Slay Bells, page 15
Cecily sighed. “I must confess, the idea occurred to me. That is what worries me the most.”
“Then we have to hunt him down and hand him over to the constabulary.”
“Precisely.” She looked hopefully at him. “Perhaps you’d like to accompany me tomorrow, when I go to search Sid Porter’s room? I’m hoping to find something that might help the investigation.”
A frown appeared on his face, drawing his brows together. “I don’t like this, Cecily,” he muttered. “I don’t like this one little bit.”
“Neither do I, Bax. But I really don’t know what else we can do.”
“I suppose we could contact the inspector and ask for his help.”
“No!” Aware she’d spoken too sharply, she softened her tone. “You know very well that the inspector has been looking for an excuse to shut us down for years. He hates the card rooms, and the fact that we have gambling in the hotel. Any investigation on his part could unearth a reason for him to do so. I would prefer to leave him out of this situation until we know exactly what happened and who was responsible.”
“And if someone else dies in the meantime?”
Cecily shuddered. “We shall just have to hope that won’t happen.”
“What does all this business with the clown have to do with objects being moved to odd places?”
“That’s what baffles me. I can’t imagine a killer going to all that trouble, and what would be his purpose? It doesn’t make any sense at all.”
“Murder seldom does.”
She held out her hands to him. “Will you come with me tomorrow to Sid Porter’s house?”
“Of course.” He rose, reached for her hands and pulled her to her feet. “Where did this fellow live?”
“I don’t know. We’ll have to ask at the George and Dragon. I’m sure someone there will be able to tell us. I thought we might have a bite to eat while we’re there.”
“A good idea.” He drew her to him and kissed her soundly on the mouth. “Now, enough of this talk of murder and mayhem. I need a sound night’s sleep if I am to guard you against unknown villains.”
She waited until they lay side by side in bed before broaching the delicate subject. “Bax?”
His mumbled reply told her he was already on the brink of sleep.
“Bax, I happened to see you talking to Elise Boulanger this morning.”
She felt his tension when he answered. “Yes, I did exchange some words with her.”
“I couldn’t help wondering why you didn’t want to tell me you met her in London.”
She held her breath, feeling her heart pound in her ears, while she waited for his reply.
Sighing, he turned on his side to face her. “I wondered how long it would take you to question me about that.”
“Well, I hesitated to mention it. I didn’t want you to think you had a prying wife.” She couldn’t see his face in the dark, and wished now that she had brought up the subject while the lamps were still alight.
“Would your burning curiosity be satisfied if I told you that if you knew the reason it would spoil a surprise?”
“Oh!” Intrigued, and faintly relieved, she murmured, “Well, in that case, I suppose I can contain myself. What sort of surprise?”
“I refuse to say any more. You will simply have to wait until I tell you.”
“Is it a Christmas present?”
“Not a word, Cecily. Now go to sleep. We both need our rest.”
As an elderly woman needs a rest, perhaps? She pinched her lips together. She had to stop indulging in this petty jealousy. Much as she disliked the idea of her husband sharing secrets with a glamorous young singer, she must trust him and believe that he meant only to surprise her in some way. She could only hope the revelation would be a pleasant one.
CHAPTER
z13 z
Midway through the following morning, Cecily’s agitation had reached fever pitch. Anxious to be on her way, she had little patience with the numerous obstacles that popped up to prevent her from leaving.
The first, in the form of Desmond Atkins, occurred shortly before the scramble to serve breakfast. Visiting the library to inspect the traveling armchairs, Cecily was relieved to find no one there, thus allowing her to delve into the back of the cushions for possible clues.
After a thorough search of each armchair yielded nothing that could help, she sank down on one in frustration. Somehow someone had managed to transport five chairs from the library to the lawn outside without anybody noticing. She would have given a great deal to know just how that was accomplished.
