“I’m going out for a little while,” Cecily announced, as Baxter unfolded the daily newspaper. “I thought I’d do a spot of shopping.”
“Oh, right.” He started to fold up the newspaper again. “I’ll come with you.”
“I’d rather you didn’t, dear.” She smiled to take away the sting of her words. “Actually I was hoping to find a very special Christmas present for you.”
“Oh.” His expression said that she’d left it a little late, which wasn’t like her at all.
“I already have your presents,” she hurried to explain. “This one will be a little extra.”
Curiosity crept across his face. “Well, now you’ll have to give me a hint.”
“Certainly not!” She finished tying her scarf over her hat and picked up her muff. “It’s supposed to be a surprise and I’m not going to spoil it, so you’ll just have to wait until Christmas morning.”
“Oh, very well.” He opened the newspaper again. “Samuel taking you, then?”
“Yes, dear.”
“You won’t be late for supper, I hope. You haven’t forgotten the pantomime is tonight?”
“Of course not, dear. How could I?”
“Good. I wouldn’t want to be there without you.”
“There’s no fear of that.” She bent over and planted a kiss on his cheek. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
He grunted an answer and she hurried to the door, thankful he hadn’t asked too many questions. She really hated to lie. As it was, as long as she actually bought something for him, she could convince herself she’d told him the truth.
For, one thing she was sure of, if she told him where she was really going, he’d have made no bones about his disapproval, and she was in no mood for an argument.
Samuel was waiting for Cecily in the foyer when she arrived there, and she wasted no time in hurrying outside. She had only an hour or so to achieve her purpose, and return in time for supper.
The wind had died down, and rain spattered on the roof and windows of the carriage as they sped down the Esplanade toward the town. Wreaths of fir and holly hung from every gas lamp along the seafront. Light from the windows of the little shops spilled across the wet pavements, and people stood huddled in front of the bay windows or hurried in and out the doors.
Horses, carriages, bicycles, and motorcars crammed the High Street, and it took Samuel more than twenty minutes to get from one end to the other. It was precious time wasted, and Cecily fretted as they continued on, once more leaving the hustle and bustle of the town behind.
Rattling down the country road, Cecily peered out at the dripping trees and soaked hedges. A late afternoon mist was rolling in from the ocean, shrouding from view everything beyond a few feet. As they turned the bend, however, she caught sight of a faint light gleaming through the fog. They were almost there.
The carriage slowed, rumbling into the courtyard of the George and Dragon and coming to a halt in front of the rear door. It was not yet opening time and Cecily hoped to catch Bernard McPherson, the owner of the public house, before he went into the bar to prepare for the evening.
Samuel opened the door of the carriage and peeked in. “Would you want me to knock and announce that you have come to visit, m’m?”
“Thank you, Samuel, but I’ll do my own announcing.” She held out her hand and Samuel assisted her to the ground. “Come with me,” she ordered, “I would like you to accompany me while I talk to Mr. McPherson.” Raising her skirts, she crossed over the puddles to the door.
It opened almost immediately, and the surprised face of Bernard McPherson appeared in the doorway. “ ’Pon my soul, it’s Mrs. Baxter!” A grin spread over his gaunt face. “To what do I owe this honor?”
“I was hoping to have a word with you.” She smiled up at him. Most of the publicans she had met were robust, stout fellows with enormous girth and sagging jowls. Bernard on the other hand was quite scrawny, though nonetheless a jolly gentleman with always a kind word or a joke for his customers.
“Of course. Come in!” He opened the door wide and stood back to let them pass. “The missus is down the village visiting our daughter, but she should be back soon.”
He led the way into the parlor and beckoned them to sit. “Can I get you a wee drop of brandy, Mrs. Baxter? It’s a mite chilly out there.”
She shook her head. “Not for me, thank you.”
“The young man, then?”
Samuel glanced at her for permission, which she gave with a nod of her head.
“Good.” Bernard crossed to the door. “I’ll be back in a jiff.”
No sooner had the door closed behind him, than Samuel leaned forward and said in a low voice, “Begging your pardon, m’m, but does Mr. Baxter know we are here?”
Cecily looked at him. “I really don’t see why that should concern you, Samuel.”
“No, m’m.” He was quiet for a moment, then added a little desperately, “It’s just that if he doesn’t know, and if he should happen to find out somehow, he’s going to get really cross with me for bringing you down here.”
Cecily raised her eyebrows. “You were simply following orders.”
“Yes, m’m.” Again a pause. “I take it he doesn’t know then.”
Cecily sighed. “Really, Samuel, you do like to borrow trouble, don’t you. I’m here to ask a few questions, that is all. It’s not as if I were in the public bar, knocking back a pint or two, now is it.”
Her stable manager’s face registered shock. “I should hope not, m’m.”
