6 Grounds for Murder (17 page)

“Go on!” Gertie hugged herself as if she were cold. “Who is it, then?”

Samuel shrugged. “Dunno. It was another gypsy girl from what I heard. The milkman just told me. Found her dead last night, they did.”

“And was her head gorn again?” Gertie asked, her eyes widening.

“Yeah. Just like the last two.” Samuel straightened and pulled his cap from his pocket. “All I can say is, I’m glad I’m not a gypsy. Though mind you, I wouldn’t want to be walking around those woods alone on me own, either. Never know who you could bump into, right?”

He went out the door with a wave of his hand, leaving Mrs. Chubb staring after him.

“Fancy that,” Gertie said, sounding a little nervous. “Another one of them gypsies gorn. There won’t be any left at this rate. That’ll make someone happy, I reckon. It must be someone what hates gypsies to keep knocking them off like that.”

“There are lot of people who hate gypsies,” Mrs. Chubb said slowly, “but they don’t go around chopping off their heads. The thing that worries me the most about it is that every time we lose an axe there’s another murder.”

“Bloody hell,” Gertie said in a hushed voice. “I’d forgotten about that.”

“Well, I hadn’t.” Mrs. Chubb dusted her hands on her apron and headed for the door. “I think I had better have a word with madam. I’m beginning to believe we are harboring a murderer in the Pennyfoot. And I don’t want to be the next one to lose my head.”

“Another murder,” Baxter said gloomily. “I find it hard to believe the constabulary are not taking this situation seriously.
Surely three murders in a row would be enough to galvanize them into taking some action?”

“Perhaps they are,” Cecily said, leaning back in her chair. She let her gaze wander over the library shelves. “I feel I should warn Madeline about the last note I received. Particularly since the axe is missing again. I’m afraid that does rather confirm our suspicion that the culprit is staying in the hotel, and Madeline will be here in the ballroom in the morning, working on the flower arrangements for the ball tomorrow night. In view of the note, she could be taking an enormous risk.”

“I agree.” Baxter gave her a stern look. “You haven’t forgotten your promise to talk to the police today?”

Cecily shook her head. “No, I haven’t forgotten. I will send Samuel to ask P.C. Northcott to stop in this evening. I will show him the notes and tell him about the flowerpot being dropped on the colonel’s head, and inform him that an axe appears to be missing from our coal shed.”

“And our unproductive search of the rooms?”

Cecily shrugged. “I can’t see the point in telling him about that. No doubt the inspector will thoroughly disrupt the hotel and my guests, all in the interest of making a display of conducting an investigation, even if he feels it’s unwarranted.”

She shook her head in mock despair. “If this state of affairs continues much longer, Baxter, we shall have our guests finding somewhere else to enjoy their leisure hours. The entire object of the Pennyfoot is to provide a haven from the trials and tribulations of the everyday world. The very reason we are so successful is because the aristocracy can pursue their private pleasures without fear of being detected or disturbed.”

“Yes, madam, I have to agree,” Baxter said. “Yet we
cannot continue to expose our guests to the dangers of a possible murderer on the premises.”

Cecily gazed up at James’s portrait. “I just don’t understand why Badgers End appears to attract not only the most affluent and prestigious guests in the country, but also the most devious scoundrels to walk the earth.”

“It is a small village, madam, isolated on a lonely stretch of coast, and escapes the heavy jurisdiction of a city constabulary.”

Cecily nodded. “Precisely. And I’m afraid the hotel itself is a perfect haven for the same reasons.” She studied the still face of her dead husband. “Ah, James, what did you get us into when you bought a decrepit, lonely mansion and turned it into a hotel?”

“The Pennyfoot has brought a great deal of pleasure to a great many people, madam. Including myself, if I might say so. Had I not been hired to manage this hotel, I would not have had the very great pleasure of serving you.”

Cecily smiled up at him, feeling the warmth of pleasure such words from him never failed to give her. “Thank you, Baxter. I am happy to have your support and your friendship. Now, as long as you are in such an excellent frame of mind, perhaps you wouldn’t mind giving me one of your cigars?”

“I would mind very much, madam. Only as a concern about your health, of course. Since I have learned, however, that there is absolutely no point whatsoever in attempting to argue with you, I shall give in with good grace.”

