Gertie hummed to herself as she climbed the stairs to the third floor. It was her responsibility to inspect the bedrooms and make sure that the beds had been made, the chamber pots emptied, the furniture dusted, and the windows opened to air out the rooms.
It was a task she enjoyed. She had too many memories of when she had to do all those things herself, and it felt good to just sail from room to room, looking things over, instead of slaving away at the jobs herself.
The Christmas season was always a good time at the Pennyfoot. Lots of things to look forward to, all the lovely smells of sugar, herbs, and spices coming from the kitchen, and Mrs. Prestwick’s decorations making everything look colorful and bright.
She was still thinking about the decorations as she hurried down the stairs, and almost bumped into Phoebe Fortescue, who was hovering at the bottom.
“Oh, there you are!”
The woman looked a little agitated, and Gertie wondered what she’d done wrong. “S’cuse me, m’m? Is there something I can do for you?”
“Oh, I do hope so.” Phoebe looked around the empty lobby, and leaned forward. “I badly need children for the Peter Pan pantomime. I was wondering if your twins would like to be part of it. It would be a wonderful experience for them.”
Gertie hesitated. James wasn’t known for his patience and had trouble concentrating on anything for any length of time. As for Lillian, she was a bit of a crybaby, and would run away from anything that could upset her. “I dunno,” Gertie said slowly. “I don’t know how they’d behave.”
“I’m sure they would behave beautifully.” Phoebe clasped her hands. “I’ll have lots of people around to make sure they do what they’re supposed to do. I know they would have lots of fun, and think of the pride you’d feel, seeing them up on the stage in one of my famous presentations.”
Gertie frowned. She didn’t know about pride. More like worry, considering how Mrs. Fortescue’s events never went without something awful happening. “I’d have to ask them,” she said at last. “If they want to do it, then I’ll allow it, but I wouldn’t want to force them into doing something they don’t want to do.”
“No, no, of course not.” Phoebe looked relieved. “Ah… would you mind if I did the asking? They might consider it more if I’m the one to ask them.”
Gertie wasn’t fooled for a moment. No doubt Mrs. Fortescue would make it sound like a grand adventure, possibly even bribing them with promises of a reward of some kind. “I’d rather ask them myself, m’m, if you don’t mind.”
Phoebe looked disappointed. “Very well, then. Just be sure to tell them what a tremendously exciting experience this would be for them.”
“I will, m’m.” Gertie bobbed a curtsey and headed for the kitchen. She wasn’t sure how she felt about letting her babies perform onstage. True, it would be an experience for them, and it would be exciting to watch them up there with all the toffs watching them and clapping for them.
Gertie smiled as she imagined the cheers and applause as the twins took their bows at center stage. Yeah, what harm could it do? She’d talk to them just as soon as she got off work. Humming again, she shoved the kitchen door open and went inside.
Arriving at the address Mrs. Taylor had given her, Cecily stepped down from the carriage, wincing as melting snow seeped over the rims of her boots. The wind whipped at the scarf she had tied over her hat, and she was grateful for the fur collar on her heavy serge coat.
Samuel opened the gate for her, and she trod her way carefully up the narrow pathway, mindful of the slippery surface beneath her feet.
The porch was dry, and she stamped her feet to remove the worst of the snow from her boots. Meanwhile, Samuel lifted the door knocker and smacked it down.
At first no one answered, and he had to rap again, louder this time.
“It seems as if no one is home,” Cecily murmured. “We shall have to call another time.”
She was about to turn away when the door creaked open, and a young man with a drooping mustache and stubble on his chin looked at her with sleepy eyes.
He was wrapped in a blanket that covered a dressing gown and nightshirt, the robe bunched closed by a tattered cord. “Whatcha want?” he demanded, not even bothering to put a hand over his mouth when he yawned.
“Here,” Samuel said, stepping forward, “mind who you are talking to. This is Mrs. Baxter from the Pennyfoot Country Club and she’s here to ask you some questions about Jimmy Taylor.”
The young man’s eyes sharpened at once, and his voice lost its drowsy tone. “What about him?”
