Slay Bells, page 16
Just then a disturbance in the kitchen distracted the housekeeper, and she rushed out to see the cause of all the commotion.
Cecily left her to restore order among the maids, and went in search of Michel. She eventually found him in the ballroom, talking to Elise, as Mrs. Chubb had suspected. He seemed flustered when she entered, and Elise quickly left his side, murmuring a soft greeting as she slipped past Cecily and out the door.
“You were looking for me, madame?” Michel’s accent seemed even more pronounced.
Assuming it was for the benefit of the singer, Cecily gave him a sour look. “The menu, Michel. Did you forget?”
“Pardonnez moi!” Michel dug in his pocket and drew out a slip of paper. “I had meant to leave this with Mrs. Chubb.” He handed it to Cecily, who quickly scanned it.
“The pheasant and ptarmigan pie will do very nicely,” she murmured. “I think, however, that we should dispense with the blood pudding this evening. I want to keep things as simple as possible.”
“Oui, madame. As you wish.”
“Blancmange for dessert, with the glazed cherries.” She handed the menu back to him. “The rest I’ll leave for your choice.”
“Merci, madame.”
Unable to help herself, she murmured, “Michel, I saw you talking to Elise Boulanger. I hope she doesn’t have any complaints?”
“Complaints, madame? I do not think so. She is...how you say... anticipating the Christmas dinner with great excitement. That is all.”
“Hmmmm.” Cecily gave him a shrewd look. “Be careful, Michel. These stage people can be quite unpredictable.”
“I shall bear it in mind, madame.”
He gave her a sweeping bow, but before he straightened, she turned her back on him and hurried to the door.
She would not have time now to visit with Madeline, unless she could persuade her friend to join her and Phoebe. She would send a carriage to fetch her to the tea shop, she decided, and that would give her time to visit with them both.
It also meant she would have to put up with the squabbling between her two dearest friends. No one would ever dream that the two of them were genuinely fond of each other behind all that petty bickering.
Still, Madeline could certainly advise her as to how to handle the problem of the ghost, and right then Cecily needed all the help available. She had a horrible feeling that things were about to spiral out of control, and with Christmas just two days away, she could not afford to let that happen.
Phoebe was sitting in her usual spot by the fireplace when Cecily entered the tea shop. A carriage had been dispatched to Madeline’s house, with a message that Cecily desperately needed to discuss something with her. She hoped Madeline’s curiosity would persuade her to accept the invitation to join them.
Madeline didn’t care much for formal appointments. She tolerated them when necessary, and avoided them whenever possible. Phoebe, on the other hand, adored being out in public and always made certain she was immaculately dressed for the occasion.
Today she wore a white and black gored skirt with a lacy white blouse, and had covered it with a black coat trimmed in white fur. Her black hat sported several white roses, and for a dash of color, a robin with a bloodred chest sat among them.
“Oh, there you are,” she called out, as Cecily approached the table. “I took the liberty of ordering tea and crumpets for us both. I hope that’s all right?”
“Quite all right.” Cecily seated herself, and took a moment to breathe in the delicious aroma of freshly baked bread. “Thank you, Phoebe. We shall have to add to the order, however. I’ve asked Madeline to join us.”
“Oh.” Phoebe’s face dropped. “Well, I suppose, since we don’t get too many opportunities to meet . . .” Her voice trailed off, giving Cecily the impression that Phoebe would tolerate Madeline for Cecily’s sake.
Dolly chose that moment to bear down on them with a large tray. She somehow managed to maneuver her enormous girth between the tables without sweeping everything off in her wake. It seemed to Cecily that Dolly added an extra roll or two of fat each time she saw her.
Dolly’s chins wobbled in delight as she greeted Cecily. “Mrs. Baxter! I was beginning to think you’d gone off my baking!” Her hearty laugh rang out, turning the heads of the half dozen customers in the tiny dining room.
She dropped the tray on the table, rattling the cups and saucers. Lowering her voice, she whispered, “I heard about the murder up at the Pennyfoot. Can’t believe young Roland would do such a thing. He seemed such a nice lad.”