She had spoken to the staff earlier that morning. No one had seen the maneuver take place. Without exception, every maid she spoke to seemed convinced the ghost had spirited the chairs to their grassy spot. Even Gertie, usually so down to earth and logical, seemed reluctant to let go of the idea. In fact she had described, in lurid detail, seeing the ghost hover over the balcony seats. It was a feat, Cecily had to admit, that would have been difficult for a mortal.
The idea came to her in a flash of inspiration. Of course. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? She needed to talk to Madeline—the expert on ghostly manifestations. She could probably answer her questions and possibly tell her whether or not the ghost was real.
Madeline’s so-called trances disturbed Cecily, but she had to admit, there had been many times when her friend’s visions had revealed some interesting insights. There had even been a time or two when she had saved Cecily’s life by sensing danger with a means far beyond Cecily’s capabilities. Or anyone else’s for that matter.
Thinking about the night before, Cecily remembered seeing Kevin Prestwick engaging Madeline in conversation at the variety show. Aware that matters had not been going well between the two of them she’d refrained from disturbing them. She rather hoped their little talk would help patch things up. Perhaps Madeline would be willing to talk about it.
In fact, she decided now, she had more than one subject to discuss with her friend, and what better time than that morning. Although she still had duties to take care of, her appointment with Baxter was not until one o’clock, which would leave her plenty of time to have a nice long conversation with Madeline.
Deciding she had better get started, she rose to her feet, just as the door opened and Desmond Atkins rushed in. He seemed surprised to see Cecily, and stammered a greeting.
“I’ve come to borrow a book for my wife,” he said, heading for the bookshelves. “She needs something to keep her mind off this murder business. I don’t mind telling you, I wanted to get her out of here, but she insisted on staying for Christmas, at least. I just hope she doesn’t live to regret it.”
Since the opportunity had presented itself, Cecily felt perfectly justified in seizing it. “Speaking of the murder,” she said, as Desmond reached for a book, “I understand you were acquainted with Mr. Porter. It must have been quite a shock for you to hear of his untimely demise.”
She had expected him to deny any knowledge of the man. Instead, Desmond dropped the book. It landed with a thud on the floor, and he stared down at it as if mesmerized.
After a moment or two, Cecily said quietly, “Mr. Atkins? You did know Mr. Porter, didn’t you?”
“Never heard of the fellow in my life.” Desmond bent down and scooped up the book. “Ah, this one will do very well, I think.”
He started across the carpet, but she stepped in front of him. “I understand you were arguing with him on the top floor of this establishment a day or two before he was killed.”
Desmond’s eyes flicked one way then the other. “Oh, was that who that was? I had no idea—”
“On the top floor, Mr. Atkins. I find that rather strange, since you were so adamant about the difficulty of climbing the stairs.”
He stared at her for a moment or two, then all the resistence faded from his eyes. “All right, all right. I suppose you’ll find out about it eventually anyway, if I don’t tell you.”
He limped over to a chair and sat down. “It’s true, I did know Porter. I hadn’t seen him in years. That is, until a week ago.” He coughed, and fiddled with the blue silk cravat nestled at his throat. “I wasn’t always a gentleman, you see.”
Personally Cecily found it difficult to class him as a gentleman now, but that was beside the point. “Really? I’m not sure I understand.”
He shook his head. “No, no, of course you wouldn’t.” He sent a furtive glance at the door, as if to make sure no one would enter and overhear him. “I don’t usually admit this to anyone,” he said, speaking in a low voice she could barely hear. “But under the circumstances . . .” Again he hesitated.
“You don’t have to concern yourself,” Cecily said, growing impatient. “Whatever you tell me will be held in the strictest confidence. Unless you’ve broken the law, of course.”
She’d added the last as an attempt to lighten his anxiety, and was taken aback when he answered, “Well, that’s just it, you see. I have broken the law. Many times. I used to... ah...manipulate the locks on safes.”
Her eyes widened. “You were a safecracker?”
He wriggled on his chair. “Ah, you are familiar with the term. I wasn’t sure—”
“Mr. Atkins.” Cecily leaned forward. “Are you telling me you were a professional thief?”
