“Gertie!” Mrs. Chubb’s voice rang out across the kitchen.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m bloody putting the dishes away,” Gertie yelled back. “What do you think I’m doing?” She smacked the last dish down on the shelf and slammed the cupboard door.
“What’s got your hackles up?” The housekeeper sounded cross as she marched out of the pantry, closing the door behind her.
“Nothing.” Gertie seized the tray of silverware and started sorting out knives, forks, and spoons, slotting them into their compartments in the dresser.
“Well, something’s up. You’re not usually this disagreeable to me.”
“Sorry.” Gertie scowled as a knife slipped from her hand and fell to the floor. “Bloody hell. Now I’ll have to wash the flipping thing all over again.”
Mrs. Chubb walked over to her and took the knife from her fingers. “I’ll wash it. The coal buckets need filling. Why don’t you go and fill them. The fresh air will do you good.”
Gertie thought about arguing, then shut her mouth. Anything she said right now was going to come out wrong anyway.
Grumbling to herself, she picked up the coal scuttles and slammed out of the kitchen into the dark, chilly yard. This was the crowning insult on a horrible day.
She’d had a terrible row with Dan, bad enough that she didn’t know if she’d ever see him again. He’d accused her of tormenting him, when all she’d done was go with him to his cottage and let him kiss her.
It wasn’t enough for him, though, was it? Oh, no. He had to go and spoil everything by trying to get more and got really nasty when she’d shoved him away.
Tromping across the yard, she swung both coal scuttles so hard they almost came off their handles. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t get all upset again remembering all the nasty things he’d said. He was upset, and didn’t mean them. She knew that.
He’d come around tomorrow and tell her how sorry he was and promise it wouldn’t happen again. He’d done it before.
Only he’d broken his promise, and how did she know he wouldn’t break it again? How could she trust him when he couldn’t keep his hands to himself?
A slight sound from across the yard brought her to a halt. The maids had been talking in the kitchen about the serial killer, making her sick with all the gory details of what he’d done to them poor girls.
Not that she thought a killer like that would bother to come all the way down to Badgers End, when he had so many girls to pick from in London. Still, you never know.
The sound came again. Shuffling feet, and some sort of swishing sound, as if someone was dragging something across the cold ground. A dead body?
Gertie’s teeth started chattering, and she bit down hard to make them stop. If only she could see. Heavy clouds obscured the moon, however, and obliterated everything except the faint outline of buildings.
Gertie could barely see the coal shed. She never bothered to bring a lamp with her, because there was one hanging on a nail in the shed. With her hands holding two heavy coal scuttles, it was impossible to carry a lamp anyway.
The skin on the back of her neck tingled as the shuffling sound came closer. It was just around the side of the building now, and any second whoever it was would turn the corner and be right in front of her. Very slowly and quietly, Gertie began to back up.
She had gone no more than a few steps when her heel came down hard on a stone. Her shoe twisted sideways, wrenching her ankle. In an effort to prevent the sharp cry of pain, she slapped a hand over her mouth. Unfortunately, she had to let go of a scuttle to do so. It rolled away from her with a clattering and banging that would have awoken the dead.
At the same time, a male voice uttered a startled oath. “What the hell was that?”
Sheer relief gave Gertie the giggles as the coal scuttle finally came to rest against the wall with a resounding whack. “Sorry, Clive,” she said, between hiccups of laughter. “I thought you was the serial killer.”
Clive muttered something, but her giggles smothered his words. She didn’t know why she was laughing, considering what a miserable day she’d had. She just couldn’t seem to stop. Then she wasn’t laughing at all, but crying real tears that ran down her cheeks and onto her shawl.
Embarrassed, she turned away. She never cried. Not even when her mother died, or when she found out the father of her twins had somehow forgotten to mention he was married. She didn’t know why she was crying now. Angrily she dashed the unfamiliar tears away with the back of her hand.
“Here.”
Clive’s voice had softened. She squinted at him in the dark, seeing only his outline and unable to see his expression. She felt like a fool, furious with herself for acting like a baby in front of him.
Something cold touched her hand and she realized he was handing her the coal scuttle she’d dropped. She hadn’t even seen him pick it up. “Thank you, Clive.” She took it from him, holding it awkwardly by the edge instead of the handle.