“Yes, we are all very upset by the tragedy.” Cecily looked at the tray. “My, Dolly, those crumpets look delicious. I can’t wait to taste one. Your baking is such a delight. I’ve sorely missed your wonderful scones.”
“Then you shall have some to take home. My treat.” “That’s most kind of you.” Cecily smiled up at the woman. “I wonder if we might bother you for another pot of tea and some more crumpets. Madeline will be joining us shortly.”
“It will be my pleasure.” Dolly lumbered off in the direction of the kitchen.
Turning to Phoebe, Cecily opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again when she saw the shocked expression on her friend’s face.
“Murdered?” Phoebe’s lips barely moved. “Are you telling me Mr. Porter was murdered? And Roland was responsible?”
Cecily glanced over her shoulder, but the other women in the shop all seemed engrossed in their own conversations. Leaning forward, she said softly, “I’m sorry, Phoebe. I thought you would have heard the news by now. I’m afraid Sid Porter had been stabbed.”
“Oh, my!” Phoebe slapped a hand over her mouth. “I don’t believe it. Roland was a nice boy. So helpful. I can’t believe...” Tears welled in her eyes, and she hunted in her sleeve for a handkerchief.
“If it’s any consolation,” Cecily murmured, “neither do I believe that Roland was the cause of Mr. Porter’s death. I’m doing my best to find the real culprit.”
Phoebe delicately blew her nose. “Well, I can’t say I was particularly impressed by Mr. Porter. No gentleman, that’s for certain. Then again, a gentleman would never agree to slide down a chimney dressed as Father Christmas. A man like that was bound to have enemies. Who do you think killed him?” Phoebe shuddered.
“I really can’t say at this point.” Cecily thought about the clown’s nose she’d found. “There are so many disturbing elements to this puzzle.” Several of which, she decided, she needed to keep to herself.
“If anyone can solve a puzzle, Cecily, it’s you.”
The mellow voice had spoken from behind her, and Cecily turned her head to see Madeline smiling down at her.
“Madeline!” Cecily waved her to a seat. “This is so nice. The three of us here at Dolly’s again. It’s been far too long.” She smiled at her friend. “I haven’t had an opportunity to tell you how wonderful the Christmas decorations are this year. I’ve had so many compliments on them. The ballroom looks magnificent.”
Madeline’s pink muslin frock floated about her ankles as she sat down. “Thank you, Cecily.” She shook her dark tresses back from her face, earning a frown of disapproval from Phoebe, whose sense of decorum did not allow for unbound hair at a dining table.
“I just wish I’d had more time,” Madeline added. “The balloons looked a little sparse, don’t you think? We just didn’t have the time to blow up enough of them.” She nodded at Phoebe, who gave her a faint smile back.
“I thought the room looked fairly presentable,” Phoebe said. “After all, not everyone likes balloons. Especially when they burst. Those loud popping noises can be quite startling if one isn’t prepared.”
Madeline ignored her. “So what do we need to discuss that is so desperate, Cecily? I have to admit, I am intrigued by all this mystery.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ve heard we’re being haunted by a clown ghost.” Cecily reached for the teapot and began pouring tea into the cups. “I need your expert opinion. Are ghosts able to move something heavy around, such as an armchair or an aspidistra, for instance?”
Madeline’s laugh rippled across the table. “Highly unlikely. Why do you ask?”
“Several large objects have been mysteriously whisked from their homes and deposited in very unusual places.”
Phoebe nodded. “Frederick found some armchairs from the library in the middle of the bowling green. The silly man actually fell asleep out there. Can you imagine?”
“Well, that’s what happens when one has as loving a relationship with a bottle as your husband does,” Madeline said, in a silky tone that warned Cecily she was in a cantankerous mood.
As usual, Phoebe rose to the bait. “Well, at least I have a husband.”
“Some of the time,” Madeline murmured.
The roses of Phoebe’s hat quivered. “Just what do you mean by that?”
