7 Pay the Piper (8 page)

Speeding after him, Gertie managed to catch up with him. Taking hold of his sleeve, she pulled him to a halt. “I’ll get into trouble, honest I will. It ain’t heavy, in any case. I’ve carried three times that load and not worried twice about it.”

“I’m sure you have,” McBride said, his eyes roving over her shoulders. “You’re a strong lassie, I can see that. Wouldna surprise me if you could take on any one of these strapping lads here at the hotel without any problem.”

Gertie lifted her chin, wishing not for the first time that she was small and dainty like Daisy instead of built like a cow. “I could at that, so you’d better watch your step, Mr. McBride … sir.”

The piper’s white teeth gleamed as he grinned at her. “That’s the spirit. Give me a lass who can hold her own, that’s what I like.”

“And I like me job here, so you’d better step out of me way before the housekeeper comes charging in here looking for me.”

“Do you get some time to yourself, then?” Ross McBride asked, tilting his head on one side.

He looked so wickedly charming, Gertie found herself stuttering. “And what if I do?”

Ross McBride winked. “What day do ye get off?”

“If you must know, I get one afternoon in the week, and two evenings. Not that it’s any of your business, of course.” Actually she had a lot more time off now that the babies were born. Madam had been very good about giving her
extra time off, but there was no need to tell the cheeky bugger that.

“Of course,” Ross McBride agreed with a broad wink. “So how would you like to meet me for a wee drink, then?”

Gertie took a firm hold of the tray, as well as her senses, and tossed her head. “I don’t hold with hobnobbing with the guests. It ain’t proper.”

She marched to the door, her chin in the air, though her knees threatened to drop her to the floor any minute.

“Och, to hell with what’s proper. There’s nothing wrong with accompanying me to the pub now, is there? I’m not going to touch ye. I just want some company, that’s all. It isn’t every day I meet such a bonny lassie as yourself.”

Gertie hesitated at the door. The invitation was very tempting. She hadn’t been on a night out since Ian had left. It would be good to go out and have a few laughs with a good-looking chap like Ross McBride.

“Come on, Gertie, be a devil. You’ll have fun, I promise you.”

She had to be bloody crazy, Gertie told herself firmly. Her own common sense should tell her she’d be mad to go out with someone she’d only just met and knew nothing about. Why, Mrs. Chubb would have a pink fit if she knew.

Gertie pushed the door open wider with her foot. How did she know she could trust him? What with one of his mates being murdered and all. Bad as bleeding Doris, she was, letting one of them saucy blokes turn her head. She weren’t going to fall for none of that blarney. Not on her life, thank you.

“I’ll think about it,” she said and rushed through the door before she said something she’d be sorry for later.

CHAPTER
8

“It is my considered opinion, madam, that you are smoking entirely too much these days.”

Cecily shook her head at Baxter’s look of disapproval. “You worry too much, Baxter. If I should develop a cough I will give up the cigars, but quite frankly there are times when I fear I should lose my mind if I didn’t have a few quiet moments with a cigar.”

She settled back on her favorite chair at the library table and drew on the thin brown cylinder. The smoke seemed to penetrate her mind, soothing and quietening the thoughts that tumbled around in there.

“I think Michael is going back to Africa,” she said abruptly. “I believe he is considering rejoining the army.”

Baxter’s expression changed swiftly to one of concern.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Cecily. I know how upsetting this news must be for you.”

She glanced up at him, wondering if he’d realized what he’d said. His unsettling use of her Christian name had slipped out upon occasion lately, though she never knew if he meant to address her with such familiarity, or if he was even aware of it.

“Yes, it is upsetting,” she murmured. “I had such high hopes when Michael came home from India. But it’s not so much his leaving that I mind so much. After all, I have seen little of him since he arrived in Badgers End. I’m afraid that Simani and I do not have a close relationship. I know that Michael is upset by that, and I can’t really blame him.”

“We are not required to become attached to everyone we meet.”

“I know. But one should be able to at least get along with one’s in-laws. Michael says that Simani is finding it difficult to cope with the climate here, but I can’t help wondering if I am perhaps part of the problem.”

Cecily studied the glowing tip of her cigar. “Somehow I never imagined myself as the proverbial possessive, overbearing mother-in-law, but I’m afraid that’s how I must appear to Simani.”

“If that young lady considers you as such, then she has not taken the time to become fully acquainted with you,” Baxter said stoutly. “Rest assured, madam, that you are the kind of mother-in-law I would wish for myself.”

Cecily raised her eyebrows. “I’m only two years older than you are, Baxter. That’s hardly old enough to be your mother, in-law or not.”

Baxter’s face turned pink. He cleared his throat loudly and stretched his neck above his collar. “Forgive me, madam, I did not mean to suggest—”

“Please relax, Baxter. I was only teasing you.”

“Yes, madam.”

She glanced up at him, but he avoided her gaze, looking steadily above her head in the direction of the French
windows. After a moment, she said quietly, “I’m afraid for him, Baxter. I’m afraid for them both.”

At last his gray eyes rested on her face. She saw the compassion there and was warmed by it. “The boys, madam?”

