Mulled Murder (Pennyfoot Holiday Mysteries) (16 page)

Lilly nodded slowly, obviously less than convinced. “All right, m’m. But is it all right if I keep the knife?”

“If you must. You might, however, want to find a better hiding place.”

“Yes, m’m. Thank you, m’m.” Lilly escaped from the room, leaving Cecily staring thoughtfully at the door. Things were getting complicated. The sooner she talked to Fred Granson the better.

She glanced at the clock hanging above her filing cabinet. So far Mr. Granson had proved elusive. She had spent some time the day before searching for him, but no one seemed to know where he was. She had no idea what he was doing with his time, but obviously he wasn’t spending it inside the Pennyfoot. Which only made her all the more certain that he was involved with whatever was going on down in that tunnel.

Making up her mind, she got up from her chair. One thing she did know, Granson took breakfast in the dining room every morning. She would wait for him to leave and waylay him in the hallway. It was unlikely that he would admit anything to her, of course, but she was hoping that something he said would confirm her suspicions enough that she could go to the authorities and have them deal with it without involving the Pennyfoot too much.

As for the murders, it would be up to the constables to solve that part of it once they had the thieves under arrest, thus relieving the country club from any involvement. Except for Fred Granson, of course. She would have to cross that bridge when she came to it.

Sighing, she left the office and headed purposefully for the dining room. One way or another, she intended to corner Mr. Fred Granson that very morning. All she could hope was that she would learn something useful. Time was running out. She could not, in good conscience, delay this investigation much longer if there was a possibility that someone would get away with not only a large haul of stolen paintings, but also the murders of two innocent people. If she couldn’t get anything out of Mr. Granson, she could see no other alternative but to tell P.C. Potter what she suspected and deal with the consequences.

She was halfway down the hallway when Gertie rushed up to her, her face creased in anxiety. “Oh, there you are, m’m. I was just coming to see you.”

Alarm bells went off in Cecily’s head for the third time that morning. “What is it, Gertie?”

“It’s that new guest, m’m. Mr. Granson. Mrs. Chubb sent me to the wine cellar last night. Pansy and Alice were too upset to go back down there and Lilly had a bad foot so me and one of the maids had to go. I hate going down there and Mrs. Chubb knows that, but she didn’t know what else to do ’cause none of the other maids know how to find the bottles, so I said I’d go.”

“That was good of you, Gertie.”

“Yes, well, we had just got to the door when it opened and Mr. Granson came out of the wine cellar.”

Gertie’s voice, high-pitched with excitement, gave Cecily chills. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, m’m. He stood right in front of us. Gave us both a shock, I can tell you.”

Cecily did her best to sound unconcerned. “Did he say what he was doing down there?”

“He said he was looking for a special bottle of wine.” Gertie shook her head. “What I want to know is how he got in there. Mrs. Chubb had to give us the spare key out of the safe because the other one got lost. Do you think Mr. Granson stole it?”

Cecily didn’t know what to think, but it wouldn’t do to share her doubts with her chief housemaid. “I very much doubt it, Gertie. Someone must have left the door unlocked. Probably the constable. Obviously Mr. Granson isn’t aware of our restrictions. I shall make sure that he is informed of them.”

“Yes, m’m.” Gertie still looked uneasy. “He’s in the dining room right now.”

“Thank you, Gertie.” Cecily watched her leave, then called out after her. “Was Mr. Granson carrying a bottle of wine when you saw him?”

Gertie paused. “No, m’m. Not that I could see, anyway.”

“Thank you, Gertie.” Turning her back on the maid, Cecily rounded the corner of the hallway, nearly colliding with the gentleman in front of her.

“Did I hear my name mentioned?” Fred Granson’s eyes didn’t match his smile. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Cecily took a moment to catch her breath. “Actually, there is, Mr. Granson. My housemaid tells me that she saw you leaving the wine cellar last night. I’m curious as to why you were there.”

Granson’s gaze seemed to burn into her face. For a long, agonizing moment he was silent. Just when Cecily was beginning to think he would refuse to answer her, he said quietly, “Mrs. Baxter, I think it’s time you and I had a little talk.”

Her heart skipped, and she looked past him down the corridor. People were leaving the dining room, squeezing past them with murmured greetings and apologies. “I would welcome that, Mr. Granson. There’s no time like the present.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Perhaps somewhere a little less crowded?”

“The library should be empty this time of the morning.” She would have suggested her office. However, the vision of him coming at her with a knife was a little too vivid for comfort. Her office was far too small to offer a means of escape, should that be necessary. At least in the library she’d have a fighting chance.

