6 Grounds for Murder (5 page)

He saw her back go stiff and straight, but she didn’t turn around. The funny feeling in his stomach told him that
something was wrong. Carefully he circled around Doris until he could see her face.

Her gaze met his, and his heart sank when he saw her fierce scowl. Now that the sun lit up the yard, he could see her eyes were green. Last night they had looked dark and brown. She had such a pretty face to be twisting it into a grimace like that, he thought, and gave her a tentative smile.

“I reckon you’ll not be needing lessons from me after all,” he said, gesturing at the axe she held in her slim hands. “That’s a fine pile of sticks if I ever saw one.”

“I need no lessons from the likes of you,” Doris said, her voice sharp and biting. “I am quite capable of doing things for myself, thank you very much.”

Taken aback, Samuel could only stare at her. She seemed not at all like the shy young thing he had aided the night before: Where had all that sweetness and light gone?

“Well, be on your way,” Doris said, raising the axe once more. “I have work to do and can’t be standing around here all day arguing with a stable lad.”

“I happen to be the stable manager,” Samuel said, feeling a shaft of pain that took away his breath. “Not that it matters, I can see that. Never fear, I’ll give you a wide berth from now on.”

Touching his cap with his forefinger, he turned sharply on his heel and marched across the yard to the stable gate. Behind him, the steady thud of the axe resumed.

The answer came to him as he reached the stable doors. The shy young girl act was put on entirely for his benefit last night. Doris had seen him approaching and had pretended a weakness, hoping that he would take pity on her and offer his help.

Samuel slapped his hand on the rump of the chestnut in the first stall. That had to be it. He was well versed in the wily ways of women, having read about the subject often
enough in the magazines he found in the dustbin after Gertie had finished with them.

It was a shame she’d thought it necessary to deceive him that way. He would have been glad to help her even if she could wield an axe like a seasoned huntsman.

Whistling softly, Samuel moved down the stalls, patting each of the horses in turn. He should be flattered that a pretty young girl like Doris should desire his attention.

As for the show of bad temper, why, that must have been embarrassment. After pretending to be such a weak, helpless female, Doris must have been extremely ashamed to be caught out by him in such a manner.

Perhaps it was just as well he’d found this out quickly, before his heart had been taken by her gentle manner. When Samuel Rawlins gave his heart to a lover, it would be to the kind of sweet, amiable girl he’d first thought Doris to be.

Having been bullied and beaten by the heavy-handed, loudmouthed woman who’d borne him, he knew whom and what to avoid. From now on, he told himself as the faint thud of the axe still echoed across the yard, he would stay out of the way of the unpredictable Doris Hoggins.

CHAPTER
5

Baxter was not in his office when Cecily peered in there later that morning. Having more on her mind than merely the desire for a cigar, she set out to track him down. Her first stop was the kitchen, where Mrs. Chubb stood in front of the stove stirring a huge cauldron of fragrant soup.

“That smells absolutely wonderful,” Cecily exclaimed, earning a rare smile from Michel.

“Thank you, madame. It ees indeed my pleasure to serve such a perceptive palate. You would enjoy a bowl of my mulligatawny soup,
non
?”

“Thank you, Michel, perhaps later. I’m looking for Baxter at the moment. Has anyone seen him, by any chance?”

Mrs. Chubb stepped back and fanned her scarlet face with the skirt of her apron. “Mercy, that fire gets hot. I do believe Mr. Baxter is on the third floor, mum. Gertie spoke to him when she was laying one of the fires. I think he’s examining the ceilings for water leaks.”

Cecily pulled a face. “Well, let us hope and pray he doesn’t find any. The rest of the guests are due to arrive soon, and we would have no time for repairs.”

She looked around the large kitchen, sending a practiced eye over the scrubbed wooden table and the shiny copper pots and pans hanging from the hooks in the ceiling. Everything was spotless, as always, she noted with satisfaction.

“Where is Gertie?” she asked as Mrs. Chubb stood anxiously waiting for a possible adverse comment. “I haven’t seen her in a while. I do hope she’s keeping well? Her time is so close now.”

Mrs. Chubb nodded, her face displaying relief at the lack of criticism. “Very well, mum. Though you know Gertie, she would have to be half dead to give up her jobs to anyone else, even if she does moan and complain about her aches and pains.”

The housekeeper turned back to the stove and grasped the long-handled wooden spoon. Stirring it around in the cauldron, she added, “Gertie’s gone to the doctor’s office, mum. It’s her appointment day. Though heaven knows when she’ll be back. That doctor is run off his feet with the ladies and their silly complaints. It’s my belief they use that office as an excuse to sit around and gossip all day.”

Cecily smiled, thinking of the attractive Dr. Prestwick. “It could be they enjoy visiting with the good doctor.”

“That ees more like the reason,” Michel declared, slapping a lid onto a saucepan with a crash. “That man ees an
’andsome devil, though he would not stand a chance against a Frenchman,
oui
?”

“Oh, go on with you,” Mrs. Chubb muttered. She gave the soup a vigorous stir, creating a whirlpool in the middle of the steaming brew. “All you men are alike. All think you’re irresistible, you do. If you ask me, the world would be a better place without men in it.”