She sighed. “They’re not exactly boys anymore, are they? Both Michael and Andrew are fully grown adults, and well able to take care of themselves. With all this talk of war, however, I’m afraid …” She let her voice trail off, unwilling to put her fears into words.

“It may not come to that, madam. Politicians are noted for their doomsday prophecies. I’m convinced it is a prerequisite for the post.”

She gave him a wan smile. “I hope you are right, Baxter. The world is changing so fast, and while I hate to admit it, not always for the better, despite the struggles of the oppressed.”

“If I may say so, madam, it is my belief that the scaremonger rumors stem mainly from the working people. From what I hear, they are becoming quite militant in the industrial midlands. I believe they would welcome a war.”

“I cannot imagine why anyone would welcome a war.” Cecily tapped the end of her cigar, dropping ash into the silver ashtray. “Speaking of militants, our current guests seem to be causing quite an uproar at the George and Dragon, according to Michael.”

“So I understand. I assume you were pursuing your investigation while calling on your son?”

She gave him a quick glance, but his expression remained impassive. It would seem that Baxter had indeed become resigned to her efforts at sleuthing. The discovery pleased her no end.

She had been quite flattered when Elsie had asked for her help. It was gratifying to know that her endeavors were appreciated by the villagers of Badgers End, even if the local constabulary did not share in their opinion. She also
knew, without a doubt, that without the help and support of Baxter, she would not be nearly so proficient.

“I asked Michael a few questions, yes,” she admitted. “I’m afraid I didn’t learn much more than I already knew.”

“If I may state my humble opinion, madam, I would suggest that the evidence points squarely to the butcher. Since there is only one key in existence, which is still in his possession, and it doesn’t appear that anyone forced his way in, it would seem he is the only logical suspect.”

“I agree,” Cecily said unhappily. “Yet I can’t help wondering why Tom would admit to there only being one key, since the presence of another one would put his guilt in doubt.”

“On the other hand, since there is only one, how would another person be able to open the door, take a dead body inside to hang on the rack, then leave again, leaving a locked door behind him?”

“I admit, it is a puzzle. But somewhere, no doubt, is the answer.”

They were both silent for a moment or two, then Baxter suggested tentatively, “Is it possible that someone could have borrowed the key from Tom Abbittson’s pocket? Perhaps while he was lying unconscious in the street outside the shop? He could then have replaced the key in the butcher’s pocket after ridding himself of the body.”

“It is possible, I suppose. The killer could have murdered his victim before Tom arrived at the shop. Perhaps he saw Tom fall, and saw his advantage. It would be safe to assume that Tom would be blamed for the murder, especially since he would be unlikely to remember clearly what happened.”

“Precisely,” Baxter said, sounding pleased with himself.

“There is just one small flaw with that reasoning,” Cecily said, regretting that she had to dampen his enthusiasm. “Elsie saw her husband arrive at the shop. Had the killer entered the shop after that, Elsie would no doubt have heard him, since she is quite positive she didn’t fall asleep again until after her husband was safely in bed.”

“She could be mistaken.”

“So she could. Perhaps I should question her further.”

Baxter’s gaze sharpened. “You will be careful, madam? Perhaps I should accompany you.”

“Thank you, Baxter, but that won’t be necessary. Elsie is far more likely to talk freely if I am there alone.”

“Very well, madam.” His expression suggested that he was not at all happy about the situation.

He would be even less happy, Cecily thought guiltily, if he knew that she planned to call on Dr. Prestwick that afternoon. Wisely she decided to delay that information until after the event. Now that she finally had Baxter’s cooperation, she hated to say anything that would be likely to upset the new understanding between them. It was much too fragile, and entirely too precious.

“Strewth,” Gertie exclaimed, as she tried for the third time to fold the serviette into a tulip shape. She seemed to be all fingers and thumbs lately. Normally she could fold the serviettes without even thinking about it.

It were that Ross McBride’s fault, asking her to go out with him, indeed. The bleeding sauce of the man. Yet she couldn’t stop her face from burning or her knees from wobbling whenever she thought about it.

“Haven’t you finished those serviettes yet, Gertie?” Mrs. Chubb exclaimed as she bustled into the kitchen. “Daisy has already finished laying the silver for dinner. She’ll be looking for the serviettes any minute.”

“I know, I know. I’ll be finished in a bleeding minute.” Gertie took a firm hold of the corner of the linen square and deftly flipped it over, catching it between her fingers while she tucked the opposite corner inside.

“Well, perhaps if you light the lamps you’ll be able to see what you’re doing,” Mrs. Chubb said irritably. “What’s the matter with you today, Gertie? You’re not usually so absentminded.”

Gertie shrugged. “Dunno. Got things on me mind, I have.”

“It’s not those babies, is it?” The housekeeper stared worriedly at her. “Nothing wrong with them, is there?”

Gertie shook her head. “They’re both fast asleep. Soon as I get finished with this lot I’m going back to feed them. Hungry little buggers, they are. I’ll be needing a cow to help me feed them soon.”

Mrs. Chubb shook her head, her round face wreathed in smiles. “Just so precious, they are. I looked in on them a short while ago, just to make sure they were still sleeping. Though I daresay we should hear them if they start crying.”

