Mulled Murder (Pennyfoot Holiday Mysteries) (12 page)

“Stay where you are,” she said, closing the door behind her. “We don’t want to do more damage to that ankle.”

Lilly subsided against the wall. “Yes, m’m. Thank you, m’m.” She nodded at her ankle. “I’m sorry about this, m’m. I know it’s putting everyone out, especially with the wedding coming up and all.”

“It’s not your fault, Lilly. I’m sure you didn’t do it on purpose.”

“No, m’m, I didn’t.” Lilly looked worried. “I think it must be rats that put that hole in the wall.”

Cecily smiled. “I’ve never heard of rats chewing through bricks before. I think it’s more likely a bad mixture of cement. It happens sometimes. Anyway, Jacob will take care of it.”

At the mention of the handyman, Lilly’s expression changed. “Well, I hope he doesn’t make it worse.”

Cecily pursed her lips. “You don’t like Jacob?”

Lilly scowled at her bandaged ankle. “No, I don’t.”

Cecily was about to say something, then thought better of it. “Are you in a lot of pain?” she asked instead.

“Only when I stand on it.”

“I can have Dr. Prestwick give you something for the pain, if you like.”

Lilly looked up at her. “Thank you, m’m, but I’ll be all right. I hope it will be better in a day or two. I’d like to be back on my feet by Christmas.”

“Well, I’ll have a word with the doctor in any case. There must be something we can do to hasten the healing.”

“Thank you, m’m.”

It was the first time Cecily had seen the girl smile. It completely changed her face.

Lilly should smile more often, Cecily thought, as she closed the door and hurried down the hallway. That girl walked around as if she had the troubles of the world upon her shoulders.

As Cecily stepped inside the kitchen, the familiar warmth seemed to wrap around her. Michel stood at the stove, poking inside bubbling pots with a wooden spoon. Mrs. Chubb hovered over the huge scrubbed table, holding a bag of royal icing. Three white iced cakes in different sizes sat in front of her.

Over at the counter, Gertie was placing miniature mince pies into square biscuit tins. Alice stood next to her, tying thin red ribbon around large slices of shortbread.

Mrs. Chubb dropped the icing bag when she caught sight of Cecily. “What can we do for you, m’m?”

Michel turned around, nodding so hard his tall white chef’s hat slipped sideways. He pushed it back with an impatient hand and went back to his boiling puddings.

Gertie looked over her shoulder, while Alice sent one scared glance at Cecily and hunched over her task again.

Cecily stood for a moment, breathing in the sweet fragrance of baking shortbread and cinnamon. “I just had a word with Lilly,” she announced, “and I hope you will all be able to manage without her for a day or two.”

“We will, m’m,” Gertie called out cheerfully. She gave Alice a nudge that almost sent her off her feet. “Won’t we, Alice?”

Alice gave her a frightened nod.

“If you don’t,” Michel said, pointing his spoon at Alice, “I beat you with this.”

Alice uttered a shriek that made them all jump.

“Sacre bleu!”
Michel staggered backward as if someone had pushed him. “I was joking. You not take a joke,
non
?”

Gertie glared at him. “There are some things you don’t joke about, you big twerp.”

“Who do you call a twerp?” Michel’s face turned even redder, and he advanced on Gertie, spoon raised.

Alice screamed, and Mrs. Chubb rushed over to her and stood in front of her. “Michel! Get back to your stove. Can’t you see you’re scaring the girl to death?”

Michel dropped the spoon and turned back to the stove, muttering, “Nobody knows how to take a joke anymore. I keep my mouth shut from now on. No more jokes.”

“Thank Gawd for that,” Gertie said, fanning her face with a tin lid.

Alice stood trembling, the ribbon floating from her fingers to the floor.

Mrs. Chubb tutted and bent down to pick it up. “Look at that. Now I’ll have to get more ribbon. You can’t use this on the shortbread.”

Alice promptly burst into tears.

Cecily decided it was time to leave. She crept unnoticed to the door and let herself out into the hallway.

As the door closed behind her, someone moved in front of her, making her heart skip. At first she didn’t recognize the man standing in the shadows between the gaslights. Surprise rippled through her when she realized who stood there. “Mr. Granson! Whatever are you doing down here?”

