PH02 - Do Not Disturb (11 page)

“ ’Course I won’t,” she said, which in her eyes didn’t exactly amount to a solemn promise not to tell.

“Well, I think I know who it was who did all that mess up at the project.”

Gertie almost stopped breathing. This was better than she could have imagined. It almost made her forget her own nagging worry about being late with the curse. “Go on,” she urged, moving closer to Ian so she wouldn’t miss a word of what he said. “Tell me. Who was it, then?”

Ian cast a furtive glance at the closed kitchen door, then dropped his voice to a whisper. “I think it was Dick Scroggins.”

Gertie was so surprised she forgot to whisper. “Dick Scroggins?”

Ian pressed a finger against her lips. “Shh. I told you it was a secret.”

Gertie jerked her head back. In a fierce whisper she said, “You must be bleeding daft. Dick Scroggins owns the George. Why would he want to mess up something that’s giving him all that business?”

“Because,” Ian said quietly, “he’s got a smuggling run from France, bringing in brandy for the pub. Once that light goes on in the lighthouse, them cliffs will be lit up like the seafront at Blackpool. He’ll never get his boats in without being seen.”

“How’d you know all this if it’s such a bloody big secret?” Gertie demanded, unable to believe she’d been handed such a prize piece of confidential information.

Ian laid a finger along his nose. “Ah, well, that would be telling, wouldn’t it?”

Gertie stared at him, a growing suspicion forming in her astonished mind. “Bleeding hell, Ian Rossiter. You was in it with him, wasn’t you? You’ve been blinking smuggling, I know you have.”

Ian sent a nervous glance at the door. “That’s why you got to keep your mouth shut, Gertie. If word of this gets out, I’ll be in dead trouble, I will. I’ll go to the nick, then the only way you’ll see me is through bars.”

Gertie thought of the seed possibly growing inside her and reluctantly abandoned the pleasure of divulging the secret. If she was bloody pregnant, she told herself, she was going to make sure that Ian Rossiter did the right thing and stood by her.

He might not be exactly what she’d choose to marry, if she chose to marry at all, but sometimes you had to grab your chances where they lay, so to speak. And she was bloody sure she wasn’t going to be left out on the streets with a bun in the oven.

“All right, I won’t tell. But you better hope it ain’t him. ’Cos if the police pick him up, they’ll round up everyone who was in it with him.” She frowned, the full impact of what she’d said finally penetrating. “Here, you don’t think he did the poisoning, too, do you?”

Again Ian shrugged. “How the hell do I know? I tell you what, though. I sure as blazes ain’t going to eat anything else what comes out of the G and D. Not if I was blooming starving, I wouldn’t.”

“Gawd,” Gertie whispered, awed by the enormity of what she’d just heard. “Me neither.”

CHAPTER
9

Colonel Fortescue greeted Cecily at the top of the steps when she returned to the hotel. “See the rain’s keeping off, old bean,” he said, looking up at the clouds buffeting each other overhead. “Hope it stays dry for Guy Fawkes. Dashed difficult to light wet firewood, you know. I remember once, when I was in India …”

He held the door open for Cecily, and she thanked him as she walked into the lobby. He followed her, still talking.

“… couldn’t get the blighter to catch. Wasted a whole box of matches on the pesky thing. Lots of chaps drinking at the time. Some dashed awful stuff they’d filched from the natives. Started chucking the glasses over their shoulders at the fireplace, shouting ‘The Queen!’ when the glasses smashed to smithereens.”

Cecily nodded, only half listening. She was anxious to talk to Baxter about what she’d learned from Dr. McDuff.
Somehow she could think more clearly when she discussed her problems with him.

“Anyway,” the colonel went on, “half the chaps were chucking the booze away with the glasses. Soaked the firewood, of course. Then someone got excited and fired a shot into the grate. Whole damn thing went up like Vesuvius. Never saw so many drunks move so fast in all my life—”

“Colonel,” Cecily began, but he was off and running, and short of rudely walking away from him, she was trapped for the time being.

“Just came back from a game of bowls,” the colonel boomed, twirling his mustache. “Played a spiffing game, if I say so myself.”

“How very nice,” Cecily murmured. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“I say, old bean. What’s all this about two chappies being poisoned? Lots of talk about it on the bowling green. Turned blue, what? What?”