Cecily forced a smile. “Mr. Baker? May we come in? Just for a moment? It’s terribly cold out here.”
Basil Baker looked over his shoulder, then back at her, his eyes now wary. “The place is in a mess.”
“That’s all right. I don’t mind that at all. I’m sorry to disturb you, but this is rather important.”
Losing patience, Samuel put a foot on the threshold. “Where’s your manners, letting a lady stand out in the cold? Let her in, right now.”
“I already told the bobby everything I know,” Basil muttered, but nevertheless stood back to allow them to enter.
He hadn’t exaggerated the condition of the living room. Clothes and shoes littered the room, a half-eaten sandwich sat on a plate on the couch, and empty beer glasses lined the mantelpiece. No coals burned in the fireplace, and it didn’t feel much warmer inside the house than it had outside.
“I was sleeping,” Basil said, picking up the remains of the sandwich. “It’s my day off, and I like to sleep late.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Cecily felt a pang of guilt for disturbing the young man’s rest. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.”
“I don’t know what I can tell that I didn’t tell the bobby,” Basil said, tilting his head at the couch as signal for them to sit.
Cecily lowered herself gingerly on the edge of it, while Samuel contented himself with leaning against the fireplace. “I understand you were good friends with Jimmy Taylor,” she said, doing her best to smile.
“Used to be, yeah.” Basil hunched his shoulders. “Until he stole my girl. We was enemies after that.” He coughed, and added quickly, “I wasn’t the one what threw that rock at him, though. I swear it. I’ll admit, I didn’t like the bloke. We had a big scrap over Gracie. It was Jimmy what started it, though. I only finished it. I never went near him after that.” He swiped his thumb in a cross on his chest, almost losing his blanket in the process. “I swear on the Bible I didn’t.”
He sounded sincere, and Cecily was inclined to believe him. “Do you remember where you were the day Jimmy died?”
“I was working, wasn’t I. In the paper factory in Wellercombe. Twelve hours a day, hauling bloody big bundles of paper into the warehouse.”
“It sounds like hard work.”
“Yeah, it is. I hate the job.” Basil dragged the slipping blanket closer over his shoulders. “I used to work on a farm, and I liked that a lot, but I can’t get jobs on a farm no more. That’s why I’m stuck doing factory work.”
“It must have made it difficult for you to spend time with Gracie,” Cecily said, digging her freezing hands deeper into her muff.
Basil gave her a sharp look. “What does that mean?”
“Oh, I was just wondering if that’s why Gracie chose Jimmy, because you didn’t have much time to spend with her.”
Basil’s brows drew together. “I don’t know why she went with him. He was a nasty-tempered, ill-mannered pig, and I don’t know what she saw in him.”
“I imagine you were furious when she left you for him.”
“Course I was. After the fight, though, I reckoned they deserved each other. I heard that he was slapping her around a bit, but she chose to stay with him. More fool her, that’s what I say. Never did have no brains, that girl.”
Cecily got up from the couch, wishing she could feel her toes. “I’d like to have a word with Gracie. Do you know where can I find her?”
“She lives where she works, over the toy shop in the High Street.” Basil yawned again. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to bed.”
“Thank you for your help.” Cecily nodded at Samuel, who was directing a stern glare at Basil. “Come, Samuel, we must leave this gentleman in peace.”
Samuel snorted rather rudely and hurried to open the door for her.
Pausing on the doorstep, Cecily looked back at Basil. “How well did you know Thomas Willow?”
Basil frowned. “The shoemaker? Everyone in the village knows who he is, but I wasn’t that friendly with him, if that’s what you mean. What about him?”
“He was found whipped to death up on Putney Downs,” Cecily said, keeping a close watch on Basil’s face.
At first Basil’s features seemed frozen in shock, then he looked scared. “I didn’t know.”
“Did Jimmy know him well?”
“Not that I know of. Jimmy couldn’t afford to get his shoes custom-made. He bought his where I bought mine, at the market. What does all this have to do with me?”
“Nothing, I hope. Just as a matter of interest, though, someone used Jimmy Taylor’s whip to kill Thomas Willow.”
