Mulled Murder (Pennyfoot Holiday Mysteries) (4 page)

The housekeeper stood just inside the door, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the cowering, shivering woman by the stove.

Sighing, Gertie dumped the scuttles on the floor, sending a chunk or two of coal skittering across the tiles. “I found her lying out in the courtyard. She’s bloody freezing in that thin frock.”

Mrs. Chubb stepped forward, a frown wrinkling her forehead. “Are you hurt? What were you doing in the courtyard?”

Through chattering teeth the woman whispered, “I don’t know.”

“That’s all she can say.” Gertie picked up one of the scuttles again and carried it over to the stove. Bending over, she pulled open the hatch, grabbed a small shovel, and started feeding coal into the opening.

“What’s your name?” Mrs. Chubb demanded.

“She doesn’t know.” Gertie straightened. “I think she’s foreign and doesn’t speak English. All she knows how to say is, ‘I don’t know.’”

As if to contradict her, the woman muttered, “My head hurts.”

“Well,” Mrs. Chubb said, “it seems she can speak some English.” She walked over to the closet and opened it. Reaching inside, she pulled out a thick, blue woolen shawl. “Here.” She walked back to the stranger and draped it around her shaking shoulders. “This’ll help.”

The woman clutched the shawl as if it were a life belt. “Thank you.”

“Okay, ducks. Now tell us your name.”

Tears welled up in the woman’s eyes again. “I don’t know. I don’t remember anything before I opened my eyes out there.” She nodded at the door to the yard. “I woke up and saw that lady and that’s all I remember.”

Mrs. Chubb’s frown intensified. “What lady?”

The woman pointed at Gertie.

Mrs. Chubb rolled her eyes. “That’s not a lady. That’s Gertie, my chief housemaid.”

Gertie pretended to be offended. Tossing her chin she said loudly, “Well, ta ever so.”

“Oh, you know what I mean.” The housekeeper gave the stranger another intent look. “You don’t remember anything?”

The woman shook her head.

“Well, sit down here.” Mrs. Chubb pulled out a chair from the kitchen table. “I’ll make us a nice cup of tea and I’ll put a drop of brandy in it. Maybe that will shake up your memory.”

“Better not let Michel know you’re giving away his brandy.” Gertie fetched the other scuttle and stood it by the stove. “He’ll have a flipping pink fit.”

“I decide where the brandy goes. Not Michel.” Mrs. Chubb glanced at the clock. “Put the kettle on, Gertie. We’ll have time for a cuppa before the rest of them get here. Then you can take Miss Memory up to Madam to ask her what’s to be done.”

Gertie raised her eyebrows. “Miss Memory?”

“We have to call her something, don’t we?” Mrs. Chubb took the woman’s arm and guided her into the chair. “Sit down, ducks. You’ll feel better after the tea.”

Gertie filled the kettle and carried it to the stove. “I could use a cuppa meself.”

“Why are you up so early, anyway?” Mrs. Chubb spoke over her shoulder as she reached into a cupboard for some cups. “Who’s watching the twins?”

“They’re watching themselves.” Gertie took the cups from her and waited for the saucers. “Daisy will be down soon, and they’ll be good until their nanny gets there. They know what will happen if they’re not.”

Miss Memory stared at her with alarm in her soft blue eyes.

“I told them Father Christmas won’t bring them any toys if they don’t behave,” Gertie hastened to tell her, just in case the woman thought she was beating her children.

Just then the door swung open and Michel rushed in, shouting at the top of his voice. “
Sacre bleu!
Why eez everyone standing around doing nothing, eh? Why is—” He stopped short and stared at the woman seated at the table. “Who are you? What are you doing in my kitchen?”

Gertie stared at Miss Memory in surprise. Michel was tall, and loud, and could, at times, be a bit overpowering, but she had never seen anyone shrink away from him like he was some terrible, ugly monster. The woman was practically sliding off her chair as if she was trying to get under the table.

Even Michel seemed surprised. He took off his white chef’s hat, scratched his head, and looked at Mrs. Chubb. “What eez the matter with her?”

Mrs. Chubb looked just as mystified. “I think she’s ill,” she said, tapping a knowing finger at her forehead.