Desmond tucked his cravat more securely inside his coat. “I suppose I was, yes.” He wagged a finger at her. “But I’m not anymore, you understand. I gave all that up long ago.” He patted his knee. “Got kicked by a horse when I was running from the bobbies one day. Put an end to that career, as you might well imagine. Not much future in being a robber if you can’t run from the law, is there.”
“No, I suppose not.” She frowned. “But what does all this have to do with Sid Porter?”
“Ah, well, you see, we were in partnership once.” He shook his head. “Not for long. Couldn’t trust the blighter. He’d rat on his best friend to save his neck, that he would.”
As indeed, it seemed he had betrayed Ned Barlow, Cecily reflected. “I see. So I assume Mr. Porter saw you and recognized you.”
“Yes, Mrs. Baxter. Not only recognized me, but wanted me to go back into the business with him.” He made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat. “Seems things hadn’t been going too good for old Sid. When you get low enough so you have to sell balloons on the beach to make a ha’penny, things are bad. Anyway, Sid knew about this safe at the bank in the high street. He kept insisting it would be just once more for old time’s sake.”
“And you refused.”
“Well, of course I did.” Desmond leaned forward. “Look, Mrs. Baxter, you’ve seen my wife. I’m sure you can tell she’s a proper lady. I don’t know why she agreed to marry someone like me, but from the very first moment I set eyes on her I knew she was the one who could change my life. I knew how hard I would have to work to make that happen, and I spent every waking moment learning how to be a gentleman. Even then, I didn’t think she’d have me.”
Cecily smiled. “She must have seen something commendable in you.”
Desmond shrugged. “I don’t know. I only know she fought tooth and nail with her family over me, until they had to agree to the wedding. She knows nothing about my past. I made up another one. If she had any idea of who I really was, she’d be gone in a flash.”
Cecily pursed her lips. “So Sid Porter was a threat to you.”
“You bet he was. He threatened to tell Bernice about our partnership if I didn’t help him crack that safe.”
“You realize, of course, that this gives you a motive for murder?”
“Which is why I’m telling you all this. If I’d killed him, I’d keep my mouth shut, wouldn’t I. I didn’t kill Sid Porter, Mrs. Baxter. I swear it on my mother’s grave.” He paused. “Mind you, I’m not saying I didn’t threaten him. I told him one word out of his mouth and he was a dead man.”
“What did he say to that?”
“He just shrugged his shoulders, said I was a fool to pass up an easy take, and walked away.”
“And you never saw him again.”
“Never.” Desmond pushed himself up from the chair. “Mrs. Baxter, I’m trusting you to keep my secret. I’m sure you don’t want to destroy a happy marriage.”
Cecily rose to her feet. “I promise not to divulge your secret on one condition.”
“And what’s that?”
“If I find out you were involved in any way with Sid Porter’s death, I shall feel it my duty to inform the inspector of our conversation.”
“Fair enough.” He gave her a sharp nod and crossed the room to the door. “You won’t find anything on me, Mrs. Baxter. I can promise you that.”
The door closed, leaving her staring after him. He had seemed sincere, but she had learned long ago to trust her instincts, and she didn’t feel fully convinced that Desmond Atkins’s hands were as clean as he professed. Perhaps her search of Sid Porter’s room would tell her something. She certainly hoped so. Only two more days until Christmas Day and she was no closer to solving this puzzle.
She left the library and headed for the kitchen. She had to go over the menu with Michel, and confer with Mrs. Chubb about the table settings for the Christmas dinner. After that perhaps she could find the time to visit Madeline.
Hurrying down the hallway, she went over in her mind her conversation with Desmond Atkins. Something he’d said had struck a bell somewhere. She’d grasped at it when he’d said it, but the words had slipped away from her before she could understand their significance.
As she entered the lobby, Phoebe came charging through the front door, and Cecily had to give up her attempt to recall the elusive message in her head. Maybe later she’d remember, when she had a quiet moment to herself.
