Slay Bells, page 3
No, she was awake all right. Carefully she opened her eyes. The clown had disappeared.
She spun around, just to make sure. Her eyes had been closed for only a second or two. He would have had to go right past her to get to the rooms at the other end of the hallway or go down the stairs. Where had he gone?
Unable to believe he’d actually vanished, she took a few steps forward. Nothing. It was as if he’d never been there. Yet she’d seen him.
Her heart started pounding and her hands shook. It was a ghost, that’s what. She’d just seen a ghost. Fear made her teeth chatter. Without bothering to put the carpet sweeper away, she flew for the stairs and dashed down them two at a time.
Cecily stared at Samuel’s pale face in dismay. “Roland? Dead? How on earth did it happen?” Samuel shook his head. “Don’t know, m’m. He were just lying there, all twisted up. I reckon he must have slipped off the roof.”
Cecily sat down hard on the settee. Thank goodness everyone had left the library, she thought, as she struggled to make sense of what she’d just heard. This news would surely have cast a pall over the gaiety. “Where is he? You didn’t leave him lying out there, did you?”
“No, m’m. One of the lads helped me get him into the stables. I thought it best to leave him there until the doc gets here.”
“Very good. Has anyone rung Dr. Prestwick?” “Not yet, m’m. I can ask Mrs. Chubb to ring him, if you like?”
“No, that’s all right. I’ll ring him myself. Oh, dear Lord.” Cecily did her best to sort out her thoughts. “We shall have to let Roland’s parents know, of course. I’ll have Baxter send them a letter. No, I suppose he should go in person. What a terrible thing to hear right before Christmas.”
“Yes, m’m.” Samuel cleared his throat. “Speaking of Mr. Baxter, m’m, I have to get the horses ready to fetch him from the train station.”
“Yes, of course.” Cecily gave him a tired smile. “Don’t let me keep you, Samuel. Hurry and bring Mr. Baxter home. He’ll be very upset at the news, I’m sure.”
“Yes, m’m. I’m sure he will.”
The door closed behind her stable manager, and Cecily briefly closed her eyes. Roland was so young. What a tragedy. With a sigh she rose and crossed the room to the door. The only telephone in the hotel was situated at the reception desk. She would just have to hope that no late arrivals would be waiting there while she talked to Kevin Prestwick.
Thinking about the doctor on her way to the lobby, it occurred to her that Madeline hadn’t mentioned him lately. Her good friend and Dr. Prestwick had been keeping company for about a year now, and any day Cecily expected Madeline to announce their betrothal.
Although neither of them professed to be in any hurry to tie the knot, Cecily knew quite well how fond they were of each other. Since they were both far beyond the age one might be expected to venture into wedded bliss, Cecily could see absolutely no point in postponing the happy event.
Madeline, with her vast knowledge of herbal remedies, was often at odds with her beloved doctor, who used a more scientific approach to his profession. Otherwise they seemed to get along splendidly, though Cecily did wonder how the practical, steeped-in-logic physician dealt with Madeline’s strange powers that enabled her to see and hear things hidden to the normal human being.
She reached the lobby just in time to find Philip, her new desk clerk, engaged in a heated discussion with a gentleman whose harsh voice echoed down the hallway.
“You’ll find me a room on the first floor, you sniveling little weasel, or I’ll have your guts for garters!”
Philip’s thin face was paper white as he stared at the angry guest. “I can assure you, sir, if I had a room to spare on the first floor—”
Cecily hurried toward the pair, almost tripping over her skirt in her haste. “What is the trouble here?” She smiled at the irate face of the guest. “Perhaps I can help?”
She cringed when the man swept a disdainful stare from her head down to her toes. “Who are you?”
Shackles rising, Cecily jutted out her chin. “Mrs. Cecily Sinclair Baxter, the manager of this establishment. And you are?”
Her icy voice appeared to have little effect on the man’s unfortunate attitude. “Desmond Atkins. My wife and I are unhappy with the room we’re in. We want to move to another room.” He jabbed a vicious thumb at poor Philip. “And now this imbecile refuses to honor our request.”