“Ah.” Michel put his hat back on. It flopped over on one side, giving him the look of a comical clown.

Miss Memory wasn’t laughing. She looked terrified.

Michel tiptoed past her, murmuring, “What will you do with her?”

“Give her a cup of tea,” Gertie announced, adding gleefully, “with a good dollop of brandy.”

Michel stopped short. “
My
brandy? You give her
my brandy
?”

“It’s not your brandy,” Mrs. Chubb said crossly, “and for goodness’ sake, Michel, stop that infernal bellowing. You’re scaring the young lady to death.”

Catching sight of steam billowing from the kettle’s spout, Gertie snatched up a teapot from the dresser. After spooning three spoonfuls of tea leaves into it, she carried it over to the stove and poured boiling water on top of it.

Michel muttered something she couldn’t hear and busied himself at the counter, pulling out various pots and pans and an assortment of cooking utensils.

Gertie could hear Mrs. Chubb murmuring something to the woman at the table, but couldn’t make out what she said, either. This whole thing was so strange. What was the woman doing in the courtyard without a warm coat? Her frock looked to be of good quality, as were her boots. So why wasn’t she wearing a coat? Why couldn’t she remember anything? What had happened to her for her to end up lying unconscious on the icy ground?

This was going to stir things up, all right. Maybe Madam could sort it all out. She was good at doing that. Gertie couldn’t wait to find out all the answers. She just hoped she wouldn’t have to wait too long. There was so much going on at present, what with Pansy’s wedding and Christmas and everything.

She glanced over at the table. It looked as if Mrs. Chubb had calmed the woman down a bit, though she still appeared as if she might bolt any second.

Gertie felt sorry for her. It must be awful to not remember her name or anything else that had happened to her. She just hoped that Madam would be able to help the poor thing. Though how she was going to do that when the woman didn’t even know her own name was beyond her.

This was a mystery, all right, and one even Madam might not be able to solve.

CHAPTER
4

“So what is Northcott doing about this chap found on the beach?” Baxter spread a generous coating of marmalade onto his buttered toast, and put down the knife.

Cecily sent an anxious glance around the dining room. Several of the guests still sat at the breakfast tables, but no one appeared to have overheard her husband’s words. “This isn’t something we should be discussing here, my love,” she murmured.

Baxter raised his eyebrows. “Why? It has nothing to do with us, does it? I mean, admittedly the poor fellow was staying here, but that doesn’t mean . . .” He paused, his eyes narrowing. “Are you telling me—?”

Cecily forestalled him with a quick shake of her head. “I’m not saying anything, Bax. We don’t know where he lives, that’s all, and Sam is trying to find out so that we can notify the gentleman’s family.”

Baxter gave her a hard look, then picked up his toast. After munching for a while in silence, he said quietly, “I sincerely hope you won’t be drawn into another unfortunate situation.”

“I hope so, too.” Cecily reached for a silver jug and poured a small amount of cream into her cup. “More tea, dear?”

For answer, Baxter nudged his cup and saucer closer to her. “Thank you.”

She eyed him warily. “For what?”

“For the tea, of course. What did you think I meant?”

She shrugged. “I thought maybe you were thanking me for not getting involved in this unfortunate situation.”

Baxter’s mouth twitched. “That would be a little premature, I fear.”

Cecily relaxed her shoulders. “You know me well.”

“I do, indeed.” Baxter sighed. “You will keep me informed if anything untoward develops?”

“Of course. Don’t I always?”

“Usually not until you are in the thick of things. I’d like to be forewarned this time.”

She passed him his cup of tea. “I don’t like to concern you unless it’s really necessary.”

“Well, this time it might well be necessary.”

Puzzled, she filled her own cup with tea. “How so?”

“Because Samuel isn’t here to protect you.”

At the sound of her ex–stable manager’s name, Cecily felt another twinge of sorrow. She and Samuel had shared so many adventures together. She had relied upon him so often, and he had never let her down. How she missed him. “I hope I won’t need protecting.”

“Well, just in case you do, remember I’m here.”

She smiled. “I never forget that for a moment.”

