Mulled Murder (Pennyfoot Holiday Mysteries) (20 page)

Three of the footmen halted, but Charlie and the other two must not have heard her. They kept walking, and she was about to call out to them again when Charlie suddenly held up his hand.

“There’s somebody lying down here!”

Cecily thought at once of Harry Clements. Dear God, had he met the same fate as his partner? “Is he dead?” she called out.

“He’s not moving.”

Charlie started forward again and she called out, louder this time. “Wait!”

Pushing past the rest of the footmen she reached his side. “I’m coming with you.”

Together they walked toward the figure that lay on the ground. Rocks lay strewn about, as if tossed by a giant hand, and Cecily picked her way carefully, wary of tripping over one of them.

Her stomach lurched when she noticed the dark stain spreading from under the man’s head. She swung the lamp toward him, then froze, disbelief and horror holding her captive.

The light had fallen across the man’s face. She was staring at the beloved features of her husband.

“Bax!” Her cry echoed Charlie’s horrified gasp. She fell on her knees at Baxter’s side, afraid to touch him in case she should find him cold and unresponsive. He couldn’t be dead. He just couldn’t. She wouldn’t allow it.

Charlie hovered over Baxter’s still body. “So that’s who took the key from Mrs. Chubb. Is he dead?”

Glancing at the dark red pool beneath her husband’s head, Cecily gulped. How could anyone live after losing that much blood?

“Is that blood?” Charlie squatted down and held his lamp closer. “It smells like wine.”

“What?” Cecily sniffed. Until then she hadn’t noticed the smell. It did smell like wine. She stuck a finger in the puddle and brought it to her nose. “It
is
wine.” Now she could see the shards of glass from a broken wine bottle close by Baxter’s head.

Relief and hope made her knees weak and she sank down on the cold ground.

Gently she laid a hand on her husband’s chest. The faint beat of his heart seemed to send strength through her fingers, down her arm, and throughout her body. “He’s alive,” she muttered, and a chorus of cheers answered her.

Cecily clambered up, brushing dust and grime from her skirt. “We have to get Mr. Baxter back to the club. You should be able to carry him between you. Hurry. We must have the doctor see to him as soon as possible.”

“What about the paintings?” Charlie glanced down the tunnel. “I can go down there to look for them.”

“No, forget the paintings.” All desire to find the stolen goods had vanished. All she could think about now was getting help for her husband.

She watched anxiously as the footmen lifted Baxter and started back down the tunnel. Following closely behind them, she was heartened by the sound of a soft groan from him as they hauled him up the ladder.

By the time they had carried him through the gap in the wall his eyes flickered open, though he seemed unaware that she was there. When the footmen finally got him outside in the cold wind, however, he turned his head to look at her.

She gave him a wobbly smile before hanging the lamp on the wall. “You’re going to be all right, my love. I’ll send for Kevin as soon as we get back to the hotel.” Quickly she slammed the door and turned the key in the lock.

For once he didn’t correct her. His gaze swiveled to the men who carried him. “What the blazes happened to me?” His voice sounded weak, and he closed his eyes.

“Don’t think about it now.” Cecily hurried alongside him, anxiety gnawing at her stomach. “Just rest. We’ll talk when you feel better.”

He opened his eyes again. “Did you find them?”

“Find what?”

“The paintings. I was looking for them but then I . . .” His voice trailed off and once more his eyes fluttered closed.

She stared at him, heart pounding. Someone must have attacked him. Thank God he hadn’t killed him. Maybe he’d heard them coming before he could finish the job. Well, that person was now locked inside with no way to get out. After she’d rung Kevin she’d ring the constabulary. Harry Clements would just have to do without his big stipend.

As soon as they entered the foyer she ordered Philip to ring for Kevin Prestwick. Baxter insisted on walking up the stairs, but accepted the help of his wife and Charlie and leaned heavily on both of them as they made their way up to the suite.

He refused to take to his bed, preferring to sit by the fire to wait for Kevin to arrive.

