Having answered a tap on her door, Cecily was delighted to see Madeline Pengrath Prestwick walk into her office. Madeline, as always, had dressed simply. She wore a simple peasant dress of pale yellow muslin, and in spite of the cold weather, a pair of gold sandals. She had forgone a hat and gloves, and her long dark hair flowed freely on her shoulders.
Without waiting for an invitation she drifted gracefully over to a chair. “I do believe it’s stopped raining,” she remarked, as she settled herself. “The sun is trying to peek through the clouds. I don’t think we will have a white Christmas this year after all.”
“Thank goodness.” Cecily smiled at her friend. “The men always enjoy the Boxing Day hunt far more if they don’t have to plow through a foot of snow.”
“I’m sure the horses prefer it, too.” Madeline gave her a grave look. “What’s all this about Ian Rossiter drowning in the pond?”
Cecily sighed. “Another Christmas tragedy, I’m afraid. At least this time it was an accident. I know Ian was unpleasant and caused a lot of trouble, but I feel dreadful that he died in such a wretched way. So sad.”
“Sad, indeed.” Madeline’s dark green eyes regarded her with speculation. “How is Gertie taking it?”
Cecily sighed. “As you would expect. More relieved than distressed, I suppose. Not that I can blame her.”
Madeline nodded. “Unfortunate business for everyone.”
Determined to change the subject, Cecily said brightly, “What plans do you and Kevin have for Christmas? You know you are more than welcome to join Baxter and me for dinner as we did last year. I simply cannot believe you have been married a whole year. It seems as if the wedding were only a few short weeks ago.”
Madeline leaned back in her chair, her lovely features looking pensive. “In some ways it seems an eternity. It has been a difficult year at times.”
Cecily nodded in sympathy. “The first year of marriage can be hard for most people, I suspect. I know mine wasn’t all laughter and sunshine.” She smiled. “But it’s infinitely worth it for the later years.”
“I certainly hope so.” Madeline passed a hand across her forehead. “We are still at odds over my potions. Kevin refuses to believe in their power, even though he has acknowledged that modern medicine was originally derived from herbs and flowers. He is uncomfortable with what he calls witchcraft. Ridiculous man.”
“Oh, I think he knows the worth of your potions. The problem is, as a doctor and scientist, he is unable to admit as much. He-” Cecily broke off as a sharp rap on the door announced the presence of yet another visitor.
Baxter entered the room first, followed by a handsome man in a light gray suit and blue cravat. Cecily rose to greet him, her hands extended in welcome.
“Kevin! How good to see you again. It has been much too long.”
The doctor seized her hands and brought them, one at a time, to his lips. “Considering my profession, dear Cecily, I would say that is a blessing.”
Baxter grunted his displeasure. He had never forgotten that Kevin Prestwick was at one time an avid admirer of Cecily, and might well have stolen her away had she been so inclined. “We’ve put the body into Prestwick’s carriage,” he said gruffly. “He’s taking it to the morgue.”
Cecily glanced at Madeline. “You must stay here with me, Madeline, until your husband has disposed of the body. I can’t have you traveling with such grisly cargo.”
Madeline’s tinkling laugh rang out. “I assure you, dear Cecily, I have ridden with many a strange companion in my past, and compared to them, a dead body would be a decided improvement.”
Cecily glanced at the doctor, who eyed his wife with faint disapproval. In all the years she had known Madeline, her friend had rarely spoken of her past and Cecily was under the impression she was the only one who knew the extent of it. She wondered if Madeline had shared all her secrets with her husband. Knowing Kevin as well as she did, she could imagine he would not have enjoyed learning the truth about his wife’s early years.
“Cecily is right,” Kevin said sharply. “I would rather take care of this matter without your company.”
Madeline bowed her head, though a flash of defiance lit up her face. “As you wish. I shall enjoy visiting with Cecily. As she says, it has been much too long.”
“Then it’s settled.” Kevin pulled a pocket watch from his vest pocket and peered at it. “I shall return for my wife as soon as possible.”
