No Clue at the Inn (Pennyfoot Hotel Mystery Book 13) (4 page)

"You look quite dapper, my love," she informed him as she raised the hem of her skirt to clear the doorstep. "I think the patrons of the Pennyfoot Country Club are fortunate to have such a debonair fellow taking care of their needs."

She had her back to him, and couldn't see his frown, though she heard it in his voice. "My instincts tell me that this abundance of compliments is leading up to something I don't care to hear."

"I can't imagine what that could be." She waited until they had descended the first flight of stairs before adding, "Unless, of course, you object to my plan to pay a visit to Dr. Prestwick later this week."

His groan echoed down the stairwell as they turned the corner. "I knew it. I suppose it's too much to hope that the chap has found a wife? I rather thought he was interested in Madeline Pengrath when we left Badgers End."

"I thought so, too." Cecily reached the bottom of the stairs and waited for her husband to join her. "I'll have to ask Madeline about that. I do hope she and Phoebe manage to visit soon."

Baxter started to answer, then stopped short at the sight of Raymond standing in front of their suite, surrounded by several bags and two large trunks.

"Oh, there you are, m'm," the young man exclaimed when he caught sight of Cecily. "I was just about to send one of the maids to look for you. I didn't want to leave your luggage out here in the hallway."

Baxter strode forward and unlocked the door for him.
"Just drop them in the sitting room. I'll take care of them later."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Raymond struggled in with the heavy load, placing the baggage neatly side by side on the thick carpet.

"Here." Baxter handed him a folded note, but Raymond shook his head.

"That's all right, sir. I don't take nothing from the staff, especially the guv'nor. Mr. Wrotham never gave me nothing, and I don't expect it from you, neither. Wouldn't be right."

Watching the surprise on her husband's face, Cecily knew the young man had made a favorable impression. Pouncing on the opportunity, she said carefully, "I understand Mr. Wrotham was a very efficient manager."

Raymond's grin faded. "I s'pose you could say that, m'm. He was always barking orders, if that's what you mean."

"I'm sure you must all miss him very much. It must have been such a shock to hear about his accident. Such a tragic death." Cecily deliberately ignored the warning gleam in Baxter's eyes and kept her gaze fixed firmly on Raymond's face.

Raymond appeared to be concentrating on lining up the luggage. "I don't know about missing him, m'm. It were a shock to find him like that, I can tell you."

Cecily caught her breath.
"You
found him? I didn't know that."

"Yes, m'm. Mr. Sandringham sent me out looking for him. I saw his bicycle leaning against the fence of that farm and I went in to look for him." Raymond wiped his
forehead with the back of his hand. "I don't know what made me look in the well. Just a feeling, I s'pose. Anyway, I sort of glanced in as I passed and I saw something floating around down there. When I looked proper-like, I could tell it was a man. Gave me a really bad turn, it did."

"I can quite imagine. So what did you do next?"

"I flew out of there and rushed back here to tell Mr. Sandringham. He rang for the constable. P.C. Northcott came up right away."

"Did you see anything unusual lying around the well when you found Mr. Wrotham?"

"No, m'm. Not that I can recall, anyhow." He straightened his back. "Everyone's really happy that you and Mr. Baxter are taking over, m'm. We weren't that fond of Mr. Wrotham, if you know what I mean. Bit of a bully, he was. Always swearing at the girls, and giving them a swipe with the back of his hand if they didn't mind straightaway. No one really liked him, except for Miss Bunkle, but then she didn't have to put up with his temper the way we did. To tell you the truth, I'm not really surprised he ended up in a bad way. I could see it coming, I could."

Baxter loudly cleared his throat. "Yes, well, that will be all, Raymond. Thank you. I can manage from here."

"Did the constable question all the staff?" Cecily persisted, at the risk of incurring Baxter's disapproval.

Raymond shook his head. "Nah, m'm, they didn't. P.C. Northcott, well, he's a bit of a duffer, ain't he. Said as how it were an accident, so there were no need to bother everyone with a bunch of questions."

"But you don't seem to think it was an accident," Cecily prompted.

Raymond looked uncomfortable. "It's not my place to say, m'm, but if you want the truth, there ain't that many people what do think it were an accident. Except for the bobbies. And no one's going to tell them any different, are they."