“Are you all right?”
She nodded, then realizing he couldn’t see her, she said quickly, “I think I’m coming down with a cold.”
He didn’t answer right away. She was about to speak again when someone put a lamp in the kitchen window. The flickering light spread across the yard, and now she could see his face. He was smiling.
“Here,” he said again, and held up a white handkerchief. “You’ll need this.”
She managed a shaky grin. “Thanks. I generally use my sleeve.”
He took one of the scuttles from her and pushed the handkerchief into her hand. “This is better.”
He turned away and started walking toward the coal shed, and while his back was turned she quickly dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose. She thought about giving him back the handkerchief, then decided it would be better if she washed it first. Tucking it into her sleeve, she followed him over to the coal shed.
“I’ll light the lamp for you,” he said, as she unlocked the door.
She waited while he struck a match, the flame flaring up in his face. Funny, she never really noticed before, but he had a really nice face. Not good looking, like Dan, but a kind face, sort of square and dependable. The kind of man who would take care of his family.
She wondered why he didn’t have a wife. Or perhaps he did somewhere. A wife and children, waiting for him to come home to them. No, Clive wasn’t the kind of man who would just go off and leave them. Either he wasn’t married, or something must have happened to them.
She realized then how little she knew about the big man. He’d been a good friend to her, protecting her when she’d needed it, always looking out for her and the twins, yet she knew nothing about him. Nothing at all. She made up her mind there and then that when she had more time, she’d make it her business to talk to him and find out more about his life.
The light from the oil lamp swung across her face and she jumped. A shovel leaned against the wall nearby and she snatched it up. “Thanks. I can manage now.”
“Give me that.” He took the shovel from her and started piling the gleaming black lumps of coal into the scuttle.
She appreciated his help, yet felt awkward just standing there. Moving deeper into the shed, she looked around for another shovel.
That’s when she saw it. A black shoe, lying in the middle of the coal pile.
Her strangled gasp brought Clive’s head up. “What’s the matter? Spider? Rat?”
“No, a shoe.” Her finger trembled when she pointed at it. “Look. Over there.”
Clive straightened his back. “What the heck is it doing there?”
He started to move forward, but Gertie thrust out a hand to grab his arm. “Don’t! Don’t touch it!” Her stomach heaved, and she slapped the other hand over her mouth.
Clive frowned. “It’s just a shoe, Gertie.”
Her throat felt so tight she had to force the words out. “The last time I saw a shoe like that,” she said, her voice so hoarse she hardly recognized it herself, “there was a bloody foot in it.”
Clive’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”
Gertie swallowed. “It’s true. One of our maids had been murdered and the killer flung her body into the shed out by the tennis courts. I was the one what found her, and that’s how I saw her first. Just one shoe.”
Clive reached for the lamp and swung it high above his head. The patent leather gleamed in the light. “Looks like one of your shoes.”
Gertie looked down at her feet. The toes of both her shoes poked out from under her skirt. “It’s not mine.”
“Then it must belong to one of the other maids.”
“If it does, we’ll soon find out. Mrs. Chubb makes us write our names in our shoes so we won’t get them mixed up.”
“Well, then, let’s find out who it belongs to.”
He started forward again, but Gertie grimly hung on to his arm. “It could be Ellie.”
For a moment she saw a flash of alarm in his eyes, then he quickly masked it. “It’s not Ellie, Gertie. It’s just a shoe. Not a dead body.”
She watched him hang the lamp on a hook on the wall. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to get the shoe so you can see for yourself there’s no foot inside it. Or anything else, unless a rat or a spider has decided to make it its home.”
Gertie shuddered. “I can’t look.” She closed her eyes, wincing as she heard Clive scrabbling up the coal pile, sending chunks of it sliding down to the floor.
He grunted, then more scrabbling, and his voice speaking almost in her ear. “Well, it’s not Ellie, that’s for sure. It is, however, her shoe.”
Feeling only slightly reassured, Gertie took the shoe from him and held it up to the lamp. “Oh, gawd. This is Ellie’s shoe all right.” She lowered it and stared at Clive. “So then, why would she leave it in here and walk out without it? Where the bloody hell is she?”