Once she was certain he was settled, Cecily sat down opposite him. She felt cold, shaken, and immeasurably guilty. So intent had she been on preserving tranquility for her guests and Pansy’s wedding, she had unintentionally put many people in peril.

“My head hurts.” He raised a hand to his head and winced when it made contact. “Ouch.”

“It appears that someone hit you over the head with a bottle.” Thank God it was wine and not a knife, she thought, as he sat there looking at her with a dazed expression. He would be dead now, and once more she would be a lonely, devastated widow.

“What? No.” For a minute he looked confused, then shook his head, wincing again. “I was carrying a bottle of wine. I grabbed it for a weapon when I saw the wall had been torn apart. It seems you may be right about thieves using our tunnel.”

“What happened? You were supposed to go down with the rest of us.”

He frowned, as if trying to remember. “I decided to go down to the cellar myself, to see what was going on and possibly save you from running into danger. I saw the trapdoor open in the card room, so I went down into the tunnel. I hadn’t gone very far when I heard a rumbling noise over my head. I thought I heard voices, too, but then rocks started falling. I dropped the wine and heard the bottle smash, then pain exploded in my head. The next thing I knew I was being carried back up the ladder.”

Cecily stared at him. “You must have been hit by a rock. It could have killed you.” She shuddered. “The voices you heard might have been those of the footmen.”

Baxter leaned back, his face a mask of pain. “That tunnel isn’t safe. If there is someone down there, he’s risking his life. Those boards won’t hold up that roof forever. The damp must be rotting them. The chalk is soft, beginning to crumble.”

“I know.” She sighed. “We still don’t know if the stolen artwork is down there, or what happened to Mr. Clements. We can’t wait any longer. I will have to ring for the constables. Just as soon as Kevin has taken care of you.”

“I’m feeling much better.” He gave her a wan smile. “I don’t need Kevin to come. We have a wedding to attend tonight, and I’m giving away the bride.”

“He’s already on his way. I’m not letting you go anywhere until he’s taken a look at you.”

Baxter closed his eyes as if he were too tired to argue. “Well, I think you should go down and ring the constabulary now. The sooner they get here and do what they have to do, the sooner we’ll get rid of them and we can get on with the wedding.”

Cecily got up from her chair. “That wedding is going on whether the police are here or not. I just wish we knew who has been helping the thieves. Once the word is out that the paintings might have been discovered, there’s nothing to stop the accomplice from walking out of here.”

“But then we’ll know who’s missing.”

She smiled. “You’re right.” She reached the door and looked back at him. “Thank you.”

He seemed surprised. “For what?”

“For wanting to save me from going down there.” She opened the door. “Promise me you won’t move until the doctor arrives.”

“I promise.” He reached for the newspaper that lay folded on the side table next to him. “I’ll catch up on the news.”

Satisfied that she could safely leave him, Cecily made her way down the stairs to her office. P.C. Potter answered her call and although he didn’t sound too happy about it, he promised to come right away. When Cecily explained about the artwork that could be hidden in the tunnel, Potter announced that he’d be bringing members of the coastguard with him.

Cecily replaced the receiver, her gaze on the clock. Almost noon. They had five hours to get this matter resolved. She had waited until the very last moment to call in the constabulary. She hoped Harry Clements would understand that.

She picked up the receiver again. After asking the operator to put her through to George Rutter’s residence, she waited for him to answer. Moments later, she heard George’s deep voice on the phone.

“I thought I’d give you a ring to ask about your ankle,” she said, after exchanging the usual pleasantries.

“My ankle?”

George sounded confused, and Cecily’s pulse quickened. “Yes. I understand you sprained it last week. Wasn’t that why you couldn’t repair the plumbing?”

After a long pause, George said carefully, “I didn’t sprain my ankle. When I got to the Pennyfoot three days ago a chap met me at the gate and told me he’d been given the job. I thought it a bit strange, but I was pretty busy so it was sort of a relief to know someone else was taking care of you.” Now he sounded worried. “Why? Did he not do a good job? I could come out there this afternoon if you need me.”

