“Samuel kissed you!” Gertie stopped curling coils from the slab of butter and stared at Pansy. “Go on! What happened next?”
Pansy shrugged. “Nothing. He had to go back to the stables and I came back in here.”
“Well, you was lucky he was around, that’s what I say.” Gertie picked up the lump of butter again and swiped the curler across it, letting a soft spiral of butter join its companions on the silver dish. “Wait until Chubby sees that lip. She’ll faint from shock.”
The voice from the doorway froze Gertie’s hand. “How many times do I have to tell you not to call me Chubby!”
Gertie winced. She hadn’t heard the kitchen door swing open, with all the racket Michel was making over by the stove.
“Sorry, it just sort of slipped out.”
The housekeeper switched her gaze to Pansy and let out a gasp of horror. “What happened to you?”
“She had a fight with her boyfriend,” Michel said, slapping a metal pot on the stove. “With all this fighting and upset going on, it is impossible to concentrate. How am I supposed to produce my magnificent meals in this chaos?”
“Same bloody way you always do,” Gertie muttered. “Throw it all together and pray.”
She cringed as Michel crashed a lid on the pot. “I do not have to put up with such impudence! I go somewhere else, where I am more appreciated.”
“Oh, be quiet, Michel. Can’t you see this child is hurt?” Mrs. Chubb rushed over to Pansy and tilted her chin up with her fingers. “Great heavens. Your lip is swollen twice its size. You can’t go into the dining room like that. What on earth happened to you?”
Gertie groaned. More work for her.
Pansy’s words were muffled as she recounted the argument with Lenny. “It wasn’t just Samuel that helped me,” she said, as the housekeeper soaked a face flannel in cold water over the sink. “It was Clive.” She looked at Gertie. “He was so gentle and kind. Brave, too. He knocked the knife right out of Lenny’s hand.”
Gertie smiled. “That sounds like Clive. He’s always coming to someone’s rescue.”
“Well, that Lenny sounds like a really nasty person.” Mrs. Chubb dabbed at Pansy’s lip, ignoring her muffled cry of pain. “If I were you, Pansy, I’d stay out of his way.”
“He frightens me,” Pansy said, as the housekeeper let her go. “I thought he was going to kill me. Samuel, too.”
“Well, I’ll talk to Mrs. Baxter about it. She’ll see he never works around here again.” She hurried to the door. “Meanwhile, Gertie, you had better get a move on. The tables haven’t been laid yet and it will soon be time for the bell. Get one of the other maids to help you. Pansy can give us a hand in here.”
“That blinking bell drives me crazy.” Gertie scraped the last curl off the butter and carried the knife over to the sink. “We live our life by that bell. We’re always rushing around to get things done and we always have to ring it before we’re ready.”
“Then you will all have to rush faster, non?” Michel smacked a saucepan down on the stove. “Instead of standing around talking all the time.”
For once Gertie didn’t have a smart answer for him. She was thinking about Clive, and what Pansy had said. Kind and gentle, and brave, too. That was Clive. Didn’t have much to say, but when he did say something, it was always warm and thoughtful. So different from Dan.
Dan was clever and funny, exciting to be with, always wanting to go places and do something. He was the restless type, never standing still. For a long time she’d thought that was what she wanted in a man, but the longer she was with Dan, the more she realized that all his emotions were on the outside, for show.
He was a good man, in his way. He took presents for the orphans at Christmas, and he was good to her and the twins. But in all the time she’d known him, she’d never really seen inside his mind. It was like he’d locked it away, and didn’t know how to unlock it anymore.
Now, with all this talk about moving to London, she knew it was just a matter of time before he left Badgers End. She also knew she couldn’t go with him, no matter how much she’d miss him. Much as she loved him, she didn’t think he could ever give her the kind of love she needed. She would just have to let him go without her.
The lump in her throat hurt, and she rinsed her hands under the tap and wiped them dry on her apron. It was Christmas, she told herself, and soon her twins would be home. That’s all she needed to be happy. Her Lillian and James. Who needed a man? She certainly didn’t.
