Room With a Clue (Pennyfoot Hotel Mystery) (16 page)

Phoebe closed her eyes in despair, then hurried out to the front of the stage to enjoy her masterpiece.

The orchestra struggled valiantly with the unfamiliar music. Cecily, watching from the balcony, had to admit the tempo left much to be desired.

The dancers looked as if they were having trouble keeping in step, thwarted not only by the unwieldy pedestal they carried but also by the rapid pace of the conductor’s baton.

The piece finally came to an end, probably a lot faster than Phoebe had intended, and the dancers arranged themselves into beguiling positions to await the entrance of the sultan.

A roll of drums proved to be rather effective as through the door came the richly ornate sedan chair bearing its regal passenger. Brilliant jewels flashed and sparkled in the sultan’s white turban. Beneath it a pale face stared straight ahead without expression as the procession advanced slowly toward the stage to an accompaniment of even stranger-sounding music.

Cecily had to admire the way the girls handled the chair up the steps, even if the sultan did grab the sides of it in alarm at the steep angle. Considering the weight of the “man” they carried, as well as the chair, they were doing very well, she thought.

The ensemble reached the top of the steps, and the sultan settled into a more comfortable position. The violins, led by the flutes, wailed their oddly tuneless melody, and once more the chair moved forward.

Cecily, watching in some concern as to how the girls would lower their cumbersome burden, saw a slight movement behind the resplendent figure seated on the bright red satin cushions.

Then, like the Loch Ness monster emerging from the lake, Henry’s ugly head appeared and rose majestically above the sultan’s head, swaying ecstatically to the music.

CHAPTER

16

Stunned silence from the floor greeted the spectacle, then a slight smattering of applause broke out, with a ripple of murmured admiration.

The sultan, having apparently caught the appreciative stares of the audience, tilted his head back to see what had caused the excitement. Henry, oblivious to all this, continued to sway to the music.

A shrill scream rang out, and it was a moment or two before Cecily realized it had come from the terrified passenger on the sedan. The bearers, startled by the noise, clumsily and very hurriedly, lowered the chair. Before it had hit the floor, the sultan sprang from his perch. In his haste, he became tangled in his robes.

Seconds later the turban fell to the ground, revealing long, golden tresses. Which was not entirely a surprise, since by then the sultan, in his frantic effort to escape, had dragged off his
robes, revealing in no uncertain terms that “he” was in fact a female.

Leaping off the stage, the screaming girl headed for the door, followed by the rest of the dancers. Panic, swift and infectious, swept through the crowd on the floor. Women fainted dramatically right and left, some of them caught in the arms of their gallant escorts, some not so lucky.

Cecily caught sight of Phoebe, her face hidden by her hat, which had been tilted forward in the melee, attempting to fight her way through the now uncontrollable mob who were frantically seeking escape.

The sultan reached the door and plunged through it. Concerned about Henry’s reaction to all this uproar, Cecily glanced back at the stage.

The orchestra had abandoned their positions, leaving a very confused python, which had slithered out of the chair, swaying uncertainly in the middle of the floorboards.

Cecily was most likely the only person to see Madeline climb the steps to the stage, approach the huge snake, and lift it in her arms, then with it wrapped contentedly around her neck, she walked back to the steps and disappeared down them.

Her head throbbing painfully, Cecily stared down at the pandemonium below her. If Madeline’s spirits were indeed responsible for this catastrophe, then they had surpassed themselves. Thank God it was midnight. The day was finally over.

“Mercy me,” Mrs. Chubb exclaimed after Cecily had recounted the entire nightmare. “I heard the rumpus going on, but took no notice. It usually gets noisy in the ballroom when they take them masks off.”

“Not quite that noisy,” Cecily said grimly. Seated at the kitchen table, she leaned an elbow on it and rubbed at her forehead with her thumb and forefinger.

Mrs. Chubb peered down at her. “Got a bad headache then, madam?”

Cecily nodded. “I really should eat something before I go to bed. With everything that’s happened tonight, I had to forgo dinner.”

Mrs. Chubb tutted. “Just you sit there, and I’ll get something right away. I’ll give you one of my powders, too. Does wonders for headaches, it does. My Fred used to swear by them. ’Specially toward the end, when his headaches got so bad.”

Cecily watched her bustle over to the huge cupboards and pull one open. Mrs. Chubb had been a widow almost four years. Cecily wondered how long it had taken the housekeeper before she could fall asleep at night without aching over the empty space next to her.

Nights were the worst. The thought of climbing into that cold empty bed and the long hours when she couldn’t sleep weighed heavily on her. She pushed the melancholy thoughts away and managed a smile as Mrs. Chubb put a half-empty bottle of brandy down in front of her.