“Hah!” Michel twirled his mustache with his long fingers. “And where would you be without us, you women, huh? Answer me that!”

“A darn better off, that’s what. If this world was run by women, we wouldn’t have half the mess we’re in now, I can tell you.”

Silently seconding that notion, Cecily left the kitchen to the tune of crashing saucepans as Michel defended his gender.

After climbing three flights of stairs, she wished she had taken Michel up on his offer of the soup. Her stomach had begun to make noises of protest at her neglect.

She had almost reached the third landing when she saw the stout figure of Colonel Fortescue charging toward her with his clumsy gait.

There was no way to avoid him, and she prepared to make the best of the situation. Greeting him with a smile, she hoped fervently she could escape from him without too much trouble.

“Oh, there you are, madam. I’ve been wondering where you were hiding yourself. Trying to avoid that nasty chap, Galloway, what? What?”

“Not at all, Colonel,” Cecily said, pressing herself against the banister to allow him to pass. “I have been quite busy, actually, making preparations for the Guy Fawkes Ball.”

The colonel paused on the step ahead of her, apparently in no hurry to descend. “Oh, jolly good show, madam. Are we
to enjoy the dancing girls again? Haven’t seen them since the dancing at the maypole, I do believe.”

“I’m sorry, Colonel, but Mrs. Carter-Holmes has arranged for an opera singer this time. The concert should be quite entertaining, I should think.”

Colonel Fortescue’s face dropped. “Great Scott, madam, you are not telling me that pompous oaf, Galloway, is going to sing, are you? I heard him the other day in the water closet. Dashed awful, it was. Sounded like the mating call of a blasted elephant.”

Cecily grasped the banister and put one foot on the stair above her in an effort to bring the conversation to a close. “No, Colonel,” she said, “I can assure you Mr. Galloway will not be singing. The lady’s name is Wilhelmina Freidrich, and I believe she is quite well known in the fashionable circles of London. You should enjoy her performance.”

The colonel made a slight movement to the center of the stair, effectively blocking her progress. “Thank the Lord for that. Can’t stand the bloke, you know. Even made me feel sorry for that idiot what’s-his-name …” The colonel lifted his chin and stared shortsightedly at the ceiling, his eyelids blinking up and down in his effort to think.

“Cyril Plunkett?” Below her, Cecily heard the Westminster clock chime the hour of eleven. Perhaps Baxter would appear to rescue her, she thought, thinking of all the tasks she had to accomplish that day.

“That’s the chappie. Meek little bugger, what? Looks as if he could be knocked over by a feather. Dashed surprising that was, when he stood up to that ignorant bastard.”

Giving her an abashed glance, the colonel coughed loudly. “Sorry, old bean. Got carried away there.”

“Quite all right, Colonel. Now if you’ll excuse me?”

“Mind you, he seems deathly afraid of that Lady Belleville. Can’t say as I blame him. Quite daffy, you know. Poor thing
thinks she’s got blasted birds sitting on her shoulders. Be jolly messy if she did, what? What?”

“Very,” Cecily murmured. “I’m afraid—”

“Saw them all the time, you know,” the colonel said, patting the pocket of his jacket as if he were looking for something.

Cecily frowned. “Birds?”

The colonel blinked his bloodshot eyes at her. “What? What birds is that, then?”

“You were saying about Lady Belleville …”

“Oh, her! No, no, old bean. Mating elephants. Saw them in Africa, during the Boer War. They used them, you know.”

“Used them?”

“Yes, those little blighters with the bows and arrows. Used the elephant to hide behind while the animals were … er … occupied, if you know what I mean. Damn clever, what?”

Cecily was very much afraid she did know what he meant. “Yes, very interesting, I’m sure. Now I really must—”

“Wouldn’t think those huge beasts could manage it standing up, would you? By Jove, they could—”

“Madam? You were looking for me?”

Cecily looked up into Baxter’s face with a rush of relief. He stood at the top of the stairs, and his stony expression told her he’d heard the gist of the conversation.

The hard glint in his eyes made her feel sorry for the colonel, and she said quickly, “I was just telling Colonel Fortescue that I was on my way to see you.”

“What? Oh, yes, yes, of course, old bean. Wouldn’t want to hold you up. Oh, no, that would never do. Never do.” Obviously flustered, the portly gentleman blundered down the stairs, almost knocking Cecily off her feet.

Baxter took a step forward, his hand outstretched, but she
managed to right herself. Behind her the colonel muttered, “Time I was off, anyhow. Got to partake of the daily swig of the old mother’s ruin, you know. Got to keep the old pecker up somehow.”

Baxter said something under his breath that Cecily couldn’t catch. She had the distinct impression it was just as well. Marching briskly up the rest of the stairs, she gave Baxter a wide smile. “Thank you for rescuing me. I do believe I was about to receive a lecture on the mating habits of the African elephant.”

Baxter rolled his eyes up at the ceiling. “Good Lord. The man should be shot.”

“He very nearly was,” Cecily said as she led the way down the corridor. “That’s why he behaves that way. We do have to make allowances, Baxter. The poor man was fighting for queen and country, you know.”