“Well, then, I fail to see why you think Mr. Baxter would not approve.”
“Yes, m’m.” Yet another pause. “Perhaps it would have been better to tell him in that case.”
Cecily gave him a stern look. “That is my business, Samuel.”
“Yes, m’m.”
She was relieved when Bernard chose that moment to return with a tray bearing a bottle of brandy and three glasses. “Just in case you change your mind, Mrs. Baxter,” he said cheerfully as he set the tray down on a small table.
Glancing at the golden liquid gleaming in the bottle, Cecily imagined it sliding down her throat and warming her tummy. “Well, perhaps a tiny drop, then.”
“Ah! I thought you might. Nothing like a wee drop of the good stuff to warm the cockles, right?” Smiling, Bernard poured a generous amount in the three glasses and handed one to her. Motioning Samuel to take his, the publican picked up his own glass and sat down. “Now then, Mrs. Baxter, what can I do for you?”
Cecily took a cautious sip of the brandy, then winced as it stung her throat. “I wanted to ask you a few questions about the fight in your pub the other night,” she said, her voice sounding a little hoarse.
“Ah.” Bernard nodded. “I thought this was more than just a friendly visit.” He narrowed his gaze. “Does this have anything to do with the chap who recently died on the grounds of the Pennyfoot?”
Cecily exchanged a worried glance with Samuel. Apparently the news had now spread all over town. Avoiding his question, she said carefully, “Did you actually see the fight?”
Bernard shook his head. “No, m’m, I didn’t. I was behind the bar. I heard the commotion, though, and some of my customers told me that a couple of blokes were bashing each other outside in the yard.”
“So you don’t know how it ended up?”
“I didn’t see either of the chaps that were fighting come in the pub after that, so I reckon one got the better of the other and they both took off.”
Cecily took another sip of brandy. This one went down more smoothly, and gave her a pleasant, warm sensation as it slid down to her stomach.
“There was a woman came in looking for one of them. By that time they’d left, though.” Bernard downed his brandy in one gulp and smacked his lips. “Good drop of stuff, that.”
“Did you speak to her?”
“Aye, I did. She came up to the bar. I was a bit surprised, since it was the public bar and this woman was a lady. Not the kind you usually see in the public bar. Things got a bit quiet when she walked in, I can tell you.”
“Did she talk to anyone else while she was here?”
Bernard looked surprised. “No, she didn’t. She asked if I’d seen her husband. When she described him one of the customers mentioned he’d seen a bloke like that fighting out in the courtyard. She just turned around and left without another word.”
Cecily put down her glass before she was tempted to take another sip. “And you are quite sure she spoke to no one else outside?”
“As sure as I can be. I heard a horse taking off right after she went out the door, and I saw her go past the window. She didn’t have time to talk to anyone else.” He gave her a look full of speculation. “Does that help at all?”
“Perhaps. Thank you, Mr. McPherson.” Cecily tilted her head at Samuel. “I appreciate your time. I’m afraid we must leave now. I have some shopping to do before the shops close, and the traffic in the High Street is dreadful.”
Bernard jumped to his feet. “You can’t stay to see the missus? She’ll be disappointed to have missed you.”
“Please give her my apologies. Perhaps the two of you can stop by the Pennyfoot over Christmas and sample some of Mrs. Chubb’s baking. Her mince pies are legendary.”
“I’m sure they are, m’m. We’d like that very much.”
“Good.” Cecily rose to her feet. “Come along, Samuel. We must be off.”
“How are those two sons of yours?” Bernard asked, as he led them to the door.
Cecily smiled. “They are both very well, thank you.”
Bernard nodded. “I often think of your Michael. Those new pumps he put in when he was the publican here are the most efficient I’ve ever seen.”
“Michael loved this place.” Cecily paused, waiting for Bernard to open the door. “I think he still misses it.”
“He’s happy, though, right?”
Cecily laughed. “I believe so. He’s not very good at writing letters, I’m afraid.”
“Ah, men usually leave that sort of thing to the women. I canna blame him too much.” He opened the door and Cecily stepped out into the rain.
“Thank you for the brandy, sir,” Samuel said, touching his forehead with his fingers.
“You are most welcome, laddie.” Bernard smiled at Cecily. “Take care on the way back. The fog is getting thick.”
He was right, Cecily realized, as she settled herself on the leather seat. The dense mist seemed to wrap itself around the horse and carriage, enfolding everything in moist arms.
Shivering, she drew her scarf tightly about her neck. “Hurry, Samuel,” she called out. “We must reach town before closing time.”
“Right away, m’m.” Samuel cracked the whip and the horse started forward, jerking her back in her seat.