“Put some of that in your tea, mum. It will do you the world of good. Gave some to Phoebe, I did. She brightened up in no time.”

“I can imagine.” Cecily looked at the label. “I see Michel’s taste is still impeccable.”

Mrs. Chubb lifted her hands and let them drop. “Well, you know the chef, mum. Nothing but the best. ’Specially when it’s going in his stomach.”

“Well, I really can’t say too much. He is an excellent chef, and they are so very difficult to come by in this part of the country.”

“If you want my opinion, everything is difficult to come by in this part of the country.” Mrs. Chubb lifted a finger. “Which reminds me, I have to get another jar of my special piccalilli out. I’ll slice up some pressed beef while I’m in the larder, and how would you like a nice hunk off of Michel’s cottage loaf?”

Cecily nodded wearily. “That sounds delightful, Mrs. Chubb. “Perhaps some Gorgonzola and an apple?”

“Coming right up.” She hurried out of the kitchen, a roly-poly figure in her white pinafore apron and dark brown dress.

When the housekeeper returned and put the loaded plate down in front of her, Cecily was quite sure she’d never seen
anything quite so appetizing. She tucked in right away, with Mrs. Chubb hovering anxiously nearby.

“So what happened to the snake, then?” Mrs. Chubb asked when she sat back with a satisfied sigh. “Did Madeline get it back into its basket? How did it get into the chair, anyway?”

Cecily patted her mouth with her serviette. “As far as we can make out, when Ethel disturbed him, Henry decided to take a look around. Phoebe had all the props for the tableau stored right there next to him. He must have found the sedan chair, decided to adopt it as his new home, and promptly went back to sleep. Phoebe was so certain he’d escaped through the door, she didn’t think to look anywhere else.”

Mrs. Chubb shook her head. “Poor Phoebe. She was in such a state. I bet she’s glad it’s all over.”

“I’m sure she is. Mr. Sims arrived a little while ago to take charge of Henry. It was not a tearful farewell, I can assure you.”

“I’ll just bet it wasn’t.” The housekeeper opened a cupboard and took out a glass. “I’ll fix that powder for you now, mum. You’ll sleep like a baby tonight.”

Sleep like a baby, Cecily’s thoughts echoed. That would be nice. That would be very nice indeed.

She slept fairly well after all and woke to a bright, sunlit morning. Standing at the open window, she could look down on the tennis courts and the rock pool beyond. Dew sparkled on the sunlit grass, and sparrows twittered loudly as they perched on the heads of the strange-looking topiary animals John had carved out of the yew.

Listening to the steady
thwock
of a tennis ball against a racquet in the clear, cool morning air, Cecily found it hard to believe the events of yesterday had actually happened. She wondered how Robert Danbury felt, waking up to his first morning without his wife.

She hoped he did have someone with whom he could seek consolation. There were times when she would dearly love to have such a person herself.

A light tap on her door interrupted her thoughts. She crossed
the room in bare feet to answer it, smiling when Gertie greeted her carrying a jug of hot water.

Although two bathrooms had been installed in the Pennyfoot, Cecily still preferred to wash in her room when the hotel was full. “Thank you, Gertie, I’ll take it,” she said, reaching for the jug.

“Morning, madam. Mr. Baxter said to tell you they’ve arrived to take the body to the station.”

“Already?”

“Yes, mum. Ian says they want to catch the first train to London.”

“I see. Is Mr. Danbury leaving with it?”

“No, mum. He’s staying behind to pack the trunks. I heard Mr. Baxter tell Mrs. Chubb as how Mr. Danbury don’t want to travel with his wife’s body.”

Cecily nodded. “Well, thank you, Gertie. I might have a visit from Inspector Cranshaw and P.C. Northcott this morning. Please inform me if they arrive. I’ll be going down for breakfast in half an hour.”

“Yes, mum.” Gertie closed the door.

Cecily carried the jug over to the washstand and poured water into the bowl. She wondered if the inspector would be a little more astute than his constable—though she would not look forward to a meeting with Inspector Cranshaw. Unlike Stan Northcott, his superior was a tall, unsmiling, aloof man who had a way of staring into people’s faces as if he could read their minds.

She had met him only twice, and both times he had made her feel guilty about nothing, which was ridiculous, of course. Cecily splashed the lukewarm water on her face. She just hoped that he could make more sense out of this whole situation than she could.

On the one hand, it seemed as if Robert Danbury had to be the obvious suspect for murder. He had much to gain from his wife’s death, and his marriage was far from perfect, according to Daphne Morris.

Cecily rolled soap between her palms, then massaged her face. But if he was guilty, she would dearly love to know how he had accomplished it. Something wasn’t quite right about the
scenario she had envisioned. And she just wished she knew what it was.