“Look at that. Disgusting behavior, I call it.” Baxter nudged his head at a spot across the ballroom by the doors.
Seated at the table opposite him, Cecily followed his gaze, and caught sight of Geoffrey and Caroline Danville sharing a chaste kiss under the kissing bough. “I’d hardly call it disgusting, dear. After all, they are newly married, and it was quite an inoffensive embrace.”
Baxter rolled his eyes. “Public displays of affection in an exclusive hotel ballroom? Where will all this lead, I’d like to know?”
Cecily felt her neck tightening. She was in no mood for Baxter’s intolerance this evening. All afternoon she had been trying to decide how to proceed with the investigation of Charlie’s death without even a glimmer of an idea.
She had so little upon which to base her suspicions. The position of Charlie’s body, that was all. In fact, if it wasn’t for Madeline’s vision, she’d be inclined to think that the whole thing was a tragic accident, after all. It was just that Madeline’s visions invariably transpired, and she had learned never to dismiss her friend’s unusual powers.
“You are not paying attention, Cecily.”
She gave a guilty start and covered it by smiling at him. “I’m sorry, my dear. You were saying?”
“I was saying that the world is going to rack and ruin, with all these corrupt standards abounding everywhere. We are leaving decency and ethics behind in our frenzied pursuit of modernization. I blame the French. They always were a loose lot.”
Cecily sighed. “Why Bax, darling, you are always impressing upon me the importance of progress, and how change is good for the country and the soul.”
Baxter grunted. “When it applies to mechanical conveniences like motorcars and telephones, yes. I shudder to think, however, of the detrimental effects all this will have on the morals of young people.”
“Piffle.” Cecily leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I seem to remember, my dear husband, you and I sharing such a kiss in this very room. And without the benefit of a kissing bough to make it acceptable.”
Baxter’s eyebrows lifted. “We were quite alone at the time.”
Keeping a solemn face, Cecily nodded. “You are quite certain of that?”
She watched a shade of pink creep over her husband’s cheeks. “Were we not? I don’t-”
He broke off abruptly as Sir Walter Hayesbury paused in front of their table. The gentleman bowed, and offered his hand. “I do believe this is my dance?”
Cecily glanced at her husband and encountered a face of thunder. For a moment she was tempted to make some excuse, but having penciled Sir Walter’s name into her dance card earlier, she was under an obligation to accommodate him.
She rose, murmuring, “I shan’t be long,” and received a curt nod in answer.
Much as she tried to suppress her emotions, she had to confess to a certain thrill of pleasure as the aristocrat took her hand for the two-step.
He was a strong dancer, guiding her around the floor with such ease she felt as if she were floating. Feeling somewhat guilty about the pleasure she was experiencing, she murmured, “Your wife looks particularly elegant tonight, Sir Walter.”
He glanced over to where Lady Esmeralda sat in deep conversation with Lady Millshire. “She does, indeed.” He returned his dark gaze to Cecily’s face. “If I may say so, madam, you look every bit as elegant, if not more so.”
Normally Cecily would ignore such blatant flattery, but she couldn’t suppress the rush of warmth his words gave her. “Why, thank you kindly, sir.”
Together they swept toward the stage, gracefully weaving in and out of the other couples. Sir Walter turned her to face the door, where Geoffrey and Caroline Danville still lingered. “It seems that some of your guests are making good use of the kissing bough,” he murmured.
Cecily couldn’t remember when she had felt such heat in her cheeks. “A charming Christmas tradition, don’t you think?”
“Indeed. Such a shame it is only utilized during the Christmas season. Think what pleasure such an enjoyable practice could bring year-round.”
Catching sight of Baxter’s disapproving scowl, Cecily laughed. “I’m afraid there are some people who would not agree with you.”
“Perhaps, but then some people have difficulty appreciating such a pleasurable experience.”
Having no answer to that, she decided it was high time she changed the subject. “I do hope you and your wife are enjoying your stay at the Pennyfoot?”
“Most assuredly, madam. This is a charming place to enjoy the celebrations.” His gaze swept the room. “It would seem all of your guests are having a good time. Your efforts are well appreciated, I’m sure.”
“We do our best to please.”
“I trust the unfortunate incident with your footman has not impeded your plans?”