Cecily sighed. “So I hear. But I’m afraid I—”

“Reminds me of the time I saw a chap turn blue. Was out in the tropics at the time. Damn sticky wicket that was. Went down like a felled elephant. Died right where he stood, they said. One minute he was chipper, the next he was writhing on the ground. Excruciating agony, old bean. Never saw anything like it in my life—”

Across the lobby Cecily caught sight of Baxter, striding toward the basement steps. He glanced in her direction, and she wagged her eyebrows up and down at him in a frantic plea for help.

“Carried him off on a stretcher made of bamboo, poor blighter. Too short for him, it was. Always remember his head—”

“Oh, excuse me, madam,” Baxter said loudly, striding across the carpet toward her. “I’m afraid there is some kind of emergency in the kitchen. It needs your immediate attention, so I believe.”

“Of course, Baxter,” Cecily said, giving him a relieved smile. “Do please forgive me, Colonel Fortescue?”

“Yes, yes, dear lady, of course. Hope it isn’t anything too drastic, what? What?”

“I’m sure it’s something I can handle.” With a smiling nod at the colonel, she hurried across the lobby to follow Baxter down the steps.

He paused at the kitchen door and looked back at her. “I trust I did the right thing, madam?”

“You most certainly did,” Cecily assured him, breathing a little hard from her hurried descent. “I swear, one of these fine days I am going to tell the colonel exactly what an old bore he is.”

Baxter pursed his lips. “I doubt that, madam.”

She grinned at him. “You know me well. Are you in a rush, Baxter? I have something I would like to discuss with you. In the library, if you have time?”

“I will be there shortly, madam.”

“Fine, I’ll wait for you.” She turned to go, then looked back at him. “Oh, and, Baxter, do bring your cigars, will you, please?” She didn’t wait to see his look of reproof.

The library offered a few minutes’ respite from her churning thoughts. Standing in front of James’s portrait, she looked at the image of her handsome husband and felt again the raw ache that visited her at such moments.

“Ah, James,” she said softly, “how I miss you still.” Almost a year had passed since she’d laid him to rest. Didn’t seem possible. Yet at times she could not envision his face unless she was actually looking at the portrait.

Those times troubled her, as if she were betraying him by allowing the memories of him to fade slowly. Yet in her heart she knew that James would understand. Although the wounds were beginning to heal, that didn’t mean she loved him less, or that she no longer treasured the time she had spent with him.

A tap on the door disturbed her thoughts, and she called out, “Come in.”

Baxter entered, his expression solemn. “You wished to speak to me, madam?”

“Yes.” Cecily sat on her usual chair at the head of the table. “Sit down, Baxter, I want to discuss this puzzle of the two dead men.”

“I prefer to stand, thank you, madam.”

She frowned up at him. “Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to always be looking up at you when I’m talking to you? Just once I would like to have a conversation with you at eye level.”

“Yes, madam.” He stayed where he was, his back to the door, his hands behind him.

“I really don’t know which is worse, to be treated with disdain by misguided gentlemen who regard women as inferior beings, or to be held at a respectable distance by someone I consider a friend.”

Baxter stretched his neck, which was turning red above his stiff white collar. “I did not invent the rules of etiquette, madam. I only follow them.”

“Piffle.” Cecily let out her breath in a disgusted sigh. She was being unreasonable, and she knew it. But sometimes she wished she could abolish the rules and start all over again with new ones. True, things had improved slightly for women since the Queen’s death, but not fast enough. Not nearly fast enough.

“Well, then, please may I have a cigar? At least you can allow me that small triumph over the dark ages?”

She waited patiently through Baxter’s pained and laborious performance of handing her a cigar and lighting it for her, then settled back in a cloud of fragrant smoke.

“I am quite worried about these deaths, Baxter. I’m very much afraid that Madeline might find herself in a compromising position. I understand she had been keeping company with both men. That does not put her in a very good light, to say the least.”

“It is most unfortunate, I agree. I understand there are rumors in the village about her possible connection with the deaths.”

Cecily shook her head. “I still don’t see how anything can be proved against her. Dozens of people must have larkspur growing in their gardens.”

