7 Pay the Piper (6 page)

Deciding just to come right out with it, she sat down on the chair he’d just vacated and said quietly, “I had a visit from Elsie Abbittson this afternoon.”

He was silent for a moment, then for the first time that evening he looked directly at her face, sighing heavily. “I am almost afraid to ask the reason why.”

“I imagine you can guess. She believes her husband is innocent and has asked me to look into the case.”

“Is the good lady aware that there are professional men who are paid to do that?”

“I mentioned hiring a lawyer. Mrs. Abbittson can neither trust nor afford one.”

“So you have volunteered our services free of charge, as usual. Even though this murder does not implicate the hotel.”

Warmed by his apparent cooperation in the venture, Cecily nevertheless felt obliged to justify her decision. “The victim was a guest here. That does give us some involvement, I would say.”

Baxter turned back to the fireplace, his gaze shifting to the portrait of James Sinclair hanging above the mantelpiece.
“Forgive me,” he muttered to the dead man’s image, “I tried my level best.”

“I believe Tom is innocent,” Cecily said, determined not to let him distract her. Before he could say anything else, she launched into an account of the conversation she’d had with Elsie earlier that afternoon.

Baxter, as usual, listened without comment. When she was finished, he stared thoughtfully into the flames for a long moment. Then he said quietly, “You are giving Tom Abbittson very much the benefit of the doubt.”

“Perhaps,” Cecily agreed. “But one thing sticks in my mind. As Samuel has already questioned, why would Tom send someone down to fetch a side of beef, knowing that the body would certainly be discovered?”

“Perhaps, for some unexplained reason, he wanted the body to be discovered.”

She stared at him for a moment, wondering why he always seemed to have a logical answer to an illogical question. “Then why didn’t he simply drag the body outside the shop, where at least his guilt would have been in some question? As it is, considering that there is only one key to the shop, his position is most compromising.”

She paused, giving him a quizzical look. “Surely you are not suggesting that he wanted to be arrested for murder? I understand he complained quite loudly and bitterly about the injustice of being falsely accused.”

She had thought that Baxter couldn’t possibly surprise her more than he already had that evening. She was therefore astounded when, after another moment’s thought, he pulled a pack of cigars from the breast pocket of his black morning coat.

“Something tells me that this situation calls for a cigar,” he said in a tone of resignation. “May I offer you one for a change?”

“Why, Baxter, how terribly gallant of you.” She laughed up at him as she reached out to take one. “I would love a
cigar. I do believe this is the very first time you have given me one without my asking.”

“There comes a time in every man’s life, madam,” Baxter said, striking a match, “when he must bow to the inevitable.”

Cecily puffed on the cigar and wished she had more time to examine that cryptic remark.

CHAPTER
6

The place to start her investigation, Cecily decided the following morning, was at the George and Dragon Inn. Perhaps Michael could shed some light on the cause of the fight between Tom Abbittson and Peter Stewart.

Bowling along the Esplanade in the trap, she huddled into the corner for warmth. Even with the canopy closed, the bitter east wind found cracks to infiltrate, the salty air scouring out the comforting smell of soft leather.

Cecily’s mind drifted from the immediate problem of murder to her son Michael, the present owner of the George and Dragon. When she had first heard that her eldest son had decided to retire from the army and settle down in Badgers End, she had been ecstatic, though hardly surprised.

Unlike Andrew, his younger brother, Michael had never really taken to the military life. Andrew’s letters were few and far between, and always filled with glowing reports of his latest escapades, some of which made Cecily shudder.

Michael, on the other hand, had become bored once the real fighting had ceased in India. Cecily had long anticipated his resignation and had eagerly looked forward to spending some time with her son, who looked so much like his father.

Unfortunately things had not quite turned out the way she had hoped. Michael had brought home with him an unexpected companion—his African-born wife, Simani.

Not only had Cecily resented the fact that she had not been informed of the wedding, much less been invited to the primitive ceremony, which from Michael’s comments appeared to have been presided over by a witch doctor, but much to her shame, she found it difficult to accept Simani as the much-longed-for daughter-in-law.

After raising two boys, a great deal of the time in the uncivilized tropics during James’s military career, Cecily had looked forward to welcoming daughters-in-law into the family. Visions of grandchildren happily playing on the grounds of the Pennyfoot had helped keep her spirits afloat during the long cruel months after James’s death.

Somehow the thought of a grandchild with mixed blood failed to arouse the same sense of delightful expectation. Thoroughly ashamed of her prejudice, Cecily tried to justify her sentiments with the fact that the scarcity of black people in the British Isles would cause problems for the children of a mixed marriage. Such a child would be considered a freak and would very likely be the target of ridicule and scorn.

Even the presence of Simani, a strikingly beautiful woman, had caused business to slack off at the pub, a fact that embittered Michael to no end.

Cecily found herself watching every word she said, fearful of uttering something that could be misconstrued in Michael’s presence. She had done her best to make his wife
feel welcome, but Simani, who possessed not only grace and beauty but also a high degree of intelligence, no doubt sensed a certain reluctance and remained somewhat distant.