Baxter drained his cup and put it back on its saucer. “I’m afraid, my dear wife, that I have to disagree. There have been many times when you have taken on these perilous pursuits without consulting or even notifying me of your intentions. Now that you have lost your protector, so to speak, I must ask you—no, implore you—to keep me informed and ask for my help if needed.”

Cecily leaned back on her chair. She wasn’t quite sure how to take that. Baxter had always been solidly against her penchant for solving crimes, more out of fear for her safety than for any other reason. He had barely tolerated her absences when on the trail of a criminal and had, at times, become quite incensed on the rare occasion she had put herself in actual danger.

He had even considered taking a position abroad in an attempt to remove her from all temptation, though he should have known her well enough to realize that even in a foreign country, she might well be tempted to hunt down a killer.

What he failed to realize was that she usually engaged in these somewhat unbecoming exploits in order to protect the integrity and reputation of the Pennyfoot Country Club and more often than not, the inhabitants therein.

The local constabulary, led by the befuddled Sam Northcott, had proven incompetent at best and totally dim-witted at times. She was constantly battling the imminent appearance of Inspector Cranshaw and the possibility that the Pennyfoot would have to close its doors forever. Thus she had felt compelled to do what she could to bring about the capture of whoever threatened the well-being of those under her roof.

The fact that she rather enjoyed the chase was immaterial.

What mattered now was that her husband appeared to have had a change of heart about her quests. She leaned forward. “Are you saying you approve of me chasing after criminals?”

“Good Lord, no! I’ll never approve of it. I have, however, realized the futility of hoping you’ll give it all up. Therefore I have to be prepared to help in any way I can, if I’m to have any peace of mind at all.” He looked deep into her eyes. “I hope you can trust me enough to do that. After all, I remember several occasions before we were married when I was on hand to assist you at such times.”

She smiled at the thought. “I remember, too. We made quite a team. Even if you did complain bitterly every time you thought I was taking a risk.” She was silent for a moment, turning his proposal over in her mind. She had come a long way since those early days. Her encounters with so many villains had sharpened her wits and taught her a lot about how the minds of criminals work.

Her experiences had strengthened her capabilities, and Samuel had grown along with her. They had become so accustomed to acting together they were able to predict the actions of each other without a word being spoken.

Baxter had had no such schooling, and much as she loved and trusted her husband, she feared that in the face of danger, he might do something foolish in his eagerness to protect her.

On the other hand, who else could she trust with her well-being, if not the man who loved her?

“I think,” she said at last, “that if the occasion should arise, and I hope and pray it doesn’t, but if it does, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have by my side.”

He gave her his rare smile that could always make her heart flutter. “Then it’s settled.” He held out his hand. “Partners?”

Gravely she grasped his fingers. “Partners it is.”

She was still debating if she’d done the right thing as they parted at the stairs—Baxter to settle down with the morning newspaper while she departed to her office to catch up on some paperwork.

She had barely seated herself at her desk before a light tapping on the door announced her first distraction. Calling out, “Come in!” she leaned back in her chair to wait for whatever new challenge was on the horizon.

The door opened to reveal Gertie, and a young woman she didn’t recognize. The poor girl looked about to drop to the floor at any moment. Her face lacked any color, and she clasped her shawl to her throat, as if afraid someone would snatch it from her.

“This is Miss Memory, m’m,” Gertie began, “and I found her lying in the courtyard and I thought she was dead only she wasn’t but she can’t remember her name or where she come from so Mrs. Chubb called her Miss Memory and that’s what her name is for now.”

Gertie paused for breath, giving Cecily some time to digest what she’d just heard. Looking at the girl she asked gently, “You’ve lost your memory?”

The girl nodded, her lips pinched together.

“She don’t know how she got in the courtyard or what happened to her,” Gertie said helpfully.

“Thank you, Gertie.” Cecily smiled at the housemaid. “You may go. Leave Miss . . . ah . . . Memory with me.”

“Yes, m’m.” Gertie gave the young woman a nudge with her elbow. “You’ll be all right, you’ll see. Madam will take care of you. She’s a bloody good sort.” With that, she barged out the door, slamming it shut behind her.

The girl jumped at the sound and gripped her shawl tighter.

Cecily waved a hand at a chair. “Please, sit down. Have you had anything to eat?”