Cecily, who was rather fond of Philip, felt an intense dislike toward the belligerent lout. The man’s square face, set on a bulky body, overpowered her desk clerk, whose frail shoulders and bony features appeared to wither up even more in the face of such abuse.
She turned to the nervous clerk and said gently, “Philip, would you please ask the telephone operator to connect me to Dr. Prestwick’s office. Tell him I need to talk to him as soon as possible.”
“Yes, m’m.” Philip nodded so hard his teeth rattled. “Right away, m’m.” A fringe of gray hair slid down over his forehead and he thrust it back into place with his thumb. Stumbling a little, he fled to the end of the desk and picked up the earpiece of the phone.
Cecily waited until the loud cranking of the handle had ceased before turning back to Desmond Atkins. “Now, Mr. Atkins, let me take a look.” She moved behind the desk and stared down at the open pages of the register. “I see you have been assigned a room on the second floor.”
“Quite. Quite. When I made the reservation I specifically requested a room on the first floor. One flight of stairs is quite enough to climb. When we arrived three days ago my wife was escorted to our room, while I went out to the stables to make sure those fools were taking proper care of my motor car. By the time I came back my wife was settled in the room and begged me not to make a fuss.”
“I see. I assume you now want to move down to the first floor, then?”
“I most certainly do. Those stairs are abominable.” He sent a disparaging glance across the lobby. “I can’t imagine why a place this size doesn’t have a lift, or at least some rooms on the ground floor. Not everyone can climb up and down all those stairs, you know.”
Ignoring that, Cecily ran her thumb down the list of guests. “I see the Rochester-Harlands have not yet arrived. I’m sure they won’t mind exchanging rooms with you and your wife. I’ll have your luggage moved to room eleven, which I’m sure you’ll find more to your liking.”
“Is it on the first floor?” Mr. Atkins had a bulbous nose that glowed like embers of a dying fire. No doubt attributed to a fondness for spirits, Cecily thought, as she made the corrections in the ledger. The man was obviously suffering from the aftereffects of imbibing. Which would account for his assumption that she, as well as poor Philip, were complete ignoramuses.
“Isn’t that what you’re requesting?” she asked sweetly. “A room on the first floor?”
Atkins coughed and grunted something she couldn’t catch. She reached for the bell and shook it harder than usual. By the time she’d directed the footman who answered her summons to transfer the Atkins’s luggage to the new room, the despicable man had stomped off—with a pronounced limp that tempered her judgment of him. No wonder the man preferred a room on the first floor. Though that hardly excused his rudeness.
Philip hovered anxiously at her elbow. “I have Dr. Prestwick on the line,” he stuttered. “He says he’s rather busy.”
“Thank you, Philip.” Cecily moved to the end of the desk and picked up the earpiece. Pressing it to her ear, she leaned in to speak into the mouthpiece. “Hello? Kevin?”
The doctor’s mellow tones answered her. “Cecily! How good to speak to you. It has been far too long.”
“Yes, it has.” Cecily glanced at the front door and hoped no guests would arrive until she had completed her conversation. “I do not have good news, I’m afraid.”
“You’re not ill, are you?”
The concern in his voice soothed her frayed nerves. “I’m as healthy as a horse. It’s one of our footmen. It appears he must have slipped off the roof. I’d sent him up there to help Father Christmas, who failed to arrive anyway, so it was all a terrible waste. Poor Roland needn’t have been up there at all, and now . . .” Her voice shook, and she paused for a moment. “I feel responsible for his death,” she added, when she was sure she could speak without a tremor.
“Now, now, you know better than that. It was an accident, that’s all. You were not at all to blame.” Kevin’s voice changed to his brisk professional tone. “I’ll be there just as soon as I can.”
“Thank you, Kevin.” Again she hesitated. “I suppose we shall have to inform P.C. Northcott?”
“I’m sorry, Cecily. You know I should do so in a case like this.”
“Yes, I suppose I do. One can always live in hope, however. I do hate to have a police constable on the premises when the guests are supposed to be enjoying the festivities. It’s tragic enough to lose a young man like that, without having Sam Northcott poking around with his interminable questions and total lack of sensitivity.”