Having convinced herself of that, she opened the silverware drawer and started loading a tray with the polished utensils.
Cecily reached the foyer just as Madeline arrived, wearing a black coat over her flowered cotton frock with Angelina cradled in her arms.
As usual, Madeline’s dark hair flowed down her back, though she had caught up a large strand with a small circle of miniature silk daisies. Her cheeks glowed from the bite of the wind, and she hugged the baby, whom she’d wrapped in a soft pink blanket, as she hurried through the main doors. “It’s chilly out there today. We could have more snow before long.”
“Goodness, I do hope not.” Cecily hurried forward to greet her friend and held out her hands to take the baby. “How precious she is. Look, she’s smiling!”
“More likely a spot of indigestion.” Madeline handed her Angelina and shivered. “I would love a warm fireplace right now.”
“Of course.” Carrying the child, Cecily headed for the hallway. “Come, we’ll go to the library. There’s a roaring fire in the fireplace and I’ll have crumpets and tea sent there. Baxter is upstairs working in the suite.”
Madeline laughed. “I wouldn’t mind in the least if he cared to join us.”
“Well, I would.” Cecily lowered her voice. “I need your help.”
Madeline nodded. “I thought perhaps that’s why you invited me. After all, I intend to be here tonight for the pantomime. We’ll be seeing each other then.”
“Ah, but we’ll have no chance to talk then.”
Still carrying the baby, Cecily led the way to the library where, to her relief, they found it unoccupied. Once inside, Angelina started fussing, and she handed her back to her mother.
After settling them both in a chair by the fireplace, she summoned a maid with the bell rope. “Now,” she said, when Angelina was quiet again, “I assume Kevin has told you about Ellie.”
“Yes.” Madeline lowered her head and pressed her lips against her baby’s forehead. “That poor mother. I can’t even imagine how she is suffering right now.”
“It must be so hard on her.” Cecily sighed. “The worst part, of course, is not knowing who did this dreadful thing to her daughter. Knowing that whoever killed her is out there somewhere, free to do the same thing again to someone else’s daughter.”
“And you want me to tell you who he is.”
Startled, Cecily looked at her. “Can you do that?”
“I rather doubt it.” Madeline undid her coat and slipped it off her shoulders. “But that is why you wanted to see me, isn’t it?”
“Not entirely.” Cecily gave her a guilty smile. “I always enjoy a visit with you.”
“It’s all right, Cecily. You know I will do my best, but I have to confess, since Angelina came into my life, my powers have somewhat diminished. I’ll do what I can, but don’t be surprised if I can’t be of much help.” She sat back, closed her eyes, and was still.
Cecily waited, one anxious eye on the now sleeping baby in case she should wake up and disturb her mother’s trance. Madeline was now breathing deeply, her face a mask of concentration. Her eyelids fluttered, then opened. She stared ahead, at something Cecily couldn’t see, and now her breathing became more shallow, quickening, while her fingers twitched as if they were reaching for something.
For several long moments Cecily watched in silence, until suddenly Angelina stirred and let out a soft whimper. Madeline was instantly awake, rocking her baby.
Cecily waited in an agony of suspense while Madeline fussed with her daughter, until once more the child was quiet. Madeline laid the blanket on the floor and set Angelina down on it. “I saw Ellie,” she said, her voice low and anxious. “I saw her attacker but it was dark. I couldn’t see. He had his back to me. I tried to reach him but he kept moving farther away. I’m so sorry.”
Disappointed, Cecily nodded. “It’s all right. I understand. Is there anything at all you can tell me about him? His voice? His clothes? His hair?”
Madeline shook her head. “Nothing that I can remember. There is something, though. Something that seems important, though I don’t know why it would be.”
With a flare of hope, Cecily leaned forward. “Tell me, what is it?”
“A handkerchief.” Madeline frowned, as if she were struggling to see again the elusive article. “A small lace-edged handkerchief, belonging to a lady.”