“Larkspur?” Baxter repeated in surprise.

“Yes, that is what Dr. McDuff believes caused the poisonings.”

“Ah,” Baxter said, giving her one of his glacier looks. “And he just happened to tell you that, I assume.”

Cecily tapped the ring of ash from the end of her cigar into the ashtray. “I went to see him on the pretext of needing a tonic. I needed to know what he had discovered if I’m to help Madeline.”

“If Miss Pengrath is guilty, madam, there is nothing you can do to help her.”

“Am I the only one, Baxter, who believes Madeline is innocent? Is she to be condemned out of hand simply because she is different? Why is it that we are so ready to believe the worst of someone who does not conform to what we consider to be normal?”

Baxter ran a finger around his collar. “I am not suggesting that Miss Pengrath is responsible for what happened, madam. That is for the police to decide. I merely wish to caution you against becoming involved in something that could cause you a great deal of trouble.”

“I appreciate your concern for my well-being.” Cecily drew fiercely on the cigar and puffed out the smoke. “I happen to believe that Madeline had nothing to do with these deaths, however, and I intend to prove it.”

“May I ask, madam, how you propose to go about doing that?”

“You may, Baxter, and I shall be happy to tell you.” Again she flicked a thick slice of ash into the ashtray. “I shall attempt to ferret out the real culprit, of course.”

“That is exactly what I am afraid of,” Baxter said in a grim tone. “May I remind you, madam, that the last time you interfered in police business, Inspector Cranshaw made it quite clear that he would not tolerate such behavior again.”

“You can remind me all you like. I remember it well. But nothing infuriates me more than false assumptions based on ignorance. As you know, the inspector will no doubt rely on Police Constable Northcott to conduct inquiries.”

“Heaven help us all,” Baxter murmured.

“Exactly.” Cecily was well aware of Baxter’s dislike of the police constable, though she had never learned the reason for it. It certainly didn’t hurt her case to mention his name. “So you can see, we need to be in full control of the facts, if we are to see justice done in this case.”

“I cannot condone any action that could cause you trouble with the police,” Baxter said stubbornly.

Cecily took a final pull on her cigar and stubbed it out. “Baxter, you might have promised my husband to take care of me, but that does not give you the right to dictate to me my course of action in any given situation. If you care to offer your assistance, however, as a way of honoring your promise to James, I would be most obliged.”

She watched frustration cross his face as he struggled with his convictions. Several seconds ticked by, marked by the massive clock on the mantelpiece above the marble fireplace.

Finally Baxter let out his breath in a deep sigh. “I will do my best to assist you, madam. But I cannot promise I will do so without comment or caution, and I wish to state emphatically that I do so with grave misgivings.”

“Don’t worry, Baxter,” Cecily said with great satisfaction. “With you by my side, what could possibly happen?”

Cecily went down to the kitchen later to collect the tablecloths, and found Mrs. Chubb trying to console Gertie, who sat in a chair looking as though the end of the world were imminent.

While Mrs. Chubb went to fetch the linen from her sitting room, Cecily studied the housemaid with concern. “Are you not feeling well?” she asked.

Gertie sprang to her feet and started industriously polishing the silver utensils that were piled on the table. “Oh, I’m
all right, thank you, mum. It’s Ian I’m worried about.” She gave a mournful sigh. “He went up to the lighthouse project to collect his wages what was owed him, and they were downright nasty to him.”

“Nasty? In what way?”

“They think he had something to do with the damage what was done up there.” Gertie flashed a defiant look at Cecily. “As if he would. He was making good money up there. He’d never do nothing like that, not my Ian wouldn’t.”

Mystified by this latest revelation, Cecily frowned. “Why do they think Ian had anything to do with it?”

“Because he’s the only local on the project, ain’t he. Some of the bleeding farmers have been complaining about the lighthouse. They say it’s going to hurt the land. And if it’s built it will bring bigger ships into Wellercombe, and more food from them foreign lands, so the farms won’t sell so much.”

This was news to Cecily, who until then had thought that the majority of people in Badgers End were happy about the project. “But what does that have to do with Ian?” she asked, still puzzled.

Gertie laid down a newly polished fork and picked up another. She examined it, spit on it, then began rubbing it with her cloth.