Basil’s jaw dropped open. “Blinking heck. Who would be crazy enough to do something like that?”
Thoroughly chilled now, Cecily bid him good day. Climbing up into the carriage, she wished she’d brought a blanket herself as she sat down on the cold leather seat.
Frost had settled on the windows, painting a silvery pattern as they made their way to the High Street. All along the curb horses stamped impatiently, steam rising from their nostrils while they waited for their owners to return.
Samuel found a spot around the corner from the toy shop, and it was a short walk back for Cecily. Shop owners had cleared the pavements of snow, and it was quite a pleasure to tread on firm ground instead of slippery ice.
Customers filled the little shop, but it was blissfully warm inside, thanks to the large stove in the corner. Samuel made his way to the counter to ask about Gracie Petersen while Cecily paused by the stove, waiting for the blood to return to her extremities.
Glancing around, her gaze fell upon a display of Christmas cards. It wasn’t the colorful pictures of decorated trees, snow scenes, and Father Christmas that caught her eye, however. It was a large box filled to the brim with shiny gold stamps.
Just at that moment a young lady approached her, asking, “May I be of help?”
Cecily gave her a quick smile. “I was just looking at these gold stamps.” She picked up a sheet of them and studied it. “Angels, I believe.”
“Yes, m’m. They’re for sticking on the flap of Christmas card envelopes.”
“Indeed.” Cecily put the stamps back in the box. “Do you sell many of them?”
“Oh, yes, m’m.” The assistant beamed. “That’s the second box we put out today. Would you like some?”
“Perhaps later. Thank you.”
The assistant melted away, just as Cecily spied Samuel hurrying toward her, followed by a young woman with bright red hair piled high and held in place with a black ribbon.
Her black frock was trimmed with lace and hung loosely on her slender frame, suggesting she had recently lost quite a bit of weight. She seemed nervous, and her curtsey was a trifle wobbly when she paused in front of Cecily. “You asked to speak with me, m’m?”
“Yes, dear, I did.” Cecily glanced around the crowded shop. “Is there somewhere we can speak in private?”
Gracie looked frightened. “I don’t know, m’m. I’m not supposed to leave the counter.” She sent a worried glance over her shoulder. “I should be getting back there.”
Cecily reached out to pick up a large spinning top. “Perhaps if I buy this, we could retire to a quiet corner to discuss the price?”
Gracie hesitated a moment longer, then nodded. “Over here, then, Mrs. Baxter.”
She led the way to a corner of the shop that was partially hidden by a large display of dolls. Standing back in the shadows, Gracie poked a stray strand of hair underneath the ribbon. “Your footman said you wanted to talk about my Jimmy,” she said, tears beginning to fill her eyes. “I don’t like talking about it, him just being killed and all. What is it you want to know?”
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Cecily said quietly. “Actually I wanted to talk to you about Basil Baker. I talked to him a short while ago. He said he and Jimmy exchanged blows, and you were the cause.”
Gracie gulped, struggling to control her voice. “Yes, they did. Basil kept pestering me to go back to him, and Jimmy told him to get out of town. He said he’d beat Basil up if he didn’t leave and Basil said he wasn’t going to leave and the next morning Jimmy waited for him to come home and jumped on him. They had a terrible fight, and Basil got the worst of it. Jimmy had a bit of a temper when he was crossed.”
“So they were bitter enemies.”
“I suppose so.” She started, as if she’d just thought of something. “You don’t think Basil threw that rock at Jimmy?” She shook her head so violently a couple of pins flew out and pinged against the doll stand. “Basil might have hated Jimmy, but I know him. He wouldn’t have done something like that. He could fight if he had to, but he’d never attack someone like that.”
Cecily inspected the spinning top in her hand. “Who knows what people are capable of when under the influence of a terrible rage.” She paused, then added quietly, “That’s a nasty bruise on your cheek. It must be painful.”
Gracie’s hand flew to her face. “It’s healing up nicely now, thank you.”
Cecily nodded. “Very well.” She held up the top. “How much is this?”
