Mistletoe and Mayhem (17 page)
“Probably someone come to collect our trays.” She raised her voice to call out, “Come in!”
The door opened, and much to Cecily’s surprise, Mrs. Chubb poked her head around the door.
“Sorry to disturb you, m’m. May I have a quick word with you?”
“Oh, do come in,” Baxter said, rattling his newspaper. “There’s a dreadful draft coming through the door.”
The housekeeper hastily stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Moving forward, she fished a stained and creased sheet of paper out of her apron pocket. “I thought you might want to see this, m’m.”
Cecily took it from her and peered at it. Holding it farther away from her eyes, she read the words out loud. “Hide dagger in drawer by bed and wait until victim is asleep. Stab in neck, then leave by window.”
“Good Lord!” Baxter put down his newspaper and stared at the housekeeper. Leaning forward, he took the note from his wife’s fingers. “Where did you get this?”
“Pansy found it, sir. In the mashed potatoes. That’s why it’s a bit messy.”
Cecily raised her eyebrows, while Baxter frowned. “In the mashed potatoes? What the devil does that mean?”
“It was on Mr. Mortimer’s dinner plate, sir.”
Cecily caught her breath. “In room nine?”
“Yes, m’m.” Mrs. Chubb wiped her brow with the back of her sleeve. “Pansy went up to fetch his tray and this was on it. I thought you should see it right away.”
“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Chubb. We will take care of this. Try not to worry and please don’t alarm the staff. It could mean nothing at all.”
“Yes, m’m.” The housekeeper moved to the door, then paused. “Pansy thinks he’s the Mayfair Murderer, m’m.”
Cecily tried to ignore the little thump of fear under her ribs. “I doubt that very much, Mrs. Chubb. Please tell Pansy not to mention this to another soul.”
“I will, m’m, though Gertie overheard her, as did two of the maids. And Michel.”
“Oh, dear. Well, do try to keep it among yourselves.” Cecily waited until the door closed behind her housekeeper before turning to Baxter. “What do you think?”
Baxter stared at the note, turning it this way and that as if hoping to see something different in the menacing words. “I don’t know what to think. Mortimer is a strange old chap, but he doesn’t strike me as particularly dangerous.”
“Me, neither.” Cecily gazed uneasily at the note in her husband’s hands. “Then again, I have been acquainted with enough murderers to know that appearances can be deceiving.”
“Indubitably.” Baxter shook his head. “I suppose we should pass this along to the inspector.”
“Not yet.” Cecily pulled the note from his hands and folded it up. “It could all be quite innocent, and if so, Mr. Mortimer could be embarrassed by some unwarranted attention from the constabulary. I should hate to put one of our esteemed guests through that, only to find out he is perfectly innocent. It would not look well for our reputation.”
Baxter sighed. “How did I know you were going to say that? Now, I suppose, you are going to place yourself in dire peril in order to find out if Mortimer is indeed a serial killer. After all, who goes around scribbling reminders of how to do away with someone without being caught?”
“I admit, it does look rather troubling.” Cecily leaned forward and patted her husband’s hand. “I shall take great care not to confront Mr. Mortimer unless I’m certain he can do me no harm.”
“I don’t know how you can be certain of that,” Baxter muttered, as he picked up his newspaper again. “I can only hope that you know what you are doing and that Mortimer is harmless.”
Cecily couldn’t agree more.
CHAPTER 12Cecily awoke early the next morning from a restless sleep, and climbed out of bed leaving Baxter snoring under the covers.
The coals in the fireplace were down to their last embers, and she used the tongs to transfer several small lumps from the coal scuttle to the fire, then gently stoked them until flames began to lick around them.
Drawing her dressing gown closer around her, she walked over to the window. Tiny flakes of snow were blowing about in the wind, but the ground was wet and the lawns still green, relieving her mind. The last thing she needed right now was a snowfall to hamper her efforts.
She dressed quickly, and Baxter had just begun to stir by the time she was ready to go down to her office. “I’ll meet you for breakfast in the dining room,” she told him, and hurried from the room before he could enquire about her haste.
Reaching her office she rang the operator and asked to be put through to Mick Docker. He seemed surprised to be hearing from her so early in the morning. When she told him she needed his services again, however, he seemed only too happy to oblige her.