Startled, she glanced up at him. “What? Oh, no, of course not. It was a nasty accident and we are all shocked and dismayed, of course, but our first and foremost duty is to entertain our guests in the manner to which they are accustomed, and nothing is allowed to interfere with that.”
Sir Walter nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. A dreadful thing to happen any time of the year, but losing a loved one at Christmastime must be quite unbearable.”
Uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going, Cecily was thankful when the music ceased and she could return to her table.
She thanked Sir Walter, who kissed her gloved hand, then gave Baxter a slight bow of his head before returning across the room to his wife.
“I trust you enjoyed that,” Baxter said, with just a hint of resentment in his voice.
She couldn’t resist teasing him. “I did, indeed. Such a gentleman, Sir Walter. He looks quite dashing on the dance floor.”
Baxter snorted. “He wouldn’t look quite so immaculate had he not borrowed a bow tie from me this morning. He was lucky I had a spare. Apparently his valet had forgotten to pack one for him. Seems to me he needs to get his household in order.”
Cecily smiled at her husband’s feeble attempt to discredit the charming aristocrat. “Well, the dance was very nice, dear, but I’d much rather dance with you. So much more relaxing. Besides, he doesn’t have your light foot on the turns.”
Baxter’s scowl disappeared, and his mouth twitched in a smile. “Then what are we waiting for? Will you do me the honor of having the next dance with me?”
“Of course.”
“In that case-” He broke off as Gertie appeared at the table, her pale face taut with anxiety.
“Sorry, m’m, but I thought you ought to know at once.”
Her good mood shattered, Cecily felt a pang of misgiving. “What is it, Gertie?”
The housemaid cast a furtive glance over her shoulder at the couples dancing behind her. The orchestra on the stage played a lilting waltz, loud enough to cover her words, and apparently reassured, she leaned forward. “I just found one of Ellie’s shoes, m’m.”
For a moment Cecily stared at her, wondering why that was such momentous news she had to be disturbed. “Ellie’s shoe?”
“Yes, m’m.” Again Gertie looked over her shoulder. “I found it in the coal shed, m’m.”
“In the coal shed?” Cecily exchanged a puzzled look with Baxter. “What on earth was it doing in there?”
“That’s why I came to tell you, m’m. We thought it queer that she’d leave her shoe in the coal shed. I mean, where would she go with only one shoe? What with her gone missing and everything.”
Baxter leaned an elbow on the table and covered his eyes with his hand. “Oh, good Lord.”
Cecily let out her breath. “Thank you, Gertie. I’ll look into it.”
A look of relief crossed her housemaid’s face. “Yes, m’m. Thank you, m’m.” She backed away, narrowly missing being struck in the face by the energetic elbow of Lord Millshire.
Muttering an apology, Gertie rushed across the floor and out the door.
Cecily smiled at the Millshires as they swept past her, then encountered Baxter’s gaze.
His brows practically met over the bridge of his nose. “Just when were you going to tell me that one of our maids is missing?”
Aware that the musicians had ceased playing, she sent him a warning look with a finger pressed to her lips. “I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t want to worry you. You seemed so preoccupied with something I didn’t want to add to your troubles. Besides, Ellie has only been gone one day and her mother said she often stays with a friend when she’s upset…” She let her words trail off as his frown deepened.
“You spoke to her mother?”
“Yes, dear. This afternoon. I was doing a spot of shopping and thought I’d drop in to see her.”
He narrowed his gaze. “Why?”
“Why what, dear?”
“Why would you take time out of one of the busiest days of the year to visit the mother of a maid who has been in our employ exactly a week?”
Cecily felt a stirring of resentment. “I thought Ellie might be ill. Besides, it’s not as if her mother is a stranger. Mrs. Tidwell supplies the hotel with apples and cherries from her garden. I have met her on more than one occasion.”
“What does all this have to do with you chasing after a missing maid? Why didn’t you send one of the footmen to enquire after her health?”
Cecily raised her chin. “I do not question the management of your business, Baxter. I would thank you for not questioning mine.”
He at least had the grace to look somewhat contrite. “I didn’t mean to criticize, my dear. I was merely concerned that you were getting yourself involved in another nasty mess that seems so prevalent around this time of the year. I-”
Once more they were interrupted, this time by a petite woman in a purple velvet gown and a pink wide-brimmed hat weighed down by an assortment of flowers, feathers, and bright red cloth cherries.