“Then perhaps you would join me there now?”

“Of course.” She led the way, conscious of his presence close on her heels. Every nerve in her body prickled with apprehension, yet she managed to keep an appearance of calm as she closed the library door.

Taking an armchair close to the fire, she beckoned him to be seated, her mind already planning a route of escape. She’d made sure to sit closest to the door, should she have to make a run for it. Even so, hampered by her long skirt, she wasn’t sure she was nimble enough to evade the husky man if he should lunge at her.

Granson seemed disinclined to sit, preferring to stand in front of the fireplace, his hands deep in his pockets.

That made Cecily all the more nervous. She realized she was unconsciously twisting a button on her blouse enough to tear it off, and immediately dropped her hand. “Mr. Granson, I have a great deal of work to take care of, so I would appreciate it if we could make this as short as possible. I would like to know why you were in my wine cellar and, in fact, how you managed to get the door open without a key. I locked that door myself.”

“Yes,” Granson murmured. “I do owe you an explanation, and I apologize for not confiding in you before this. I was hoping to save you a great deal of worry. I realize now, however, that with the death of your maintenance man, this must be a major concern for everyone.”

His words intensified her anxiety. “How did you hear about Jacob’s death?”

“I make it my business to know such things.”

Cecily frowned. He didn’t talk like a criminal. She waited, still not quite certain of his innocence and still poised for flight.

“My name is not Fred Granson.” He pulled a calling card from his pocket and handed it to her. “It’s Harry Clements. Gerald Evans’s partner.”

Cecily stared at the words
private detective
stamped on the card. Surprise, relief, and a stab of annoyance kept her silent for a moment.

“When I received a telegram from my partner,” Mr. Clements continued, “I decided to join him in his investigation. I thought that two heads would be better than one, and with my help, we could clear up this case before Christmas and then we’d both be free to enjoy the holidays. Imagine my shock and distress to arrive at the Fox and Hounds, only to learn that Gerald had been killed.”

Recovering her voice, Cecily looked up at him. “I’m so dreadfully sorry. That must have been a shock.”

“It was. Ours is a dangerous profession, but somehow you never think of actually being murdered. Gerald was on the trail of a gang of art thieves. He tracked them down to the southeast coast, and while in a public house in Brighton, met a man who told him that he’d been approached by someone wanting to hire him to ship some goods to France. The pickup was in a cove just outside Badgers End.”

“I see.”

“Gerald seemed convinced that the Pennyfoot Country Club was somehow involved, though he never got a chance to tell me why. He took a room here to investigate and lost his life. I decided to take his room in the hopes of hunting down the thieves, who I believe are responsible for my partner’s death.”

All her suspicions being confirmed only unsettled her more. “So what does all this have to do with my wine cellar?”

Harry Clements stared at his shoes for a moment. “I did some research and found out about a tunnel below this building, the entrance of which is in a cove. The perfect place to hide stolen goods. I went to investigate the beach entrance, hoping I would find the stolen paintings there. I found the entrance blocked with boulders and rocks.”

“Blocked?” Cecily stared at him in surprise. “I had no idea.”

“It appears that the boards shoring up the entrance had given way. I found blood stains on the rocks. I think that was where Gerald was killed. Which makes me believe that he was at the point of discovering the stolen artwork when he was confronted by the thieves.”

Reluctant to let him know that she had already surmised as much, Cecily tried to sound shocked. “Are you saying that there are stolen goods stored in the tunnel below the Pennyfoot?”

“Precisely, which means,” Clements said quietly, “if the paintings are stored down there, they became trapped down there and the only way to get to them and get them out now is through your wine cellar.”

Cecily shook her head. “I don’t see how that can be achieved without being discovered.”

“Most likely they will remove the artwork at night. I believe they have an associate helping them from the inside.”

“The inside?”

“Inside this building. I’m sorry, Mrs. Baxter, but you may very well have a killer under your roof. Someone who is breaking through the wall to open up the trapdoor in your abandoned card room to retrieve the paintings.”

Cecily raised her eyebrows. “You have done your homework.”

Clements smiled. “It pays to be thorough.”

“It sounds as if your partner was just as well-informed.”

His smile faded. “Gerald must have been getting too close. I know he’d been investigating the wine cellar. I found brick dust in the wardrobe in his room. Your maintenance man was probably killed for the same reason.”

Cecily made a mental note to remind the maids to do a more thorough job of cleaning a room. “If you’re so certain about this, why haven’t you contacted Scotland Yard?”