Sensing an imminent battle, Cecily broke in. “I saw you talking to Dr. Prestwick last night. It’s nice to see you two getting along so well.”
Phoebe sniffed. “Not well enough to make an honest woman of you, apparently.”
Madeline smiled. “I don’t need a man to make me honest. Not like some people I could mention.”
“Will you be spending Christmas with the doctor?” Cecily asked, before Phoebe’s outrage could explode.
Madeline shrugged. “We plan to attend the carol singing in the library tonight. Beyond that we haven’t made any firm arrangements.”
Phoebe opened her mouth to say something, but Cecily forestalled her. “I hope while you are there, you can use your wonderful powers to find out if we have a ghost in our midst, or if all this moving about of furniture is someone’s strange idea of a joke.
“No need,” Madeline murmured. Her green eyes half closed as she focused on Cecily’s face. She raised a hand, flattening it as if pushing against air. Her voice dropped to a monotone, making Cecily’s skin prickle. “The ghost does not exist and you will soon be rid of the clown forever.”
Phoebe uttered a nervous laugh. “Really, Madeline. Do you think you can be rid of a ghost just like that? I saw it myself, yesterday. I saw it with my own two eyes.”
“Your eyes deceived you.”
Madeline’s voice had returned to normal, and Cecily relaxed. “Then you’re saying the clown is not a ghost?”
“All I’m saying,” Madeline said, as she stole a crumpet from Cecily’s plate, “is that you do not have a ghost in the hotel. Not at the present time, anyway.” She picked up a knife, expertly scooped a dab of butter onto the end of it and began smearing it over the crumpet. “What you do have, however, is a devious killer who will stop at nothing to cover his tracks.” Her gaze met Cecily’s. “Beware, my friend. Even you are no match for this one.”
CHAPTER
z14 z
Cecily had asked Samuel to return to Dolly’s with the trap at noon, giving her plenty of time to take Madeline back to her house and continue on to keep her rendezvous with Baxter.
Her stable manager was waiting outside when she stepped through the door of the teashop, and she could tell at once he had something of importance to tell her.
Wisely he held his tongue until Madeline had been safely deposited at her front door and had drifted inside in a cloud of muslin.
Settling back on her seat, Cecily waited for Samuel to speak. She didn’t have long to wait. He had barely urged the horses into a trot before calling back over his shoulder, “I found something this morning, m’m. Thought I should tell you about it.”
She leaned forward again. “You did? What is it?” Holding the reins with one hand, he passed an envelope
back to her. She took out a length of strong twine and stared at it in confusion. “Where did this come from?”
“I thought I’d take a look around the balcony, just to see if I could find anything to do with that ghost everyone saw yesterday. I found that tied to one of the pillars. I knew it didn’t belong with any of the Christmas decorations, so I thought you might want to take a look at it. I found this up there, as well.”
He fished in his pocket and came out with a handful of straw. He let go of it, allowing it to fly back in the wind. “Straw, m’m. From the stable, I reckon.”
A piece of the straw had been trapped by Cecily’s arm. She picked it off and held it while she examined the ends of the twine. Both had been neatly cut.
“I don’t know what you’d make of it, m’m, but I didn’t think that belonged there. I know the maids cleaned the balcony yesterday morning.”
Cecily stared at the piece of straw. “Samuel, the moment we return to the hotel, I’d like you to search the stables.”
“Yes, m’m.” Samuel flicked the reins, and the horses tossed their heads and snorted. “Perhaps you’d better tell me what I’m looking for, m’m?”
“I think,” Cecily said slowly, “that we’re looking for a scarecrow.”
Samuel shot her a startled look over his shoulder. “A scarecrow, m’m?”
“Yes, Samuel. A scarecrow with the face of a clown.” She leaned back again, still fingering the piece of straw. So that’s how the culprit managed the illusion. He’d stuffed straw into clothes to make up the figure of a clown, and had used twine, probably slung over the chandelier, to suspend the “ghost” above the chairs. Then he must have cut the twine and carried off the clown, disappearing before anyone had time to get up there.