“I had to come by and see you,” Phoebe said, gasping from her exertion. “I stopped in Dolly’s tea shop this morning to pick up some Banbury cakes, and Dolly told me you’d found a dozen armchairs sitting in the middle of the tennis court.”
Cecily sighed. “Only five armchairs, Phoebe, and they were in the middle of the bowling green. Not the tennis court.”
Phoebe dismissed the discrepancy with a flap of her hand. “So Frederick was telling the truth, after all. Do tell, Cecily. Was it the ghost? How utterly dreadful! Did anyone see them floating through the air? Imagine a ghost being able to move heavy furniture that way. Terrifying, my dear.” She patted Cecily’s arm with her gloved fingers. “You must be beside yourself with worry. It could be the Christmas tree floating around next. Just imagine.”
Cecily shuddered at the thought. “I doubt very much if a ghost could transport a feather, much less five armchairs,” she said grimly. She glanced over her shoulder at a couple descending the stairs. “I do hope you won’t repeat any of this to anyone,” she added. “I don’t want to have our guests needlessly frightened away.”
“Oh, of course, Cecily.” Phoebe placed a delicate hand over her mouth. “I shall say nothing.” Her eyes grew wide over her fingers. “If it’s not a ghost, then who would do such a silly thing?”
The couple passed them by, smiling a greeting at Cecily. She waited until they were out of earshot, then murmured, “Phoebe, I’m sorry, but I have something I must attend to in the kitchen. Perhaps we can meet later, when I have more time to discuss all this?”
“By all means.” Phoebe’s frown disappeared. “Why don’t we meet for refreshments at the tea shop? Dolly asked about you this morning. She said she hasn’t seen you in far too long. I’m sure she’d love it if you pop in today.”
Tempted, Cecily considered the idea. It had been some time since she had enjoyed one of Dolly’s scones spread with strawberry jam and thick clotted cream. Her mouth watered at the memory. “Very well,” she said quickly, before she could change her mind. “I’ll do my best to be there at half past eleven.”
“Wonderful!” Phoebe clapped her hands. “We can have a nice long talk.”
“I won’t be able to stay for long,” Cecily warned. “I promised Baxter I’d go with him to the George and Dragon at one o’clock.”
Phoebe smiled, and waved happily as she trotted back to the door.
With a glance at the grandfather clock in the corner of the lobby, Cecily quickened her pace to the kitchen. If she were to pay Madeline a visit, that would leave no time for breakfast. Already the maids had returned from the dining room for the tea trolleys.
Michel had disappeared when she entered the warm kitchen, and she found Mrs. Chubb in the pantry, making a list for the grocer.
“We’ll have to order some additions to the willow china soon, m’m,” she said, when she saw Cecily. “The maids are all fingers and thumbs this morning. Lost three plates and a cup and saucer. That’s not counting the plates Gertie dropped the other day.”
“Well, please make a list of what we need and I’ll send one of the footmen into town to buy some more.” Cecily looked along the shelves at the stacks of china. “What about the rose pattern? Do we have enough for the tables on Christmas Day?”
“Yes, m’m.” Mrs. Chubb pointed with her pencil. “You bought extra of those last summer.”
Cecily nodded her approval. “Where is Michel? I must go over the menu with him for tonight’s dinner. It should be something simple, since the carol singers will be arriving shortly after dinner is served. We don’t need maids running around the dining room while the singers are performing.”
“Michel didn’t say where he was going.” Mrs. Chubb lowered her voice. “He’s been acting strange, ever since young Doris and that singer got here. I think he’s got it bad, m’m.”
Cecily frowned. “Got what?”
“Oh, sorry, m’m. That’s Gertie’s talk. It rubs off on me sometimes. No, I mean Michel has taken a fancy to that singer friend of Doris’s. He’s been disappearing every now and then, and I think he’s meeting her somewhere.”
Cecily pinched her lips together. “She certainly likes to attract attention.”
“That she does, m’m. But then she’s on the stage. What can you expect.”