Cecily took slight comfort in the belief that had Simani’s skin been as white as the foam on Michael’s ale, she still would have had trouble warming up to the aloof woman.

She was quite thankful to hear that Simani was shopping in the High Street when she entered the private saloon of the inn. Michael barely paused in his task of setting up the bar for the midday rush. He handled most of the work in the pub himself, except for the actual cleaning of the place. Business had not been brisk enough to afford help behind the bar.

This morning, however, Michael seemed rushed as he checked the pumps on the draught ales. “The only good thing about Scotsmen,” he told his mother, “is that they have a fondness for beer. This pub has been the busiest I’ve ever seen it these past couple of days.”

Cecily smiled and perched herself on one of the bar stools. Ignoring Michael’s quick frown of disapproval, she said lightly, “I understand they also have a fondness for brawling. Although that can be said of a great many men when they have had more than enough to drink.”

Michael nodded, looking gloomy. “You wouldn’t want to be in here at night, Mother, I can assure you. Absolute shambles most of the time. Luckily nothing of any value appears to have been broken so far.”

Cecily watched him hold a beer mug under a tap while he slowly pulled the long, slim handle down toward him. Dark brown liquid gushed from the tap, filling the glass with thick, yellowish foam. The potent smell of ale repulsed her. She never had been fond of the stuff, vastly preferring a cream sherry or the tangy taste of a good port.

Michael muttered something she couldn’t catch and held the glass up in the light from the window.

“Is it all right?” Cecily asked, watching the foam settle until it left a measure of near-black beer in the lower half of the glass.

“Cloudy,” Michael muttered. “Getting too close to the bottom of the barrel. I’ll have to go down and change it. I suppose I should be jolly grateful it’s selling, but it’s a rotten job.”

“Don’t you have someone who can do it for you?” Cecily fidgeted on the high stool, bracing her foot on the thick brass rail that ran the length of the bar.

“Can’t afford anyone. This spot of business will be gone as soon as the Robbie Burns bash is over. Jolly good job they had that contest, or I might have had to close down until the season. Business has been utterly frightful, I’m afraid.”

Feeling a stirring of sympathy, Cecily decided to change the subject. She knew, only too well, how depressing business worries could be. “How is Simani?” she asked, forcing a brightness in her tone. “I hope she is keeping well in this dismal weather.”

Michael shrugged. “That’s another thing. Simani isn’t well at all. She’s had that hideous cough for weeks. Can’t seem to shake it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Cecily said with genuine concern. “Has she consulted Dr. Prestwick?”

“Two weeks ago. He gave her this ghastly-tasting stuff. She’s sick every time she swallows it. Hasn’t done any good, of course. It’s this foul weather, you see. She’s not used to it. Neither am I, for that matter.” Michael began hanging the glass mugs on the hooks above the bar with a great deal of clattering and banging.

Cecily watched him for a moment or two in silence, then asked quietly, “What are you saying, Michael?”

“Damn.” He gave her a guilty glance. “Never could keep anything from the old mater.”

“So perhaps you should tell me what is troubling you,” Cecily suggested, afraid that she already knew.

Michael shook his head. “I wasn’t going to say anything until it was definite, but you might as well know. I’m thinking of selling the George. Simani feels she will do
better in Africa, and I … sort of miss the tropics, you see. One gets used to all that sultry heat and wide-open spaces.”

Not to mention the ready availability of cheap servants, Cecily added inwardly. Ashamed of her pettiness, she managed a smile. “You must do what is best for both of you, of course. I’m not going to say I’m happy about the news, but I know you haven’t settled down here as well as you hoped.”

“I really haven’t, Mother. Sorry. I know it must be a frightful disappointment for you, but then you never did care much for Simani, so you won’t exactly miss her all that much.”

Cecily opened her mouth to protest, but Michael held up his hand. “Oh, it’s all right, I quite understand. Simani hasn’t been all that sociable, either. She feels out of sorts here. I’m afraid the villagers in Badgers End can’t accept a woman like her.”

“It’s difficult to accept what you don’t understand,” Cecily said, wishing she didn’t feel so guilty.

“I know. That’s why it’s best this way.”

Michael gave her a tired grin, and for a moment Cecily saw James as he had been at that age. Determined not to disgrace herself with unnecessary tears, Cecily straightened her back. “I agree with you, Michael. I just want you to be happy, that’s all. Both of you,” she added quickly.

Michael nodded. “Thanks, Mother. I knew you would understand. Too bad Father isn’t here to take care of you. I wouldn’t feel so beastly guilty, then.”

That actually made her laugh. “Don’t worry about me, Michael. I am certainly capable of taking care of myself.”

“I suppose so. And you still have old what’s-his-name hanging around.”

“Baxter, you mean.” Aware of the faint animosity between her son and her manager, Cecily chose to ignore the slight. Michael had never trusted Baxter’s motives, suspecting that her manager had designs on the family fortune.
Which was laughable, given the Pennyfoot’s financial state of affairs.

