The door opened moments later, emitting the heavenly fragrance of freshly baked bread. Having eaten hours earlier, Cecily hungered for a thick slice of buttered toast.
The woman who stood framed in the doorway wore an anxious frown. A white cap was perched on her graying curls, and wrapped around her waist was a threadbare apron covered in flour. Her fingers were covered in the white stuff as she lifted a hand to her face, leaving a powdery streak across her cheek.
“Mrs. Baxter! How good of you to call! Is it Ellie? Have you found my daughter?”
Cecily thrust out her hand to lay it on the woman’s slender arm. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Tidwell. Actually, I was hoping you’d have word of her for me.”
The woman’s face crumpled. “I wish I did, m’m. I can’t think where she’d be.” As if remembering her manners, she drew back. “Please, do come in.”
“Well, just for a moment.” Cecily stepped inside the cozy cottage, where the aroma of the baking bread was even more enticing.
Mrs. Tidwell motioned her to a seat on the chintz-covered sofa. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
Cecily was about to politely refuse when the other woman added, “Perhaps a slice of bread and jam? I’ve just baked a loaf of bread. I always bake when I’m worried. Gives me something else to think about, it does.”
Cecily almost smacked her lips. “Well, if you insist. That sounds wonderful.” She took a moment to look around as Ellie’s mother hurried off to the kitchen.
It was a pleasant room, small but comfortable, with bright flowered curtains at the windows and a soft green carpet under her feet. An oil lamp had been lit to ward off the early winter dusk, and hot coals glowed a dark red in the fireplace.
In one corner shelves had been crammed with books, and unable to resist, Cecily got up to scan the titles. She was still studying them when Mrs. Tidwell returned with a loaded tray.
“I see you enjoy reading,” Cecily commented, as she returned to her seat. “I notice you have the latest book by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.”
“Yes, The Return of Sherlock Holmes. I do so love his books.” She put the tray down on a table beside Cecily and began pouring the tea. “My favorite, of course, is The Hound of the Baskervilles. I read every episode in the Strand.”
“As did I.” Cecily took the cup and saucer from her. “I’ve read everything that man has written. He is my favorite author. Such a talent.”
“Indeed.” Mrs. Tidwell offered her a plate with two slices of buttered bread smothered in thick strawberry jam.
Cecily hastily put down her tea and took the plate. “This looks delicious. Thank you.”
Nodding, Ellie’s mother sank on a chair across the room. “Mrs. Baxter, do you have any idea at all as to what might have happened to my daughter?”
Cecily paused, the delectable treat halfway to her mouth. “I wish I did. I’m afraid no one has seen Ellie since she left the Pennyfoot last night.” She took a dainty bite, feeling guilty for enjoying the morsel. “Does she perhaps have friends she might be visiting?”
“None that I know of.” Mrs. Tidwell rubbed her forehead with her fingers. “Ellie has changed, though, since she went to work in London. I never thought she’d go. She wasn’t the sort of girl who would act on impulse, but after the problem she had with Mr. Docker, she seemed almost desperate to leave Badgers End.”
Cecily swallowed her mouthful of bread a little too fast. Coughing, she sought her handkerchief tucked in her sleeve and drew it out to blow her nose. “Please excuse me,” she muttered, a little hoarsely, “but you did say Mr. Docker, didn’t you? Is that, by any chance, Mick Docker, the roofer?”
Mrs. Tidwell nodded. “The big Irishman. He was sweet on my Ellie. She met him two years ago, and he kept pestering her to go out with him, but she kept putting him off. He’d been married before, you see. Lost his wife when she caught a cold and it went into pneumonia. Ellie said as how she didn’t wanted secondhand goods. Besides, he was much too old for her.”
Still trying to clear her throat, Cecily nodded.
“Anyway,” Mrs. Tidwell continued, “she finally got up the courage to tell him how she felt. Well, he must have flown into a rage or something. She wouldn’t talk about it but I could tell she was worried about it. Right after that she told me she’d got a job as scullery maid at Rosewood Manor in London.”
“I see.” Cecily put down her plate. “Has she had any dealings with Mr. Docker since she’s been back?”
“I really couldn’t say. Our Ellie doesn’t tell me much these days. I do know she wasn’t happy in the city. She was only there a few months before she came back. I think that serial killer really frightened her. It was in the same district where she lived that they found the bodies of those poor young girls.” Mrs. Tidwell shook her head. “I know she was troubled about something, but she won’t talk to me about it. Got really secretive, she has.”