“One and fourpence, m’m.”
“I’ll take it, as well as that doll in the red velvet gown.”
“Yes, m’m.” Grace’s smile was full of relief as she reached for the doll and carried it over to the counter.
Cecily followed more slowly, her thoughts on everything she’d heard that day. Basil certainly had a motive to want to hurt Jimmy, yet both Jimmy’s mother and fiancée had assured her that Basil wasn’t capable of such a violent act.
Could both of them have known him that well yet still be wrong about him? It was possible, and she didn’t know Basil well enough herself to rule him out. For one thing, he’d lied about who had come off the worst in the fight. Of course, that could well have been pride talking, Cecily decided.
Also, there seemed to be no reason why Basil would want to kill Thomas Willow. In fact, until she knew what connection there was between Thomas and Jimmy Taylor, there didn’t seem to be any way to solve the puzzle. Small wonder Sam Northcott had asked for her help. This case was certainly intriguing. She would have to do a lot more digging if she was going to solve the puzzle in time to welcome her guests for Christmas.
“Did you hear about Jimmy Taylor?” Pansy leaned over a table to place a white candle into a brass candelabrum.
Across the dining room, Gertie paused in the act of bundling up a white tablecloth. “What about him?”
“I heard someone threw a rock at him and killed him.”
“Go on! Who told you that?”
“Samuel. He heard it from madam.”
Gertie shook her head. “I can’t believe it. He weren’t much older than you. Does Chubby know?”
“Yeah. She was there when Samuel told me. She was really upset. She liked Jimmy.”
Gertie dumped the tablecloth into a wicker basket and shoved it with her foot over to the next table. “I don’t know why. He was a miserable bugger, though I shouldn’t be talking ill of the dead.”
“No, you shouldn’t.”
“So who threw the rock?”
“I dunno.” Pansy moved to the next table. “Nobody knows. It’s all a big mystery.”
“Yeah, well, we get a lot of mysteries around here, don’t we.” Deciding it was time to change the morbid subject, Gertie added, “Guess who’s coming here for Christmas.”
Pansy twisted around, a candelabrum in one hand and three white candles in the other. “You found out who the important guests are going to be?”
“What important guests?”
Pansy looked disappointed. “Mrs. Chubb says as how some really important guests are coming for Christmas, but she won’t tell anyone who they are. She says it has to be a big secret, so no one’s supposed to know.”
“Well, nobody told me nothing about no important guests.” Gertie dropped yet another tablecloth into a laundry basket. “Anyhow, I don’t think anyone would call Doris important. Though I suppose she is a bit famous, having been on the stage and all.”
Pansy uttered a little cry of dismay. “Doris is coming? Daisy’s twin sister? That Doris?”
Gertie grinned. “Who else?” Pansy turned away, but not before Gertie saw the fear on her friend’s face. “You’re not worried about Samuel, are you?”
Pansy shrugged. “Course not.”
“Good.” Gertie dragged another cloth off the table.
“It’s just, well, you know how Samuel felt about Doris. He moved all the way to London to be near her.”
“And came all the way back when things didn’t work out the way he wanted.”
“I know, but…”
Gertie bundled up the tablecloth and threw it at her. “Don’t be bleeding daft. Samuel loves you now. He’s told you so, hasn’t he?”
There was a long pause before Pansy answered with a note of defiance. “He hasn’t actually said the words, but I know he does love me. He’s always telling me I’m his girl, and he likes being with me.”
“Well, then.” Gertie picked the tablecloth up off the floor and tossed it into the basket. “Stop worrying about Doris. Besides, Nigel is coming with her and they’re bringing their daughter, Essie. So you’ve got no need to get in a bother about Samuel taking notice of her.”
“I s’pose not.” Pansy fitted the candles into the candlestick and stood back to inspect her work. “I just wish she’d picked somewhere else to spend Christmas.”
“Well, what I’d like to know is who the important guests are that Chubby told you about.” Gertie heaved up the basket and balanced it on her hip. “I’ll have to get on to her about it. She’ll let something slip sooner or later, you mark my words.”