“Wait, Kevin.” Cecily raised a hand. “You haven’t yet told us your conclusions concerning Ian’s death.”
“Ah… well, it seems quite obvious the man had consumed a vast amount of spirits. He reeked of it. I suspect his lungs are filled with water, but I’ll know more after my examination at the morgue. It appears, however, that he lost his way and stumbled into the pond, hitting his head in the fall. Unfortunately for him, he fell in head first, otherwise he would probably have survived.”
“So it was an accidental drowning, then?”
Kevin nodded. “That’s what I’m expecting to put in my report.”
Cecily let out her breath. She hadn’t realized how worried she’d been until the doctor had settled her mind. It was a vast relief to know that for once she didn’t have to worry about a fiendish murderer lurking in the halls of the Pennyfoot at Christmastime.
Kevin had barely reached the door when Madeline spoke, her voice strangely soft and low. “You might do well to examine more carefully the wound on the dead man’s head, my love.”
Kevin paused, and without turning his head asked, “You know something, perhaps, that has escaped me?”
Madeline smiled. “Perhaps.”
Kevin appeared to think about it, then gave a brief shake of his head, and left the room.
Madeline was silent until the door had closed behind both her husband and Baxter, then murmured, “For a doctor and a man of science, my husband can be remarkably obtuse.”
Unsettled by the odd exchange between man and wife, Cecily felt concern once more niggling at her. “Why should he examine the wound? What exactly do you mean by that?”
“I mean that all is not as it seems.”
Alarmed now, Cecily watched as her friend’s face took on a look she knew well. Madeline’s eyes seemed to glaze over, and her features grew slack and void of expression. In a voice low and husky, she muttered, “Dark nights invite dark deeds. I see danger lurking above a house of carcasses. You must beware the hand you cannot see.”
Cecily had seen many of Madeline’s trances, but rarely had she seen such apprehension in her friend’s face as she regained her senses.
“Madeline! What is it that concerns you so?” Cecily rose and hurried over to her. “Tell me, what did you see?”
Madeline blinked up at her. “I don’t know.” Her voice shook and her cheeks seemed to pale. “Blood. Everywhere. Dead bodies. Many of them.”
Cecily put an arm about her friend’s shoulders. “It was just a vision, Madeline. You have had such visions before and nothing has come of them.”
“They are a warning, Cecily. We should always heed the warning.”
“Warning of what?”
Madeline sighed, and shook her head so that her hair swung about her shoulders. “That is the problem. I rarely know until I’m faced with the reality.”
Cecily returned to her desk, her brow creased in worry. “You said many dead bodies. Are you predicting some kind of disaster?”
Madeline gave her an unhappy look. “I wish I knew, Cecily. I’m sorry. I just couldn’t see.”
“No matter.” With a wave of her hand, Cecily did her best to dismiss the incident. “I imagine we shall find out soon enough if your warning proves to be accurate. In the meantime, let us wait for your husband’s return in my suite, where we shall be a little more comfortable.”
Madeline rose without a word and drifted over to the door. Following her, Cecily tried to forget the cryptic words her friend had uttered. Right now she had enough to worry about with Ian’s death on the premises. All she could hope was that word of it had not reached her guests.
That hope was dashed a few minutes later when they encountered Archie Parker in the foyer. His sharp gaze took in Madeline’s somewhat provincial appearance with one disparaging head-to-foot glance, then he ignored her, turning his attention to Cecily.
“I’ve been hearing rumors, Mrs. B. Nasty rumors at that. Something about a man drowning in one of your ponds?”
Cecily sent Madeline a swift warning glance, then said pleasantly, “I’m quite sure you are far too discriminating to take any notice of rumors, Mr. Parker.”
Archie preened and smoothed the end of his mustache with thick fingers. “How astute of you, Mrs. B. Normally I would ignore them, but someone mentioned he saw two men carrying a third across the lawns a short while ago. I was wondering if the poor blighter was one of your guests?”
Inwardly cringing, Cecily managed a bright smile. “I’m sure whoever told you that was mistaken. A case of too much brandy, perhaps?”