“I understand your son is searching for her.”
“Yes, he is. He’s got some of his friends helping him and all, so I’m hoping they find her soon. It’s not like her to stay out all night without telling me where she is.”
She paused, as if remembering something. “Though, I have to say, she did it once before. Last summer, it was. Worried me sick. I thought something terrible had happened to her, but she turned up the next morning right as rain. She said she spent the night on the beach. Told me she didn’t feel like coming home. I could tell something had upset her then, but she wouldn’t say what it was.”
Cecily finished the last piece of her bread and jam, then reached for her tea. “It’s a little cold to be staying out on the beach this time of year.”
“Yes, I know. I’m hoping she found somewhere warm to stay, though why she feels she can’t come home and tell me about things, I really don’t know.”
Having drained her cup, Cecily rose. “Well, these young girls are hard to understand sometimes. I do hope you find Ellie soon. Please tell her that we miss her at the Pennyfoot, and look forward to her return.”
“I will do that, Mrs. Baxter. Thank you.” Mrs. Tidwell got to her feet, her face lined with worry.
Having said her good-byes, Cecily headed down the path to where Samuel waited in the carriage. She still felt guilty for enjoying the woman’s hospitality when she was so obviously worried about her daughter.
Riding back along the Esplanade, however, Cecily managed to convince herself that the visit had relieved her mind to a degree. According to her mother, it wasn’t the first time Ellie had stayed out all night, though the news had surprised Cecily. She hadn’t thought the timid maid would have that much gumption. Apparently she had misjudged her newest employee.
Nevertheless, the news had raised her hopes that Ellie had merely been vexed over something and had sought refuge elsewhere to soothe her injured feelings. If so, she could stop worrying about the maid and concentrate on finding out who had caused Charlie’s death.
She frowned, reminded of her conversation with Mick Docker earlier. She’d had no idea he was that well acquainted with Ellie. As far as she could remember, he had said nothing to indicate he knew of her disappearance. Nor if, indeed, he’d had any contact with her. Nevertheless, perhaps she should talk to him again.
The carriage jerked to a halt in front of the Pennyfoot’s front steps, and she did her best to dismiss the problem from her mind. Ellie would be found sooner or later, no doubt unrepentant for causing so much upheaval. In fact, if the young girl did return to work, Cecily intended to make it her business to have a word with the maid, and try to impress upon her the error of her ways.
Having arrived at that conclusion, she alighted from the carriage, thanked Samuel, and hurried up the steps to the front doors.
The moment she stepped into the foyer, she remembered her last words with Baxter. She glanced at the grandfather clock. Almost half past two. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to have a small meal with him, though she had little appetite after eating that delicious bread and jam at Ellie’s house.
In her haste to reach her suite, she failed to see Sir Walter Hayesbury until, just as she reached the foot of the stairs, he called out her name.
Reluctantly she paused, and turned to face him. “Sir Walter! I trust you are having a good day?”
“As well as can be expected, madam.” The gentleman before her looked grave, his classic features drawn into harsh lines. His mouth was pinched, as if he was in pain.
He must have been remarkably handsome in his youth, Cecily thought, as he peered down at her over his white silk cravat. Too much indulgence in food and spirits had now begun to rob him of his looks and possibly his health.
If he continued on that path, it would be only a matter of time before he would acquire a heavy paunch and sagging jowls. That would, indeed, be a shame. There was something distinctly charismatic about the man.
“I understand you have suffered a tragedy this morning,” he said, his voice low and apprehensive. “One of your staff has passed away?”
Inwardly cursing the loose tongue that had betrayed her rules, Cecily did her best to look composed. “We had an unfortunate accident, yes, involving one of our footmen. I can assure you, Sir Walter, that there will be no inconvenience to our guests, and I would greatly appreciate it if you would not discuss the matter in public.”
He nodded emphatically, then winced, passing a hand across his forehead. “Of course, madam. You can rely on me not to betray your confidence.”
“Thank you, Sir Walter. We would rather not depress our guests with such tragic news. Rest assured that we shall endeavor to carry on with the festivities as usual.”
“Oh, quite, quite, madam. I quite understand.” He appeared to make an effort to dismiss his concern. Tilting his head to one side, he smoothed his mustache with the tips of his fingers. “My wife tells me there is to be a ball tonight in the ballroom. Is that so?”
Relieved at the change of subject, Cecily brightened. “Yes, indeed. I do hope you and your wife will join us?”