He wasn’t exactly smiling as he lit the cigar for her, but the gleam in his eyes made her quite content.

CHAPTER
17

Samuel considered himself to be a reasonably even-tempered young man. He also regarded himself as being well versed in the wily ways of women. When it came to dealing with Doris Hoggins, however, even St. George himself would have had a problem dealing with that one.

It had been only that morning when he’d offered to take Doris to see the fireworks. She’d been smiling up at him with the bashful look on her face that he always found so appealing. He’d seen her eyes light up when he’d asked her to go with him, and the eager way she’d agreed. She’d seemed excited at the very thought of it.

Samuel kicked a lump of coal out of the way, watching it skitter across the kitchen yard until it hit the dustbin with a
clatter. Now, just a few hours later, she’d acted as though he had leprosy. He couldn’t believe it when he’d bumped into her in the hallway. Even her voice sounded different. She’d told him in no uncertain terms to bugger off and leave her alone.

Samuel shook his head, his gaze shifting moodily across the yard to where the door of the coal shed stood ajar. Doris must have left it open when she got the coal that morning.

Well, he was buggered if he was going to shut it for her. Let her get a nagging from Mrs. Chubb. Do her bloody good. She had far too much mouth on her, did Doris. And he, for one, wasn’t going to stand for it anymore. She could go and boil in oil for all he cared.

He cast a glance at the shed as he passed, feeling a little guilty at leaving the door open. Halfway across the yard, he changed his mind and retraced his steps. He just couldn’t deliberately let the girl get into trouble.

Besides, it was one of the rules of the hotel to shut all doors behind you, and Samuel Rawlins always tried to follow the rules. As his father had always told him, you got into a lot less trouble that way.

He reached the door of the shed and began to close the door, then paused as something in the corner caught his eye. It was a large sack, tied in the middle with a thick rope.

Samuel stared at it. It wasn’t one of the coal sacks, because they were black, and this one was the usual light straw color. And the bulges inside it definitely weren’t lumps of coal. They were too smooth and round.

He hesitated, his gaze riveted on the sack. He felt strangely reluctant to go into the shed. There was just something about that sack. It seemed to have patches of damp stains, for one thing. They were dark brown and mucky-looking.

He wondered if perhaps John the gardener had left the
sack there. But John never left anything in the coal shed. He had a big garden shed to keep his stuff in.

The more Samuel stared at that sack, the stronger was his revulsion. There was no way in the world he wanted to touch that thing, yet something told him he should look inside it, just in case. Taking a very long, deep breath, he braced himself to enter the shed.

Cecily glanced at herself in the mirror and tucked a stray strand of hair under the brim of her hat. She rather liked the hat, though it was a little plain compared to the monstrosities that Phoebe always wore. Or that most women wore nowadays.

It seemed that all women were competing to see who could wear the most fripperies on their hats, with the wider the brim the better. Cecily often wondered how a woman could hold up her head with all that weight resting on it.

Frowning, she tied a pale blue chiffon scarf under her chin. It amazed her how so many women allowed themselves to be dictated by fashion. There were a few rebels, of course, herself included. And Madeline. But then Madeline rarely conformed to any stricture of society, much less the fashion dictates.

Thinking about her friend did nothing to dispel Cecily’s frown. Madeline could be in grave danger and must be warned. Yet that would leave a large gap in the preparations for the ball. There wasn’t anyone in the hotel who could achieve with flowers the magic that Madeline appeared to produce so effortlessly.

It couldn’t be helped, Cecily decided. If need be, she would handle the flowers herself. The most important thing was to safeguard her friend from any possible danger. And she could only hope, Cecily thought as she left her suite, that Colonel Fortescue would remain at the George and
Dragon, at least until the festivities began tomorrow. By then she hoped this nightmare would be ended.

Reaching the foyer, Cecily caught sight of Doris about to descend the kitchen stairs. To her surprise, the housemaid had changed her uniform. She called the girl over, watching her as she strode easily across the thick carpet.

Doris halted in front of her and dropped a small curtsy.

“I prefer that you wear black in the afternoon,” Cecily said, sending a quick glance over Doris’s dark gray skirt and blouse. “Though I seem to remember you wearing your black dress this morning.”