“Thank you, George. If we need your assistance I will certainly give you a ring later.” Cecily replaced the receiver and sat looking at it for several minutes. Then she reached for the bellpull. Moments later she answered a tap on the door and Pansy stepped into the office. “You rang, m’m?”

“Yes, Pansy. I want you to go up to the second and third floor lavatories and see if they are still in need of repair.”

“Yes, m’m.” Pansy bobbed a curtsey and left the room.

All this time she’d thought there was something odd about the new plumber. He just didn’t look like a plumber, though she wasn’t at all sure what a plumber should look like. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, picturing his cheeky grin and unruly hair. Of course.

She sat up again. If she hadn’t been so preoccupied with everything going on lately, she would have realized it before. Both times she had talked to Bernie, he hadn’t been wearing a tool belt. That’s what was missing. George was never without his tool belt.

What was it Gertie had said to her earlier?
Bernie seemed upset that Alice was gone this morning when I saw him coming out of the laundry room
.

What was Bernie doing in the laundry room? According to Mrs. Chubb, the problem had been taken care of downstairs. It was only in the lavatories upstairs that the problem persisted.
Bernie seemed upset that Alice was gone.
Alice had been talking to the plumber, in spite of the fact that she avoided all men. They must have been well acquainted.

Thinking furiously, Cecily stood up and walked over to the window. Alice had arrived at the Pennyfoot just before the problems with the plumbing arose. Coincidence? Perhaps. Or was Alice an accomplice of Bernie’s, helping him get into the Pennyfoot by tampering with the plumbing?

Alice had disappeared right after Jacob’s body was found. Was she, perhaps, afraid that things were getting too dangerous for her?

Staring at the courtyard below, Cecily recalled the moment Alice had asked for the job. Right after Charlotte had fallen down the stairs. Had she been right in suspecting that Alice caused that fall, thus securing time for her to stay and help Bernie and the art thieves?

Shaking her head, Cecily started to turn away from the window. All this was pure conjecture. She needed evidence, and all she could hope was that the constables would find it in the tunnel.

Just then a movement caught her eye and she turned back. Someone was crossing the courtyard. He wore a cap pulled low over his eyes, but Cecily recognized the jaunty way he walked.
Bernie
.

Wasting no time in making up her mind, she rushed across the room and flung open the door. She almost barged into Pansy, who was about to knock.

The maid looked startled and backed off a step before stuttering, “The lavatories, m’m. They’re all working. Bernie must have mended them. I took down the signs but . . .”

Cecily didn’t hear the rest of it. She was already at the end of the hallway. Picking up her skirts, she tore through the lobby, shocking a couple of guests as she flew past them and out the door.

Running as fast as she could, Cecily rounded the side of the building and raced across the courtyard. She was just in time to see the door of the wine cellar closing behind Bernie. So that’s where the missing key had gone. In Bernie’s pocket. He must have taken it from Jacob when he killed him.

She spun around and headed for the kitchen, bursting through the door just as Michel was about to take something out of the oven.

She heard him yell, then a dreadful crashing noise, followed by another yell from the chef. “My Yorkshire puddings! They are all over the floor!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Michel.” Cecily waved a hand at him. “Pick them up and wash them off. No one will ever know.” She ignored his outraged face and looked at Mrs. Chubb, who stared at her openmouthed. “Altheda, I need a padlock. A sturdy one. Right away.”

The housekeeper hustled across the room to the dresser and opened a drawer. “I’ve got two in here, but I don’t know if they’re that strong.” She held up two padlocks.

“Give them both to me.” Cecily grabbed them from her. “Carry on, everyone. Thank you!” With that she was out the door and once more running across the courtyard. Reaching the wine cellar she fastened the lock with both padlocks, pulling on them to make sure they were secure. Then, after dusting her hands together, she walked at a more sedate pace back to the front door.