That still left the question of why he’d gone to all that trouble to move the furniture. There seemed no purpose in frightening everyone into thinking the hotel was haunted, unless he hoped everyone would blame Sid Porter’s death on a ghost. A bit far-fetched, even for the most gullible.
Cecily sighed. The further she delved into this business, the more confusing it became. Perhaps her visit to Sid Porter’s house would unearth something that would help shed light on the mystery. Until then, she would do her best to enjoy the outing with her husband.
Baxter had already arrived at the George and Dragon, having been met at the train station by one of the footmen and transported to the pub. He had arranged for a table in the private bar, where Cecily’s presence would be acceptable. Ladies were not allowed in the public bar. That was reserved for the men alone.
Bernie Milligan waited on them himself, and brought each of them a ploughman’s lunch. Cecily surveyed the array of cheeses, ham, apple slices, pickled onion, and thick bread with regret for having eaten too many crumpets earlier.
Baxter had no trouble at all tackling the feast, and seemed content to listen to her talk while she picked at her meal. “I have a theory about the ghost in the balcony yesterday,” she said, as Baxter tore off a piece of the bread and thrust it in his mouth.
He raised an eyebrow at her and she explained how she thought the clown had been suspended with the twine above the balcony chairs.
“So you think the clown was just a rag doll?”
“I think the one in the balcony might have been, yes.”
“What about the one Pansy saw on the top floor?”
“I suppose that could have been a dummy as well. It lost its nose, though. Before the ghost in the balcony appeared. I wonder if it had a new nose.”
“From the sound of it, I don’t think anyone would have noticed.”
Cecily picked up a slice of Gorgonzola and bit into it. The tangy cheese stung her tongue and she took a sip of her ale. Putting down the glass, she said, “I suppose you’re right. I’ve asked Samuel to search the stables when we return to the hotel. Just in case someone happened to hide our ghost in there somewhere.”
“So Porter wasn’t killed by a clown after all.”
“It would seem that way.” She sighed. “Perhaps there’s no connection there at all, and I’ve simply been following the wrong trail all this time.”
Baxter gave her a smug smile. “Which is a very good reason to leave sleuthing to the constables.”
That was a sentiment with which she would never agree, Cecily thought, as she speared a pickled onion with her fork. Deciding the time had come to change the subject, she asked, “Did you ever come across that article you talked about?”
“Oh, the one with the woman drowning herself?” Baxter shook his head. “I’ve looked for it, but so far it remains hidden. One of those maddening instances of putting something in a safe place and forgetting where I put it.” He pushed his empty plate away and sat back. “I must be getting old.”
“Never!” She patted his arm. “You’ve had a lot on your mind lately.”
Frowning, he fiddled with his dessert spoon and fork. “I’ve been thinking about it. I seem to remember she’d survived an attack of some sort. I believe it was while she stayed with her family at the Pennyfoot. Something to do with balloons, if my memory serves me well, though I have to admit it hasn’t done so lately.”
“She was attacked by balloons?” Cecily burst out laughing. “Really, Baxter, you have to find the article now. My curiosity knows no bounds.”
“Does it ever?”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “If you are finished with your meal, I’d like to visit Sid Porter’s house now. I must return to the hotel in good time to attend to the carol singers when they arrive.”
“Very well.” Baxter dabbed his mouth with his serviette and rose. “I’ll have a word with Milligan and find out where the fellow lived.”
“You’ll find Samuel in the public bar. He’s waiting to take us there.”
She watched her husband stride from the room. It was really no wonder that Elise Boulanger found herself attracted to him. He presented a fine figure of a man, and wore his age extremely well. She could hardly blame the young woman for paying attention to him.
Depression settled on her like a dark cloak, but she shook it off. She had to trust that her husband’s intentions were honorable, though she knew quite well her mind would not settle until she understood exactly what kind of surprise he had planned for her.
She smiled at him when he returned and allowed him to assist her in rising. “Did you find out where Mr. Porter lived?” she asked, as she led the way out into the cold wind.
