Cecily briefly closed her eyes. “I knew it. The moment Gertie walked into the room this morning I felt certain it would turn out to be murder. What did you see? Do you know what happened?”
Madeline straightened the baby’s bonnet, which had slid sideways over her face. “Not much that would be of help, I’m afraid. All I could see was the figure of a man standing on the roof, with his hands raised over his head. He was holding a gargoyle.”
“That could have been one of the roofers working up there. Perhaps the gargoyle slipped out of his hands and he’s afraid to tell anyone.”
“It didn’t slip, Cecily.” Madeline rested her baby’s head on her shoulder. “It was deliberately thrown, and in great anger, I would say.”
Cecily collapsed against the back of her chair. “Well, that’s it, then. For heaven’s sake, don’t tell anyone else. Not yet, at least. The last thing I need is Sam Northcott snooping around here again.”
“We’ll have to see what Kevin says.” Madeline settled the baby more comfortably on her lap. “If he so much as smells foul play, you know he’ll go straight to the constabulary.”
She had barely finished speaking when a knock on the door brought up their heads. Putting a finger to her lips in warning, Cecily walked over to the door and opened it.
The tall, handsome man framed in the doorway smiled at her. “Cecily, my dear. How very nice to see you, though I wish it were under better circumstances.”
“Do come in, Kevin. Your wife and daughter are waiting for you.”
“Ah, I wondered if they would still be here.” Kevin Prestwick strode into the room, dropped a kiss on his wife’s forehead, and patted his daughter’s cheek. Turning to Cecily, he added, “Jolly bad luck about your footman. He must have been passing under the roof when the gargoyle fell. A second or two earlier or later and he’d still be alive. Must have been his time to go.”
Avoiding Madeline’s gaze, Cecily concentrated on the doctor. “Dreadful shame. His family will be devastated.”
“Well, these things happen, unfortunately. This is an old building, and there’s bound to be pieces falling off it now and then. Especially if you have workmen scrambling all over the roof. I’ll be happy to take care of the arrangements for the body, if you like. I assume you have the address for the lad’s family?”
“Oh, would you?” Cecily clasped her hands together in front of her. “That would be such a help. I’d like to keep this from the guests if possible.”
“Of course. I understand.” Kevin turned to his wife and plucked the baby from her lap. “Now, I have to get back to my office, so if you’re ready, my love?”
Madeline rose and reached for Cecily’s hands. “I sincerely hope the rest of your day goes well.”
“Thank you, Madeline.” Knowing her friend was warning her to be cautious, Cecily managed a smile. “You will both be coming to the pantomime, as well as the carol singing ceremony, I trust?”
Madeline exchanged looks with her husband. “I don’t know, Cecily. Now that we have the little one to take care of, we don’t do much socializing at all.”
“Then bring her along.” Cecily stroked Angelina’s soft cheek with her finger. “She’s such an angel, I’m sure she’ll sleep through the whole thing.”
Madeline looked doubtful. “Well, I suppose we could, if you’re quite sure…”
“I’m certain, so that’s settled.” Cecily saw them to the door and waved a final farewell before returning to her chair. So the curse had struck again. It would be only a matter of time before the truth came out and Sam Northcott would be back upsetting everyone with his eternal questions.
That was supposing Madeline’s vision was accurate, of course. In all the years she’d known her friend, however, Cecily had never known any of Madeline’s revelations to be false. She would act on the assumption that Madeline was right and start making enquiries.
At least this time she had a little leeway and a head start on the investigation. She needed to talk to the roofers right away. It seemed the best place to begin, and hopefully Baxter would be closeted in her office for some time, allowing her to conduct her own enquiries without being disturbed.
With luck on her side, she might be able to identify the killer and hand him over to the constable, thus avoiding a lengthy and disruptive investigation that would certainly cast a pall over the festivities.
Without further ado, she reached for her shawl, wrapped it around her shoulders, and headed for the door.
“Well, I think it’s nice to have children in the Pennyfoot at Christmastime.” Mrs. Chubb wiped her wet hands on her apron and hurried over to the kitchen table, where a large beef roast stood waiting to be carved. Pulling a carving knife from its stand, she waved it at Gertie. “I miss the twins running around here. Those two little ones remind me of your James and Lillian. They must be about the same age-seven or eight, don’t you think?”
