Room With a Clue (Pennyfoot Hotel Mystery) (14 page)

Taking a deep breath, she lifted her hand and rapped on the door with her knuckles.

Nothing happened.

When she couldn’t hold her breath any longer, she let it out and rapped again. Still the door remained stubbornly closed. Sighing, she turned away. She had taken one step when the door flew open.

Unnerved, she shot a quick glance at the bulky figure of the man who filled the doorway. Shock took her breath away.

“Yes? What is it? What do you want?” a deep voice demanded.

From down the hall came a faint squeak of fright.

The man peered down the hall, then glared back at Gertie. “Well? Speak up, girl. What do you want?”

Gertie got her breath back. “Bloody ’ell,” she said and, lifting up the hem of her skirt, fled back to the landing. She hit the stairs running, with a whimpering Ethel behind her, and didn’t stop until she reached the bottom.

Phoebe opened the door of the dressing room and was greeted by a babble of chatter and squeals of laughter. Standing around in various stages of undress, the performers were watching a lithe young thing dressed in frilly drawers and chemise, who was executing an outrageous dance, writhing and undulating like some cheap music hall harlot.

The performance was far more lewd than the tasteful steps the dancers had rehearsed under Phoebe’s supervision earlier that week. Horrified, Phoebe loudly clapped her hands. “Stop that! Stop it at once! What do you think you are doing?”

The dancers were making far too much noise for Phoebe to make herself heard. Thoroughly irate now, she charged into the room. “Stop it, I say! This is a respectable hotel. You are behaving like whores.”

Unfortunately, at the first sight of her, the girls had immediately fallen silent. The last word of her sentence rang down the hall with quite splendid resonance.

Someone giggled, and mortified, Phoebe silenced her with a glare. “Well,” she said, bristling with indignation to cover her embarrassment, “I certainly hope you use a great deal more decorum in your performance on stage tonight. Rest assured, if I see one single hip wriggling in an area it’s not supposed to be, you will forfeit your pay. I hope I make myself clear?”

The girls nodded earnestly, and she relaxed. This was what she got for hiring cheap labor, she told herself. Now if she’d been allowed to hire professionals from Wellercombe …

Sighing, she straightened her hat with both hands. “Good. Now, you all know your places once you get on stage, I trust?” Several heads nodded, but Phoebe was not one to take chances. “Is there anyone here who doesn’t know?”

Still reluctant to take the silence as assurance that everyone
was thoroughly rehearsed, Phoebe rapidly went over the instructions one last time.

“At the opening bars Dora and Belinda will lead the procession slowly.” She paused, then repeated for emphasis, “S-l-o-w-l-y, carrying the pedestal onto the stage, and will then place it in the center. Marion will follow them in with the rest of the dancers.”

She rested her gaze on the anxious face of the girl in front of her. “You will no doubt be relieved to hear, Marion, that Henry’s basket will be empty. The python will not be appearing tonight after all.”

Several audible sighs greeted that remark. Maybe it was just as well, Phoebe reflected. With such unpredictable temperaments as these girls, it might have been tempting fate to trust them with a snake in their midst. Things did have a way of working out for the best after all. And she would simply worry about finding Henry after the ball had ended.

Feeling better than she had all evening, Phoebe completed her instructions with more confidence. “You will hold your positions until the orchestra finishes. And remember,” she warned, “I don’t want to see anyone so much as breathe.” She swept her gaze across the faces, daring them to protest. “Is that quite clear?”

“Yes, Mrs. Carter-Holmes,” the voices chanted in unison.

“Very well. I will leave you to finish getting dressed.” She cast her eyes over the scanty costumes and hoped no one would take offense. In keeping with the theme, the girls wore baggy harem trousers in sky-blue muslin covered in glittering silver sequins.

They also wore mauve chiffon blouses and silver-fringed bolero jackets. Silver sandals and white veils completed the ensemble, which looked most authentic, she thought. Although no actual flesh was bared, the costumes were bound to cause a stir.

Phoebe had a moment’s doubt when she wondered if she should have forgone the dancing and stuck to the tableau alone. But she had to get them on stage somehow, and the opportunity to do some choreography was just too challenging to miss.

Deciding she was probably worrying about nothing, Phoebe
issued a last order to the girls to make haste and stop wasting time with idle chatter, then she left them alone.

It was too bad about Henry, she thought, as she hurried down the hall to the kitchen in the hopes of a quick cup of tea before the performance. But it seemed that it would be a pretty tableau, even if it wasn’t quite the spectacular event she’d envisioned.