At least one of the thieves wasn’t going anywhere, and neither were the stolen paintings if they were in the tunnel. She just had to wait now for the constable and coastguard to arrive and take care of everything. After that, they could all enjoy Pansy’s wedding.

CHAPTER
19

Pansy stood in the tiny dressing room in front of the mirror, staring at the image of the girl in the white gown. She hardly recognized herself. Mrs. Chubb had done her hair for her, putting tiny white flowers around the bun before attaching the veil.

Gertie had helped get her dressed. Pansy smoothed her fingers down the silky skirt. She felt shivery and shaky, though not from cold. More from nerves.

Everyone was sitting out there waiting for her. This was the last time she’d look at herself as Pansy Watson. The next time she looked in the mirror, she’d be Mrs. Samuel Whitfield. Just thinking about it gave her goose bumps.

She turned to look at Gertie, who was fiddling with Lillian’s basket of rose petals. James sat on a chair in his sailor’s suit looking bored, his legs swinging back and forth. Gertie and Lillian wore the same color pink gowns, only Gertie’s had long sleeves and a lace collar around her throat.

Mrs. Chubb had assured her Samuel was waiting for her at the altar. Gertie was right. It was going to be a lovely wedding.

The faint sound of the organ made her jump.

Gertie looked up and grinned. “It’s time.”

Pansy caught her breath as she heard a tap on the door.

Gertie hurried to open it, her skirt rustling around her ankles.

Mr. Baxter stood outside, looking handsome in his black dress coat and gray striped trousers. “Is she ready?” he asked, and Gertie stood back to let him look into the room.

Pansy met his gaze and felt suddenly shy. She looked down at her white satin shoes, peeking out from under her gown. “I’m ready,” she said, in little more than a whisper.

He held out his arm to her and she walked slowly over to him, feeling as if she were in a dream. One she never wanted to wake up from ever again.

Her hand trembled on his sleeve, and he patted her fingers. “You look lovely, my dear. Hold up your head and sail down that aisle toward your new life. Samuel will make you happy. You can count on that.”

She glanced up at him. “Thank you, sir.”

“Entirely my pleasure.”

They started down the aisle together, with Gertie and the twins following behind. Pansy could feel eyes upon her, but she kept her gaze fixed on the man waiting for her. This was to be her life now. Samuel’s wife. She was leaving the Pennyfoot behind, but it would always be there for her. She knew that now. Madam and Mr. Baxter, Mrs. Chubb, Gertie, and Michel were her family. That was something that would never change.

A sense of peace flowed over her as she reached Samuel’s side. She could tell by his face that he liked how she looked. Her new life was just beginning. And she was ready for it.

• • •

“Well, I’m glad that’s over.” Baxter sank onto his chair in front of the fireplace and stuck his feet up on the fender.

Seated across from him, Cecily smiled. “You’re not going to tell me that you didn’t enjoy the wedding?”

“The food was good.”

“Oh, come now. I saw the look on your face when you were walking down the aisle with Pansy on your arm. You loved every moment of it.”

He smiled back. “I have to admit, it was rather nice to be part of the ceremony. I felt as though I were giving my own daughter in marriage.”

“Ah, you see? That’s exactly how I feel about everyone here.” She sighed, leaning back in her chair. “I’m just so thankful the coastguard didn’t take all afternoon to find the paintings.”

“They did a good job of rounding up the thieves.”

“Well, once Bernie realized there was no escape, P.C. Potter said he was very cooperative. I was right about the thieves waiting in the Fox and Hounds until it was time to move the artwork. P.C. Potter said when he called that they arrested the men without any problems.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Baxter leaned forward and picked up the poker. He shoved it into the glowing coals, making the sparks fly. Flames licked up the sides of the coals, and he hooked the poker back on its stand. “So our little homeless waif wasn’t homeless after all.”