Gertie sniffed and dashed a hand across her nose. Tears glistened in her eyes due to the stinging smell of the onions she was chopping for the stew. “My twins ain’t nothing like those two Millshire brats. Little devils, they are. I caught them swinging on the curtains in the library. It’s a wonder they didn’t pull them down.”
Mrs. Chubb smiled. “They’re just excited, that’s all. Your twins get into all sorts of scrapes when they’re excited. Especially this time of year.”
“My twins don’t sauce me back when I tell them off.” Gertie wiped her dripping nose again with the back of her hand then went on chopping. “You can tell those two have toffs for parents. They’re just as bloody stuck-up as the grown-ups. Talked to me like I was a bleeding worm under their feet, they did.”
“Well, they’ll settle down after a while.” Mrs. Chubb started carving wafer-thin slices of beef from the roast. “Just be careful what you say to them. We don’t want them carrying tales to their father, now do we?”
Gertie didn’t answer. As far as she was concerned, Lord and Lady Millshire’s offspring were spoiled rotten and a sound boxing around the ears would do them a world of good.
“Here.” Mrs. Chubb handed a plate of roast beef sandwiches to Gertie. “Mr. Mortimer’s tray is on the dresser. Take this up to him, and make up a cheese and fruit plate to go with it. Oh, and pick up a glass of sherry from the bar on the way.”
Gertie scowled. “I’m chopping onions, aren’t I. Why can’t Pansy take it?”
“She’s doing Ellie’s job, isn’t she.” Mrs. Chubb shook her head. “I wonder why she didn’t come in today. I thought I could rely on that girl. I just hope she isn’t ill or something.”
“Well, we’ll soon find out. Samuel went over her house a while ago to see if she was all right.”
Mrs. Chubb raised her eyebrows. “Samuel? What’s a stable manager doing running a footman’s errands, may I ask?”
Gertie shrugged. “We’re short, aren’t we. What with Charlie gone and all.”
“God rest his soul.” The housekeeper walked over to the dresser and put the sandwich down on the tray. “That poor boy’s parents. My heart goes out to them. Especially at Christmastime. Makes it twice as hard to bear.”
“I still can’t believe it.” Gertie finished the onion and grabbed another from the bowl. “Fancy taking a morning stroll in the rose gardens and getting bumped off like that. Who’d have thought that could happen.” She sniffed and rubbed her nose again. “Wonder what he was doing there so early in the morning. Rotten luck, that’s what it was.”
“Yes, well, you’ll have bad luck, too, if you don’t get this tray up to Mr. Mortimer. He’s not exactly a patient man, so I’ve heard.”
Gertie put down her knife and the onion with a puff of breath. She wasn’t about to admit it to old Chubby, but the truth was, she didn’t want anything to do with J. Mortimer after what Pansy had told her about the old geezer. He was a scary old bugger, that’s what, and she would just as soon stay out of his way.
Still, she knew how far she could go with the housekeeper, and she wasn’t about to let a grumpy old grouch get the better of her. After making up the cheese and fruit plate, she grabbed the tray, muttering, “If I’m not back in ten minutes send Clive up to look for me.”
Mrs. Chubb laughed. “You sound like Pansy. What on earth has that poor Mr. Mortimer done to frighten you so?”
“Frightened?” Gertie made a guttural sound of disgust in her throat. “Who said anything about being frightened? We just can’t be too careful with strangers, that’s all. We never know who they are, do we. Could be that serial killer what’s running around London murdering young girls. You just never know these days.”
Mrs. Chubb’s grin vanished. “Hush, Gertie. Don’t say such things. You’ll be frightening the maids, and I have enough trouble with them as it is.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Gertie marched across to the door. Just as she reached it, it flew open, and a skinny young man burst into the kitchen, narrowly missing the loaded tray in Gertie’s hands.
Shaken, Gertie glared at him. “Blimey, Samuel! What’s your bleeding hurry?”
Ignoring her, Samuel looked at Mrs. Chubb. “I just came from Ellie’s house,” he said, sounding out of breath.
Mrs. Chubb hurried toward him. “Is she all right? She’s not ill, is she?”
Samuel shook his head. “We don’t know. She never came home last night. Her mum says she hasn’t seen Ellie since yesterday morning. Her brother’s out looking for her now.”
The housekeeper gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh, my, I wonder where she went.”