“I did.” He led her to the trap, where Samuel waited, reins in hand.
Cecily left her to restore order among the maids, and went in search of Michel. She eventually found him in the ballroom, talking to Elise, as Mrs. Chubb had suspected. He seemed flustered when she entered, and Elise quickly left his side, murmuring a soft greeting as she slipped past Cecily and out the door.
“You were looking for me, madame?” Michel’s accent seemed even more pronounced.
Assuming it was for the benefit of the singer, Cecily gave him a sour look. “The menu, Michel. Did you forget?”
“Pardonnez moi!” Michel dug in his pocket and drew out a slip of paper. “I had meant to leave this with Mrs. Chubb.” He handed it to Cecily, who quickly scanned it.
“The pheasant and ptarmigan pie will do very nicely,” she murmured. “I think, however, that we should dispense with the blood pudding this evening. I want to keep things as simple as possible.”
“Oui, madame. As you wish.”
“Blancmange for dessert, with the glazed cherries.” She handed the menu back to him. “The rest I’ll leave for your choice.”
“Merci, madame.”
Unable to help herself, she murmured, “Michel, I saw you talking to Elise Boulanger. I hope she doesn’t have any complaints?”
“Complaints, madame? I do not think so. She is...how you say... anticipating the Christmas dinner with great excitement. That is all.”
“Hmmmm.” Cecily gave him a shrewd look. “Be careful, Michel. These stage people can be quite unpredictable.”
“I shall bear it in mind, madame.”
He gave her a sweeping bow, but before he straightened, she turned her back on him and hurried to the door.
She would not have time now to visit with Madeline, unless she could persuade her friend to join her and Phoebe. She would send a carriage to fetch her to the tea shop, she decided, and that would give her time to visit with them both.
It also meant she would have to put up with the squabbling between her two dearest friends. No one would ever dream that the two of them were genuinely fond of each other behind all that petty bickering.
Still, Madeline could certainly advise her as to how to handle the problem of the ghost, and right then Cecily needed all the help available. She had a horrible feeling that things were about to spiral out of control, and with Christmas just two days away, she could not afford to let that happen.
Phoebe was sitting in her usual spot by the fireplace when Cecily entered the tea shop. A carriage had been dispatched to Madeline’s house, with a message that Cecily desperately needed to discuss something with her. She hoped Madeline’s curiosity would persuade her to accept the invitation to join them.
Madeline didn’t care much for formal appointments. She tolerated them when necessary, and avoided them whenever possible. Phoebe, on the other hand, adored being out in public and always made certain she was immaculately dressed for the occasion.
Today she wore a white and black gored skirt with a lacy white blouse, and had covered it with a black coat trimmed in white fur. Her black hat sported several white roses, and for a dash of color, a robin with a bloodred chest sat among them.
“Oh, there you are,” she called out, as Cecily approached the table. “I took the liberty of ordering tea and crumpets for us both. I hope that’s all right?”
“Quite all right.” Cecily seated herself, and took a moment to breathe in the delicious aroma of freshly baked bread. “Thank you, Phoebe. We shall have to add to the order, however. I’ve asked Madeline to join us.”
“Oh.” Phoebe’s face dropped. “Well, I suppose, since we don’t get too many opportunities to meet . . .” Her voice trailed off, giving Cecily the impression that Phoebe would tolerate Madeline for Cecily’s sake.
Dolly chose that moment to bear down on them with a large tray. She somehow managed to maneuver her enormous girth between the tables without sweeping everything off in her wake. It seemed to Cecily that Dolly added an extra roll or two of fat each time she saw her.
Dolly’s chins wobbled in delight as she greeted Cecily. “Mrs. Baxter! I was beginning to think you’d gone off my baking!” Her hearty laugh rang out, turning the heads of the half dozen customers in the tiny dining room.
She dropped the tray on the table, rattling the cups and saucers. Lowering her voice, she whispered, “I heard about the murder up at the Pennyfoot. Can’t believe young Roland would do such a thing. He seemed such a nice lad.”
