Slay Bells, page 1
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“The book’s language evokes its Edwardian time period. Conversation is genteel and the prose is dignified without being pretentious. This formality is refreshing and draws the reader into the story more deeply... The author presents most of her characters in just a few words but manages to make these brief depictions comprehensive. By the end of the book, all of them seem like people the reader knows quite well. Given the large number of characters involved in the story, this is an amazing accomplishment.”
—Mystery Scene “The author draws as much from Fawlty Towers as she does from Agatha Christie, crafting a charming . . . cozy delicately flavored with period details of pre–World War I rural England.” —Publishers Weekly
“A charming cozy . . . entertaining.” —Midwest Book Review “Charming . . . Its straightforward writing and tight plotting are reminiscent of Agatha Christie’s books . . . Slay Bells is the fourteenth in Kate Kingsbury’s Pennyfoot Hotel Mysteries—having thirteen more of these delicious stories will give new readers something to cheer about.”
—Cozy Library “A return visit to the Pennyfoot Hotel brings a great mystery for the holiday season . . . Cecily Sinclair Baxter is a delightful heroine . . . The secondary characters add great texture and richness to the setting. This book has it all: a great mystery, wonderful characters, and a charming setting.”
—Romantic Times Praise for the Pennyfoot Hotel and Manor House mysteries of
Kate Kingsbury
“You’ll enjoy your visit to the Pennyfoot Hotel.” —Hamilton Crane, author of Bonjour, Miss Seeton continued . . . “Clever and cunning...Delightfully unique and entertaining. A most delicious teatime mystery with just the right atmosphere and a charming cast of characters.”
—Literary Times “Sitting Marsh and its array of small-town citizens are realistically and humorously depicted.” —The Mystery Reader “Reminiscent of Upstairs, Downstairs . . . There are likable characters, period details, and a puzzle that kept me guessing until the end. A very enjoyable read.” —Mystery News
“Delightful and charming.”
“Always most enjoyable.”
“Well-drawn characters.”
—Painted Rock Reviews —I Love a Mystery —Publishers Weekly
“Full of humor, suspense, adventure, and touches of romance... delightful.” —Rendezvous “A fun to read historical mystery.” —Midwest Book Review “Trust me, you will not be disappointed...Ms. Kingsbury has created a memorable series with delightful characters that can be enjoyed over and over again.” —MyShelf.com
“A descendant of Agatha Christie . . . [Kingsbury’s] books are light-hearted and serious, amusing and well-plotted.” —Salem (OR) Statesman Journal “The Manor House Mysteries are charming and whimsical historical tales.” —The Best Reviews “You can almost taste the plum pudding.”
—Roundtable Reviews
Visit Kate Kingsbury’s website at www.doreenrobertshight.com
Manor House Mysteries by Kate Kingsbury a bicycle built for murder death is in the air for whom death tolls dig deep for murder paint by murder berried alive
fire when ready wedding rows
an unmentionable murder
Pennyfoot Hotel Mysteries by Kate Kingsbury room with a clue do not disturb
service for two
eat, drink, and be buried check-out time grounds for murder pay the piper
chivalry is dead ring for tomb service death with reservations dying room only maid to murder
Holiday Pennyfoot Hotel Mysteries by Kate Kingsbury no clue at the inn slay bells
shrouds of holly
SLAY BELLS
KATE KINGSBURY
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BERKLEY PRIME CRIME, NEW YORK THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
SLAY BELLS
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author Copyright © 2006 by Doreen Roberts Hight. Cover art by Dan Craig.
Cover design by Judith Murello.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
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a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
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ISBN: 1-4295-8475-0 BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME
Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
The name BERKLEY PRIME CRIME and the BERKLEY PRIME CRIME design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
This book is dedicated to Bill, whose love, support, and encouragement inspire and uphold me. What would life be without you?
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As always, I couldn’t have created this book without the help and support of others. My deepest thanks go to my editor, Sandra Harding, whose comments and suggestions help keep me on the right path, and whose constant support and encouragement brightens my day.
My thanks also to Jennifer Hoffman for her diligent critiques and sharp eye, to Ann Wraight for all the helpful research, and to Jeremy Palmer for lending me his name.
Thanks to Judy Murello and the brilliant art department for some truly great covers, and to all who worked to make this book the best it could be.
Last, and by no means least, my thanks to my ever-patient, always understanding husband. I am, indeed, blessed.