Archie looked confused. “Well, it’s a little early in the day for brandy, wouldn’t you say?”
“Ah, but it is the Christmas season. Our guests are inclined to forgo the usual proprieties during the holidays.” She waved a hand at Madeline, who had been standing silently, surveying the salesman with an odd expression.
“Mr. Parker. May I introduce my good friend, Mrs. Prestwick?”
Archie’s brows raised in surprise, and he gave Madeline a closer look, as if doubting that Cecily would befriend such an unrefined creature. “Pleasure,” he murmured.
“Madeline, this is Mr. Archibald Parker,” Cecily said. “You two have something in common. Mr. Parker is a salesman of medical remedies.”
“Really.” Madeline’s tone was decidedly cool as she surveyed the red-faced man.
“If you remember,” Cecily said with relish, “I mentioned that Mrs. Prestwick is an accomplished herbalist. She is also the wife of our local physician.”
Archie’s nose twitched furiously, and his mustache danced in unison. “I… ah… no, I didn’t… I had no idea…”
Cecily smiled. “If you will excuse us, Mr. Parker?”
“Oh, of course. Of course.” Archie backed away, still staring at Madeline as if he were afraid she was about to bite him.
“Strange little man,” Madeline murmured as she glided toward the stairs. “There’s something odd about him, but I can’t quite place it.”
“Well, be prepared. He’s likely to inquire after your digestive system, or something even more personal.”
Madeline uttered a sound of contempt. “If that man has any medical knowledge at all, I’ll give up making potions altogether.”
Cecily was inclined to agree. It was one thing to sell remedies, quite another to understand how they worked.
“As a matter of fact,” Madeline said, pausing at the foot of the staircase. “I would say that your Mr. Parker is a charlatan, and you would do well to avoid any of his bogus remedies.”
Having come to a similar conclusion herself, Cecily gave her no argument. In any case, Archibald Parker was the least of her worries. What concerned her a great deal more was Madeline’s suggestion that Kevin examine the wound on Ian’s head, and her vision of dead bodies.
She considered pursuing the matter with her friend but just then Madeline uttered a sigh of annoyance and sped toward the front doors. At first Cecily thought she meant to go outside and was about to offer her a coat when Madeline halted in front of the hallstand, upon which sat a marvelous display of red and white candles wreathed in holly.
“Look at this,” Madeline exclaimed. “Some blundering fool has disrupted my display.” She started moving the candlesticks around, then paused. “I don’t believe it.”
Her concern growing, Cecily hurried over to her. “What is it?”
Madeline turned, her face stiff with outrage. “Someone has stolen one of these. Look at this.” She picked up one of the candlesticks and thrust it at Cecily. “I had six of them and now there are only five. I can’t believe-” She broke off, a strange expression creeping across her face.
Once more Cecily felt a stab of anxiety. “Madeline?”
Madeline blinked, shook her head and put the candlestick down on the hallstand. “My display is ruined, and now you have a thief in the Pennyfoot. Who would do such a thing?”
Cecily sighed in resignation. “It’s all right. The candlesticks are not worth that much. They’re made of lead, and merely silver-plated. That’s why they’re so heavy. Besides, the display still looks beautiful. I’m sure no one will notice the absence of one.”
Madeline frowned. “Aren’t you the least bit upset that someone stole one of them?”
“Well, yes, of course, but this is a hotel-at least,” she hastily amended, “it was before my cousin turned it into a country club. Things go missing more than you’d think, and really I have far more important things to worry about.”
“Then you are far more forgiving than I would be.” Madeline fussed with the display for several moments until she was satisfied it was as it should be, then stood back for a final critical scrutiny. “There, that will have to do.”
“Good, then let us go up to my suite where we can relax for a while.”
To Cecily’s relief, Madeline sent one last look at the display then headed for the stairs. On the way up to the top floor, she seemed determined to put the subject of the theft out of her mind. She prattled on instead about a local villager who insisted one of her potions was making his hair grow back.
