No Clue at the Inn (Pennyfoot Hotel Mystery Book 13) (26 page)

"Oh, come now, Bax. I read the newspaper. Those women have been trading their wares since the beginning of time."

"That doesn't mean that it's a matter for discussion."

She stared at him, her mind busily digesting this latest information. "Roger Peebles must have visited those places, since he had their IOU slips in his pocket."

"Well, if so, I can certainly understand why he wouldn't want that to be common knowledge. From what I hear, the police are constantly raiding the place in an effort to shut them down, but so far the owners have been clever enough to avoid that."

"How interesting." She frowned. "I wonder who else knows about Peebles's indiscretions."

"I can't imagine he publicizes the fact."

"I wonder if this has anything to do with his death."

Baxter sighed. "Peebles's death was an accident. I thought we agreed on that."

"Now why would you think we'd agreed on anything?" She smiled sweetly. "I think, my dear husband, that you should have a word with the rest of the Benchers. Perhaps suggest you have some influential friends who are looking for somewhere out of town to indulge their habit?"

Baxter's pursed his lips. "And why, pray, would I do such a thing?"

"I think it would be most interesting to know who else knows about this Cureagambler. I have a feeling that it might have something to do with why Peebles died."

"A feeling," Baxter repeated. "You mean one of those infernal notions that invariably land you in trouble."

"And more often than not have led to some very satisfying conclusions."

"Not without hovering on the brink of disaster."

"Perhaps, but when a young girl in our employ is brutally murdered, isn't it our duty to discover why she was killed and by whom? Up until now we have been guessing. I think it's high time we made a concerted effort to solve this puzzle. Once and for all."

For several seconds their gazes clashed, then Baxter muttered, "Oh, very well. It can't do any harm, I suppose. I'll pay a visit to the card room, since the gentlemen in question seem to spend a vast amount of time in there."

"Thank you, Baxter." She laid a hand on his arm. "I
don't have to remind you to be careful not to let slip that we know about Cureagambler. After all, three deaths have occurred within a very short time. I'm not anxious to see a fourth. Particularly if it's yours."

"You surely don't suspect one of the Benchers of being involved in murder," Baxter exclaimed.

"I'm considering all possibilities, that's all." She smiled at him. "I know I can trust you to be discreet."

"Something tells me I'm going to regret this." He moved to the door, then paused to look back at her. "If you're free for lunch, perhaps you'd care to join me in the dining room."

"I would adore to have lunch with you."

"I think the staff should see us together, just in case they should have any false impressions about your tryst with Prestwick yesterday."

She controlled the urge to laugh and instead murmured demurely, "I think that's a very good idea."

Seemingly satisfied, he left.

Cecily turned back to the task of counting tablecloths. Poor Baxter. He couldn't forget that once Kevin Prestwick had pursued her, even though she had never entertained any notions of romantic attachment to him. Then again, it really didn't hurt to remind him every now and then. Just to keep him on his toes, so to speak. Smiling, Cecily started counting tablecloths.

It was an hour or so later before she had completed enough of her schedule to indulge in some free time with her husband. Baxter was waiting for her in his office, and she knew at once by his heavy scowl that something had upset him.

Somewhat alarmed, she hurried to his side. "What
happened? Surely there hasn't been another death?"

"No, no." He shook his head. "It's just those blasted Benchers. They were all in the card room, so I approached them and, as delicately as possible, broached the subject of gambling in general."

Cecily sat down, afraid of what she might hear. "So what did they say?"

"Well, the conversation went on and on, mostly rubbish that I didn't understand, about odds and bets and bluffs and a number of terms of which I had no idea of their meaning. I had to pretend interest, of course. I thought I was never going to get away."

Feeling somewhat disappointed, Cecily asked, "But did they mention Cureagambler?"

"Not one word. I mentioned the fact that I knew several wealthy gentlemen in the city who love to gamble, but who found our meager card rooms too tame for their adventurous spirits."

"That was extremely clever of you," Cecily said, beaming at him in admiration. "So what reaction did you get to that?"