“Oh, most certainly, madam.” He moved closer to her, bringing with him a faint minty fragrance of snuff. “May I be permitted to take this opportunity and extract a promise for a dance or two?”
Taken aback, Cecily momentarily lost her tongue. Before she could find it again, a familiar voice spoke from behind her, with some considerable force. “Do pardon my intrusion, sir, but my wife will be fully engaged this evening, taking care of her guests.”
Cecily swung around to face the cold gaze of her husband. She was not in the least interested in dancing with Sir Walter, but neither was she about to allow her husband to dictate her actions in such an arbitrary manner. “Why Baxter, darling, I can’t possibly refuse such a charming request from one of our esteemed guests.” She turned back to Sir Walter. “Thank you for your kind invitation. I shall be delighted to join you for a dance this evening.”
Sir Walter lowered his head in a stiff bow, then sent Baxter a look that clearly stated his victory before heading away toward the main doors.
Baxter’s gray eyes were pure ice. “I had no idea you were so enamored of that pompous ass.”
Cecily smiled. “Actually I find him rather charming. His manners are impeccable.” Her tone suggested that she found her husband’s manners, on the other hand, somewhat wanting. “Besides,” she added, as he made way for her to mount the stairs, “his wife is rather pretty. Since you will be forced to reciprocate and invite her to dance, no doubt you will enjoy the exchange.”
Baxter’s snort assured her otherwise, and still smiling, she climbed the stairs.
Gertie’s afternoon walk with Dan was not turning out as she’d envisioned. For one thing, he flatly refused to walk on the pier. “Why the hell would you want to walk out over the ocean in a wind that could cut you in half?” he complained, when she suggested it.
“It will do you good.” She took his arm and began to pull him toward the jetty. “Blow the cobwebs out of your head.”
“That wind would blow my ears off.” He shook her off. “Why don’t we go back to my cottage where it’s warm.”
She felt her heart thump. So far she’d resisted his efforts to take her back to his home. She knew where that might very well lead. That’s how she’d ended up with the twins, thank you very much. Wild horses wouldn’t drag her into that situation again.
Still, she couldn’t help remembering what she’d told Pansy just that morning. If you want a man you have to grab every opportunity he gives you. After all, she was big enough and old enough to take care of herself, wasn’t she? Besides, she trusted Dan. He wouldn’t do anything she didn’t want him to do.
She ignored the little voice that warned her she might want more than was good for her. She was a big girl. She knew what she was doing. “All right,” she heard herself saying, before she had time to really think about it. “If that’s what you want, we’ll go to your cottage.”
Dan looked at her as if she had invited him to fly to the moon. “Really? You sure?”
No, she wasn’t sure. She studied his face. He was the best-looking man she’d ever set eyes on, and she’d spent many sleepless nights wondering what it was he saw in her. She loved him as she’d never loved anyone before, and all she wanted was to be his wife and make him happy for the rest of their lives.
The trouble was, Dan didn’t seem to want to settle down. He was happy the way things were, he’d told her, though she knew by the way he kissed her good night that he wanted more than she could give him.
“It’s not as if it’s your first time,” he’d told her once. That had made her angry. He just didn’t understand. She’d made that mistake once before, and she wasn’t about to make it again. This time she wanted a ring on her finger before she did anything like that again. And much as she adored him, nothing Dan could say or do would ever change her mind about that.
Still, she’d told him she’d go to the cottage and she could hardly take it back now. “Of course I’m sure,” she said, and inwardly prayed that she wasn’t making a big mistake.
In spite of her depleted appetite, Cecily managed to enjoy a light lunch of cheeses, fruit, and pickles, and even succeeded in reviving her husband’s good humor. In fact, he seemed so much more cheerful than previously, she felt compelled to question him about it.
“I assume that whatever was worrying you earlier has been resolved?”
To her dismay, he avoided her gaze as he reached for another slice of Gorgonzola cheese. “What gave you that assumption?”
She hesitated, before replying, “You just seem a little more lighthearted. You’ve been walking around with a ferocious scowl for the last two days.”
“Ah.” He broke off a piece of cheese and popped it in his mouth. “As a matter of fact, I would like to talk to you about that.”
She felt an uneasy thump of her heart. “I hope it’s not bad news?”
“That depends on how you look at it.”
“Look at what?”
“Well, my dear, I think you should know that-” He broke off as a loud rapping on the door interrupted him. “Blast it! Are we ever going to have any peace in this place?”
