Cecily awoke early the next morning from a restless sleep, and climbed out of bed leaving Baxter snoring under the covers.
The coals in the fireplace were down to their last embers, and she used the tongs to transfer several small lumps from the coal scuttle to the fire, then gently stoked them until flames began to lick around them.
Drawing her dressing gown closer around her, she walked over to the window. Tiny flakes of snow were blowing about in the wind, but the ground was wet and the lawns still green, relieving her mind. The last thing she needed right now was a snowfall to hamper her efforts.
She dressed quickly, and Baxter had just begun to stir by the time she was ready to go down to her office. “I’ll meet you for breakfast in the dining room,” she told him, and hurried from the room before he could enquire about her haste.
Reaching her office she rang the operator and asked to be put through to Mick Docker. He seemed surprised to be hearing from her so early in the morning. When she told him she needed his services again, however, he seemed only too happy to oblige her.
She had barely finished entering invoices in her ledger when she heard the breakfast bell. Baxter was waiting for her when she entered the dining room. Seated at their customary corner table, he hid behind the daily newspaper as usual.
He lowered it when she greeted him, and rose to pull out her chair for her. Having seated her, he sat down again, his face a mask of apprehension.
Cecily removed her serviette from its silver ring and spread it on her lap. “Bad news?”
He didn’t answer her right away, and she felt a shiver of uneasiness. “Bax? What’s wrong?”
He tried to smile, but she could see his features were tight with tension. “I was just reading about that dratted Mayfair Murderer.”
“Oh? Have they caught him?” She felt a wave of reassurance. Until that moment she hadn’t realized she had actually considered the idea that Mr. Mortimer might be the villain for whom all of Scotland Yard was hunting.
Her relief was short-lived, however, when Baxter shook his head. “As a matter of fact, there have been no more murders committed by him in some time. They think it’s entirely possible that he has left the city.”
Cecily’s craving for the bacon, sausage, and fried tomatoes she’d been looking forward to suddenly disappeared. “Oh?” she said again, only far more faintly this time. “Have they had no murders at all in London, then?”
“None, apparently, with the trademark of the infamous serial killer.”
“Perhaps he has changed his trademark,” Cecily said, clinging to a faint ray of hope.
“Unlikely. He has used the same method and left the same memento with over a dozen other murders. According to the chief inspector, serial killers almost always stick to the same routine.”
“Then it can’t possibly be our killer. He has left no memento of any kind.”
Baxter looked worried. “I hadn’t even considered that possibility. I suppose there’s always the exception to the rule.”
“Oh, my.” Cecily grasped her throat, the macabre words on the stained sheet of paper racing through her mind.
“I know what you’re thinking.” Baxter leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “I think we must talk to Inspector Cranshaw and tell him what we have found.”
“Not yet. Not until I’ve talked to Mr. Mortimer.” Seeing his stubborn frown, she laid her hand on his. “We can hardly accuse one of our guests of being a mass murderer without evidence of the fact.”
“I should think mere suspicion would be enough to warrant a report to the constabulary. You are playing a dangerous game, my dear, and I fear not only for your safety but for that of everyone here in the Pennyfoot as well.”
“I promise you, Bax, I will be careful. I shall not rest, however, until I have discovered who is responsible for the deaths of Charlie and Ellie. I owe it to them to bring their killer to justice.”
Baxter was prevented from answering as Pansy arrived at the table with a tray. She looked pale and sleepy as she unloaded bowls of steaming porridge and a covered platter, which she laid in the center of the table.
Guessing her maid hadn’t slept well, Cecily gave her a sympathetic smile. “I hope you are feeling a little better this morning, Pansy?”
“Yes, m’m, thank you.” Pansy hesitated, then added, “I had bad dreams last night. I kept imagining Ellie lying in the leaves, her eyes all wide and staring.”
“Shsh!” Baxter glanced over at the next table, where Sir Walter sat in earnest conversation with his wife. “We are trying to keep all that quiet.”
“Sorry, sir. It slipped out.” She bent her knees in a swift curtsey and hurried off, holding the empty tray at her side.
“Poor Pansy.” Cecily gazed after her. “It must have been such a dreadful shock.”
“Well, I just hope she keeps her mouth closed about it all. The last thing we need is for the guests to find out.”
Cecily nodded in agreement, though she didn’t have much hope of keeping the news a secret. People let things slip, just as Pansy had done, and sooner or later the word would spread. Her only hope was to find out who was responsible as quickly as possible, before the killer could strike again.
Pansy shivered as she crossed the yard to the coal shed. The dark gray skies overhead threatened rain, or even snow. Clutching her shawl to her neck she leaned into the wind, the coal bucket swinging in her hand.
She had almost reached the door of the shed when a heavy hand descended on her shoulder, squeezing so hard she cried out in pain.
Lenny’s face loomed in front of her, his mouth twisted in an ugly smile. “So there you are. I wondered when you’d turn up again.”
Pansy drew back, trying to break the cruel grip on her shoulder. “What are you doing here? What do you want?”