Clements made a sound of disgust. “Scotland Yard had ample opportunity to apprehend the criminals. They had advance notice of the theft and botched the job. Gerald and I were hired by a member of the art gallery’s trustees. The members were afraid the paintings would be shipped abroad and lost before the Yard caught up with the thieves. According to what this chap told Gerald, the pickup is supposed to take place at midnight on Christmas Eve.”

Cecily caught her breath. “That’s tomorrow night.”

“Right. If I don’t find those paintings by tomorrow afternoon, I’ll have to call in the local authorities. Which means I’ll lose a pretty hefty stipend.”

“So what are you going to do?”

Clements twisted his mouth in a wry smile. “It looks like I’ll be paying a visit to your tunnel.”

“But that’s dangerous. Two men have died already because of that dratted wall. Besides the fact that the thieves could be down there, the tunnel isn’t safe. The entrance has already collapsed, by what you’ve told me. The damp must be rotting the beams. The rest of it could go at any time.”

Clements shrugged. “That’s why we get paid such a high fee. Or I should say
I
get paid, now that Gerald is gone.” He shook his head, as if he still couldn’t believe his partner was dead. “With all the bills left for me to pay, I’m going to need that money.”

“Well, you don’t have to go down there alone.” She crossed her fingers, hoping she was doing the right thing. “I can send some of my footmen down there to help you.”

“That’s not a good idea.” He got to his feet. “I hate to tell you this, Mrs. Baxter, but I’m afraid you can’t trust anyone in the Pennyfoot. An operation like this could only guarantee success if the thieves have someone planted in this building at all times. I can’t risk tipping them off.”

Somehow she’d known all along he was going to say that. “I wish you would let us help you.” She got up from her chair. “Or at least, bring in P.C. Potter. I don’t think you should be dealing with this all alone.”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Baxter. I’m quite capable of taking care of myself. Gerald mentioned the fact that there are three members of the gang, and I feel confident I can outwit them. I must ask you not to mention all this to anyone else. As I said, we don’t know who we can trust. The fewer people who know about it, the better.”

“Very well. But I don’t like the idea that someone here in the Pennyfoot is helping those criminals.” She looked up at him. “I don’t suppose you have any idea who that might be?”

“None. I did think it might be your maintenance man, until he turned up dead. I’m so sorry about that.”

“It’s not your fault.” She led him to the door. “I wish you luck, Mr. Clements.”

“Granson. I don’t want anyone else to know who I am.”

“Of course. Mr. Granson.” She paused to stare into his eyes. “You will let me know just as soon as you find out who it is helping those thugs?”

“Of course.” He reached past her to open the door. “Rest assured, Mrs. Baxter, he will be apprehended. As will the rest of the gang. One way or another.”

She nodded without too much conviction. “I sincerely hope you are right.”

CHAPTER
16

Gertie bounced down the kitchen steps, heaving the heavy basket of dirty linens on her hip. It had been a long time since she’d had to change the bedding, and she’d forgotten how much she hated the task. Thanks to Alice’s disappearance, not only had she spent half the morning struggling with sheets, blankets, and eiderdowns, she’d also had to empty chamber pots. That was a job totally unfitting for a chief housemaid.

Not that she minded filling in now and then when they were shorthanded. But chamber pots? What the blue blazes was that plumber doing that he couldn’t get the water running in the guest lavatories? Plumbers were supposed to know how to mend bleeding water pipes. Just wait ’til she set eyes on him again. She’d bloody give him a piece of her mind.

As if she’d conjured him up, Bernie appeared at that moment from the laundry room door.

Before Gertie could question why he was in there, he blurted out, “Someone said Alice is gone.”

Gertie raised her eyebrows. True, she’d seen the two of them talking together, but she had no idea they were that fond of each other. Or maybe it was just Bernie who fancied Alice. Gertie couldn’t imagine what the shy, fearful young woman would see in someone like the flighty plumber. “Yeah, she’s gorn.” She pushed past him. “Not that I’ll miss her that much. She wasn’t much help when she was here. Just like you. When are you going to get those bleeding lavatories working again?”

“Do you know where Alice went?”

“No, I don’t, and I don’t care.”

She’d flung the words over her shoulder. Just as she reached the laundry door, Bernie called out softly, “Let me know when you get tired of that bloke you’re seeing.”

Gertie rolled her eyes. What a rotten sod he was, moping over Alice gone one minute and making eyes at her the next. She was tempted to tell him that Clive had proposed last night, then decided it was none of his business. Besides, she didn’t want anyone to know just yet.

She’d had a tough time keeping her happiness to herself so far. Especially around Pansy, who had become like a sister to her. But tomorrow was Pansy’s wedding day, and somehow it didn’t seem right to make her big announcement now.

