“He’s not dead, is he? Oh, please tell me he’s not dead!” Phoebe leaned forward, one hand pressed to her throat. “I can’t bear to think of it.”
Madeline blinked. “I’m sorry, Phoebe, truly. I just don’t know.”
Phoebe sank back, her handkerchief pressed to her mouth. “What am I going to do? What am I going to do?”
“Now, now.” Cecily reached out to pat her arm. “I’m sure the colonel is perfectly fine.” She looked at Madeline, willing her to give them some good news.
Madeline hesitated, then said firmly, “Phoebe, I can tell you that Kevin and Clive are with your husband, and I saw nothing to indicate that he is dead.”
Phoebe shuddered. “Just hearing those words makes me ill. How long do you think it will be before the doctor and Clive return?”
Madeline glanced at the mantelpiece, where an ornate clock sat steadily ticking the seconds away. “Not long, I promise you.” Again she paused, then added quickly, “The colonel might not be with them. They might have taken him home first before coming back for you.”
“In which case,” Cecily put in, “Samuel will take you home immediately.”
“We can take Phoebe home,” Madeline said, getting up from her chair. She walked over to the window and drew back the heavy velvet curtain to peer outside. “They should be back soon.”
“Oh, poor Frederick.” Phoebe started rocking again. “He will be so cold and wet. I hope he doesn’t get pneumonia or something awful like that.”
The thought crossed Cecily’s mind that being able to catch pneumonia was better than the alternative. All she could do was pray they’d found the colonel alive and that he hadn’t fallen prey to the murderous Christmas Angel.
In spite of Madeline’s prediction, it was a long, agonizing wait, during which Phoebe fluctuated between bouts of deep depression, when she was certain her life with the colonel was over, to moments of hope and optimism, where she intended to scold him for straying so far.
At long last, they heard the welcome tap on the door. Madeline’s face was inscrutable as Cecily got up from her chair. “Come in!” she called out and reached for Phoebe’s hand.
The door opened and Dr. Prestwick strode in, his face a grim mask. He carried his hat in his hand, and it dripped water all across the carpet as he walked toward the fire.
Cecily ignored him, her gaze pinned on the door. For a dreadful moment she thought the colonel wasn’t with him, but then a familiar voice bellowed from the other side of the door.
“I say, old chap, unhand me at once. I’m not a blasted invalid!”
Phoebe let out a cry of pure joy and raced across the room to the door, just as a disheveled colonel stepped through it. “Freddie! Are you all right? Are you hurt?”
Cecily hurried over to him and saw Clive standing in the hallway outside, twisting his cap in his hands. “Thank you, Clive.” She smiled at him. “Would you please go down to the kitchen and tell Mrs. Chubb to send up a bottle of brandy and glasses.”
“Yes, m’m.” He touched his forehead, grinned at her, and ambled off down the hallway.
“I say, that sounds like a jolly good idea!” Colonel Fortescue disengaged himself from his wife’s suffocating hug. “I could use a brandy, old bean.”
“It’s on its way, Colonel.” She looked at Kevin, who stood with his back to the fire, hands clasped behind him. “I imagine you would like some, too.”
“Thank you, Cecily, but we must leave.” He reached out a hand to Madeline, who, after a moment’s hesitation, took it and rose to her feet. “We have a baby waiting for us at home.”
“Yes, thank you, Cecily.” Madeline walked to the door, followed closely by her husband. “I shall return tomorrow to finish the decorating.”
Troubled by her friend’s somber expression, Cecily closed the door behind them and returned to the fire. Phoebe had sat down again, while the colonel had taken up residence with his back to the smoldering coals. Mud stained his heavy coat, his beard was matted with pine needles, and a deep scratch adorned his nose. Otherwise he seemed in good health.
Having apparently assured herself that her husband wasn’t seriously hurt, Phoebe demanded, “What on earth were you doing in those woods? Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving the Pennyfoot? You know very well you don’t go anywhere without me.”
The colonel raised his chin. “I was going to buy you a Christmas present.”
“In the woods?”
“No, of course not.” A puzzled look crossed his face, as if he was trying to remember. “I… er… got waylaid.”
Phoebe sounded exasperated. “Waylaid?”
“Yes.” He stared into the fire for a moment, then startled them all by raising his hand and shouting, “I was ordered into battle!”
“Oh, dear,” Cecily murmured.
Phoebe merely looked exasperated. “Frederick, I don’t think-”
“There I was,” the colonel bellowed, “surrounded on all sides by the enemy. I took my trusty sword and I had at them.”
Phoebe uttered a little scream as her husband lunged forward with an imaginary sword, narrowly missing her head with his fist.
“Colonel-” Cecily began, but now the colonel was at full throttle and cut her off with an expansive flourish of his hand.