Miss Memory shook her head and sat down on the very edge of the chair.

“Are you hurt? In pain?”

The girl moved her free hand to her head.

“You have a headache?”

Miss Memory nodded again.

“Can you speak?”

The young woman lowered her chin and stared at the floor. “Yes, m’m.”

“You have no idea where you live? Where your parents are?”

Another sad shake of the head.

Cecily stared thoughtfully at the ledger in front of her. Two lost souls in two days. At least this one was alive. Barely, by the look of it. Making up her mind, she said briskly, “Well, the first thing we must do is get some food inside of you.”

“I had tea and brandy,” Miss Memory said.

“Well, that’s a start, but good food will make you feel much better. I can’t have you wandering around the streets, not knowing who you are or where you’re going, so you may stay here for the time being. There’s a spare bed in Pansy and Lilly’s room. You can sleep there. In the meantime I’ll have Dr. Prestwick take a look at you and see if he can help you.”

At the sound of the doctor’s name, the girl shrank back in her chair, violently shaking her head. “No, no, no.”

Cecily frowned. “It’s all right, child. He’s a doctor and a good man. He won’t hurt you.”

Miss Memory started up from her chair, still shaking her head. “No, no. No doctor. I just need to get some sleep and I’ll be quite all right. Please, no doctor.”

Seeing that the young woman was quite distressed, Cecily softened her tone. “Very well. I’ll ring for a maid and she can take you back to the kitchen. After you’ve eaten something you can get some sleep in Pansy’s room. Then we’ll talk again, all right?”

Miss Memory just looked back at her, eyes wide with fear.

Sighing, Cecily tugged on the bell rope. Minutes passed, during which the girl sat in tense silence, and then Pansy arrived at the door.

Cecily got up from her desk and walked over to the girl’s chair. “Take Miss . . . er . . . Memory down to the kitchen and see that she eats a hearty breakfast, Pansy. I’ve told her she can sleep in your room with you and Lilly until we decide what to do about her.”

Pansy’s eyes brightened at the news. “That will be lovely. Maybe we can help her get back her memory.”

“Yes, well, don’t dwell on that too much. I’m sure all this is terribly confusing for the poor child.”

“Yes, m’m.” Pansy curtsied, then took the girl’s arm. “Come along, Miss Memory. Wait until you taste Michel’s cooking. I bet you never had such scrumptious food.”

Miss Memory allowed Pansy to lead her out the door, and Cecily breathed a sigh of relief. That was one crisis resolved. At least for now. She could only hope that the death of Gerald Evans would be as easily settled.

With any luck at all, P.C. Northcott would find out that whoever had killed him had nothing to do with the Pennyfoot and, for once, they could escape the Christmas curse. She tried to hang on to that as she settled down once more with the ledger. Yet Madeline’s words still persisted in the back of her mind, and something told her that her involvement in Mr. Evans’s death was far from over.

• • •

“Maybe she can have a job here,” Gertie suggested, upon hearing that Miss Memory was to stay for the time being. She carefully lowered a meat platter into the hot water in the sink. “We could use the extra help.”

“We don’t have time to train anyone else.” Mrs. Chubb dusted her floury hands on her apron. “I’ve already had to turn down two applications for a maid’s job. It’s hard enough to train Lilly while we’re trying to get everything done in time for Christmas. I just can’t take on another new maid.”

“Maybe she already knows enough so we wouldn’t have to train her.”

Mrs. Chubb snorted. “Have you taken a good look at her? She’s no maid. She comes from money. That frock must have cost a month’s wages.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Gertie swished the platter around in the soapy suds. “Her flipping boots, too.” She’d taken a fancy to those boots, but she wasn’t about to admit it. She’d learned long ago that it was pointless to waste her energy pining after what she couldn’t afford. Be thankful for what you have, was her motto. Right now she had everything she needed. Her twins were well and happy, and now that she and Clive had established a more meaningful relationship, they were drawing closer every day.

“Someone out there is missing a daughter, I reckon.”

At the sound of Mrs. Chubb’s voice, Gertie dragged her mind back to the conversation. “I wonder where she came from. Her family must be looking all over for her.”

“Well, I’m sure Madam will be able to find out where she came from. If anyone can, that is.”