Patting her face dry, she decided there wasn’t much more she could do. Baxter would no doubt be relieved to hear her say that. From now on, the investigation was in Inspector Cranshaw’s hands. Still feeling decidedly uneasy, she finished dressing.

Much to Cecily’s satisfaction, the inspector arrived with P.C. Northcott shortly after breakfast. Apparently he’d decided to take her seriously, although the meeting went no better than she had envisioned. At her request, Baxter remained in the library with her during the interview.

Determined to deliver her account as fairly as possible, Cecily was most careful what she told Inspector Cranshaw. She recounted her conversations, as close as she could remember, with Robert Danbury, and those with Daphne Morris. She omitted her conversation with Keith Torrington, since she saw no purpose in bringing up the subject.

During her entire speech, Inspector Cranshaw said nothing, nor could she tell from his expression what was in his mind. She was surprised he didn’t take notes, though P.C. Northcott scribbled in his notebook from time to time.

“I admit, a good deal of it doesn’t appear to make sense,” she said when she had finished recounting everything that had happened. “The business with the note, for instance. It would seem—”

“Mrs. Sinclair,” the inspector interrupted. “I thank you for your interest, but I must caution you about interfering in business that does not concern you. Our job is difficult enough and would be made considerably easier were it not for well-meaning members of the public taking it upon themselves to meddle in our affairs.”

Resentment burned in Cecily’s cheeks. “I was doing my best to help. Since I was on the premises and you were not, it seemed at the very least advisable to ask a few preliminary questions of my guests.”

“That was Police Constable Northcott’s duty, madam,” the inspector said in a patronizing tone. “Unfortunately the constable
obviously did not feel he had sufficient reason to question anyone. We shall remedy that this morning and draw our own conclusions, however. I should appreciate it if you will allow us to do that without interruption?”

If he meant for her to stay out of his way, Cecily thought, she would be most happy to oblige. “Certainly,” she said, keeping her voice cool. “I am anxious to have this matter cleared up as soon as possible. Obviously this terrible tragedy does not speak well for the Pennyfoot.”

The inspector nodded. “I can understand your concern, madam. If this should prove to be a simple accident after all, you could well be held responsible, in view of the condition of the safety wall.”

Something in his voice annoyed her. “That is not why I have drawn your attention to my suspicions,” she said, resisting the urge to hit him. “I certainly hope you will uncover the solution before too long.” She stood, indicating the end of the conversation.

The inspector rose smartly, with the constable lagging a little behind him. “Thank you for your assistance in this matter, madam. I assure you, we will do everything in our power to determine the truth.”

Relieved that the ordeal was over, she could afford to be gracious. “Please let me know if there is anything else I can help you with,” she said. “I am sure Mr. Baxter will be most happy to assist you should you need to speak with any of my staff.”

The policemen left, and she sank onto a chair, thankful to have the meeting over with.

“Are you feeling all right, madam?” Baxter inquired after the door had closed behind the two men. “If I might comment, you sounded a trifle irritated.”

“Insufferable man. He as good as called me a meddlesome old woman.”

“I think he was merely concerned for your well-being, madam.”

“Well-being be blowed. I might have known you’d take his side. Typical masculine attitude.”

She looked up to find his face stiff and expressionless. “Oh,
all right, I apologize. Forgive me, I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Nor I, madam. It made me most uncomfortable to know that we very likely have a murderer in our midst.”

She didn’t see the point in telling him that wasn’t the reason she had lost sleep. “I’m glad you, at least, share my beliefs. That makes me feel a little better.”

“I don’t think the inspector disbelieves you, madam. I think he simply wants to conduct his investigation in his own way.”

Cecily sighed. “Maybe you’re right. Perhaps I am being a little unreasonable. All this unpleasantness has made me very tense. I think I shall go out into the gardens and get some fresh air and sunshine. Perhaps it will help to clear my head and wake me up.”

“I think that is an excellent idea.” He moved to the door and opened it. “I will be sure to inform you when the police are finished with their investigation.”

“Please do.” She allowed her gaze to wander into the corner where Lady Eleanor had lain all night. “I must say, I feel much more comfortable in this room now that they’ve taken the body away.”

“Yes, madam. I sent Ian out late last night with a message to the undertakers to be here as early as possible.”

Cecily nodded. “One of these days I’ll be able to afford to have a telephone installed. James always argued with me over it, saying he didn’t consider it a necessity. But there are definite times, Baxter, when it would come in most useful.”

“Perhaps all changes are not necessarily detrimental.”

Cecily smiled. “I have hopes for you yet, Baxter.”