The man raised a hand to his tie, and she noticed at once that grime clung to his fingers, as if he’d been digging in soil. “Mrs. Baxter! I’m so sorry if I startled you. I was looking for a maid. There’s no water in the lavatories, and I was wondering if I might have a jug of hot water in my room.”

“I’ll see that one is sent up there,” Cecily said, uncertain as to whether or not she believed him. It occurred to her that he might have been lurking about, perhaps listening to the argument going on in the kitchen. And what had he been doing to get so much dirt on his hands?

The more she saw of this man, the less she liked him. Had P.C. Northcott not left for London, she would have had him investigate the man. First there was Granson’s reluctance to leave an address in the guest ledger, then the odd way he’d ignored her when she’d called his name, and now this.

Realizing the man’s intense gaze was probing her face, she managed a smile. “Is there anything else we can do for you, Mr. Granson?”

“No, no, thank you.” He continued to stare at her for a moment longer, then abruptly turned tail and marched down the hallway to the stairs.

Cecily waited a moment to gather her composure. Granson’s penetrating gaze had unsettled her again. It was as if he were trying to read her mind. Perhaps gauging how well she had received his excuse of needing hot water?

Just as soon as she had the opportunity, she decided, she would search the man’s room. If there was anything incriminating about him, she might well find something useful there. Having made that decision, she hastened to return to her office, where pressing tasks awaited her.

CHAPTER
12

Pansy’s feet dragged as she crossed the courtyard. The day was only half over and already she was worn out. She’d covered a plate of mince pies, sausage rolls, and cheese sticks with cheesecloth to protect the food from the elements as she carried it over to the stables. Right now the wind was cutting through the heavy wool shawl she wore, and she gripped the plate with one hand while the other held on to the shawl.

How she wished she was going to visit Samuel instead of Charlie Muggins. She felt a tug of nostalgia every time she walked into the stables and Samuel wasn’t there. She could still see him leaning against the stalls, broom in hand, grinning at her as she ran toward him.

But Samuel was working day and night in his repair shop, and she hadn’t seen much of him at all the past three months.

Sighing, Pansy walked into the flickering shadows of the stables. The dim glow of oil lamps made it difficult to see, but as she stepped inside a voice called out to her from the back of the vast building.

“Hey there! You’re a sight for sore eyes!” Charlie strolled toward her, hands in pockets, a cheeky grin plastered on his face.

“Hey yourself.” She thrust the plate at him. “Mrs. Chubb sent you some grub.”

Charlie took the plate from her and lifted a corner of the cheesecloth to peer underneath. “Blimey! What did I do to deserve this?”

Pansy shrugged. “She said it was for taking her shopping. You’re supposed to share it with Henry, since he got the carriage ready for her.”

Charlie pulled a face. “All right, if I have to, I will.”

Pansy looked around. The horses were quiet, with only the occasional shuffling of their hooves on the straw to break their silence. “Where’s Tess?”

“Sleeping.” Charlie whistled, and a bark answered him. A moment later Tess bounded into view, tail wagging furiously.

Pansy squatted down to hug the dog, and received her usual wet kiss from the dog in return. “Is Henry here?” She wanted to be sure the young lad got his fair share of the food.

“He’s out with a carriage, picking up guests from a Christmas party.”

She gave Tess a final pat on the head and stood. “Well, all right. Just make sure you give him some of that.” She nodded at the plate in his hand.

“I will, I will.” He started walking with her back to the doors. “He’s a strange one, that Henry. He knows quite a bit about motorcars, but not a lot about horses. It’s almost as if he’s afraid of them.”

“I’m sure he’s not.”

“Well, he acts funny when he’s around them.”

She paused, looking up at him. “You don’t like him much, do you?”

Charlie shrugged. “He’s all right, I suppose. It’s just hard to get along with him. He doesn’t laugh at my jokes.”

“That’s because they’re not funny.”

Charlie poked her in the arm with his knuckles. “He’s such a baby in some ways, but he’s got a temper on him. I remember when that bloke who died, Mr. Evans, yelled at Henry for not tightening the girth on his horse. He came stamping back in here swearing he was going to get even.”