“Yes, mum, I was wearing the black this morning.” Doris looked pointedly at the grandfather clock as if indicating she didn’t have the time to stand around talking. “I spilled something down the skirt and I had to change it.”

“I see. Well, in future, please wear the gray in the morning and the black in the afternoon.” Cecily peered closer at the girl’s face. “Your cold sounds considerably worse since this morning. Perhaps you should lie down after all. I’ll have Mrs. Chubb bring you a toddy.”

“No!” Apparently aware that she’d sounded too abrupt, Doris bobbed another quick curtsy. “Begging your pardon, mum, but I have work to do, and I’m feeling quite well enough, thank you.”

Cecily sighed. For a young child, the housemaid was remarkably stubborn. Obviously her cold was affecting her temperament. “Very well. I was going to send you out to tell Samuel I need the trap, but it’s so damp out there today, I’ll do it myself. Please, Doris, do take care of your health. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, you know.”

“Yes, mum.” Doris bobbed her head and rushed off to the kitchen stairs before Cecily could say another word.

Shaking her head, Cecily crossed the foyer to the front door. The walk around the hotel to the stables would clear
her head, she thought, as she stepped out under the gray skies. The brisk wind blowing in from the ocean almost took her breath away.

Whitecaps danced along the choppy waves, and the beach appeared to be deserted as she hurried down the white stone steps. The wind tugged at her hat, and she held onto it with one hand, thankful that she had it securely pinned.

She would have to make sure that Samuel closed the canopy before they set off for Madeline’s cottage. Even so, it promised to be a chilly ride.

Once she turned the corner, the wall of the hotel sheltered her from the wind’s greedy fingers. As she headed for the stable gates, Cecily glanced across the kitchen yard. To her astonishment, she saw Samuel hovering at the open door of the coal shed. He appeared to be staring at something inside.

Wondering what on earth captured his attention so securely, Cecily turned into the yard. It could be a fox trapped inside the shed, she thought, and she had no wish to disturb Samuel if he was attempting to coax it out.

Creeping up behind him, she stood on tiptoe to peer over his shoulder. She could see only the usual shovels and buckets, and in the corner that held Samuel’s interest nothing but a bulky sack.

“What is it?” she whispered.

Samuel sprang in the air with such a shriek he startled her half out of her wits.

“Great heavens, Samuel!” she cried, leaping backward. “Whatever is the matter with you?”

Samuel’s white face stared back at her, his eyes wide as if he’d just seen a dreadful apparition. He started to say something, then apparently changed his mind. He shot a hunted look at the shed, then a frenzied glance over his shoulder as if seeking help from somewhere.

“Really, Samuel,” Cecily muttered, regaining her sense of humor, “do I look so awful?”

Finding his voice, Samuel said a little wildly, “No, mum. Sorry, mum, I was just … I didn’t hear you come up on me … Is there something I can do for you?”

“Yes.” Cecily straightened her hat and tied the scarf more securely. “You can tell me what it is that has you strung as tight as a violin.” She sent a curious glance at the shed. “What were you staring at in there?”

Samuel shook his head so violently his hair fell across his forehead. Sweeping it away with his hand, he said feverishly, “It were nothing, mum, honest. I thought I saw something, that’s all. ’Tweren’t nothing more than me imagination, that it was.”

Cecily continued to stare at him for a moment, while he shuffled his feet and did his best to meet her gaze squarely. Then she said quietly, “I trust you are not up to mischief, Samuel.”

“Oh, no, mum, honest. Like I said, it were just me imagination playing tricks on me, that’s all.”

“Very well.” Although less than satisfied, Cecily was in too much of a hurry to pursue the matter right then. “I want to go to Miss Pengrath’s cottage, Samuel, right away. Can you have the trap ready for me?”

“Yes, mum.” Samuel touched his forehead then, realizing he wasn’t wearing a cap, pulled it from his pocket and dragged it on. “Won’t take no more’n a jiffy to hitch it up. Did you want to wait inside while I bring it around the front?”

Feeling a fresh breeze whip around her shoulders, Cecily again caught at her hat. “Yes, I do believe I will. I’ll wait for you at the door, Samuel.”