Shaking her head, she bumped open the door with her hip and swept inside.

Bernie had disappeared when she came out again, and good riddance to him. She marched down the corridor to the kitchen, still fuming over the cheek of that bloke. Just let him get in her way again and she’d give him what for. Pushing open the door, she saw the back of a familiar figure talking to Mrs. Chubb. “Charlotte!” She rushed over to hug her. “You’re back?” Just in time she saw the cast on her friend’s arm and drew back. “Oh, blimey. You can’t work like that.”

Charlotte laughed. “I’m not even going to try. Dr. Prestwick said it will be at least a month or two before I can come back to work. I just came by to wish you all a happy Christmas.”

Mrs. Chubb sighed. “It looks like we’ll be doing some more hiring after Christmas.”

Charlotte looked worried. “What about Alice? I thought she was helping out.”

“She’s gorn.” Gertie walked over to the dresser and opened a drawer. “She took all her things, so it doesn’t look as if she’s coming back. Not that she had much.”

“Maybe she got her memory back.” Mrs. Chubb went on kneading a lump of dough. “She might have just woken up, realized who she was, and gone home.”

“Without thanking us for taking care of her?” Gertie made a rude noise. “That’s the bleeding thanks I get for saving her from the orphanage?”

Mrs. Chubb clicked her tongue. “That Alice is a troubled person. We should make allowances for her and be happy she’s home again.”

“
If
she’s home again,” Gertie muttered.

“Well, where else can she be?” Mrs. Chubb’s expression changed to alarm. “You don’t think something bad happened to her? You know, like—” She broke off, apparently concerned about saying too much in Charlotte’s presence. In an obvious effort to change the subject, she added quickly, “There’s been enough bad things happening lately, what with Charlotte here falling down the stairs. It’s a wonder you weren’t more badly hurt.”

“That’s what Dr. Prestwick said.” Charlotte wandered over to the table, licked her finger, and dipped it into a bag of icing sugar. “He said I was lucky it was only my arm and that it was a clean break.”

She stuck her sugar-coated finger in her mouth, and Gertie waited for an explosion of wrath from the housekeeper.

She was disappointed when Mrs. Chubb simply moved the icing sugar out of reach. The housekeeper flattened the dough into a thick pancake. “Madam said she was going to put a lamp in that corner on the stairs. She blames herself for you falling, Charlotte. She says it’s too dark in that corner and that’s why you tripped.”

Charlotte shook her head. “I didn’t fall because it was dark. I tripped over something on the stairs. I saw it as I fell. It was soft and wooly, like a blanket or a shawl.”

Mrs. Chubb stared at her. “That’s strange. I was there right after you fell and I didn’t see anything on the stairs. What did this blanket look like?”

Charlotte frowned in concentration. “It was dark blue, and I think it had a white bird or something appliquéd on one corner.”

The housekeeper uttered a shocked gasp. “A duck. It’s a white duck and that’s my shawl! The one I gave to Alice. What on earth was it doing on the stairs?”

Gertie had been following the conversation, and felt goose bumps creeping up her arm. “What’s more, what happened to it after you fell?”

“That’s a good question.” Mrs. Chubb wiped her hands on her apron. “I think I need to have a word with Madam.” She hurried out the door, leaving Charlotte staring after her.

“What’s the matter with her?” Charlotte demanded, reaching for the bag of sugar. “She’s acting like the end of the world is coming.”

Gertie quickly recovered. Deciding there was no point in upsetting Charlotte, she murmured, “Take no blinking notice of her. She always gets this way at Christmas. It’s all the extra work.”

Charlotte looked guilty. “Oo, ’eck. That’s my fault. I should be here working with everybody.”

“It’s not your fault you fell down the stairs.” Gertie had a very good idea whose fault it was, but for once she kept her mouth shut. She would have given her next week’s salary, however, to know what Mrs. Chubb was telling Madam this very moment.

• • •

Upstairs in Cecily’s office, Mrs. Chubb refused the offer of a seat. “I have to get back to the kitchen,” she said, sounding out of breath. “We’re just about to serve the midday meal. I just wanted you to know that Charlotte’s here, and she said she tripped over a shawl on the stairs when she fell.
My
shawl. The one I gave to Alice.”

Cecily frowned, thinking back to the moment she reached Charlotte at the foot of the stairs. “That’s odd. I don’t remember seeing any shawl. Perhaps Lilly picked it up. She was there when Charlotte fell.”