She had barely finished entering invoices in her ledger when she heard the breakfast bell. Baxter was waiting for her when she entered the dining room. Seated at their customary corner table, he hid behind the daily newspaper as usual.
He lowered it when she greeted him, and rose to pull out her chair for her. Having seated her, he sat down again, his face a mask of apprehension.
Cecily removed her serviette from its silver ring and spread it on her lap. “Bad news?”
He didn’t answer her right away, and she felt a shiver of uneasiness. “Bax? What’s wrong?”
He tried to smile, but she could see his features were tight with tension. “I was just reading about that dratted Mayfair Murderer.”
“Oh? Have they caught him?” She felt a wave of reassurance. Until that moment she hadn’t realized she had actually considered the idea that Mr. Mortimer might be the villain for whom all of Scotland Yard was hunting.
Her relief was short-lived, however, when Baxter shook his head. “As a matter of fact, there have been no more murders committed by him in some time. They think it’s entirely possible that he has left the city.”
Cecily’s craving for the bacon, sausage, and fried tomatoes she’d been looking forward to suddenly disappeared. “Oh?” she said again, only far more faintly this time. “Have they had no murders at all in London, then?”
“None, apparently, with the trademark of the infamous serial killer.”
“Perhaps he has changed his trademark,” Cecily said, clinging to a faint ray of hope.
“Unlikely. He has used the same method and left the same memento with over a dozen other murders. According to the chief inspector, serial killers almost always stick to the same routine.”
“Then it can’t possibly be our killer. He has left no memento of any kind.”
Baxter looked worried. “I hadn’t even considered that possibility. I suppose there’s always the exception to the rule.”
“Oh, my.” Cecily grasped her throat, the macabre words on the stained sheet of paper racing through her mind.
“I know what you’re thinking.” Baxter leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “I think we must talk to Inspector Cranshaw and tell him what we have found.”
“Not yet. Not until I’ve talked to Mr. Mortimer.” Seeing his stubborn frown, she laid her hand on his. “We can hardly accuse one of our guests of being a mass murderer without evidence of the fact.”
“I should think mere suspicion would be enough to warrant a report to the constabulary. You are playing a dangerous game, my dear, and I fear not only for your safety but for that of everyone here in the Pennyfoot as well.”
“I promise you, Bax, I will be careful. I shall not rest, however, until I have discovered who is responsible for the deaths of Charlie and Ellie. I owe it to them to bring their killer to justice.”
Baxter was prevented from answering as Pansy arrived at the table with a tray. She looked pale and sleepy as she unloaded bowls of steaming porridge and a covered platter, which she laid in the center of the table.
Guessing her maid hadn’t slept well, Cecily gave her a sympathetic smile. “I hope you are feeling a little better this morning, Pansy?”
“Yes, m’m, thank you.” Pansy hesitated, then added, “I had bad dreams last night. I kept imagining Ellie lying in the leaves, her eyes all wide and staring.”
“Shsh!” Baxter glanced over at the next table, where Sir Walter sat in earnest conversation with his wife. “We are trying to keep all that quiet.”
“Sorry, sir. It slipped out.” She bent her knees in a swift curtsey and hurried off, holding the empty tray at her side.
“Poor Pansy.” Cecily gazed after her. “It must have been such a dreadful shock.”
“Well, I just hope she keeps her mouth closed about it all. The last thing we need is for the guests to find out.”
Cecily nodded in agreement, though she didn’t have much hope of keeping the news a secret. People let things slip, just as Pansy had done, and sooner or later the word would spread. Her only hope was to find out who was responsible as quickly as possible, before the killer could strike again.
Pansy shivered as she crossed the yard to the coal shed. The dark gray skies overhead threatened rain, or even snow. Clutching her shawl to her neck she leaned into the wind, the coal bucket swinging in her hand.
She had almost reached the door of the shed when a heavy hand descended on her shoulder, squeezing so hard she cried out in pain.
Lenny’s face loomed in front of her, his mouth twisted in an ugly smile. “So there you are. I wondered when you’d turn up again.”