Pansy felt as if the wind had frozen her bones. Staring at Charlie, she whispered, “Do you think he did?”

Charlie frowned. “Did what?”

“Get even. Do you think he killed Mr. Evans?”

Charlie uttered a shout of laughter. “Henry? Are you daft? That lad doesn’t have the nerve to kill a goose, much less stick a knife in a man’s gut.”

Pansy shivered. “Well, all I can say is, you never know.” She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “Don’t forget to give Henry his fair share.” With that she fled across the courtyard to the warmth and safety of the kitchen.

• • •

Seated in the dining room, Cecily hastily swallowed the last of her egg and cress sandwich and washed it down with a mouthful of hot tea. She gave Baxter what she hoped was a winning smile and murmured, “I’m sorry, darling, but I have to take care of an urgent matter. Would you mind awfully if I leave?”

Baxter finished chewing and swallowed. “Yes, actually. I would mind. I don’t see enough of you as it is.” He frowned. “What is so terribly urgent that you can’t take care of it a little later?”

Remembering their partnership pact, Cecily felt a stab of guilt. “I . . . ah . . . have to search someone’s room.”

“Ah! I suspected as much.” He swallowed the last of his tea and replaced the cup in the saucer with a loud clatter. “And you were intending to sneak off and snoop without me.”

She had to grin. “Snoop?”

He shrugged. “What else would you call it?”

“Investigate.”

“Hmmph. Just another fancy word for snooping.”

She leaned forward. “I have to do it now, darling. Mr. Granson will be returning to his room shortly. I don’t want him to find me there.”

Baxter’s eyebrows shot up. “Granson? The new guest?”

“Shshh!” She glanced around. “I don’t want anyone to hear us talking about him.”

“What makes you think he’s got anything to hide?”

She laid her fingers on his hand. “Can I explain later? As I said, this is urgent.”

His expression softened. “When you look at me like that, my love, I can deny you nothing.”

She pulled her hand back. “Have you been drinking?”

“Only tea. Why?”

“It’s just that . . .” She paused, uncertain how to finish, then said in a rush, “It’s been quite a while since you spoke to me that way.”

“Has it really? Then shame on me. I must endeavor to do better. Now, let us go upstairs and take care of your urgent matter.”

Her heart gave a little skip. “You’re coming with me?”

“Of course.” He stood, and offered her his hand. “I’m your partner, remember? Shame on you for forgetting that.”

“I didn’t forget.” She stood, too, and stepped ahead of him. “You always objected so loudly whenever I had to . . . ah . . . investigate someone’s room. I thought it prudent not to cause an outburst.”

“Well, there’ll be no more objections from now on. Unless you venture into danger without me.”

He’d whispered this last in her ear as they exited the dining room. She smiled up at him. “No more, my love. I promise.”

Looking well satisfied, he accompanied her down the hallway and up the stairs to the second floor.

Reaching Granson’s room, she looked back at him. “Do you want to keep watch outside while I search?”

“No. I’ll come in with you. I just hope the chap doesn’t get back here and catch us in the act.”

“We’ll make up some excuse.”

“Such as?”

She opened the door with her master key and stepped inside. “Such as, the fireplace needs attention of some sort.”

He smiled. “It has been a long time since we did something like this together. I had forgotten how resourceful you can be.”

“And I had forgotten how much more fun this is with you by my side.” She took a long look around the room. The heavy drapes had been drawn back, and weak sunlight filtered through the net curtains at the windows.

The maids had already made up the bed and cleaned the room. Everything looked neat and tidy. Cecily crossed the carpet and opened up each dresser drawer. Careful not to disarrange anything, she slid her fingers beneath socks and undergarments, finding nothing of interest.

“What do you need me to search?” Baxter asked. “The wardrobe?”

“Yes, please.” She crossed to the bedside table and opened the drawer. It was empty. Frowning, she reached for the waste paper basket. It, too, held nothing but a tiny scrap of paper that seemed to have been torn from a bill of some sort.

She looked up at the sound of the wardrobe door closing. “Anything?”