“The whole bleeding village can hear them. I sometimes wonder if madam wishes she hadn’t asked me to live here with them. What if they disturb the guests?”

Mrs. Chubb hurried over to the stove and opened the oven. “Don’t you worry yourself about that, ducks. No one is going to hear those babies abovestairs. The floors are much too thick.”

The warm, rich smell of baked fruit puddings made Gertie feel hungry. She reminded herself she still had some fat to get off her hips if she was ever going to wear her nice clothes again. It would be a long time before she could eat the way she used to before the twins were born.

“Have you given any thought to who’s going to be their godparents yet?” Mrs. Chubb asked as she carried the steaming puddings over to the windowsill.

“No, not yet,” Gertie mumbled.

“Well, you’d better hurry up, my girl. The christening is on Sunday. There isn’t much time left, you know.”

Gertie folded the last of the serviettes, feeling the niggling twinges of worry in her stomach again. The truth was, she didn’t know how to solve the problem without hurting someone’s feelings.

She would have liked to ask Mrs. Chubb to be the babies’ godmother. After all, she was always fussing about them, that was for sure. But the housekeeper was getting on
and might not be around to take care of the twins if anything happened to their mother.

What Gertie really wanted was to ask madam and Mr. Baxter, who were really the only parental figures she knew. But that might upset Mrs. Chubb.

It was all a bleeding nuisance, Gertie thought crossly as she stacked the serviettes on a tray. She had enough on her mind without worrying about bloody godparents.

“If I were you,” Mrs. Chubb said, fanning her face with her apron, “I’d ask madam and Mr. Baxter. I’m sure they’d make wonderful godparents for James and Lillian. After all, you did name James after Mr. Sinclair, didn’t you?”

Amazed and immensely relieved at the sudden miraculous solution to her problem, Gertie nodded. “Well, he was the one what hired me to work here in the first place. I always liked the name, too. You know, madam looked like she was going to bleeding cry when I told her I was going to call one of the babies James.”

“I’m sure she did,” the housekeeper said softly. “Just like I did when you chose my middle name for Lillian.”

Gertie grinned. “Well, I like that name, too.”

“Well, I’m sure both madam and Mr. Baxter will be pleased as punch to be asked to be godparents. But I wouldn’t wait too long to ask them if I were you.”

“I won’t.” Gertie looked up as the door swung open.

One of the twins stood in the doorway. Gertie took one look at the scowl on her face and knew it was Daisy. “I’m waiting for the serviettes,” she said, glaring at Gertie.

“All right, all right, I’m coming.” Gertie shoved the tray at her. “Here, if you’re in such a bleeding hurry, take them yourself.”

Daisy grabbed the tray and spun around.

“Is that you, Doris?” Mrs. Chubb asked, peering at the young girl across the room.

“No, it ain’t,” Gertie said as Daisy turned back. “Can’t you tell by that ugly frown on her face?” She looked across at the housemaid. “Don’t you ever smile?”

“Ain’t got nothing to smile about, have I?” Daisy said sullenly.

“Course you bloody do.” Irritated by the girl’s attitude, Gertie slumped down in a chair. “You’ve got a good job, you’ve got a bleeding warm bed and good food, and you’ve got your health and strength. What more could you blinking ask for?”

Daisy opened her mouth to answer, but at that moment the door flew open, nearly knocking the petite girl off her feet. Her twin rushed into the kitchen, hair flying and eyes as wide as tea trays.

Gertie saw the girl’s chalk-white skin and felt a chill in her stomach. Even Mrs. Chubb seemed struck dumb for a second, standing there with one hand clutching her throat.

Doris seemed unable to speak, but just stood trembling in the middle of the kitchen, her throat working and her hands plucking at the folds of her apron.

Daisy was the first one to find her voice. “Whatever’s the matter with you?” she demanded. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Doris nodded her head up and down. “I … I have!”

“Mercy me, whatever next!” Mrs. Chubb exclaimed, still staring at Doris.

“Whatcha mean?” Gertie said, getting up from the chair. Her hands felt cold all of a sudden, and she could feel the hairs on her neck prickling her skin.

“I saw
Peter
,” Doris whispered. She started trembling, so hard her teeth rattled.

Mrs. Chubb sprang into action, drawing the girl closer to the fire with an arm about her shoulders. “Now, now, my love, you’ve had a nasty fright, that’s for sure. Why don’t you tell us what happened? Here, sit down on the coal bin, next to the fire. It’ll get you warm in no time.”

Doris sank down on the leather lid of the bin, her knees shaking beneath her gray skirt. “I was coming out of room seven, when I saw him walking down the hallway. I went up
to him, ’cause I forgot for a minute that he was …” She gulped, then finished in a high-pitched voice, “… dead!”

“Course he’s dead,” Gertie said loudly, more to convince herself than anyone. “The police took his body off the rack, didn’t they? So you couldn’t have seen him.”

“But I did!” Doris’s voice rose on a wail, and Mrs. Chubb patted the thin shoulders.

“Now, now.” She sent Gertie a swift frown. “Be quiet, Gertie, and let the girl tell her story.”