CHAPTER z1z
Phoebe Carter-Holmes Fortescue hovered in front of the fireplace in the hotel library and wrung her hands in despair. “I can’t imagine what could have happened to him,” she declared. “I specifically told him to be here at precisely two o’clock.”
Cecily Sinclair Baxter glanced at the ornate clock perched on the mantelpiece. “I’m sure Mr. Porter will be here soon,” she murmured, being sure of no such thing. “After all, he knows the children are waiting for him to appear. What good is a Christmas party without a Father Christmas?”
A loud screech erupted from the corner of the room where a group of children played in front of the glistening Christmas tree. Frowning, Phoebe lifted her hands to straighten her hat. “I really can’t have all this upset right now. What with the fuss and bother over the Christmas season, and all this talk about imminent war in France, it’s so terribly disturbing. I have a nasty feeling that 1914 is going to be a dismal year.”
“Let us sincerely hope not. I’d hate to see England drawn into a war, but if it is, we should at least be safe in our little corner of the southeast coast.” Cecily glanced across the room as more shrieks bounced off the walls. “Oh, dear, I’m afraid the children are getting restless.”
“I do wish that man would get here. All this worrying is taxing my mind. Why do these events always have to be so complicated?”
From across the room a woman’s voice rose above the clatter. “Simply because the woman in charge makes them so.”
“Really, Madeline!” Phoebe’s plaintive voice rose in a whine above the boisterous chatter of the children. “Must you find fault with everything I attempt? Surely a little tolerance isn’t too much to ask? After all, it is the season to be jolly. Or perhaps, as usual, you find yourself above such frivolity?”
Cecily glanced with apprehension at the object of Phoebe’s disapproval. Madeline Pengrath stood in the midst of the clamoring children, one hand grasping the shoulder of a red-faced boy while she held a struggling girl at arm’s length.
The slim woman’s pink muslin frock swirled around her slipper
Her voice, usually as low and melodic as a rippling brook, sounded like a growl when she scowled at Phoebe. “If your dratted Father Christmas had arrived on schedule, these children would have happy, smiling faces instead of doing their best to kill each other—ouch!”
This last appeared to be a reaction to a vicious kick in the shin from the furious boy.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Phoebe marched across the floor, lifted her gloved hand and cuffed the boy behind the ear. “There. Now behave, you ungrateful little hooligan.”
The boy yelled, while the little girl laughed, only to let out a bellow of indignation when Phoebe batted her, too.
“Phoebe!” Madeline encircled a child in each arm. “You are a fine one to bleat about tolerance. If you want the children to behave I suggest you produce the guest of honor in the next five minutes. That’s if you’d rather not have a fullscale rebellion with which to contend.”
“I certainly would produce the man if I could.” Phoebe held out her arms to Cecily in appeal. “I have no idea where he could be.”
Deciding it was time to take charge of the situation, Cecily loudly clapped her hands. “Children! Gather around the tree and soon we will hand out the presents.”
Squeals of excitement answered her, and the young revelers rushed to secure the perfect spot in front of the sparkling Christmas tree.
Madeline really had achieved miracles this year, Cecily thought as she helped settle the little ones down. The library was her favorite room in the Pennyfoot Hotel, and had recently undergone a renovation after being gutted by a fire just a year ago.
Madeline had swathed the spacious fireplace with bountiful garlands of feathery cedar and pine. The heavenly fragrance permeated the entire room. Huge red velvet ribbons edged with gold thread added a splash of color and were complemented by pinecones painted silver.
Similar garlands hung from the light oak paneling, which had replaced the dark mahogany, much to Cecily’s delight. The new walls brightened the room considerably.
She particularly liked the colored-glass baubles, ribbons, and gilded walnuts that dangled in the branches of the sturdy pine tree. The tiny white candles, however, set in their copper saucers, gave her chills.
In previous years, the candles on the tree had been lit on Christmas Eve for a ceremony of carol singing. However, last year Cecily had come close to losing her life when the candles had set the tree alight. Now, as long as she remained the manager of the Pennyfoot, future carols would be sung without the benefit of flickering candles, thank you very much.
Having accepted Madeline’s generous offer to keep the youngsters occupied with a fairy tale, Cecily retreated to the fireplace. Phoebe joined her, and immediately attempted to peer up the wide chimney. The maneuver required a good deal of bending, accompanied by painful grunting as she struggled against the confines of her corset.
“I wouldn’t get too close,” Cecily advised. “You’re likely to get soot in your eye when Father Christmas arrives.”