Baxter shook his head. “Nothing. Just a couple of suits, shirts, and a pair of slippers.” He looked at his fingers. “The maids need to do a better job of cleaning wardrobes.” He dug into his pocket with the other hand and drew out his handkerchief.

“Wait!” Cecily hurried over to him. “Let me see.”

He held out his fingers. The tips were covered in a reddish dust.

Cecily peered closer. “That’s not ordinary dust.” She drew a quick breath. “It looks like dust from bricks.”

“Bricks?” Baxter stared at her. “Why would Granson have bricks in his wardrobe?”

“I don’t think he did,” Cecily said, remembering the grime on the guest’s fingers. “But I think I know where this dust comes from.” Quickly she told him about Lilly’s accident with the fallen brick. “I think,” she added at the end, “that perhaps we should go down to the wine cellar and take a look at the wall. If I’m right, something down there seems to be of great interest to our newest guest.”

“But how would he get in there? Doesn’t Mrs. Chubb keep the door locked?”

“That,” Cecily said grimly, “is a very good question. And one I intend to ask Mr. Granson just as soon as I set eyes on him.”

• • •

Gertie stomped up the kitchen steps, her brow furrowed in a deep frown. She’d been waiting over half an hour for Alice to get down to the kitchen from the dining room. The girl was supposed to have finished clearing the tables ages ago. Annoyed at having to go all the way up to the dining room to find her, Gertie charged around the corner of the hallway, and then came to an abrupt halt.

There was Alice at the other end of the corridor. With the plumber, Bernie Bingham. Gertie rolled her eyes. Pansy kept saying as how Alice was afraid of all men. Well, there was one she wasn’t afraid of, judging by the attentive look on her face.

Gertie had to give Bernie credit where it was due. The man seemed to be able to charm every woman he came across. Even Mrs. Chubb acted barmy when he spoke to her. But Alice was something quite different. Bernie must have been blessed with a special appeal that was too potent to ignore. Except for her, she hastily reminded herself as Bernie turned his head and caught sight of her.

He left Alice’s side immediately and came strolling toward Gertie, the cheeky grin playing across his face. “Hello, gorgeous,” he murmured, as he sauntered past her. “How about taking a stroll along the Esplanade with me later? I could show you a good time.”

“Yeah,” Gertie answered, feeling flattered in spite of herself, “I just bet you would, and all.”

“Is that a yes?”

She laughed. “Sorry, mate. My boyfriend wouldn’t like it.”

He paused and looked back at her. “He wouldn’t have to know.”

Shaking her head at the man’s audacity, Gertie turned her back on him and headed for Alice, who seemed to be hanging back in the shadows. “Here,” she called out. “Whatcha doing up here? You’re supposed to be helping me in the kitchen.”

Alice shuffled toward her, head down. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

“You’ll be sorry if Mrs. Chubb gets on to you. Come on.” Beckoning to the girl, Gertie spun around. Bernie had disappeared. Feeling somewhat relieved, Gertie led the way back to the kitchen with Alice trailing along behind her.

• • •

“I haven’t been down here in ages,” Cecily said, as she followed Baxter down the steps to the wine cellar. “I’d forgotten how musty and unpleasant it smells.”

Baxter held up the oil lamp, letting the glow swing to and fro across the dark shelves. “It amazes me that the wine can taste so good after being buried in this putrid environment.”

“Apparently it’s good for the wine, just not the nose.”

“It didn’t seem to bother you in the old days.”

She laughed. “I was usually worrying about far more important things than the smell. We were running illegal card rooms. There was much to worry about.”

Baxter stepped down onto the floor and held the lamp even higher for her. “I lived in fear that we would be found out and you would end up in prison.”

“It was worth the risk. The card rooms were a great way to satisfy all those aristocrats craving excitement. We filled the guest rooms every single week. It was their money that helped pay off the Pennyfoot’s debts.”

“That and your cousin’s offer to buy the place and turn it into a country club.”

“Yes, well, if I’d known that gambling was legal in a country club I’d have turned the Pennyfoot into one years ago.” Cecily reached the floor with a sigh of relief. The steps were narrow and creaked ominously with every step. She really should have them replaced, she thought, as she led the way down one of the aisles to the far end of the cellar.