“Baxter is a tremendous help, I must say,” she added airily. “I really don’t know what I’d do without him.”

“I’d say it was more the other way around. Though, of course, it’s none of my business. Though why Father asked him to take care of you instead of asking me, I’ll never fathom.”

“You weren’t here,” Cecily pointed out gently. “Under the circumstances, it was extremely generous of Baxter to give your father his word. I’m afraid he’s had cause to regret that promise on more than one occasion.”

“Well, I just hope the old boy knew what he was doing. I know he was on his deathbed and all that rot, but he should have given more thought to whom he assigned as his widow’s protector.”

Knowing that her son’s resentment came out of concern for her well-being, Cecily merely smiled. “Darling, please don’t worry about me. It sounds as if you have enough to worry about right now.”

“I do. This rush of business is a mixed blessing, what with the fighting. And now with that young chap murdered after leaving here the other night, well, it gives the place a sort of bad name, doesn’t it? Might not look too well when it comes time to sell it, you see.”

“I’m sure all this will have blown over in no time,” Cecily said, trying to sound convincing. “But now that you mention it, did you notice Peter Stewart fighting with Tom Abbittson that night?”

Michael’s head disappeared behind the counter as he squatted down to close off the barrel. “I might have done, though I couldn’t say for sure. The idiots were all fighting with each other, and as I told Northcott, I don’t really remember who was fighting with whom.”

He stood up again, dusting his hands on the smocked coat he wore. “I do know that not all of your ten pipers were in here. One of them was missing. Someone counted the rest of
them, saying something about the Christmas song. You know, nine pipers piping …” He stared thoughtfully at the dark beams that crossed the low ceiling. “Actually, now I come to think of it, that’s about when the uproar started.”

“But you don’t know who started it.”

Michael shook his head. “Samuel was in here, I remember, and that daffy colonel. You could ask them, I suppose. Though I wouldn’t expect too much from Fortescue. That man is an insufferable blighter. Ever since he found out I was in Africa and India he’s been bombarding me with his asinine stories. I think he makes them up.”

“I think Colonel Fortescue becomes muddled sometimes and forgets what really happened.”

“He’s muddled, all right. Downright deranged, I would say. You really should be more careful, Mother. Some of your hotel guests are definitely barmy, you know.”

“I’ll be careful, dear,” Cecily promised. “But now I must get back to the hotel before the midday meal is served. Samuel will be frozen stiff waiting outside for me. Please give my regards to Simani, and tell her I sincerely hope she will be feeling better soon. Perhaps we can have tea at Dolly’s some day soon.”

It was an empty invitation, one offered almost as a matter of habit. They both knew Simani would decline.

Leaving the warmth of the inn, Cecily shivered in the crisp, cold air. The bare, twisted branches of the huge oak tree stretched across the thatched roof, as if reaching for a hold to support its centuries-old gnarled trunk.

A lonely crow sat high up on a broken branch, gazing mournfully down on the field below. As Cecily approached the trap, the huge black bird flapped its wings, then glided into the air. Loudly cawing, it winged its way across the field toward the dense woods behind the inn and disappeared.

Cecily watched it go, for some reason reminded of Michael’s intention to sell the inn. Maybe it was the thought
of him leaving, too, heading for some remote part of the world she would most likely never visit.

A deep sense of melancholy almost overwhelmed her, and she scrambled up into the trap, intent on reaching the warmth and security of the hotel … and Baxter.

She still felt concerned about her manager, wondering again what had caused his despondency the evening before. She would have to keep a closer eye on him, she decided, and if she detected some sign of illness she would summon Dr. Prestwick, no matter how loudly Baxter objected.

Thinking of the doctor, Cecily made a mental note to pay him a visit as soon as it was prudent. Kevin Prestwick would have been called in to examine the body of Peter Stewart, and might be able to give her some useful information.

Although he was bound by the irritating regulations that prevented him from discussing the finer details of the murder, Cecily usually managed to get some of her questions answered.

Upon reaching the hotel, she accepted Samuel’s offered hand to alight from the trap. Thanking him, she added casually, “I understand you were in the George and Dragon the night of the murder, Samuel.”

“Yes, mum. It was me night off, and I was feeling a bit down. When I heard some of the Scotch blokes talking about going down there, I thought it might cheer me up a bit, like, if I went down as well and had a drink or two.”

Forgetting for a moment the purpose of her question, Cecily looked closer at Samuel’s glum face. “Is something wrong, Samuel? You are not ill?”

“Oh, no, mum, nothing like that. It’s just …” He twisted his cap around in his hands. “Well, it’s sort of personal, mum, if you know what I mean.”

Apparently the somber mood was contagious, Cecily thought, studying her stable manager’s expression. “Is there something I can do to help?”

“No, mum, but thank you. It’s something I have to sort out for myself.”

After a moment, Cecily nodded. “Very well, but if you should need someone to talk to, I’m sure Baxter will be happy to oblige.”