful frown vanished, and she floated around the room chanting, "I'm the queen, I'm the queen!"

"Now it's time to put the candles on," Madeline said, handing some of the tiny wax sticks to Daisy. "You two can tell us where we should put them."

"Why are we putting candles on the tree?" James demanded.

"We're going to have a candle-lighting ceremony," Daisy told him. "We'll all stand around the tree on Christmas Eve and sing carols, and then someone lights all the candles and we turn all the lamps out and everyone gets a present off the Christmas tree."