As for Mr. Sims, well, she would just have to explain things to him. After all, it wasn’t her fault some stupid maid didn’t know how to mind her own business.

Even so, she couldn’t rid herself of an uneasy qualm when she thought about Henry still roaming free around the hotel. She could only hope that he stayed where he was, until Mr. Sims arrived to hunt him down. One accident was quite enough. They certainly didn’t need another.

CHAPTER

14

John was nowhere to be seen when Cecily and P.C. Northcott reached the courtyard. “He must have gone home,” she said, lifting her lamp higher in order to see into the shadowed corners. “He usually leaves much earlier than this, in any case.”

“Well, ’tain’t no matter. I’ll catch him in the morning, if the inspector wants to talk to him.”

Cecily nodded. Pointing toward the rockery, she said, “That’s where Phoebe and John found Lady Eleanor.”

The constable raised his lamp and walked forward to take a look. “A pity you moved the body. Can’t tell much once the body’s been moved.”

“I’m sorry, but it didn’t seem right to leave her lying out here in the rain.”

The constable nodded. “Ay, that’s true enough. Well, can’t be helped in any case.” He swung the lamp over the rocks,
allowing the light to fall on the damp surface. “Can’t tell much in this light.” He looked up to where the gap in the wall was barely visible against the night sky. “She fell from up there, you say?”

“Yes.” Cecily shivered, trying not to think about the unfamiliar view of the lights on Parson’s Hill. “I can take you up there, if you like?”

“I think it might as well wait ’til morning. If the inspector wants to inspect the premises hisself, he’ll find it a good deal easier to see what he’s doing in the daylight.”

“Does that mean you won’t be questioning the guests tonight?”

P.C. Northcott violently shook his head. “No, no. That wouldn’t do at all. Can’t disturb the likes of
them
this time of night, can we?”

She would have thought that even the elite upper crust were beyond immunity from the law, Cecily thought wryly. She said nothing, however. She knew well the futility of arguing with the likes of Stan Northcott.

“I think I’ll be off, then,” he said, brushing his hands one at a time on his hips, as if he’d actually been digging in the dirt. “I’ll let Inspector Cranshaw decide if he needs to question anyone in the morning.”

Still Cecily didn’t answer. She hadn’t mentioned Keith Torrington’s possible involvement in all this, nor did she want to, until she’d had a word with him. And she fully intended to speak with him. Even if the constable seemed convinced it was an accident.

Dr. McDuff was waiting to leave when she returned to the foyer with P.C. Northcott. He handed the constable the forms he’d filled out, saying, “Not much to report. Death due to a violent blow to the head. Details are all in there.” He looked over at Cecily with warm sympathy in his eyes. “You going to be all right, lassie?”

She smiled at him and held out her hands. “I’ll be fine, Gordon. Thank you.”

He grasped her hands and peered intensely into her face for a moment, then, apparently satisfied, he nodded. “Take care of yourself, now.”

She bade them both good night, and watched them ride off together in the trap that had brought the policeman from Wellercombe.

Turning back into the foyer, she saw Colonel Fortescue, whose ruddy face broke into a wide grin when he caught sight of her.

“I say, madam,” he said, earnestly blinking at her, “you haven’t seen a python slithering about these halls by any chance, what?”

In all the distress over Lady Eleanor, Cecily had almost forgotten about Henry. Wondering how the colonel could have found out about him, she said, “No, I haven’t. Are you missing one?”

“No, not me, not me. The little lady who’s in charge of the dancing girls. Mrs. Carter-Hobbs.”

“Holmes. She told you she’d lost a snake?”

“Asked me to help find it.” The colonel’s eyelids flapped up and down in agitation. “Can’t find the blessed thing anywhere. And it must be getting near the time for the tableau. Don’t want to miss that, you know. All those flimsy veils and everything, what, what?”

“Oh, absolutely, Colonel. It would be a great shame indeed if you were to miss such a spectacle.”

“Yes, well, that’s what I thought. Would you tell the dear lady I did my best? Mission failed, I’m afraid. Dashed nuisance. Dreadful sorry and all that.”

Cecily smiled. “Don’t worry, Colonel, I’ll be sure to tell her. By the way, did you ever find your pith helmet?”

“What? Oh, that. Dashed strange that was. Found it right where I’d left it. Hanging right there on the hallstand. Old eyesight must be going, what?”

He peered shortsightedly down the hall. “Used to have eyes like a hawk. Now I can’t even see the blessed clock from here. I say, what is the time, old bean?”