Pansy looked intrigued. “They must be really important if she won’t tell us. Must be a really, really big, dark secret.”
“Yeah.” Gertie trudged over to the door, the basket bouncing on her hip. “I don’t know why she hasn’t said nothing to me. Chubby knows I know how to keep a bloody secret. I’ve kept enough of ’em since I’ve been here at the Pennyfoot.”
Pansy followed her, eyes gleaming. “Like what?”
“If I told you, they wouldn’t be bloody secrets anymore, would they.” Gertie opened the door of the dumbwaiter and grunted as she dumped the basket inside. Tugging on the rope, she looked over her shoulder at Pansy. “I tell you one thing, whoever these important guests are, they’re not going to be secret for long. They’ve got to eat and sleep and go to the lav like the rest of us, don’t they. Sooner or later we’ll spot them.”
Pansy giggled. “Better not tell that to Mrs. Chubb. She’ll have a pink fit.”
Gertie wasn’t listening. She was too busy thinking about who the important guests might be. Maybe some rich toff who would take one look at her and sweep her off her feet, like the blokes in the magazines Chubby hid under her mattress.
They would all live in a posh house like the ones on the hill above Putney Downs, where Lillian and James could play and ride horses and do all the things the rich kids did.
So deep was she into her fantasy that as she rounded the corner of the hallway she ran smack into a hard body. Two strong hands grasped her arms as she bounced backward, gasping for breath.
“Where’s the fire?” a gruff voice demanded.
Looking up into Clive’s amused face, she muttered, “Sorry. I didn’t see you coming.”
“Not often someone says that,” Clive said, with laughter echoing in his voice.
She laughed with him, gently, knowing he was sensitive about his size. She never knew why. Clive was a big man with a husky build and massive shoulders, but he wasn’t fat like some of the rich dandies who visited the Pennyfoot.
There weren’t many men she had to lift her chin to look in the face. She liked that about Clive. He made her feel protected. Her and her children.
She knew that if any of them were in danger, Clive would be the first one to save them. He’d been there for all of them more than once, and she would always be grateful for that.
Remembering Pansy’s words, she felt a stirring of guilt. What if Clive wanted more than gratitude? What if he thought she had those sorts of feelings for him? How could she let him down without hurting him?
She’d married once before to have security for her kids. It wasn’t an unhappy marriage, but Ross McBride had been a lot older than she, and they hadn’t had much in common. She hadn’t loved him the way she’d loved Dan.
But then, Dan had hurt her. Badly. When she’d told him she couldn’t go to London with him, she’d nursed a faint hope that he wouldn’t be able to leave her. She’d been wrong.
She’d been hurt too many times, and she wasn’t getting involved with any man again unless she could truly love him and know, without a shadow of a doubt, that he loved her back.
“Why the frown?” Clive tilted her head back with a finger under her chin. “You look so pretty when you smile.”
Gertie’s grin spread all over her face. That was what she liked best about Clive. He knew how to lift her spirits when she was down. “The twins are looking forward to the sleigh ride,” she said, as he dropped his hand. “So am I.”
“Me, too. Tomorrow afternoon, two o’clock. Let’s hope it stops snowing by then.”
“I thought sleighs were made for riding in the snow.”
“They are. It’s the horse that has trouble with it.”
“You’ll be able to manage it.”
He looked down at her, his dark eyes twinkling. “Nice to know you have such faith in me.”
Something in his gaze unsettled her and she looked away, mumbling, “You’re good at everything you do.”
“Not everything.”
He stepped back to let her pass, and she hurried by him, wondering what he meant by that. He often said things that intrigued her.
Not for the first time she wondered about his past. She knew so little about him. He’d told her he’d been married, but she didn’t know what had happened to his wife, or if he had children, or why someone who seemed so clever would want to be a maintenance man at a seaside hotel.
Clive was a mystery, and the longer she knew him, the more she wanted to know about him. Tomorrow, she told herself. Tomorrow she’d try to find out about his past.
Feeling surprisingly excited at the prospect, she ran down the steps to the kitchen.