“I’m working here, aren’t I.” His chuckle sent shivers of fear down her back. “You can’t get rid of me that easy. I’ll be here for the whole day, maybe two.”
Again she tried to shrug him off, but he only gripped her tighter. She looked about, hoping to catch sight of Clive, or better yet, Samuel, but the yard and the lawns beyond were deserted. Glaring up into Lenny’s grinning face, she said loudly, “Let me go, or I’ll scream and someone will come running.”
“I don’t think so.” He brought his nose down to hers. “You owe me, you little bitch. You were supposed to meet me yesterday afternoon. I waited nearly an hour for you.”
“I was busy, wasn’t I.” She met his gaze squarely. “It wasn’t my fault. It’s Christmastime and all of us have extra work.”
“Yeah, extra work running off into the woods with your boyfriend?”
Startled, she tried to back away. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, yes, you do.” He pulled her closer to him and wrapped an arm around her waist. “I saw you, in the woods with your boyfriend when you were supposed to be with me.”
She stared up at him. “How could you have seen me in the woods if you waited an hour for me?”
“I saw you on me way home, didn’t I. Though I have to say, you didn’t look too happy. If you ask me, you were crying. See? That’s what you get for going off with some country lout instead of coming out with me.”
Once more she struggled to be free, her fear gradually turning to anger. “It’s none of your business what I do, so there. Now let me go before I scream for help.”
“You won’t scream, ducky. I know what you want, and I’m the one to give it to you.”
He bent his face closer, and desperate now, Pansy swung the bucket as hard as she could against his head. It made a dreadful clanging noise as it hit, and Lenny pulled back with a look of surprise and let her go.
Every instinct shouted at her to run, but fear held her rooted to the spot.
Lenny staggered backward, shaking his head.
Horrified at what she’d done, Pansy began stammering. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that but you wouldn’t let me go when I told you to and-”
She shut her mouth abruptly as Lenny slowly turned toward her. Too late she realized her mistake. She should have run when she had the chance. She dropped the bucket and backed away. “Don’t you touch me-”
Her words ended in a scream as Lenny raised his hand and smacked her hard across the face. Stunned, she dropped to her knees, little spots dancing in front of her eyes.
The next thing she knew, Lenny’s hand was on the collar of her frock, dragging her to her feet. “This is what you get for daring to hit me,” he snarled, and raised his hand to strike her again.
She lifted her hands to shield her face and closed her eyes, bracing for the blow.
It never came. There was a shout, a thump, and someone grabbed her from behind.
Opening her eyes, she saw Samuel, fists raised, standing over Lenny who was lying on the ground. “Get up you bloody coward,” Samuel yelled. “See if you can pick on someone your own size.”
Lenny just lay there, eyes closed.
Aware of the big hands on her shoulders, Pansy twisted her neck and saw Clive peering down at her. He looked worried, and let her go, then gently touched her cheek.
It stung, and she drew back.
“Are you all right?” Clive sent a murderous look at Lenny, who now was struggling to his feet. “I’d have hit him myself if Samuel hadn’t reached him first.”
Pansy tried to speak and felt something warm trickling down her chin. She dabbed at it with her fingers then looked at them. They were smeared with blood.
She heard another thud and a grunt of pain. “You dare to touch my girl again and I’ll bloody well kill you!” Samuel yelled.
Lenny staggered back, holding his jaw. “All right,” he snarled. “You asked for this.”
Pansy screamed when she saw the knife in his hand. Samuel jumped back, but Clive stepped forward and with one mighty blow sent the weapon clattering across the yard. Samuel scrambled after it, but by the time he’d picked it up Lenny was racing to the gate. He had it open before Samuel could catch up with him and disappeared into the street.
Sobbing, Pansy ran up to Samuel and grabbed his arm. “Let him go, please! Don’t get into a fight with him. He’ll kill you!”
“Not if I kill him first,” Samuel muttered.
“She’s right, lad.” Clive joined them at the gate. He gently pried open Samuel’s fist, then took the knife and slipped it in his pocket. “He’s not worth that kind of trouble. You sent him on his way and that’s what matters.”
Pansy choked, tears running down her cheeks. All she could think about now was Samuel’s words, yelled in fury. You dare to touch my girl again and I’ll bloody well kill you!
Did he mean it? Was she really his girl? The thought made her forget all about the pain in her lip, which now felt twice its size when she ran her tongue over it. All she could feel was a fuzzy warmth way down deep in her tummy. She would hear those words in her head, she told herself, over and over again for as long as she lived.
“Are you all right, little lady?” Clive looked down at her, then pulled a big white handkerchief from his pocket. Very gently he dabbed at her chin and her swollen lip. “You’ll have a bruise for a couple of days, but you’ll live.”
Pansy tried to smile, but it hurt too much, so she nodded instead.
Clive stepped back and then Samuel stood in front of her, a look in his eyes she’d never seen before. “You need someone to take care of you,” he said gruffly, “and I think that should be me.”
Even the pain couldn’t keep Pansy from smiling. She wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but right at that moment she didn’t care. Samuel was looking at her the way she’d always dreamed he would, and now it was real. That was all she asked for right now. “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have take care of me,” she said unsteadily.