Mrs. Chubb shook her head. “Lilly had nothing in her hands when she rushed into the kitchen to tell us Charlotte had fallen down the stairs. I don’t think she would have taken the time to bring a shawl back to her room before letting us know . . .” Her voice trailed off, as if she’d just thought of something upsetting.

Cecily peered up at her. “What is it, Altheda?”

“Well, m’m, I know Lilly didn’t like Alice very much. Pansy told me that Lilly was complaining about Alice keeping her awake at night, talking in her sleep. Something about being in Paris and worrying about someone called Gwen.”

Cecily frowned. “What are you suggesting?”

“Well, m’m, I don’t like to say as much, but it is possible that Lilly stole the shawl from Alice and left it on the stairs hoping Alice would fall over it. Alice was supposed to empty chamber pots that morning, but when I found out she was supposed to be leaving for the orphanage, I ordered Charlotte to take over the job. Lilly wouldn’t have known that at the time.”

“I certainly hope you’re wrong, Altheda, but I’ll look into it. Meanwhile, I’d appreciate it if you’d not mention any of this to anyone else.”

“Oh, of course not, m’m.” Mrs. Chubb pressed her fingers to her mouth. “Mum’s the word.”

Cecily waited until the housekeeper had bustled out of the room before reaching for the telephone on her desk. While she waited for the operator to put her through to Dr. Prestwick’s office, she mulled over Mrs. Chubb’s comments. She just couldn’t imagine Lilly deliberately trying to hurt someone. Even someone she didn’t like. There was another possibility, however, and one she was rather anxious to pursue.

Kevin’s nurse answered her, and informed her that the doctor was out on his rounds. She would have him give Mrs. Baxter a ring just as soon as he returned.

Cecily replaced the receiver on its hook and stared at it, deep in thought. She wasn’t too happy with the way things were beginning to shape up. She could only hope that Mr. Clements would be able to find the paintings and the thieves, and everything would be cleared up and finished by the next day.

They were running out of time. Tonight, Phoebe’s pantomime would be presented. Tomorrow was Pansy’s wedding. She simply didn’t have time to deal with a gang of art thieves who may or may not be using her underground tunnel to store their ill-gotten goods.

With that, she left her office and headed down the hallway to the dining room. She had promised to meet Baxter there, and right now, all she wanted was to sit and relax for an hour or so and enjoy her husband’s company.

Baxter would be most surprised to find out that Fred Granson was actually Gerald Evans’s partner. He wouldn’t be at all happy to learn that the detective was positive someone in the Pennyfoot was helping art thieves transport their loot abroad. That news could definitely wait until after she had enjoyed her meal.

After that she’d worry about the smugglers and who in the Pennyfoot Country Club was helping them.

• • •

Pansy had just finished wiping the last dish and was putting it away in the kitchen cupboard when Mrs. Chubb called out her name. “I sent Lilly out to the stables to order a carriage,” she said. “She should have been back by now. Run out there and see what’s holding her up. That girl will never keep a job if she doesn’t buck up and get a move on. I’ve never seen anyone slouch around the way she does.”

Happy to be escaping the kitchen for a while, Pansy was out the back door before Mrs. Chubb had finished speaking.

Sprinting around the corner, she came to an abrupt halt. Across the courtyard, Lilly was watching Henry, who was skipping around with Tess dancing at his heels. Henry held out one hand with a meaty bone in it, encouraging Tess to leap for the tasty treat. It wasn’t that so much that caught Pansy’s attention. It was more the way Henry was tripping around on his toes.

Samuel’s words came back to her.
He walks like a girl.

Lilly seemed just as fascinated by the sight. She edged forward, and it was then that Henry saw her. He stopped in his tracks, lowering his hand so that Tess was able to snatch the bone from him.

Henry paid no attention to the dog. His focus was on Lilly, who was walking toward him, a wide grin on her face.

Sensing a confrontation, Pansy slipped around the back of the coal shed to the side of the stables, so she could hear the conversation.

“Whatcha doing?” Lilly called out.

Henry just stood there, a frozen look on his face.

Lilly sauntered up to him. “All right, Henry.” She placed a hand on her hip. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re pretending to be a boy?”

Shock rippled through Pansy, and she pulled back, afraid that her gasp would give her away.

Henry’s voice floated on the wind, thin and high-pitched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do.”

Pansy held her breath as she peeked around the corner again.

Lilly had her back to her, while Henry was too busy staring at Lilly to notice Pansy just a few feet away from him.

“I know you’re a girl, so you might as well tell me why you’re pretending to be a boy.”

Henry sounded as if he were about to cry. “You won’t tell no one?”

Lilly tossed her head. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.”