“A lady?” Cecily sat back. “That can’t be. I don’t know how the killer got Ellie’s body into the woods, but I doubt a lady would have had the strength or the fortitude.”
“You’re quite right. The killer is a man. It was definitely a lady’s handkerchief, however.” Madeline shook her head. “I don’t know why it is so significant, but believe me, Cecily, you would do well to take note.”
Feeling defeated, Cecily could only nod. She simply couldn’t imagine what bearing a woman’s handkerchief could possibly have on Ellie’s murder. Then again, she had dealt with such matters often enough to know that anything and everything was possible.
She’d hoped that Madeline would be able to give her a little more to go on, but it appeared that once more, she would have to rely on her wits and a great deal of luck, if she was to bring a ruthless killer to justice.
“I suppose you didn’t tell Mr. Baxter that you were going to the Fox and Hounds,” Samuel said, as he helped Cecily into the carriage that afternoon.
“Mr. Baxter hasn’t returned from his visit to Wellercombe.” Cecily settled herself on the seat and tucked her hands in her muff. “He is doing some last-minute Christmas shopping and doesn’t expect to be back until later this afternoon. By that time I hope to be home again, Samuel.”
“Yes, m’m. I’ll do my best.” Samuel touched his cap, closed the door, and climbed up into the driver’s seat.
The carriage jerked, sending Cecily back against the cold leather. Shivering, she leaned forward again to look at the ocean as they rattled down the Esplanade.
Patches of white froth rode in on the waves, driven by a chill east wind. All along the seafront the stiff arms of the gas lamps were wrapped in holly, the bright red berries adding a splash of color against the dull gray sky.
The latticed windows of the shops lining the street displayed their wares, everything from toy soldiers and red-cheeked dolls to Christmas crackers and decorations of all shapes and sizes-silver stars and white angels, brilliant red and green glass balls twisting on slim cotton thread, colorful paper chains and tiny candles.
A shudder of dread shook her body. She had once almost burned to death in a fire caused by Christmas tree candles. Ever since then she had been unable to view them without a shudder and a feeling of dread.
Shaking off her morbid thoughts, she focused her gaze on the ocean again as Samuel urged the horses into a fast trot. Madeline’s words popped into her mind. A handkerchief. How could a woman’s handkerchief help her find the killer? Unless it belonged to Ellie. Why hadn’t she thought of that before?
With a start she remembered the necklace. Samuel hadn’t mentioned it, so she had to assume he hadn’t found it. She made a mental note to ask him as soon as they arrived at the Fox and Hounds.
The ride took them over the cliffs and across the Downs. Buffeted by the winds and bouncing along the rutted path, the carriage rocked and bucked until Cecily was quite sure she would lose her front teeth.
She was most thankful when they arrived at last in the courtyard of the Fox and Hounds. Feeling bruised and battered, she climbed down from the carriage before Samuel had a chance to offer her a hand.
“I’m coming in there with you, m’m,” Samuel said, without waiting to be asked. “I know Mr. Baxter would want that.”
“Thank you, Samuel. But before we do, tell me, did you look for the necklace?”
“I did, m’m. I didn’t see it anywhere in the yard, and it was sort of hard to look for it in the coal shed. I shone my torch all over the coals but didn’t see nothing. It could have been scooped up in one of the coal scuttles and thrown on the fire.”
“I suppose it could have. Well, thank you for looking, anyway, Samuel.”
“Yes, m’m.” He hesitated, then asked, “Was it really important?”
“I really don’t know.” She shook her head. “To be honest, Samuel, I don’t know what is important and what isn’t. Perhaps we shall find out something useful from Barry Collins.” With that, she marched across the gravel to the side door, where the publican had his private quarters.
After rapping on the door with the fox’s head door knocker, she waited, hoping she wasn’t disturbing the publican’s afternoon nap. Since the pub had to stay open until eleven p.m., that brief respite when it closed in the afternoon had to be so coveted.