Baxter shrugged. "Well, Sir John Gilroy's features remained carved in stone. Chatsworth looked interested but didn't say anything."

"And Fitzhammer? If anyone would spill the beans, it would be him."

"Well, he did hint that he might know a place where my gentlemen friends might find enough excitement to satisfy them. He suggested I join them in a few rounds of baccarat this evening, when we might discuss it. Naturally, I had to decline the invitation."

"Baxter!" Cecily sat up straight. "How could you? This
is the perfect opportunity for you to find out more about Cureagambler. Especially if Lionel Fitzhammer knows about it, too."

"I didn't say that. I merely said that Fitzhammer knew of a place. He didn't mention it by name."

Ignoring him, Cecily went on blithely, "We'll send in a few complimentary bottles of brandy and they'll be talking in no time. Lady Lucille complained of her husband taking part in something that didn't include her. Perhaps all of these gentlemen are paid members of these houses. If so, they would all have a motive for murder. You have to go to the game. It's the only chance we might have of catching all three of them unawares. You must pay strict attention to everything that is said."

His expression of sheer alarm was almost comical. "Have you forgotten that I know nothing about cards? I seem to remember you volunteering my participation in a poker game, giving my opponents the impression I had played professionally. I was hopelessly inept, and suffered agonies at that table. That was one of the most embarrassing and nerve-racking evenings of my life."

"We found out what we wanted to know, however," Cecily pointed out.

Baxter glared at her. "I
cannot
play baccarat."

"You can learn."

"In one afternoon?"

"Enough to get by. Yes."

"That's what you assured me about the poker game. And this time you won't be able to coach me as we play, since you're not allowed in the card rooms."

"Idiotic rules and regulations," Cecily muttered. "They should be outlawed."

"The rules are what make this a club and not a hotel."

"Exactly. That's my point." She drew a deep breath. "Darling, from what I hear, baccarat is much simpler to play than poker. We have the rules for them right here in your office. I suggest we have a leisurely lunch, then we'll return here and learn the rules of the game. You don't have to play with the Benchers all evening. Just long enough to find out what they know about Cureagambler, and anything else they might say."

"And how will that tell us who killed Jeanette?"

"I don't know," Cecily confessed. "But I can't help feeling it's all connected somehow. What's more, I think the Benchers know more than they are saying."

"Why are you so sure they are involved?"

Before she could answer, he held up his hand. "No, don't tell me. It's just a feeling."

She looked up at him in appeal. "It's a very
strong
feeling."

His sigh told her he'd capitulated. "I know I'm going to regret this, but all right. I'll make an attempt to learn the game. But I have to tell you, if I don't feel I know enough about it by this evening to put on a good show, then I'm calling it off. Agreed?"

Reluctantly, she agreed, though secretly she vowed that, come hell or high water, she'd make sure he learned how to play baccarat before the day was over.

During lunch Cecily deliberately kept the conversation away from the subject of gambling, or indeed, anything to do with the Benchers or their wives. She was half afraid that Baxter would change his mind. She would have felt a great deal better about the whole venture had she been able to join him in the card room. She made up her mind that, at the first opportunity, she would talk to Edward
about changing some of the rules that offended her.

As soon as they had finished their meal, Cecily led the way back to Baxter's office, assuring him that their duties could wait until they had mastered the game of baccarat.

The game called for at least three decks of cards, and she had to wait for him to collect them, as well as the rules, before they could begin.

"This looks heinously complicated," Baxter complained after scanning the closely written rules.

"Not for a man of your intelligence," Cecily replied blithely. "Really all you have to do is know how to count to nine. You simply add two cards together, and take the last digit. For instance, if you have an eight and a five, you add them together, which is thirteen, so your count is three. It's simple."

Baxter looked unconvinced. "What's all this about a shoe? And what the devil is
cheval
, or
banco?"

"It all depends on how you bet. The punters sit on either side of the banker and you bet on them being able to beat the banker's hand." She studied the rules over his shoulder. "Look,
banco
means the punter is betting the total value of the banker's funds."