“I thought you had the chimney swept yesterday.”
“I did, but I never know if those chimney sweeps are as thorough as one expects.”
Phoebe straightened, and brushed an imaginary speck from her immaculate dove gray suit. The jacket, trimmed with white fur, fitted her to perfection, as did the gored skirt that skimmed her pearl-buttoned high shoes. Even in her less fortunate days Phoebe had managed to look like a fashion plate, but since she’d married Colonel Frederick Fortescue her wardrobe had become quite impressive.
“I’m sorely disappointed,” she murmured. “I was quite looking forward to seeing Father Christmas appear out of the chimney. Quite a spectacular entrance, if I do say so myself.” She sent a malevolent glance in Madeline’s direction. “Some people just don’t realize how much creative talent and fortitude is required to plan such an event as this.”
“I have to admit, I’ve been concerned that you may have been overly ambitious this time.” Cecily smiled at her friend to alleviate the sting in her words.
Even so, the wide brim of Phoebe’s hat, weighed down by an abundance of white tulle and an assortment of ribbon roses, trembled with her resentment. “And what, pray, do you mean by that remark?”
“Only that it must have been difficult to persuade someone to actually descend the chimney. He must be a slim fellow to make such a hazardous journey.”
“As a matter of fact, he is. Which is how the whole idea came about. My original applicant was a much stouter man, and would never have managed the task. When he fell ill, however, I was forced to find a hasty replacement. I was fortunate to find Mr. Porter, who was willing to oblige at very short notice. Since he was far less corpulent, the idea of using the chimney presented itself. I had to offer the man a larger stipend than I’d anticipated, but once I named a generous figure, he was more than willing to accommodate me.”
“I imagine he was,” Cecily murmured. “I have to wonder, however, how the children will receive a scrawny Father Christmas.”
“I’ve taken pains to remedy that, of course.” Phoebe gestured at the fireplace with an elegant wave of her hand. “I had one of the footmen hide a large pillow on the ledge inside the chimney, above the fireplace well, together with the sack of toys.”
Cecily glanced at Madeline who, judging from the frantic manipulation of her eyebrows, had neared the end of her story. Once more the children were growing restless, constantly glancing in the direction of the fireplace.
“We shall have to retrieve the toys,” Cecily said in a hushed tone, “and hand them out ourselves. We cannot wait any longer. The children are impatient, and soon the parents will be arriving to take their little ones home.”
Obviously put out by the setback, Phoebe clicked her tongue. “Yes, well, I never have been enthusiastic about entertaining the village children. Admirable of you to offer such generosity, of course, but one never knows what kind of people one is entertaining when inviting peasants into one’s home.”
Well used to her friend’s unfortunate comments, Cecily bit her tongue. Phoebe’s first marriage had been to an aristocrat. Sadly, her husband’s family had never accepted her, and upon his death had cast out the grieving widow and her son to fend for themselves.
Having become accustomed to the respect and comfort afforded by her marriage, Phoebe had found it particularly hard to adjust, and had formed a bitter animosity toward the lesser fortunate with whom she had been forced to associate.
Her marriage to the Colonel proved to be a mixed blessing. While providing his wife with a standard of living more in keeping with the luxurious life she had once known, Colonel Fortescue’s faculties had been severely damaged during the Boer War, leaving him somewhat demented and unpredictable.
Phoebe had accepted his limitations in return for the comfort and security he could offer her. With their marriage she had risen above her miserable existence once more, but she’d never forgotten her dismal life among the poor, and despised any reminder of it.
“I do hope you didn’t pay the fellow in advance,” Cecily said, wincing as the clock on the mantelpiece chimed the hour. “It’s safe to say he has had second thoughts about navigating the chimney.”
“Drat. No, of course I didn’t pay him. In fact, if I see him again I shall give him a very large piece of my mind. How dare he disappoint the children!”
Cecily hid a smile. If anyone was disappointed it was most certainly Phoebe, who hated to have one of her grand gestures demolished. The sad truth was that the vast majority of her plans ended in disaster. Phoebe, however, never lost her conviction that the very next idea was her most brilliant and would undoubtedly be applauded as an unmitigated success.
Cecily still waited for that particular miracle to occur. “I shall ring for Samuel,” she said, and hurried over to the bell pull rope hanging by the door.
Within a few minutes, during which the children’s voices had risen again to an ear-splitting crescendo, Samuel entered the library. His pleasant face contorted with pain as shrill shrieks erupted from around the tree.