Now Samuel grinned. “I’d kiss you, but I’m afraid it would hurt you too much.”
Pansy lifted her face. “Try it.”
Samuel didn’t need any more prompting.
“I am quite sure I paid you the right amount!” Seated in her office, Cecily flipped the pages of her ledger back to where she had entered the amount of the check she’d given Stan Whittle. “Look, here it is. Three shillings and ninepence.”
“It should have been four and six.” The craggy face of the coal man glared down at her.
“I ordered five hundredweight. At fifteen shillings a ton that’s three shillings and ninepence.”
“I had two extra bags so I added them in.”
Cecily puffed out her breath. “I didn’t ask for two extra bags. When I order five hundredweight that’s exactly what I expect and what I’m prepared to pay. No more, no less.”
The coal man jutted out his chin. “You got the coal, so you pay for it.”
“Why didn’t you mention all this when I paid you two days ago?”
“I didn’t look at the check until after I left.” He leaned over her desk. “I thought I could trust you to pay the right amount.”
Cecily met his angry gaze squarely. “Is this what you were arguing about with Ellie?”
Stan Whittle straightened, his face turning to stone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I heard that you and my new maid, Ellie, were in the kitchen yard, arguing about something.”
“I talk to a lot of people. I don’t remember which one Ellie is, do I.” He strode to the door, tossing words over his shoulder. “Keep your money. I’ll just leave two bags less next time.”
“As you wish.” She was talking to empty air. The door had closed behind him. Furious, she snapped the ledger shut. Infuriating man. She had never cared for his attitude, and now she thoroughly disliked the man. Perhaps her first thoughts were right, after all, and Stan Whittle had killed Ellie. But then why would he have killed Charlie as well?
No, it was far more likely that Mick Docker was the culprit, and all she had to do was prove it. She wasn’t quite sure yet how she would do that, but she had asked Samuel to send the roofer to her office as soon as he arrived, which should be just about any minute now.
Even as the thoughts passed through her mind, a loud rap on the door announced the arrival of her next visitor. Crossing her hands on the desk, she called out, “Come in!”
Mick Docker’s round face appeared in the gap. “You wanted to see me, m’m?”
“Yes, Mr. Docker. Please, come in.” She waved him to a chair, and waited for him to sit down.
“I’ve sent the men up to take a look at the roof,” he said, tucking his cap into a back pocket. “As soon as I know what needs doing, I’ll give you a report and then you can decide what you want us to do.”
“Very well. Thank you.” She fixed her gaze on his face as she added, “I’m afraid I have some very bad news. It’s about Ellie.”
She saw a flicker of alarm in his eyes. “Ellie? She’s all right, isn’t she?”
“I’m afraid not.” She paused, then added quietly, “My stable manager found her body yesterday afternoon. She’d been strangled.”
He made an odd sound in his throat, as if he were choking. “Dead? Ellie’s dead?”
If he was, indeed, the murderer, Cecily thought, he was a remarkably good actor. He certainly looked as if he’d received a tremendous shock.
He swallowed a couple of times, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse with emotion. “Who did this?”
“I was rather hoping you could tell me.”
Mick’s eyes widened. “Me? How the hell should I know who did it?”
“According to a witness, you were probably the last person to see her alive.”
He stared at her for a moment as if he didn’t understand the words, then he violently shook his head. “That’s impossible. The last time I saw Ellie was three days ago. I’d come down from the roof to have a bite and she was walking across the kitchen yard. I knew there was no point in talking to her. She’d made it very clear how she felt about me. So I went around to the rose garden and ate my lunch there. That was the last time I saw her.”
Cecily frowned. “You didn’t see her that evening? You didn’t have an argument with her in the yard?”
Again he shook his head. “It wasn’t me, Mrs. Baxter. I swear it. Ask Lenny. We knocked off around four o’clock that afternoon, when it was getting dark, and we went straight down the pub. We had dinner down there and stayed until closing time. Left there just after eleven and then went home.” He buried his head in his hands. “I can’t believe she’s dead. Who would do this to her?”
“That’s what we’d all like to know.” Cecily sighed. “I’m sorry, Mr. Docker. I know this has been a shock for you.”
“Yes, it has.” He got up from his chair, slowly, as if he were lifting something heavy with his shoulders. “I’ll be getting along now, m’m. I’ll let you know what we find on the roof.”
Cecily watched him leave, letting out her breath as the door closed behind him. She didn’t know whether to believe him or not. Samuel had seemed fairly certain that he’d heard the roofer arguing with Ellie that night, but he could have been mistaken. There was one way to find out. She would talk to the new publican of the Fox and Hounds, Barry Collins.
Since she couldn’t trust the operator not to listen in, she would have to go down there in person. Meanwhile, she must go at once to the foyer. Madeline would be arriving any minute. Baxter was probably still in the suite, going over his records, which, he told her, would take most of the morning. She would have to have her conversation with her friend in the library and hope that they wouldn’t be interrupted.
For what she had to ask Madeline was definitely not for anyone else’s ears.