The door opened to reveal a young woman holding a baby. She seemed shocked when she saw her visitor. “Mrs. Baxter! Whatever are you doing here?”
Cecily smiled at the publican’s wife. “I’m so very sorry to disturb you at this hour, but I would like to ask your husband some questions. I was hoping he’d have a few minutes to accommodate me.”
“Of course, do come in.” The woman sent a curious glance at Samuel, who was hovering behind Cecily, his cap crushed in his hands.
“Oh, this is my driver and stable manager, Samuel. I’d like him to accompany me, if he may.”
“Of course. Welcome.” Mrs. Collins drew back and opened the door wider.
The baby gurgled, and Cecily smiled at him. He was about the same age as Angelina, though a good deal heavier, by the look of him. No doubt his diet wasn’t as nutritious as Madeline’s meals.
Following the young woman into the parlor, Cecily took a seat by the window, while Samuel stood close by.
“I’ll fetch my husband,” Mrs. Collins said, and left them alone.
Looking around the familiar room, Cecily could see little change since Barry Collins had taken over the license. Her eldest son had become publican of the Fox and Hounds soon after his father died, and she had spent many hours in this room, listening to Michael’s tales about unruly customers and the hard luck stories he’d heard.
Now the pub belonged to someone else, and Michael was on the other side of the world. She rarely heard from him. She thought of him often, but never quite as clearly as she did when in the warm comfort of the Fox and Hounds.
Her thoughts scattered as Barry Collins walked into the room. A tall man with a luxurious mustache and a thick head of blond hair, he seemed more suited to be a musician or artist than a publican charged with keeping a rowdy group of drunkards in order.
He seemed a little disoriented as he greeted her and acknowledged Samuel’s presence with a brief nod. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” he enquired, as he perched on the arm of a comfortable easy chair.
Cecily wasted no time in coming to the point. “I have reason to believe that Mr. Mick Docker visited your establishment three nights ago.”
Collins frowned. “Docker? Oh, the roofing chap. Yes, he was here. He came in soon after opening time, if I remember, with that other young fellow. Lenny, his mate.”
“They stayed all evening, is that so?”
The publican gave her an odd look. “Well, now, I can’t swear to that. I saw them come in, and I saw them leave at closing time, but I can’t say if they were here all evening. We had a bit of excitement in here that night, so I wasn’t paying much attention as to who was here and who wasn’t.”
“Excitement?”
The publican looked uneasy. “Look, I don’t like telling tales. If this is about the fight between Docker and Stan Whittle all I can tell you is that no one really got hurt. A couple of glasses got smashed but that’s all, and we got the mess cleaned up right away.”
Cecily sat up. “Mick Docker fought with Stan Whittle? Do you know what the fight was about?”
“Nothing. It was just a couple of chaps letting off steam, that’s all. Those two are always going at it over something or other. A Scotsman and an Irishman. What can you expect? They’ve both got hot tempers. It doesn’t take much to set them off. We broke up the fight, Stan left, and…” He paused. “Come to think of it, I don’t remember seeing Mick for a while after that, but I know he was here at closing time. I chased him out myself.”
“So it was possible he could have left and returned without you noticing?”
The publican lifted his hands and let them drop again. “In a place like this, Mrs. Baxter, anything can happen under my nose. There’s always something going on, and I don’t have eyes in the back of my head.” He laughed to soften his words. “I often wish I did.”
“So do I, Mr. Collins.” Cecily rose to her feet. “So do I.”
Frustration was making her snippy, she thought, as she made her way back to the carriage, with Samuel close behind. Every path she took resulted in a dead end. Mick Docker had been telling the truth when he said he spent the evening at the Fox and Hounds. But had he stayed there all night, as he’d proclaimed? It seemed she would have yet another conversation with the slippery roofer.
She had to wonder how much more patience the man would have with her before he refused to answer any more of her questions. Or worse, decided that she was becoming a nuisance, and needed to do something drastic to shut her up.