Remembering Clive’s stricken face when he told her Charlie had died, Gertie felt her stomach start to churn. The tray felt heavy in her hands and she set it down on a chair by the door. “Oh, gawd,” she whispered, “you don’t think something bad has happened to her as well, do you?”
“Of course not.” Mrs. Chubb sounded cross, though her face was creased in worry. “She’s probably just gone somewhere and didn’t tell her mother. These young girls nowadays can be so thoughtless.”
Gertie felt sick. “Where would she go without telling someone?”
“I don’t know. But it’s not for us to say, anyway.” Mrs. Chubb turned to Samuel. “Have you told madam yet?”
“No, I couldn’t find her. She’s nowhere in the club, and Mr. Baxter is in her office. He doesn’t know where she is, either.” Samuel pulled his cap from his pocket. “She must be outside. I’ll go and look for her.”
“Just try not to alarm her,” Mrs. Chubb said, as he crossed to the door. “She’s upset enough about Charlie. We don’t want her thinking the worst.”
Samuel nodded, but he didn’t look too convinced when he left.
Gertie didn’t feel all that reassured either as she picked up the tray again. “I’d better get this up to Mr. Mortimer,” she said, and followed Samuel out the door.
The stable manager had already disappeared up the stairs when she stepped out into the hallway. Too bad, Gertie thought, as she followed him up to the lobby. She would have liked to ask him how things were with Pansy. He might have said something she could pass on to her friend to cheer her up a bit.
Not that Pansy was the only one who needed cheering up. Gertie had her own problems with Dan, and now there was this awful business with Charlie dying and Ellie missing. What a blinking Christmas this was turning out to be.
Reaching the top of the stairs, she glanced up to look at the kissing bough. To her dismay, it had disappeared. Someone must have taken it down. Maybe because of Charlie.
More depressed than ever, she crossed the lobby to the stairs. The kissing bough had looked so cheery hanging up there.
It was the first thing people saw when they walked in the door. Not that anyone would feel like celebrating once word got around about Charlie. It was bound to get around, like it always did, no matter how hard they tried to keep such bad news under their hats.
She reached the first landing and stomped around the railing to the second flight of stairs. Two small bodies barred her way and she came to an abrupt halt. Just her luck to bump into the Millshire brats.
“Excuse me,” she muttered. “I have to go upstairs.”
Wilfred, a freckle-faced lad with orange hair, stood on his toes to look at the tray. “What’s that?”
Gertie resisted the temptation to tell him to mind his own business. “It’s somebody’s meal, that’s what. Now please move aside so I can take it upstairs.”
Adelaide was a smaller version of her brother, except that her hair, a much darker shade of red, hung almost to her waist. “Who’s it for?”
“A gentleman.”
“Can Harriet have some?” She held up a china doll, beautifully dressed in pink satin and white lace. A pink hat sat on the yellow woolen curls, decorated with flowers, ribbons, and a tiny white dove.
The doll reminded Gertie of Phoebe Fortescue, and she hid a smile. Mrs. Fortescue would not be flattered by the comparison.
“I don’t think your dolly would like roast beef sandwiches.”
“Harriet likes anything to eat. I give her some of my food all the time.”
“She doesn’t eat it,” Wilfred said, his tone thick with disgust. He looked up at Gertie. “She thinks her doll is really alive. She gives it stuff to eat and drink and sings it to sleep every night.”
Adelaide snatched the doll to her chest and stamped her foot. “She is real, so there.” She rocked the doll, murmuring, “There, there. Don’t let the nasty boy upset you, then.”
Wilfred laughed. “I can’t hear it crying. Where are its tears?”
“You just can’t tell, because you’re a stupid boy and boys don’t know anything.”
Sensing a squabble coming on, Gertie raised the tray above the children’s heads. “I have to take this upstairs now, so kindly get out of my way.”
Adelaide shifted sideways, but Wilfred held his ground. “Why doesn’t the gentleman eat his meals in the dining room, then?”
Gertie gritted her teeth. “Because he doesn’t want to be bothered with naughty little children who won’t do what they’re told.” Shoving her hip forward, she nudged Wilfred aside and charged up the stairs.
The last thing she heard as she reached the landing was Adelaide declaring, “Harriet is alive, I tell you. She wets her drawers and everything.”
Gertie didn’t hear Wilfred’s answer, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t polite.
Reaching room nine, she balanced the tray on her hip and rapped on the door with her knuckles. After waiting for longer than her patience would allow, she rapped again. Louder this time.