“It’s a half hour before midnight.” Cecily glanced at his waistcoat pocket. “You don’t have your watch?”

The colonel blinked at her. “Watch? Never carry one, madam. Don’t care for the pesky things. Not since the army days. Everything had to be done by the blasted clock. Dashed
tiresome. Always going wrong, anyway. Bad habit, that is, keep looking at a watch. Days go by fast enough without watching them tick away, what, what?”

“They do indeed, Colonel,” Cecily agreed. She distinctly remember Mrs. Chubb saying that Gertie had helped the colonel look for his watch. It would seem that someone was not telling the truth.

Knowing Gertie’s reputation for inventing stories when it suited her, Cecily added casually, “One of the maids mentioned that you asked her to help you find your watch earlier this evening. Were you perhaps looking for something else?”

“Maid? What maid is that?” The colonel looked genuinely confused. “Don’t remember talking to anyone like that, old bean. Don’t remember that at all.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure she got you mixed up with someone else.”

The colonel nodded, blinking anxiously. “Yes, must have. Know the old brain isn’t what it used to be, but I’m quite sure I’d remember if I chatted to a maid. Haven’t done that in quite a while. Always so busy, you know.” He gave her a smart salute, then wandered off mumbling to himself.

Thoughtfully Cecily watched him go. The colonel was a little eccentric, true, but not senile. And he seemed quite sure he hadn’t talked to Gertie. So if the housemaid wasn’t helping him find his watch at half-past seven that evening, then where had she been all that time?

The sweet sound of violins drifted down the hall from the ballroom, disturbing her thoughts. Making up her mind, Cecily headed for the steps leading to the balcony. If nothing else, she wanted to see if Keith Torrington was dancing with the mysterious Cleopatra.

The singing strains of violins, echoed by the deeper voice of the cello and the rippling chords of a harp, filled the sumptuous room. The lush sound soared up into the vaulted ceiling and along the sweeping balconies as Cecily stepped through the balcony door.

Below her, couples twirled gracefully across the sprung parquet floor, gliding in and out of thick marble pillars, while
golden cherubs smiled down from the perches high above the dancers’ heads.

From her vantage point she looked down on the sea of swirling masked faces. They appeared to be floating in an ocean of delicate pastel satin and taffeta, sparkling sequins and fluttering creamy chiffons. The scene shifted and changed in a kaleidoscope of muted colors, guided by the magnificent music of the orchestra.

A scene like this never failed to move her. She and James had loved to dance. Her body still knew the safe, warm feeling that had crept over her every time he’d taken her in his strong arms and whirled her around the ballroom, her feet barely touching the floor as they skimmed together as light as butterflies on the surface of Deep Willow Pond.

A slight movement farther down the balcony caught her eye, banishing her bittersweet memories. A tall sheikh, resplendent in white robes, hovered over a petite Cleopatra in a shimmering golden gown.

Cecily watched Keith Torrington, for it had to be him, exchange a word or two with the woman. This didn’t seem the appropriate time to speak with him, and she was about to turn discreetly away when the woman moved quickly toward the door, no doubt in search of the ladies’ lavatory.

The sheikh watched her go, then dug inside his robes for a moment before withdrawing a pack of cigarettes. Taking the chance offered her, Cecily hurried forward.

As she paused in front of him, Keith Torrington returned the pack inside the flowing folds without taking a cigarette. In deference to her, he would wait now until he was alone again. His gray eyes questioned her from behind his mask as he waited for her to speak.

“I’m sorry to intrude upon your evening, Mr. Torrington,” Cecily said quickly, “but I have a little matter I need cleared up.”

If he was surprised that she’d recognized him, he gave no sign. “How might I be of help?” he asked, giving her a half smile.

Cecily hoped that he hadn’t as yet heard the news of Lady Eleanor’s death. Taking the plunge, she said, “It has come to
my notice that one of the maids was supposed to deliver a message from you to Lady Eleanor early this evening. Unfortunately the maid mislaid the note, and has just now confessed. Since Lady Eleanor did not receive your message, I thought you should be made aware of it.”

A long pause followed while Cecily waited, holding her breath.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand. I sent no message to Lady Eleanor. I have no wish to speak with that lady at all. Your maid must have mistaken me for someone else.”

Cecily made a great display of appearing flustered. “Oh, my, I am so sorry. I really don’t know how such a mistake could have happened. I was led to believe that you were anxious to speak with Lady Eleanor on a matter concerning your coming wedding.”