“Yes, we are all very upset by the tragedy.” Cecily looked at the tray. “My, Dolly, those crumpets look delicious. I can’t wait to taste one. Your baking is such a delight. I’ve sorely missed your wonderful scones.”
“Then you shall have some to take home. My treat.” “That’s most kind of you.” Cecily smiled up at the woman. “I wonder if we might bother you for another pot of tea and some more crumpets. Madeline will be joining us shortly.”
“It will be my pleasure.” Dolly lumbered off in the direction of the kitchen.
Turning to Phoebe, Cecily opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again when she saw the shocked expression on her friend’s face.
“Murdered?” Phoebe’s lips barely moved. “Are you telling me Mr. Porter was murdered? And Roland was responsible?”
Cecily glanced over her shoulder, but the other women in the shop all seemed engrossed in their own conversations. Leaning forward, she said softly, “I’m sorry, Phoebe. I thought you would have heard the news by now. I’m afraid Sid Porter had been stabbed.”
“Oh, my!” Phoebe slapped a hand over her mouth. “I don’t believe it. Roland was a nice boy. So helpful. I can’t believe...” Tears welled in her eyes, and she hunted in her sleeve for a handkerchief.
“If it’s any consolation,” Cecily murmured, “neither do I believe that Roland was the cause of Mr. Porter’s death. I’m doing my best to find the real culprit.”
Phoebe delicately blew her nose. “Well, I can’t say I was particularly impressed by Mr. Porter. No gentleman, that’s for certain. Then again, a gentleman would never agree to slide down a chimney dressed as Father Christmas. A man like that was bound to have enemies. Who do you think killed him?” Phoebe shuddered.
“I really can’t say at this point.” Cecily thought about the clown’s nose she’d found. “There are so many disturbing elements to this puzzle.” Several of which, she decided, she needed to keep to herself.
“If anyone can solve a puzzle, Cecily, it’s you.”
The mellow voice had spoken from behind her, and Cecily turned her head to see Madeline smiling down at her.
“Madeline!” Cecily waved her to a seat. “This is so nice. The three of us here at Dolly’s again. It’s been far too long.” She smiled at her friend. “I haven’t had an opportunity to tell you how wonderful the Christmas decorations are this year. I’ve had so many compliments on them. The ballroom looks magnificent.”
Madeline’s pink muslin frock floated about her ankles as she sat down. “Thank you, Cecily.” She shook her dark tresses back from her face, earning a frown of disapproval from Phoebe, whose sense of decorum did not allow for unbound hair at a dining table.
“I just wish I’d had more time,” Madeline added. “The balloons looked a little sparse, don’t you think? We just didn’t have the time to blow up enough of them.” She nodded at Phoebe, who gave her a faint smile back.
“I thought the room looked fairly presentable,” Phoebe said. “After all, not everyone likes balloons. Especially when they burst. Those loud popping noises can be quite startling if one isn’t prepared.”
Madeline ignored her. “So what do we need to discuss that is so desperate, Cecily? I have to admit, I am intrigued by all this mystery.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ve heard we’re being haunted by a clown ghost.” Cecily reached for the teapot and began pouring tea into the cups. “I need your expert opinion. Are ghosts able to move something heavy around, such as an armchair or an aspidistra, for instance?”
Madeline’s laugh rippled across the table. “Highly unlikely. Why do you ask?”
“Several large objects have been mysteriously whisked from their homes and deposited in very unusual places.”
Phoebe nodded. “Frederick found some armchairs from the library in the middle of the bowling green. The silly man actually fell asleep out there. Can you imagine?”
“Well, that’s what happens when one has as loving a relationship with a bottle as your husband does,” Madeline said, in a silky tone that warned Cecily she was in a cantankerous mood.
As usual, Phoebe rose to the bait. “Well, at least I have a husband.”
“Some of the time,” Madeline murmured.
The roses of Phoebe’s hat quivered. “Just what do you mean by that?”
Sensing an imminent battle, Cecily broke in. “I saw you talking to Dr. Prestwick last night. It’s nice to see you two getting along so well.”