Their journey was slowed by the gray fog that swallowed up the view ahead. In a fever of impatience, Cecily leaned forward, as if by doing so she could will them to go faster, although she knew how dangerous that would be. Samuel was an experienced driver, and she respected his judgement.
At long last they reached the town, where the vehicles had thinned out considerably. Ordering Samuel to stop in front of a men’s clothier store, she climbed down before he had a chance to leap to the ground and assist her.
The manager was about to close the door as she reached it, and she gave him her warmest smile. “I shan’t be but a minute,” she promised, and, with reluctance, he allowed her to enter.
It actually took her ten minutes to find what she wanted, a burgundy velvet waistcoat. She waited for the assistant to wrap it for her, then hurried out of the shop and back to the carriage.
More relaxed now, she had time to think about Bernard McPherson’s words as they sped back along the Esplanade. Gloria had lied about the evening Ian died. Instead of waiting for him at home, as she told Cecily she had done, she must have gone to the George and Dragon to find him, but arrived after the fight and after Ian had left.
Since Bernard hadn’t seen the fight, he could not have told her that Ian had a black eye. Nor, apparently, did she speak to anyone else. Which meant that Gloria must have seen her husband later that night.
Now what Cecily wanted to know was why Gloria lied about that and what it was she was trying to hide.
“Where the heck did they find this?” Gertie snatched up the candlestick and held it out to Daisy. “Where did they get it?”
Daisy dropped her book and sat up. “I dunno. I never saw it before.”
Gertie swung around to face her children. Lillian looked scared, while James stared at her in defiance. “Where did you get this?” She shook it in James’s face and Lillian burst into tears.
“It must have been in the room.” Daisy jumped off the bed and fell to the floor on her knees. “They haven’t been out since you left.” Putting an arm about Lillian’s shoulders, she said gently, “Tell us where you found the candlestick, there’s a precious girl.”
“We found it under the bed,” James said, jutting out his bottom lip. “The stupid thing was just lying there. We didn’t do nothing wrong, Mama!”
Realizing her hand was still shaking, Gertie clutched the candlestick to her chest. “Under the bed? Are you telling me the truth, James? Lillian! Is he telling me the truth?”
Lillian simply cried harder. Daisy looked up at her, accusation blazing in her eyes. “What is the matter with you, Gertie? It’s just a silly old candlestick. It’s not even real silver.”
Instead of answering her, Gertie turned up the base of the candlestick. On the bottom was a brown stain, with a half dozen hairs sticking to it.
Fighting a sudden urge to be sick, Gertie put a hand over her mouth. “I have to talk to madam. Look after them until I get back.”
“What’s wrong? Gertie, whatever is the matter?”
Ignoring Daisy’s anxious cries, Gertie fled out the door and ran headlong down the corridor. She reached the stairs before she thought to hide the candlestick under her apron. Clamping it against her hip, she raced awkwardly up the stairs and across the foyer.
Just as she reached the foot of the stairs, Sid appeared in the hallway. “’Allo,” he called out. “What’s yer bleeding rush? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Maybe I have.” She paused on the bottom step. “Is madam in her office?”
“Nah, I just come from there. I don’t know where she’s gone.”
Without bothering to answer him, Gertie leapt up the stairs, taking them two at once. By the time she reached the first landing she was fighting for breath and had to slow down.
Climbing the second flight more slowly, she tried to sort out her jumbled thoughts. The twins had found the candlestick under the bed. She had no doubt it was the murder weapon, but what in blazes was it doing under her bed? She certainly hadn’t put it there.
Which meant someone else must have. The same someone who had hit Ian over the head with it? With a cold stab of fear she remembered the tumbled contents of her dresser, the clothes dragged to the side on her wardrobe.
Had there been a killer in her room? When? How?
The thought of it made her feel faint. A killer in the room with her twins. He could have killed them, too. From now on, she would make sure that the door would be locked all the time, whether anyone was in there or not.
At last she reached the top landing. Breathless and afraid, she raced down the hallway to madam’s suite and rapped on the door.
Baxter’s muffled voice answered her, sounding irritated. “All right, all right, hold your horses. I’m coming.” The door opened, and his disgruntled face peered out. “Oh, it’s you, Gertie. What is it now?”
“I’m looking for madam. Is she here?” Gertie heard the tremble in her words and swallowed.
“No, she’s not. She’s out on an errand. What is it?” He must have noticed her distress, and he peered more closely at her. “What’s happened now? Oh, great heavens. Don’t tell me someone else has been murdered?”
“Not as far as I know, sir.” Gertie drew the candlestick out from under her apron and held it out to him.
For a long moment he stared at it as if he’d never seen anything like it before, then his frown cleared, to be replaced by shock. “Good Lord! Don’t tell me that thing is what I think it is?”
Gertie nodded. “I think so, sir. I think it’s the candlestick that killed Ian Rossiter.”