“Well, it sounds straightforward enough. I’m sure he will conduct his business and be off in no time.”
“When it comes to Sam,” Cecily said with a sigh, “one can never be sure of anything.”
She hooked the earpiece onto its handle and turned to Philip. “If you have any more trouble with Mr. Atkins, please refer him to me or to Mr. Baxter.”
“Yes, m’m.” Philip nodded in obvious relief. “I’ll certainly do that.”
Mentioning Baxter’s name brought back the pang of anxiety. She glanced at the tall grandfather clock that stood in the corner of the foyer. It would be at least half an hour before Samuel would be back, hopefully in the company of her husband. More than likely, he and the doctor would arrive together.
That brought a grimace to her face as she made her way to the kitchen. Baxter disliked Kevin, mostly because, Cecily suspected, the doctor had pursued her before Baxter had declared his intentions. Her husband had been jealous of Kevin, and was still sensitive about any of her encounters with the handsome doctor.
She could only pray that the Christmas spirit would prevail and the two men would be, at the very least, civil to one another.
The kitchen appeared to be in its usual state of mealtime chaos when Cecily pushed the swing door open. She paused for a moment to inhale the heavenly aroma of fried onions and bacon before stepping inside.
Across the spacious room Michel shouted orders, amidst a good deal of banging and crashing about, while maids scurried back and forth in an effort to obey him.
Mrs. Chubb stood at the sink, waving a large wooden spoon at Pansy, the new housemaid, who seemed to be in tears. Gertie staggered toward the door with a huge tray loaded with steaming bowls of soup and Cecily sidestepped out of her way.
“Evening, m’m!” Gertie sang out as she shouldered her way through the door.
Cecily watched her unsteady progress down the hallway. Thank the Lord, Gertie had the sturdy build of a carthorse, and a hide just as thick. Cecily couldn’t imagine the Pennyfoot without her chief housemaid.
She stepped back, startled, as Pansy darted past her, mumbling a greeting as she flew out the door. The new maid’s dainty form reminded Cecily of a ballerina, and presented quite a contrast to the strapping Gertie.
Having caught sight of her, Mrs. Chubb hurried over. “Sorry, madam. Didn’t see you standing there. Things are in a bit of a turmoil, what with the shocking news about Roland and all the new visitors arriving for Christmas.”
“Quite, which is why I won’t keep you.” Cecily glanced at the subdued maids. “I imagine the news has upset quite a few of the staff.”
“That it has, m’m. Nice boy, he was, that Roland. Terrible for his parents. Specially at this time of year.”
“Michel seems a little put out.”
“Can’t find his favorite knife, m’m. You’d think the entire meal depended on it. Silly man, he’s got plenty others. I just don’t know what all the fuss is about, I really don’t.”
“Well, you know how temperamental he can be. If it can’t be found we shall have to order him another one.”
“Yes, m’m. I’ll see to it.”
After one last lingering inspection of the busy kitchen, Cecily left. The truth was, she felt out of sorts. Distressed about Roland’s death, irritated by the exchange with Mr. Atkins, and more than a little concerned about the late hour of Baxter’s return, she preferred not to be alone just then.
The library was still empty when she returned to it, however, and she reached for a book from the crammed shelves. There was nothing left for her to do but wait— something to which she did not take kindly. Settling herself down on her favorite gold velvet armchair, she began to read.
* * *
Dodging around the tables in the dining room, Gertie reached the side of the gentleman waiting patiently for his soup. She felt sorry for him, being alone so close to Christmas. Placing the bone china bowl in front of him, she gave him an encouraging smile. “Will that be all, sir?”
He had nice eyes, the sort of blue that made her think of Deep Willow Pond in summertime. He looked up, his steady gaze making her tummy do funny things. “Thank you, yes,” he said, in a soft voice.
“I’ll be right back with your steak and kidney pie.”
“Thank you.” He nodded, and picked up his spoon.
Gertie didn’t generally care for the toffs, but this one seemed nice. He had a kind face, but he didn’t smile all that much. Probably because he was lonely. She wondered if a lady friend planned to join him for Christmas. That would be nice for him. A gent like that should have a lady by his side to keep him company.