“Silly man,” she said, laughing. “I gave him the potion to cure a cough. His hair is still as sparse as ever, but if he believes it’s growing back, then who am I to dash his forlorn hopes.”
Cecily smiled and nodded, though she didn’t feel in the least like smiling. She knew quite well that her friend’s chatter was an attempt to take her mind away from the events of the morning. It was a wasted effort. Madeline’s comments earlier had thoroughly unsettled her, and now she had a deep sense of impending disaster.
Madeline was right. All was not as it seemed.
Mrs. Chubb paused to wipe the perspiration from her brow with a floury hand. All around her, maids hustled back and forth, carrying platters and tureens from the stove to the dumbwaiter. The smell of roast pork filled the kitchen, tempting her taste buds. It would be at least an hour or two before she could satisfy the pangs of hunger.
She glanced at Michel, busy at the stove, his tall chef’s cap bobbing as he danced from one side to the other, stirring, pouring, and piling food into the dishes. Mrs. Chubb shook her head. It never ceased to amaze her how much food a few dozen people could stuff into their mouths in one sitting. The day was an endless round of preparing meals, cleaning up, and then more preparing meals and cleaning up.
The clatter of dishes was giving her a headache, and she longed for her afternoon break, when she could put her feet up in her room and get on with her knitting. She still had to finish the mittens she was making for the twins for Christmas.
Shaking her head to dislodge the cobwebs, she picked up her rolling pin and smoothed out the lump of pastry in front of her into a large circle. Deftly she flipped the dough onto a pie plate, then picked up the bowl of raisin apple filling and tipped the lot onto the plate.
This was the last pie for the day. Get it in the oven and then she could slow down a bit and take a breather. It was hot in the kitchen, and a moment or two out in the backyard would cool her off nicely.
She looked for the last pie bird, but couldn’t see it on the table. Someone must have moved it. More than likely picked it up with some dirty dishes. Clicking her tongue in annoyance, she walked over to the sink.
There was the pie bird, sitting on the counter. Relieved, she picked it up. Without that little porcelain funnel sitting in the center of her pie, there’d be nowhere for the steam to escape while the pie was cooking. Then she’d have a mess, all right. Burnt filling all around the edges. Madam wouldn’t like that.
Out of habit, she glanced at the windowsill to make sure her ring was still there. She always took it off when she was making the pastry. If she didn’t it ended up with pastry stuck in between all the little grooves, and it was a devil of a task to get it all cleaned out. So she left it on the windowsill until she was finished with the pies.
Only today, it wasn’t there.
Mrs. Chubb paused, unable to believe her eyes. All the years she had been working at the Pennyfoot, and it had been far too many to remember, she had placed that ring on the windowsill and it had always been there when she came to get it. It had to be there.
With a little cry of dismay, drowned out by the din in the kitchen, she put down the pie bird and leaned across the sink for a better look. No, she wasn’t seeing things. The ring was gone. It must have somehow been swept off the sill and into the sink.
Frantically she dug her fingers into the drain hole in some vain hope of finding it there. Behind her, she heard Michel call out above the racket of crashing pots and pans.
“Where the blazes is the pie? Sacre bleu! It should be halfway to cooked by now! Whatever are you doing over there in the sink?”
“Oh, go drink your brandy,” Mrs. Chubb muttered, quiet enough so he wouldn’t hear. Turning her head, she added more loudly, “My ring fell down the sink. It’s gone!”
“We find it later.” Michel waved a wooden spoon, dripping with gravy, in the air at her. “I must have that pie in the oven this minute.”
“Oh, all right.” With a last, searching gaze along the windowsill, Mrs. Chubb turned and trotted back to the table. Staring at the pie, she couldn’t think why she hadn’t put the top crust on. Then she remembered the pie bird and had to go back for it, earning a scathing stream of curses from the irate chef.
Ignoring him, she took the pie bird back to the table and sat it in the middle of the apple filling. This had to be one of the worst days ever. Poor Ian lying dead in the duck pond and now her ring was lost. Mrs. Chubb slapped a second circle of pastry on top of the pie plate. What else was going to go wrong, for heaven’s sake?