“I caught up with one of them and charged!” Once more he dove forward, and this time Phoebe managed to lean back out of harm’s way.
“Frederick!” She sat up, tugging on her hat to straighten it. “Stop this nonsense at once!”
“I stabbed at the blighter and…” The colonel paused, his face going blank. “And then…”
Both Cecily and Phoebe stared at him in expectation. After a moment, Phoebe prompted, “And then?”
“He flew off.”
Phoebe rolled her eyes. “Flew off?”
The colonel gave her a sheepish smile. “Must have been a blasted pheasant.”
Cecily hid a smile, while Phoebe uttered a guttural sound of disgust. “I don’t know why I humor him so.” She glared at her husband and stood up. “Come, Frederick, it is time we went home. We have inconvenienced these good people quite enough for one day.”
“But what about my brandy?” Colonel Fortescue appealed to Cecily. “You did send for brandy, didn’t you, old girl?”
“I did, and you are most welcome to it.” Cecily glanced at Phoebe, who gave her a fierce shake of her head. “I think, however, that it will have to wait for now.” She rose. “I will make sure there is a snifter waiting for you when you bring Phoebe back for rehearsal tomorrow.”
The colonel sighed. “Oh, very well. Much obliged, old bean.” He took hold of Phoebe’s arm. “Come along, then, ducky.”
Phoebe looked as if she would like to resist but allowed him to escort her to the door. “Until tomorrow, then, Cecily!” She waved, then disappeared as the colonel tugged her out into the hallway.
A few minutes later Cecily opened the door to find her husband standing outside with a tray of glasses and a bottle of brandy.
“I passed Gertie on the way up,” he said, as she stood back to let him in. “Thought I’d save her a trip.”
“That’s very accommodating of you, my love.”
Baxter looked around the room. “Everyone gone home?”
“Yes.” Cecily walked back to the fireplace and sank onto her chair. “It’s been rather a long day.”
“Aren’t they all?” Baxter placed the tray on the side table. “Since we have a bottle of excellent brandy right here, we might as well enjoy a sip, don’t you think?”
She smiled, feeling suddenly weary. “Excellent idea.”
He gave her a hard look as he handed her a glass. “Investigation not going well?”
Deciding there was no point in keeping everything from him, she told him all that had transpired that day. “I don’t seem to be getting any closer to solving this one,” she said, while Baxter sat stern-faced and silent. “If only I could understand the reason behind the killings, and by what criteria the Christmas Angel selects his victims, perhaps I could pinpoint the culprit. He is clever. Except for the angel stamp and the missing lock of hair, he is meticulously careful to leave no clues.”
“You don’t have any suspects?”
Cecily took a sip of the brandy, wincing as usual as it burned her throat. “Oh, I have suspects. I just can’t seem to connect them to all of the crimes. Each suspect has a motive for killing one of the victims, and none of the others.”
“Maybe they’re all copying the first one.”
“I thought of that.” Cecily sighed and put down her glass. “But that would mean there are four killers running around out there. I find that hard to believe.”
“It does seem improbable.” Baxter tipped his head back to savor a mouthful of brandy before swallowing it. “So, what’s the answer?”
“I don’t have one.” Cecily fought a wave of depression as she gazed at her husband’s troubled face. “For the first time since I began this questionable pastime, I really believe I am out of my depth. This killer might be just too clever for any of us. If that’s so, we are all in terrible danger.”
The following morning, Cecily woke up early, determined anew to attempt to track down the Christmas Angel. Her destination, she told Samuel, was to the paper factory in Wellercombe.
She had to wait more than half an hour for Basil Baker to join them in the drafty entrance. He seemed ill at ease and refused to look Cecily in the eye when she greeted him. Instead, he pretended to have an intense interest in a printed advertisement for soap that hung on the wall.
“I spoke to your manager the other day,” Cecily said, coming straight to the point. “He tells me you have Sundays off. Is that right?”
Basil shrugged. “Yeah? So what?”
Samuel made a movement, and Cecily held up her hand before he could say what was on his mind. “Jimmy Taylor died on a Sunday.”
Basil didn’t answer, but his mouth started twitching at one corner.
“You were not working that day, Basil. I want to know why you lied.”
For a moment she thought he was not going to answer her, but then he turned so suddenly he made her jump. “I lied because I knew you wouldn’t believe me when I said I didn’t kill Jimmy. I knew you’d find out we had that fight, and I thought you’d blame me for his death. I wasn’t anywhere near him that day. It wasn’t me what threw that rock, I swear it.”
“Very well, but there’s something else I need to know.” Cecily watched him carefully. “What I want to know is if you paid Colin Mackerbee a visit this week.”
Pure amazement crossed his face. “Mackerbee? Why would I go over there?”
“You used to work for him, I believe.”
“Yes, I did, but-”
“I understand that he considered you unsuitable for farmwork.”