She saw his jaw tighten below the mask. “Mrs. Sinclair, I don’t know who could have given you this information, but I assure you, my wife and I have no wish to discuss our wedding with Lady Eleanor.”

Cecily felt her mouth drop open. “I beg your pardon? Your … wife?”

Again he paused, then answered, “Lady Luella Maitland and I were married quietly this morning. We eloped in order to escape the intolerable preparations for an extravaganza neither of us wanted. We chose this hotel because this was where we were first introduced—by Lady Eleanor, as it happens.”

He seemed to draw himself up, looking somewhat like an avenging angel in his white-and-gold-trimmed robe. “We did not expect the Danburys to be here, and if Lady Eleanor is offended because she was not informed of our plans I am sorry. You have my permission to tell her so. You may also tell her that we do not wish to discuss this matter with her and would appreciate some privacy.”

“I am so sorry. Please excuse the misunderstanding.” Cecily gave him an apologetic smile. “I can assure you, you have nothing to worry about from Lady Eleanor.”

She left him and hurried back through the balcony door without waiting for his answer. Sooner or later he would hear the news, but she sincerely hoped it would be morning before
it reached his ears. She saw no reason to spoil his wedding night unnecessarily.

She met Baxter on the way back to the kitchens. He seemed a trifle agitated, but Gertie blundered through the kitchen door as he opened his mouth to speak, and whatever he was going to say was cut off.

“Oh, madam,” Gertie said, tugging a pink knitted shawl around her shoulders, “I was just on me way out. Thought I’d get a breath of fresh air before I go to me room. Hope it’s stopped blinking raining.”

“I believe it has.” Cecily glanced up at Baxter. “Would you wait for me in the library, please, Baxter? I want a word with Gertie first.”

Baxter looked disappointed, but nodded and melted away down the hall.

Gertie looked alarmed as she backed into the kitchen. “Nothing wrong, I hope, mum?”

“I hope not, Gertie.” A quick glance around assured Cecily the kitchens were empty. Aware that the housemaid knew of Lady Eleanor’s accident, she decided to waste no more time.

“Gertie, at half-past seven this evening you took the note up to Lady Eleanor. Is that right?”

Gertie nodded, looking scared.

“You returned to the sitting room at a minute or two past eight o’clock.”

“Yes, mum.”

“And where were you during that half hour?”

Gertie’s bold dark eyes darted from left to right. “I was helping the colonel look for his watch, mum.”

“The colonel doesn’t have a watch, Gertie. He hasn’t carried one since he retired from the army.”

For a moment it seemed as if Gertie would brazen it out, then her face crumbled as tears sprang to her eyes. “I’m sorry, madam, really I am. It was Ian, see. I bumped into him on the way back, and he pushed me into the blinking broom cupboard.”

Cecily’s back stiffened with surprise. “Why didn’t you tell Mrs. Chubb that?”

Gertie swiped at her nose with the back of her hand. “I
didn’t want to get him into trouble, mum. See, Ian’s sweet on me, and he was just being playful, like. It wasn’t all his fault, you see …” She drew a shuddering breath. “I bet Mrs. Chubb’s going to be right mad at me, ain’t she?”

“I shouldn’t be at all surprised.” Cecily shook her head. “I’m not sure how you will explain the fact that it took you thirty minutes to get out of the cupboard, but I suggest you try. First thing in the morning.”

“Yes, mum.” Gertie sniffed. “Can I go now?”

“Yes, you may. And stay away from the broom cupboards.”

“Yes, mum.”

Cecily hadn’t intended bringing up the subject, so she was surprised when she heard herself say, “Oh, there is something else. Mrs. Chubb tells me Ethel told you she recognized the gentleman in suite three?”

Gertie looked uncomfortable. “Yes, mum, she did.”

“Do you think she was telling the truth?”

“Oh, yes, mum, I know she was.”

She sounded so certain, Cecily sharpened her gaze. “How do you know, Gertie?”

“Saw him with me own blinking eyes, didn’t I, mum. There weren’t no mistake. I’d know him anywhere, I would. It was him all right.”

Baxter, Cecily thought grimly, had a lot of explaining to do.

Gertie was halfway out the door when she thought of something else. “One moment, Gertie. In which broom cupboard were you?”

She looked puzzled but answered, “The one on the third floor, mum.”

“Did you happen to see a sign in there?” Cecily held her hand up to her forehead, her palm horizontal to the floor. “About this tall and this wide?”