Pansy drew back, trying to break the cruel grip on her shoulder. “What are you doing here? What do you want?”
“I’m working here, aren’t I.” His chuckle sent shivers of fear down her back. “You can’t get rid of me that easy. I’ll be here for the whole day, maybe two.”
Again she tried to shrug him off, but he only gripped her tighter. She looked about, hoping to catch sight of Clive, or better yet, Samuel, but the yard and the lawns beyond were deserted. Glaring up into Lenny’s grinning face, she said loudly, “Let me go, or I’ll scream and someone will come running.”
“I don’t think so.” He brought his nose down to hers. “You owe me, you little bitch. You were supposed to meet me yesterday afternoon. I waited nearly an hour for you.”
“I was busy, wasn’t I.” She met his gaze squarely. “It wasn’t my fault. It’s Christmastime and all of us have extra work.”
“Yeah, extra work running off into the woods with your boyfriend?”
Startled, she tried to back away. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, yes, you do.” He pulled her closer to him and wrapped an arm around her waist. “I saw you, in the woods with your boyfriend when you were supposed to be with me.”
She stared up at him. “How could you have seen me in the woods if you waited an hour for me?”
“I saw you on me way home, didn’t I. Though I have to say, you didn’t look too happy. If you ask me, you were crying. See? That’s what you get for going off with some country lout instead of coming out with me.”
Once more she struggled to be free, her fear gradually turning to anger. “It’s none of your business what I do, so there. Now let me go before I scream for help.”
“You won’t scream, ducky. I know what you want, and I’m the one to give it to you.”
He bent his face closer, and desperate now, Pansy swung the bucket as hard as she could against his head. It made a dreadful clanging noise as it hit, and Lenny pulled back with a look of surprise and let her go.
Every instinct shouted at her to run, but fear held her rooted to the spot.
Lenny staggered backward, shaking his head.
Horrified at what she’d done, Pansy began stammering. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that but you wouldn’t let me go when I told you to and-”
She shut her mouth abruptly as Lenny slowly turned toward her. Too late she realized her mistake. She should have run when she had the chance. She dropped the bucket and backed away. “Don’t you touch me-”
Her words ended in a scream as Lenny raised his hand and smacked her hard across the face. Stunned, she dropped to her knees, little spots dancing in front of her eyes.
The next thing she knew, Lenny’s hand was on the collar of her frock, dragging her to her feet. “This is what you get for daring to hit me,” he snarled, and raised his hand to strike her again.
She lifted her hands to shield her face and closed her eyes, bracing for the blow.
It never came. There was a shout, a thump, and someone grabbed her from behind.
Opening her eyes, she saw Samuel, fists raised, standing over Lenny who was lying on the ground. “Get up you bloody coward,” Samuel yelled. “See if you can pick on someone your own size.”
Lenny just lay there, eyes closed.
Aware of the big hands on her shoulders, Pansy twisted her neck and saw Clive peering down at her. He looked worried, and let her go, then gently touched her cheek.
It stung, and she drew back.
“Are you all right?” Clive sent a murderous look at Lenny, who now was struggling to his feet. “I’d have hit him myself if Samuel hadn’t reached him first.”
Pansy tried to speak and felt something warm trickling down her chin. She dabbed at it with her fingers then looked at them. They were smeared with blood.
She heard another thud and a grunt of pain. “You dare to touch my girl again and I’ll bloody well kill you!” Samuel yelled.
Lenny staggered back, holding his jaw. “All right,” he snarled. “You asked for this.”
Pansy screamed when she saw the knife in his hand. Samuel jumped back, but Clive stepped forward and with one mighty blow sent the weapon clattering across the yard. Samuel scrambled after it, but by the time he’d picked it up Lenny was racing to the gate. He had it open before Samuel could catch up with him and disappeared into the street.
Sobbing, Pansy ran up to Samuel and grabbed his arm. “Let him go, please! Don’t get into a fight with him. He’ll kill you!”
“Not if I kill him first,” Samuel muttered.
“She’s right, lad.” Clive joined them at the gate. He gently pried open Samuel’s fist, then took the knife and slipped it in his pocket. “He’s not worth that kind of trouble. You sent him on his way and that’s what matters.”
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