The door swung open, but all she could see was hairy fingers clutching the edge. “What is it?”
The harsh tone seemed to grate right inside her head. “Your tray, sir.” Her own voice had sounded higher than usual and she cleared her throat.
“Leave it there. I’m indisposed at the moment. I’ll pick it up in a while.”
Concerned, she edged closer to the door. “Are you ill, sir? I can bring some powders up for you, if you like?”
“I am not ailing, woman! Just leave the tray and go away.” The door snapped shut again.
Offended, Gertie bent her knees and dropped the tray none too lightly on the floor. Serve him bloody well right if the ants got to it before he did. Straightening, she thumbed her nose at the door and turned her back on it. That was the last time she was taking up a tray to that old bugger. He could starve inside that bloody room for all she cared. Having settled that in her mind, she tramped back down the stairs to the kitchen.
Cecily shivered as she rounded the corner of the building.
Stray snowflakes still floated down on the wind, but turned to water the moment they hit the ground. With any luck, they would have no snowfall to spoil the Boxing Day hunt.
Her skirts whipped around her ankles as she entered the rose garden, and she drew her shawl closer around her throat. She was thankful to see Clive raking the flower beds as she passed under the trellis arches that supported the roses in the summer.
Although Charlie’s body had been removed from the premises, viewing a crime scene was never one of her favorite things to do, and it was comforting to have someone else present.
The big man paused when he saw her coming, and propped his rake up against the wall. “I’m sorry about what happened to Charlie,” he said, as she approached. “I would have come and told you myself, but I thought it best to stay here until the body had been taken away.”
“Of course, Clive. Thank you.” Cecily glanced at the rose bushes. “Whereabouts did you find him?”
“Right here, m’m.” Clive stepped into the row of bushes and pointed at the ground. “I picked up the gargoyle pieces and raked it all over. I hope that was all right.”
Cecily would rather have seen the murder weapon still in place, but she was reluctant to tell Clive what she suspected. He would find out soon enough if Madeline’s vision proved to be correct. “Where did you put those pieces?” she asked him instead.
“In the dustbin, m’m.” He gave her a sharp look. “I can retrieve them if you like?”
She shook her head. “No, that won’t be necessary. Both Dr. Prestwick and P.C. Northcott are satisfied with their investigations.” She glanced up at the roof, unable to suppress a shudder at the thought of that heavy masonry hurtling down on Charlie’s defenseless head. “I suppose the men are still doing the repairs on the roof?”
“No, m’m. They finished up this morning. They left a short while ago.”
“Oh, dear. I really needed to talk to the foreman.”
“Mick Docker?” Clive looked even more curious. “Well, he did say he’d be back this afternoon to pick up his money.”
“Oh, good. I can talk to him then.” Of course, how silly of her. The man had to be paid, and she would take care of that herself, as usual.
“The constable talked to Mick this morning about the accident,” Clive said, reaching for his rake. “I heard Mick tell him he packed everything down tight last night and he can’t understand how the gargoyle got loose.”
Avoiding Clive’s probing gaze, Cecily said hurriedly, “Well, these things happen. It could have been the wind, or maybe a cat brushing up against it.”
“Yes, m’m. If you say so.”
She was about to answer him when she heard someone call out behind her. Turning, she saw Samuel hurrying toward her. One look at his face told her he was bringing bad news. Clutching her throat, she prayed it wasn’t another so-called accident.
“It’s Ellie, m’m,” Samuel said, panting a little. “She’s gone missing and her mum doesn’t know where she is.”
Cecily felt as if someone had punched her right in the ribs. “Missing? For how long?”
“Since last night, m’m. According to Mrs. Tidwell, Ellie never went home from here.”
“I see.” Aware of her maintenance man’s steady gaze on her face, Cecily made an effort to recover her composure. “Well, perhaps we should pay Mrs. Tidwell a visit, Samuel. Please have a carriage ready at the front door in half an hour.”
“Yes, m’m.” Samuel touched his cap with his fingers and hurried off in the direction of the stables.
“Thank you, Clive.” Cecily gave him an uncertain smile. “I appreciate you taking care of things here.”
“Not at all, m’m. My pleasure.” Clive’s dark eyes raked her face. “I hope you find Miss Ellie, m’m.”
A chill that had nothing to do with the cold wind chased down her spine. “So do I, Clive,” she muttered as she turned away. “So do I.”