“Cecily, my dear! It has seemed simply ages since we last saw you, hasn’t it Frederick, dear?” She looked over her shoulder. “Frederick? Drat the man. He was right behind me. Where has he gone now?”
“The bar, most likely,” Baxter said dryly. He rose to his feet and gave the newcomer a light bow of his head. “Mrs. Carter-Holmes Fortescue. What a pleasure.”
“Oh, the pleasure is mine, dear Mr. Baxter.” Phoebe Fortescue giggled behind her fan. “As always.”
Cecily smiled at her friend. “Hello, Phoebe. I’m so happy you could join us.”
“Yes, well, I’m afraid we are a little late. Frederick takes such an inordinate amount of time to get ready. I swear that man falls asleep while he’s dressing.” Phoebe sank onto a chair and fanned her face, blowing little tendrils of hair about as she did so.
Cecily was never quite sure whether or not to believe the rumor that Phoebe was quite bald and wore a wig under her massive hats. The fact that she had rarely seen her friend without a hat seemed to add credence to the supposition. Not that it mattered to her, of course. Phoebe was a dear friend, bald or not.
“Yes, well,” Baxter said, making no effort to sit down again, “perhaps I should seek good old Frederick out, in case he has nodded off somewhere.”
Phoebe looked up with a little gasp of gratitude. “Oh, would you, Mr. Baxter? So very good of you, I’m sure.”
“Not at all.” Ignoring his wife’s cynical shake of her head, Baxter bowed again and hurried off.
Cecily watched him leave, feeling an acute disappointment at having been robbed of her chance to dance with him. There was such little opportunity these days, and she missed the pleasure of whirling around the floor with him.
Much as she had enjoyed her two-step with Sir Walter, it could not compare with a lively waltz in the arms of her beloved husband.
“Such a gentleman, your husband.” Phoebe closed her fan and laid it on the table. “Tell me, Cecily, will Madeline and the good doctor be attending the ball tonight?”
“I’m afraid not, Phoebe.” Cecily picked up a plate of hors d’oeuvres and offered it to her friend. “Madeline didn’t think it was a very good environment to bring a baby.”
“Oh, of course.” Phoebe sniffed. “I forgot. She doesn’t have a mother with whom she can leave the poor child. Such a detriment to her social life. I wonder how Dr. Prestwick feels about being trapped in his house for the entire Christmas season. He always so enjoyed going out and about.”
Cecily resisted the urge to say something biting. Phoebe and Madeline had been at each other’s throats for as long as she could remember, and she had never understood why. She doubted very much if either of her friends knew why. It was a silly feud that went on and on without any signs of being resolved, and there were times when Cecily grew quite tired of having to resolve their arguments and keep the peace.
Phoebe took a miniature sausage roll from the plate, studied it for a moment, then popped it in her mouth. “I suppose she will have a good excuse not to attend my pantomime. She will be missing an excellent performance this year.”
Cecily rather doubted that. Phoebe’s presentations were known more for their mishaps than for any glowing tributes. Her cast of dancers had much to do with that. Not only were they miserably inept, their contempt for their director was made obvious both on and off the stage.
Phoebe usually lost control of the proceedings, and much to the delighted expectations of the audience, the result was, at times, utter chaos.
“As a matter of fact,” Cecily murmured, “Madeline will be at the pantomime. She and Dr. Prestwick will be bringing little Angelina with them. I think they would both be quite disappointed to miss your performance.”
“Oh!” Phoebe lifted her hands to straighten her hat. Having recovered from her surprise, she added, “Well, it is the highlight of the season, after all. I shall look forward to seeing the baby.”
She went on prattling, but Cecily wasn’t listening. She was envisioning a single shoe lying in the coal shed. Mrs. Tidwell’s words ran through her mind, shutting out all else. The big Irishman. He was sweet on my Ellie. Must have flown into a rage or something. First thing in the morning, she promised herself, she would pay Mr. Docker a visit. All she could hope was that the maid’s disappearance was not connected in some way to Charlie’s death. For if so, things did not bode well for Ellie Tidwell.