“I’m sorry, dear. I won’t be a moment.” Feeling flustered, Cecily crossed the room and opened the door. Pansy stood outside, her forehead scrunched up in a worried frown. “I’m sorry to disturb you, m’m, but I’m worried about the gentleman in room nine.”
Cecily thought hard for a moment, then nodded. “Oh, yes, Mr. Mortimer. Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know, m’m. He’s not answering his door. I went to fetch his tray that I took up two hours ago and it’s not outside in the hallway like he usually puts it, and I knocked and knocked on his door but he’s not answering.” She swallowed. “Not even to tell me to go away.”
“He’s probably gone out for a walk.”
“Then why didn’t he leave his tray outside like he always does?”
“Perhaps he forgot.”
Pansy looked unconvinced. “I don’t know, m’m. He’s mentioned before that he wasn’t feeling well. I just got a feeling that something’s wrong. I would ask Mrs. Chubb, but she’s resting in her room and gets really cross if I disturb her. Perhaps if you could come and knock on his door…?”
Cecily sighed, and glanced back at her husband. “I won’t be a moment, dear. I have to go downstairs to enquire after Mr. Mortimer.”
“Quite all right, my love. I have to take care of some business myself. We’ll talk later.” He got up from his chair, crossed the room, and followed her out the door.
Reluctant to see him go, Cecily led Pansy down the hallway to the stairs. She would not rest now until she’d heard what Baxter had to say about what had been troubling him so. He had aroused her curiosity, and not without a certain amount of alarm. She knew him well enough to know that this was no frivolous matter he wished to discuss.
She couldn’t imagine what it was, but she had a nasty feeling that it concerned her, and could possibly affect her life in some way. But there was one thing she would not do, no matter what it was he had to tell her. She would not give up her position at the Pennyfoot Country Club. Somehow he would have to understand and accept that. Deeply troubled, she walked down the stairs and along the landing to room nine.
After smacking the door with her knuckles several times and receiving no answer, Cecily told her maid to fetch the master keys. Fitting one into the lock, she turned it and carefully opened the door.
Pansy stood shivering outside while Cecily edged into the room. It was in total darkness, the curtains drawn against the fading daylight. She could see nothing except the faint outline of the window.
Wishing she’d bought a lamp with her, Cecily coughed. “Mr. Mortimer? Are you there?”
She jumped violently when a harsh voice answered her from the direction of the bed. “What the blazes…? Who are you? What the hell do you want?”
Cecily backed away, bumping into the door and sending it closed shut. Frantically seeking the door handle in the dark, she muttered, “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Mortimer. My maid could get no answer and we thought you might be indisposed.”
“For heaven’s sake, woman, I’m taking a blasted nap! Why on earth do you give me a room with a lock if you’re just going to barge in here whenever you feel like it? Surely I’m entitled to a little privacy?”
Cecily went on fumbling for the door handle. “Of course, sir. Please accept my sincere apologies. It’s just that you didn’t answer your door and your tray is not outside in the hallway and-”
The irate voice interrupted her. “I didn’t hear anyone at the door. I was asleep. My tray is still here because there’s still food on it. Now, is there anything else you’d like to know?”
At long last her fingers closed around the handle. Pulling open the door, she backed outside, still muttering apologies, then closed the door with a loud snap.
Pansy stood with her head down, her hands clasped in front of her. “I’m sorry, m’m. Really I am. I was worried about him, that’s all.”
Cecily let out her breath on a puff of exasperation. “It’s quite all right, Pansy. You were showing concern for a guest and that’s commendable. Mr. Mortimer is a rather unpleasant man who could use a lesson in manners. Just do your best with him and try not to let him upset you.”
She had raised her voice deliberately in the hopes that the man inside would hear her. There was no doubt in her mind that Mr. Mortimer had deliberately refused to answer their frantic assault on his door. Drat the man. As if she didn’t have enough problems.
Pansy dropped a curtsey, and sent an apprehensive glance at the door of room nine. “Yes, m’m. Thank you, m’m. I’ll be getting back to the kitchen now.”
“Please do. Oh, and tell Mrs. Chubb we need all those coal scuttles filled to the brim. It looks as if we’ll have a cold night.”
“Yes, m’m.” Pansy turned and ran for the stairs, disappearing down them at a speed that Cecily envied. Once she’d been able to run that fast. It seemed a century ago. Things had seemed so much simpler then.
Now she had so much more to contend with-rude, disgruntled guests, a husband with a troubling secret, not to mention a missing maid and a murder to solve. To echo Baxter’s sentiments, were they ever going to have any real peace again?