Phoebe sniffed. “Not well enough to make an honest woman of you, apparently.”
Madeline smiled. “I don’t need a man to make me honest. Not like some people I could mention.”
“Will you be spending Christmas with the doctor?” Cecily asked, before Phoebe’s outrage could explode.
Madeline shrugged. “We plan to attend the carol singing in the library tonight. Beyond that we haven’t made any firm arrangements.”
Phoebe opened her mouth to say something, but Cecily forestalled her. “I hope while you are there, you can use your wonderful powers to find out if we have a ghost in our midst, or if all this moving about of furniture is someone’s strange idea of a joke.
“No need,” Madeline murmured. Her green eyes half closed as she focused on Cecily’s face. She raised a hand, flattening it as if pushing against air. Her voice dropped to a monotone, making Cecily’s skin prickle. “The ghost does not exist and you will soon be rid of the clown forever.”
Phoebe uttered a nervous laugh. “Really, Madeline. Do you think you can be rid of a ghost just like that? I saw it myself, yesterday. I saw it with my own two eyes.”
“Your eyes deceived you.”
Madeline’s voice had returned to normal, and Cecily relaxed. “Then you’re saying the clown is not a ghost?”
“All I’m saying,” Madeline said, as she stole a crumpet from Cecily’s plate, “is that you do not have a ghost in the hotel. Not at the present time, anyway.” She picked up a knife, expertly scooped a dab of butter onto the end of it and began smearing it over the crumpet. “What you do have, however, is a devious killer who will stop at nothing to cover his tracks.” Her gaze met Cecily’s. “Beware, my friend. Even you are no match for this one.”
CHAPTER
z14 z
Cecily had asked Samuel to return to Dolly’s with the trap at noon, giving her plenty of time to take Madeline back to her house and continue on to keep her rendezvous with Baxter.
Her stable manager was waiting outside when she stepped through the door of the teashop, and she could tell at once he had something of importance to tell her.
Wisely he held his tongue until Madeline had been safely deposited at her front door and had drifted inside in a cloud of muslin.
Settling back on her seat, Cecily waited for Samuel to speak. She didn’t have long to wait. He had barely urged the horses into a trot before calling back over his shoulder, “I found something this morning, m’m. Thought I should tell you about it.”
She leaned forward again. “You did? What is it?” Holding the reins with one hand, he passed an envelope
back to her. She took out a length of strong twine and stared at it in confusion. “Where did this come from?”
“I thought I’d take a look around the balcony, just to see if I could find anything to do with that ghost everyone saw yesterday. I found that tied to one of the pillars. I knew it didn’t belong with any of the Christmas decorations, so I thought you might want to take a look at it. I found this up there, as well.”
He fished in his pocket and came out with a handful of straw. He let go of it, allowing it to fly back in the wind. “Straw, m’m. From the stable, I reckon.”
A piece of the straw had been trapped by Cecily’s arm. She picked it off and held it while she examined the ends of the twine. Both had been neatly cut.
“I don’t know what you’d make of it, m’m, but I didn’t think that belonged there. I know the maids cleaned the balcony yesterday morning.”
Cecily stared at the piece of straw. “Samuel, the moment we return to the hotel, I’d like you to search the stables.”
“Yes, m’m.” Samuel flicked the reins, and the horses tossed their heads and snorted. “Perhaps you’d better tell me what I’m looking for, m’m?”
“I think,” Cecily said slowly, “that we’re looking for a scarecrow.”
Samuel shot her a startled look over his shoulder. “A scarecrow, m’m?”
“Yes, Samuel. A scarecrow with the face of a clown.” She leaned back again, still fingering the piece of straw. So that’s how the culprit managed the illusion. He’d stuffed straw into clothes to make up the figure of a clown, and had used twine, probably slung over the chandelier, to suspend the “ghost” above the chairs. Then he must have cut the twine and carried off the clown, disappearing before anyone had time to get up there.