Basil’s face darkened. “He had no right to tell me that. I worked hard, I did, and that man got rid of me even though I was taking good care of his animals. He should have been grateful, but instead he threw me out like I was a criminal or something.”
“And you were angry with him about that.”
“Not only that.” Basil swiped at the advertisement with his hand, knocking it to the ground. “He told every other farmer I went to that I wasn’t cut out for farmwork. He cost me a lot of jobs, and I have him to thank for me ending up in this rotten hole.”
“So you decided to punish him.”
“What?” Basil looked straight at her for the first time since the conversation began. “I’ve never punished no one. I haven’t seen that miserable bugger since the day I left the Mackerbee farm.” His eyes narrowed. “Why are you asking me all these questions about him, anyway? What’s it to you?”
“Colin Mackerbee was killed the other day. Someone took a knife into the barn where he was working and stabbed him.”
Basil’s jaw dropped. “Blimey, not another one.”
“So you’re saying you didn’t know?”
“No, I didn’t know.” Basil thrust out his jaw. “And don’t you go putting this on me, neither. I ain’t been near that farm since the day I left, and that’s the truth. Now I’ve got to get back to work or I’ll be losing this flipping job as well.”
Cecily let him go, knowing there was nothing else she could get out of him. Disgruntled, she said little to Samuel as they made their way back to the carriage.
She was getting tired of spinning her wheels with nothing to show for it. She could neither pin down a suspect nor eliminate one entirely. The only logical conclusion was the theory that the killer was totally unrelated to his victims and therefore an unknown factor in the investigation.
She would be more inclined to believe that if it wasn’t for the annoying niggling feeling in the back of her mind that she already knew what she needed to know and just couldn’t recognize it.
This had happened so often in the past now that she clung to it like a life raft. Sooner or later, she was sure, the solution to the puzzle would reveal itself. She could only hope that happened before someone else lost his life.
Pansy was in a fever of impatience as she cleared the tables after the midday meal in the dining room. Her first rehearsal was starting in a few minutes, and she wanted to get there before Doris to show her eagerness to do her part.
She was placing the last of the dishes on the tray when two arms snaked around her waist, making her squeal.
Her face warming, she turned to greet Samuel. “Whatcha doing here?”
“I just got back from taking madam into Weller-combe.” Samuel unbuttoned his coat. “It’s getting warmer outside.”
“Yeah, I know.” Pansy went to lift the tray but Samuel took it from her. “I don’t suppose she’s caught the Christmas Angel?”
“Not yet.” He pulled a face at her. “She wasn’t happy that everyone found out about it. I told you not to tell anyone.”
“Sorry.” Pansy walked ahead of him to open the door. “It just sort of slipped out while I was talking to Gertie and dopey Lizzie heard me and went around telling everyone that a killer was chopping off people’s heads.”
“Yeah, so I heard.” The glasses rattled on the tray as Samuel carried them to the dumbwaiter. “This is a bad one. I can tell madam’s worried about it. She’s afraid if she doesn’t find him soon someone else will get bumped off.”
“What are the constables doing about it, then? Isn’t it their job to find him?”
Samuel snorted. “Supposed to be, isn’t it. Those twerps couldn’t find a murderer if he danced in front of them. Though I must say, this one is clever. He doesn’t make mistakes or leave clues behind. Unless P.C. Northcott isn’t telling us everything.”
“You think he’s hiding something from madam?”
“I don’t know what to think. I just know that madam is having a lot of trouble with this one.” He placed the tray on the dumbwaiter and tugged on the rope. “Come on, I’ll walk down to the kitchen with you. I want a word with Mrs. Chubb.”
“I’m not going to the kitchen.” Pansy pulled off her apron and shoved it in on top of the dishes.
Samuel raised his eyebrows. “Where are you going, then? It’s not your afternoon off.”
“I know.” She took a deep breath, then added in a rush, “I’m going to help Doris with her costumes in the pantomime. I’m going to rehearsal now.”
Samuel’s eyebrows twitched even higher. “Doris?”
His voice had come out all squeaky, and Pansy glared at him. “Yes, Doris. The big love of your life. She asked me to help her and I’m going to do it.”
For a moment Samuel looked as if he might be cross, but then he smiled. “That’s exciting, Pansy! I’m happy for you. Really I am. You’ll have a great time. Doris is a lovely person, and you’ll enjoy working with her.”
“Yeah, I know I will.” She studied his face, trying to read what he was thinking behind that smile. Was he still in love with Doris? If only she knew for sure. If only he would say he loved her, then she could stop worrying about the songstress.
“Well, I’d better let you go, then,” Samuel said, giving her a quick hug. “You’d better scram or you’ll be late.”
He walked off, leaving her staring after him, unsure now if she really wanted to help Doris after all.