"Yes, well, that will be all, Raymond." Baxter strode to the door and opened it, looking pointedly at the young man until he disappeared. After closing the door, rather firmly in Cecily's opinion, he gave her one of his reproachful scowls. "Without any real effort on your part, I think you said."

She sent him a mischievous grin. "Did I? How very impractical of me." She sidled up to him. "Darling, how am I going to find out anything if I don't ask a few questions now and then?"

He was about to answer when a light tap on the door cut off his words. With a muttered exclamation, he opened it to reveal Moira standing in the doorway. Upon glancing at his face, the maid jumped backward as if she'd touched a hot stove, then stood there, apparently having forgotten why she was there.

Baxter, never having been one for patience with the staff, barked at her, "Well, girl, speak up! What is it?"

Cecily clicked her tongue and hurried forward. Gently ushering Baxter aside, she smiled at the terrified girl. "Moira, isn't it?"

The girl nodded, her eyes wide with apprehension.

"Did you have a message for me?"

The maid nodded again.

Baxter grunted, rolled his eyes at the ceiling, and much to Cecily's relief, backed away from the door.

Cecily tried again. "Did Miss Bunkle send you?"

This time the maid shook her head. Her mouth opened and closed, then she managed to stammer, "There's two ladies to see you, m'm."

"Did they leave their names?"

Moira looked stricken for a moment, then mumbled, "Mrs. Fortescue was one of them. Can't remember the other one. Sorry, m'm. I'm new here and things get sort of muddled in me 'ead sometimes."

"Is that a fact," Baxter muttered dryly.

Ignoring him, Cecily said quietly, "Please show the ladies up here, Moira, and then bring us a decanter of sherry, and some sliced apples with a variety of cheeses. Oh, and some cream crackers."

"Yes, m'm." The girl dipped her knees and rushed off.

Cecily closed the door and turned to regard her husband. "Bax, darling, you really should curb that sharp edge to your tongue when addressing the staff. You'll intimidate those poor girls."

"It appears that some of them need intimidating."

"That's as may be, but we don't want them taking fright and giving in their notice right before Christmas."

"From what I've heard, Wrotham was far more threatening than I could ever be. If they could put up with him, I have every confidence they will learn to abide my thoroughly charming nature. Debonair, didn't you say?"

She grinned at him.
"Touché
. Now, unless you want to listen to a lot of girlish gossip, might I suggest that you take this time to reacquaint yourself with your office while I greet Phoebe and, I presume, Madeline. Though I have to admit, I'm rather surprised to hear that the two of them arrived together. They never could be within a yard of each other without squabbling."

"Perhaps marriage to the colonel had mellowed the good lady." Baxter picked up a heavy trunk by its two handles and staggered into the boudoir with it. Raising his voice, he called back to her, "I just can't imagine those two living together. Can you imagine our ridiculously fussy Phoebe putting up with that befuddled fool? I don't think he's ever strung two complete sentences together, and when he does manage it, he doesn't make any blasted sense."

Cecily also raised her voice to answer him. "It's understandable, I suppose. The poor man had such dreadful experiences in the Boer War, it's not surprising he's a little strange in the head."

"Strange?" Baxter emerged from the boudoir, his voice still loud. "Fortescue is more than a little strange. He's positively
insane."

At that precise moment a light tap on the door announced the presence of visitors.

Cecily gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Do you think they heard?" she whispered urgently.

Baxter shrugged. "I'd say it's a trifle too late to worry about it now. Though I do suggest you open the door before your guests think you are ignoring them."

"Heavens!" Cecily flew to the door and flung it wide. There in front of her stood her two dearest friends in the whole world.

Phoebe's outfit, as usual, was impeccable, from the huge flower-bedecked brim of her hat to the elegant elbowlength gloves and the pearl-buttoned shoes peeking out from under the hem of her gray, heavy silk tea gown. A dainty parasol swung from her arm, and in the other she cradled a round tin of chocolate-covered biscuits—one of Cecily's very favorite treats.

By contrast, Madeline looked more like a woodland sprite, conjured up from the depths of the green forest. A crown of mistletoe covered her long, dark, flowing hair, and beneath her serviceable coat her soft muslin dress floated around her toes, which had been tucked into shoes that appeared too large for her dainty feet. She thrust a small delicate bouquet of tea roses at Cecily, who exclaimed in delight.