That still left the question of why he’d gone to all that trouble to move the furniture. There seemed no purpose in frightening everyone into thinking the hotel was haunted, unless he hoped everyone would blame Sid Porter’s death on a ghost. A bit far-fetched, even for the most gullible.
Cecily sighed. The further she delved into this business, the more confusing it became. Perhaps her visit to Sid Porter’s house would unearth something that would help shed light on the mystery. Until then, she would do her best to enjoy the outing with her husband.
Baxter had already arrived at the George and Dragon, having been met at the train station by one of the footmen and transported to the pub. He had arranged for a table in the private bar, where Cecily’s presence would be acceptable. Ladies were not allowed in the public bar. That was reserved for the men alone.
Bernie Milligan waited on them himself, and brought each of them a ploughman’s lunch. Cecily surveyed the array of cheeses, ham, apple slices, pickled onion, and thick bread with regret for having eaten too many crumpets earlier.
Baxter had no trouble at all tackling the feast, and seemed content to listen to her talk while she picked at her meal. “I have a theory about the ghost in the balcony yesterday,” she said, as Baxter tore off a piece of the bread and thrust it in his mouth.
He raised an eyebrow at her and she explained how she thought the clown had been suspended with the twine above the balcony chairs.
“So you think the clown was just a rag doll?”
“I think the one in the balcony might have been, yes.”
“What about the one Pansy saw on the top floor?”
“I suppose that could have been a dummy as well. It lost its nose, though. Before the ghost in the balcony appeared. I wonder if it had a new nose.”
“From the sound of it, I don’t think anyone would have noticed.”
Cecily picked up a slice of Gorgonzola and bit into it. The tangy cheese stung her tongue and she took a sip of her ale. Putting down the glass, she said, “I suppose you’re right. I’ve asked Samuel to search the stables when we return to the hotel. Just in case someone happened to hide our ghost in there somewhere.”
“So Porter wasn’t killed by a clown after all.”
“It would seem that way.” She sighed. “Perhaps there’s no connection there at all, and I’ve simply been following the wrong trail all this time.”
Baxter gave her a smug smile. “Which is a very good reason to leave sleuthing to the constables.”
That was a sentiment with which she would never agree, Cecily thought, as she speared a pickled onion with her fork. Deciding the time had come to change the subject, she asked, “Did you ever come across that article you talked about?”
“Oh, the one with the woman drowning herself?” Baxter shook his head. “I’ve looked for it, but so far it remains hidden. One of those maddening instances of putting something in a safe place and forgetting where I put it.” He pushed his empty plate away and sat back. “I must be getting old.”
“Never!” She patted his arm. “You’ve had a lot on your mind lately.”
Frowning, he fiddled with his dessert spoon and fork. “I’ve been thinking about it. I seem to remember she’d survived an attack of some sort. I believe it was while she stayed with her family at the Pennyfoot. Something to do with balloons, if my memory serves me well, though I have to admit it hasn’t done so lately.”
“She was attacked by balloons?” Cecily burst out laughing. “Really, Baxter, you have to find the article now. My curiosity knows no bounds.”
“Does it ever?”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “If you are finished with your meal, I’d like to visit Sid Porter’s house now. I must return to the hotel in good time to attend to the carol singers when they arrive.”
“Very well.” Baxter dabbed his mouth with his serviette and rose. “I’ll have a word with Milligan and find out where the fellow lived.”
“You’ll find Samuel in the public bar. He’s waiting to take us there.”
She watched her husband stride from the room. It was really no wonder that Elise Boulanger found herself attracted to him. He presented a fine figure of a man, and wore his age extremely well. She could hardly blame the young woman for paying attention to him.
Depression settled on her like a dark cloak, but she shook it off. She had to trust that her husband’s intentions were honorable, though she knew quite well her mind would not settle until she understood exactly what kind of surprise he had planned for her.
She smiled at him when he returned and allowed him to assist her in rising. “Did you find out where Mr. Porter lived?” she asked, as she led the way out into the cold wind.
“I did.” He led her to the trap, where Samuel waited, reins in hand.