The gentleman paused, the spoon halfway to his mouth.
Realizing she’d been staring a little too long, Gertie said quickly, “I was just waiting to see if the soup tastes all right, sir.”
His mouth twitched. “The soup is quite excellent, thank you.”
“Yes, sir.” Feeling like a fool, she backed away, right into the path of Pansy, who crashed into her and stepped painfully on her toe.
Fortunately Pansy had only empty bowls in her arms. She clutched them to her chest, smearing the front of her lacetrimmed apron with bright red tomato soup.
“Oh, bugger it,” Gertie muttered, then slapped a hand over her mouth as a primped-up lady seated nearby gasped in shock and glared at her.
Out of the corner of her eye, Gertie caught a glimpse of the gentleman she’d just served. He looked quite handsome when he smiled, she thought, warmed by the notion that she’d been the one to crack his indifference.
The next instant a loud wail from Pansy snatched her attention. “Look what you’ve gone and done!”
Hastily, Gertie grabbed some of the bowls and hustled Pansy out of the room. “Look, I’m sorry, but you can’t make a fuss in the dining room with all the visitors there. Chubby will box your bloody ears for upsetting them.”
Pansy sniffed, and ran the back of her hand under her nose. “Chubby?”
“Mrs. Chubb.” Gertie puffed out her breath. “And don’t let on you heard me call her by that name. She bleeding hates it, she does.”
Pansy’s mouth stretched into a smile. “I won’t say nothing, honest I won’t.”
“Good. Now let’s get back to the kitchen, before we’re both in the old battle-axe’s bad book.” She followed the tiny girl down the hallway, wondering how on earth anyone managed to have a waist that small without breaking in half.
A light tap on the door disturbed Cecily’s immersion in the wild adventures of Toad of Toad Hall. She put down the book and looked up, expecting to see Samuel’s cheery face. Instead, the tall, fair-haired man who entered wore a somber expression that worried her.
Kevin Prestwick was a dedicated doctor and a great favorite among the ladies of Badgers End. One could count on a lengthy stay in his crowded waiting room, where a preponderance of women tittered amongst themselves before being ushered into the handsome doctor’s office.
For several years he had been considered the most eligible bachelor in town, and although several ladies had been known to set their cap at him, he had managed to resist them for the most part.
Cecily had been an exception, and while flattered, she’d had no desire to return his attachment, and eventually he had turned his attention to Madeline, who was a far better match for him, in Cecily’s opinion.
He smiled now as he crossed the floor toward her, one hand held out to greet her. “Cecily! You look absolutely stunning, as always.”
Kevin could always be counted on to say just the right thing. She rose, and allowed him to take her hand in a warm grasp. “Why, thank you, kind sir. You’re looking very debonair yourself, if I may say so.”
Kevin raised her hand, bowed his head, and pressed his lips to her fingers. Straightening, he looked deep into her eyes and murmured, “It is always most gratifying to be complimented by a beautiful woman.”
Her fingers still grasped in his, Cecily felt a tiny flutter of pleasure. Angry with herself for succumbing to such flattery, she was about to pull her hand free when another deep voice spoke from the doorway.
“And it is always most annoying to find my wife being solicited by a gentleman who should know better.”
“Baxter!” Cecily snatched her hand from Kevin’s. Her husband was home at last, and judging by the scowl on his face, he was none too pleased with her.
CHAPTER
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Gertie’s usual method of entering the kitchen with a pile of dirty dishes was to stretch out a foot and give the door a hefty kick. This sometimes backfired on her when someone happened to be standing on the other side. To prevent slamming an unfortunate victim in the face, Gertie resorted to yelling a warning as she barged down the hallway.
“Coming through!” The noise in the kitchen this particular evening must have been louder than usual, since the door banged into a solid object and sprung back to smack her knee.
“Bloody hell,” she muttered, shouldering the door open again. This time it opened all the way, and she charged into the room, to find Reggie, one of the new waiters, holding his nose, his eyes streaming with tears.