"Roses? At this time of the year?"

"From Porter's greenhouse. I ordered them especially." She flung her arms about Cecily, putting the delicate blooms in extreme danger of being crushed. "You look wonderful, Cecily. Marriage agrees with you."

She peered past Cecily's shoulder to where Baxter was still struggling with the luggage. "I'm happy to see you are taking such good care of my good friend, Baxter."

Baxter mumbled something and carried the last of the bags into the boudoir.

Not to be outdone, Phoebe stepped forward and kissed the air on each side of Cecily's face. "How absolutely divine you look, Cecily, dearest. I have missed you so much. This is going to be a magnificent Christmas Season now that you are back in Badgers End. Here. For you and Mr. Baxter. An early gift."

Cecily took the tin of biscuits with a gasp of pleasure. "How thoughtful of you, Phoebe. Thank you both so much. The two of you look absolutely breathtaking. How wonderful it is to see you both again."

"Rather than intrude upon this somewhat cloying mutual admiration society," Baxter announced as he emerged from the boudoir, "I'll take my leave and allow you ladies to chatter to your heart's content."

Phoebe fluttered her eyelashes at him. "I do hope we're not chasing you out, Mr. Baxter."

Baxter allowed her a brief glance. "Not at all. I have work to do. Please excuse me, ladies."

Madeline waited until he'd opened the door, then said sweetly, "Should you find yourself in need of a potion while you are here, Baxter, I'll be happy to oblige. Free of charge, of course."

Baxter paused, and Cecily held her breath. There were those in the village who swore by Madeline's potions. There were even men who insisted that their virility in certain private matters was greatly enhanced by the strange concoctions of herbs and wildflowers. Baxter was well aware of this, though he was adamant in his disbelief that such powers as those attributed to Madeline actually existed. Nonetheless Cecily waited, half expecting him to make some derisive comment to offend her friend.

After a second or two, he said gruffly, "Thank you, Miss Pengrath, but I assure you, I have no need for such debatable assistance. You may ask my wife should you be in any doubt of that."

He closed the door firmly behind him, while Phoebe's shocked gasp was drowned out by Madeline's gurgling laugh. In a voice that always reminded Cecily of the wind in the bulrushes on Deep Willow Pond, she murmured, "You are a fortunate woman, Cecily. There goes a real man."

"Really, Madeline," Phoebe said crossly. "Have you no shame? What possesses you to talk so unbecomingly in front of a gentleman?"

"Perhaps if you had been half as bold, Phoebe dear," Madeline answered, "you might have landed yourself a
gentleman instead of that buffoon with whom you are sadly saddled."

Phoebe drew herself up another inch and glared at the other woman. "That buffoon, as you so crudely call him, is a prince in every way. He treats me in the manner to which ladies such as I have been accustomed, and he is delightful and entertaining company. At least he had the chivalry to ask for my hand in marriage. Perhaps, if you had been more of a lady and less of a hussy, you might have held the interest of a certain doctor, instead of losing him to that simpering fool, Winifred Chesterton."

Glimpsing the light of battle in Madeline's eyes, Cecily hurried to intervene. "How is Dr. Prestwick these days? I intend to visit him later this week. I do hope he's well?"

"Quite well," Madeline said shortly.

Phoebe's skirts rustled as she settled herself on the sateen couch. "He's doing very well," she said a trifle smugly. "His waiting room is constantly packed with patients, whether they are legitimate or not. Most of them are women, of course. Our handsome doctor always did have a way with the women."

Cecily, who had once been the object of the good doctor's affections, knew only too well how utterly devastating Dr. Kevin Prestwick's appeal could be to a vulnerable woman. She glanced at Madeline, who seemed unaffected by Phoebe's barbs as she floated across the floor in the direction of a comfortable royal blue armchair.

Seating herself, Madeline said blithely, "Dr. Prestwick bestows his good nature on everyone, man or woman. It's not his fault if some misguided ladies misinterpret a good bedside manner for something inappropriate."

Phoebe tittered behind a delicate gloved hand. "I don't think Winifred Chesterton is misinterpreting anything, judging by the way he was looking at her as she hung on his arm the other morning."