“Spoken like a true military wife,” Baxter said dryly. “Might I be so bold as to ask, madam, just where are you leading me?”

She grinned at him over her shoulder. “Somewhere where we can have some peace and quiet. Somewhere where I can enjoy one of your delectable little cigars.”

Ignoring his groan of protest, she opened the door of the vacant suite and walked in. Shivering, she crossed her arms and hugged her body. “I should have worn my wrap,” she said, glancing at the empty fireplace. “These rooms get so cold in the winter when they are unoccupied.”

“Shall I fetch the wrap for you, madam?”

She looked back at Baxter, who stood in the open doorway. “A generous gesture, Baxter, and one I appreciate. But I shan’t stay long in here, and besides, the cigar will give me some warmth, will it not?”

His gray eyes studied her intently. After a moment he
reached into his top pocket and took out the slim package. Without a word he handed her a cigar and lit it for her.

Drawing in the aromatic taste of tobacco, she closed her eyes and imagined her tension drifting from her lips with the smoke. “My thanks to Sir Walter Raleigh,” she murmured. “What would we have done without him?”

“We would no doubt be a great deal healthier had he not introduced such a barbaric habit,” Baxter said, sounding a trifle harassed.

Cecily opened one eye and looked at him. “Do come in, Baxter. You don’t have to close the door if you are concerned about my reputation, but I refuse to hold a conversation with you standing out in the hallway.”

He frowned at that, but stepped inside the room, closing the door halfway.

“May I remind you,” Cecily added, “that you also indulge in this barbaric habit.”

“Gentlemen can handle smoking. Cigars were never meant for women, and I’m quite sure Sir Walter Raleigh would turn in his grave if he could see the consequences of his actions. Not to mention your late husband.”

“I see.” She took another long draw on the cigar and puffed the smoke in his face. “Barbaric for women but not for men, is that it? I seem to have had this argument with you before, Baxter.”

“On more than one occasion,” he admitted, looking unhappy. “But that is not what you wanted to discuss with me, I presume?”

Remembering why she was there, Cecily felt a pang of apprehension. “No, Baxter, it’s not.” She reached into her pocket and drew out the note she’d found earlier. “Perhaps you should read this.”

He took the sheet of paper from her, his gaze quickly scanning the scrawled words. Then he handed the note back
to her, murmuring, “To quote our beloved late queen, we are not amused.”

“Amused? Hardly. It is disconcerting, to say the least, to discover that the murderer could be someone among us.”

He gave her a sharp look. “You are not taking this seriously, madam?”

“I most certainly am. Whoever George might be, he is known to someone in this hotel.”

Baxter took the note back, stared down at it for a few moments, then handed it back to her. “In my opinion, madam, I would say that this note is most likely a macabre joke played on you.”

Cecily looked up at him in surprise. “A joke? Someone is making fun of the murder of a young woman?”

“If I might remind you, some of our guests are not exactly in full possession of their wits. I would say that few of them display a modicum of good taste. At least a couple of them are on the border of insanity.”

“Even so—”

“Pardon me for interrupting, madam, but are you acquainted with a man named George?”

Cecily thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Not as I can recall.”

“Exactly.”

“But what does that have to do with anything? George could be anyone outside the hotel. It is obvious the person who wrote the note is the person who knows George. And that could be someone in the hotel, since the note was written on hotel stationery.”

“I feel almost certain it must be a joke,” Baxter said stubbornly. “Otherwise, why should he tell you about it, if George is likely to kill the author of the note when he found out about it?”

“How would George find out about it, unless I told him?
And since I don’t know who George is …” Cecily let her words trail off. It was true, the whole incident sounded so lame when faced with Baxter’s logic.

“I do trust, madam, that you are not considering involving yourself in this murder? I don’t have to remind you of the grave risks you run.”

“Yes, yes, I know.” Cecily puffed on the cigar again. One part of her felt obliged to agree with Baxter’s opinion. Yet her instincts warned her not to take the note too lightly.

There was always the possibility that Baxter’s conviction could be colored by his concern that she would become involved in yet another murder case and run afoul of the law, in the person of Inspector Cranshaw, no less. That particular gentleman was not someone with whom she cared to lock horns.

Nevertheless, at the moment there was little she could do but wait and see what the constabulary made of the murder. Meanwhile, Baxter had little to worry about. Unless the hotel or its staff were directly involved, she reminded herself, she would not interfere in the investigation.

Even so, the memory of those scrawled words continued to disturb her for the rest of the day.

Dr. Prestwick’s office had to be the most popular place in town, Gertie thought, as she fought her way past a row of fashionably shod feet to get to the one empty chair in the corner.

She hated coming to the doctor’s. Especially on a wet, autumn day. This waiting area was a small room, heated by a small coal furnace in the corner. With women of all sizes and ages packed into the tiny space like sardines, the air was too stuffy to breathe.

The smell sickened her stomach. Body sweat, damp wool, and the putrid stink of chemicals clogged her nose and
made her feel like fainting. Except there was nowhere to fall without getting stabbed by a parasol.