Baxter shook his head. "This is not going to work. Why don't I simply ask them if they've heard of this Cureagambler? It would save a lot of trouble."

"Because no self-respecting barrister as important as the Masters of the Bench is going to admit he knows of a gambling brothel in Brighton."

Baxter winced, but refrained from chiding her for using the forbidden word. "Then what makes you think that playing this dratted game with them is going to open up their mouths?"

"It won't be the game that loosens their tongue," Cecily said smugly. "It's the free brandy they'll be pouring down their throats. Trust me, Bax. This will work. I have—"

"A feeling," he said in unison with her. "Very well, I'll do my best. I can only hope it doesn't turn into the disaster I experienced in the poker game."

"Don't worry, darling," Cecily said with a great deal more confidence than she felt. "You'll manage beautifully and I'm sure you will even enjoy it. Take my word for it."

CHAPTER

19

"So what did Dr. Prestcott say about Ross?" Mrs. Chubb asked, stirring her cup of tea vigorously with a delicate silver teaspoon.

Seated opposite her at the kitchen table, Gertie uttered a gloomy sigh. "He says he's exhausted. Needs a good rest. I could have told 'im that."

Mrs. Chubb lifted the cup to her lips and sipped cautiously in case it was still too hot. The steaming liquid stung her tongue and she hastily put the cup down again. "Well, he's getting that here, isn't he?"

"I suppose so. He's not very happy with me working, though. Even though I explained I was doing it as a favor for Mrs. Baxter. He said as how everyone would think it
terrible for him to let his wife work and he's lying around doing nothing."

"Well, it won't be for long, will it." Mrs. Chubb tasted the tea again and this time managed to get a mouthful down without burning her tongue again. "Whereabouts is Ross now, anyway?"

"He's taking a walk around the grounds to get some fresh air, ain't he."

Mrs. Chubb watched in awe as Gertie chugged down the hot tea without even blinking. That girl had to have a constitution made of iron, that's all she could say.

"He wanted to take the twins with him," Gertie added, dropping her cup on its saucer. "But Daisy's taken them into town to look at the toy shops."

"Well, that's a mistake. Now they'll want everything they see on the shelves."

"Don't I bloomin' know it," Gertie said mournfully. "Course, they won't blinking get it, will they. We'll have to watch the bloody pennies now, that's for sure."

The maid seated next to her sniggered, and Mrs. Chubb gave Gertie a look that she hoped she would interpret as a command to watch her language. Gertie was trying, but she never could get rid of that smutty mouth of hers.

"Better not let Ross hear you say that," she warned. "He won't want to be reminded that he's not bringing home the fatted calf like he was."

"He's not even bringing home a scrawny chicken." Gertie picked up her empty cup and saucer and got wearily to her feet. "Never mind, that's what I say. He'll find something else to do before long, that I do know. Until then, well, I'm getting paid so that'll help."

Mrs. Chubb watched her carry her cup and saucer to the sink. Poor Gertie. She put on a good face, but it was pretty plain to her that the girl was worried sick. She could only hope that something good would turn up for Ross, or she might be out of a job herself. And that's what frightened her most of all.

That evening Cecily paced around her suite, unable to settle down. She had found a decent copy of Louisa May Alcott's
An Old-fashioned Girl
in the library and had promised herself she would read it at the earliest opportunity.

Knowing that Baxter was at that moment cornered in a card room with the Benchers was a distraction that made reading impossible. Sending him down there to find out what they knew had seemed a good idea at the time. Now that she'd had an hour or two to think about it, however, she was having qualms about the whole thing.

Baxter was right when he'd reminded her that he was no gambler. Without her there to prod or guide him, he could be getting in over his head, not to mention arousing the suspicions of three very influential barristers, all of whom possessed extraordinary intelligence, or they would not be in that particular profession.

They would easily see through Baxter's clumsy attempts to extract information from them, and could very well be extremely offended. On the other hand, if they did have something to hide, and were somehow connected to Peebles's death, the situation could actually be dangerous.