“No.” Cecily locked her fingers together. “Her real name is Gwendoline Carstairs, and she’s Bernie’s niece. He confessed that her alleged loss of memory was his idea, as well as her so-called fear of men. It protected her from having to answer questions about anything. He’d promised her he’d pay for a year in Paris if she helped him. She lost her nerve when Jacob was killed.”

“Well, let’s hope we don’t get any more lost souls turning up at our door.”

“Speaking of which, there’s something you should know.”

He sent her a glance full of suspicion. “Don’t tell me we have another homeless waif looking for shelter.”

“Not exactly.” She paused, then added in a rush. “It’s Lilly. I didn’t tell you before because she asked me not to tell anyone, but I had a word with her and we agreed that you should know.”

Baxter’s frown deepened. “Know what?”

“Lilly is married. She ran away from her husband because he beat her. She has no family, no one she can turn to, and she is terrified her husband will find her and kill her for leaving him.”

Baxter raised his chin to stare at the ceiling. “Oh, good Lord.” He lowered his gaze. “Why doesn’t she simply divorce him?”

“She doesn’t have the money to pay for a lawyer. Not yet, anyway, which is why she’s working for us—to get the money to pay for one. Even then, she’s not sure she wants to take the chance of letting him know where she is. I think she just wants time for things to cool down.” Cecily leaned forward and touched his knee. “She needs our protection, Bax. I promised I’d give it to her.”

His expression softened. “I sometimes wonder why you didn’t turn the Pennyfoot into a home for waifs and strays instead of a hotel.”

She had to laugh at that.

“Which reminds me, did Potter say why Jacob was killed?”

“Apparently Jacob found out Bernie was involved in the art theft. He threatened to tell the authorities unless the thieves gave him part of the proceeds. One of the thieves decided to get rid of him instead.”

Baxter shook his head. “And that detective chap? He’s all right?”

“Yes.” Cecily stretched out her feet closer to the fire. “Mr. Clements found the paintings at the end of the tunnel. Then he noticed that someone had been trying to open up the wall close by the one that caved in. He went to investigate, but it must have been unstable. The roof caved in, trapping him and the paintings. Fortunately he wasn’t hurt. Just very cold and hungry when the coastguard dug him out of there. They retrieved all the paintings of course. As it happened, the thieves wouldn’t have been able to get at them after all. They didn’t know that, however. Bernie found out when he got down the tunnel and found it blocked. Of course, he couldn’t get out from the wine cellar again since I’d padlocked it.”

“That was quick thinking.”

“Thank you, dear.”

“So Clements won’t get his stipend after all.”

“Well, from what P.C. Potter told me, it seems the art gallery had offered a nice reward for the return of the paintings. Since Mr. Clements was instrumental in finding the actual whereabouts of the stolen goods, he will be able to claim the reward.”

“That should satisfy him.” Baxter reached for the poker again. “So all’s well that ends well.”

She sighed. “It so nearly wasn’t. When I saw you lying there with what I thought was blood pouring out of your head, I can’t tell you how devastated I felt. I never want to feel that way again.” She paused, part of her still resisting the decision she’d taken so long to make. A decision she could put off no longer. Every instinct told her it was time. Drawing a deep breath, she asked quietly, “Is the offer of your job abroad still open?”

She saw his eyes widen and knew she’d shocked him. “As far as I know. Why?”

She tried to sound casual. “Oh, I thought we might discuss it, once the Christmas season is over. It might be time for a change of view. I rather like the idea of traveling to different countries, setting up hotels. We might even run into Michael or Andrew. I haven’t seen my sons in such a long time.”

His eyes were full of hope as he leaned forward. “Do you really mean that?”

Again she paused. “Let’s wait until after the New Year to talk about it. Christmas is not a good time to make decisions. I do think, however, that it could be a great adventure for both of us.”

He smiled with his whole face. “That’s good enough for me. Happy Christmas, my love.”

He held out his hands and she clasped them. “Happy Christmas, darling, and may the New Year be a bright one for all of us.”