“Yes, mum.” Again the footman touched his cap, then sped off to the stables to hitch up the trap.

Cecily made her way back to the steps and climbed them, her mind still dwelling on Samuel’s odd behavior. She couldn’t imagine what it was Samuel thought he saw, but whatever it was that had caused him to jump like a startled hare, he was obviously reluctant to tell her about it.

She would ask him about it later, she decided as she stepped inside the warmth of the foyer. But right now she had other things on her mind. She wasn’t sure how Madeline was going to take her warning, but no doubt it would be difficult for both of them. Madeline was sensitive about being regarded as a gypsy.

There was no doubt, however, that whoever was systematically ridding the world of female gypsies had included Madeline in his list, and Cecily was just not prepared to expose her friend to such a risk.

Now she had to convince Madeline that her life was in danger, and hope that the volatile woman would be sensible enough to recognize the fact and agree to stay away from the Pennyfoot until the murderer was apprehended.

Madeline was busily sewing button eyes on a teddy bear when Cecily arrived at the cottage a short while later. Leaving Samuel waiting outside for her, Cecily accepted her friend’s offer of a pot of tea and her delicious fairy cakes.

The conversation remained on general topics while they shared the light snack, until Madeline put down her cup and saucer and settled herself more comfortably on the wide cushion she’d placed on the floor.

Madeline had room for only one chair in her cluttered sitting room. The rest of the space was taken up with boxes and baskets full of the exquisite handcrafts that were her main source of income.

Cecily never failed to find something new to exclaim over and usually purchased an item or two to keep as gifts,
though invariably she would end up keeping them herself, unable to bear parting with them.

She sat now, fingering a pink silk crocheted shawl with a delicate lace edging into which tiny embroidered roses had been worked. “This is lovely,” Cecily said, examining the fine handiwork. “This would go beautifully with that dusty rose gown I bought last spring.”

“It would indeed.” Madeline smiled at the compliment, then added, “But that’s not why you have paid me this unexpected visit, is it? What is so important that it couldn’t wait until I come to the hotel tomorrow?”

Cecily gave a rueful shake of her head. “I might have known you would see right through me.” She paused long enough to reach into her pocket for the slip of paper she’d brought with her. “I’m afraid it isn’t pleasant news.”

Madeline watched her with a solemn expression, but said nothing.

“You remember, of course, the broken flowerpot in the hallway?”

“Of course. As a matter of fact, your aspidistra is doing rather well. I believe it will recover nicely, though it’s a little early to tell.”

Cecily had forgotten all about the plant. “Well, I’m happy to hear that,” she said, wishing she didn’t have to show Madeline the note.

“You mentioned the flowerpot?” Madeline prompted, and Cecily reluctantly nodded.

“Yes, I did. We … that is, Baxter and I, believe someone was trying to kill the colonel.”

Madeline stared at her in amazement. “Good Lord,” she said. “I know Colonel Fortescue can be irritating at times but I wouldn’t have thought he deserved such an early grave.”

“We believe that the same person who made an attempt
on the colonel’s life could be the man who is killing the gypsies on Putney Downs.”

Admittedly, Cecily thought as she watched the blood drain from her friend’s face, the statement had been rather bald. Still, Madeline’s reaction was rather dramatic. She seemed to have problems gaining her breath, and when she finally spoke, her voice had a definite quiver to it.

“That man will burn in hell,” she said fiercely.

“I agree,” Cecily assured her, “but I want to show you something—”

“Are you telling me that miserable brute has been lurking around your hotel?” Madeline said after uttering a little gasp.

“I’m afraid so. I haven’t called the police as yet, but I intend to send for P.C. Northcott this evening.”

“It won’t do any good.” Madeline curled her arms around her knees and stared sullenly at her feet. “You know how the police feel about gypsies. They are not going to waste their precious time on vagabond savages who defile the land and steal from the inhabitants. They’ll just leave well enough alone, hoping the entire tribe is wiped out by this madman.”

“Not if I can present them with enough evidence to warrant a thorough investigation.”

Madeline looked up in surprise. “You can do that?”

“I believe so.” Cecily unfolded the note. “I’ve had several notes pushed under my door that I believe were written by the murderer. Also, an axe has disappeared several times from the coal shed, each time apparently followed by a murder.”