Herald Of Death

by Kate Kingsbury

  “What about Lord Bellevue and his wife? Did they see anything?”

  “I couldn’t talk to them, m’m. The butler said they were too upset to speak with me. Which is why I came up here.”

  Cecily thought she understood. “Would you like me to speak to them?”

  Northcott looked relieved. “Yes, m’m. They won’t turn you away, being as you’re a lady. I’d be most grateful if you could see what you can find out.”

  “I’ll do my best, Sam. I suppose you searched the area thoroughly?”

  “I put my best men on it. They didn’t find nothing, though.” He shook his head. “They didn’t find nothing at all at the other murders, neither. Whoever did this is really good at picking up after himself.”

  “So it would seem,” Cecily murmured. “It seems we are dealing with an exceptionally clever killer.”

  Northcott drew a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow. “I’m never going to get away for Christmas at this rate. I might as well tell the missus to go without me.”

  Personally, Cecily thought, the constable was entirely too concerned with his holiday, but she refrained from saying so. “Don’t give up just yet, Sam.” She stood, forcing the constable to leap to his feet. “Our killer has committed four murders now without being detected, or thinks he has, and sooner or later he will make a mistake and give himself away.”

  “I hope you’re right, m’m.” Northcott bent down to retrieve his helmet. “And I certainly hope it’s sooner rather than later. The inspector is going to find out about all this any minute now, and he’ll be breathing fire down my neck, make no mistake about that.” A light tap on the door turned his head. “Would that be the brandy, by any chance?”

  “No doubt.” Cecily crossed the room and opened the door. Pansy held a tray containing a brandy bottle and two glasses. “Your carriage is on the way, m’m,” she announced, bending her knees in a curtsey.

  “Thank you, Pansy.” Cecily reached for the tray. “I’ll take this. Go back to the foyer and watch for the carriage. Let me know the minute it arrives.”

  “Yes, m’m.” Pansy disappeared, and Cecily carried the tray to her desk and set it down. “Help yourself, Sam. I must go up to my suite and get ready for my visit to the Bellevue mansion.”

  “You don’t have time to join me, m’m?”

  He didn’t look too disappointed when she shook her head. “Not this time. I think perhaps Mrs. Chubb might have some mince pies in the kitchen, if you’d like to call in there on your way out.”

  “Yes, m’m. Much obliged, I’m sure.”

  She was about to leave when he added, “Thank you, Mrs. B. I’m really glad of your help. This is a nasty one, to be sure. Just be careful, all right?”

  “I will, Sam. You must be careful, too.” She closed the door and walked slowly down the hallway, deep in thought. This latest murder would seem to exonerate Basil. He could hardly have committed the crime while he was working at the factory.

  Whether or not he was responsible for Jimmy Taylor’s death remained to be seen, but that was not her concern right now. The murders were piling up at an alarming rate. Her immediate objective was to find this diabolical monster and halt his terrible rampage.

  If she and the constables couldn’t apprehend the killer, the news would be all over London, and Inspector Cranshaw would waste no time in getting to Badgers End.

  Not only would Sam Northcott be in deep trouble, the Pennyfoot’s Christmas season could be a total disaster. Even she would think twice about spending a week or so in a village with a murderous maniac on the loose. The Christmas Angel had to be stopped, and there was no time to lose.

  “I can’t believe we’re actually going on the sleigh ride,” Gertie said, wrapping a scarf around Lillian’s head. “I was so blinking sure the snow would all be melted before we could get out there.” She smiled at Daisy. “Now you can have some time off to spend with Doris.”

  Daisy bent down to button James’s coat. “Doris is really busy with the pantomime. I think I’ll take Essie out for a walk in the pram. She looks like she needs some fresh air. Her skin is as pale as a lily.”

  Gertie laughed. “That’s because she lives in London. You can’t get fresh air with all that smoke and dirt.”

  Daisy patted James’s head and stood. “Yeah, I know. You’re lucky the twins live down here at the seaside. It’s a lot better for them.”

  “Don’t I know it.” Gertie glanced in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes seemed to be sparkling. It had to be all that rushing around to get out. “I was lucky Lizzie didn’t have nothing to do today. She swapped her afternoon off with me. I promised her I’d bring her back some mistletoe, so I hope we find some.”

  “What about the pantomime rehearsal this afternoon? Aren’t the twins supposed to be there?”

  “Yeah, but it won’t hurt for them to miss one. I told Pansy to tell Mrs. Fortescue that I had an urgent appointment and had to take them with me.”

  “Well, you’ll all have fun, I know,” Daisy said, sounding just a little bit envious.

  Gertie gave her a sharp look. “Don’t you ever get tired of taking care of other people’s kiddies?”

  Daisy shrugged. “What else would I be doing? It’s a lot more fun than being a housemaid. I never did like that job. Too much like hard work.”

  “Well, I mean, don’t you ever wish you could meet someone and get married and have children of your own?”

  Daisy’s face clouded over. “Not anymore. I did meet someone once, but I didn’t fit into his world, and he didn’t fit into mine.”

  Gertie felt a pang of sympathy. “I remember. He was a toff, weren’t he? A bloody lord, of all things. Of course it wouldn’t work. Poor sods like us can’t mix with the toffs. That’s why I couldn’t go to London with Dan. He was used to all that high-society stuff. I’d have been bleeding miserable, just like you would have been, married to a lord.” She grinned. “Lady Daisy. Just doesn’t sound right, does it.“

  “No, it doesn’t.” Daisy bent over to kiss Lillian’s cheek. “Be good, little ones. Behave yourselves this afternoon, and be nice to Mr. Russell.”

  “We will,” the twins sang out together. Lillian grabbed hold of Gertie’s hand. “Come on, Mama. We don’t want to be late.”

  James rushed to the door. “No! Mr. Clive might go without us!”

  Daisy raised her eyebrows. “Mr. Clive?”

  “They’ve heard me call him Clive for so long,” Gertie explained as she allowed her daughter to drag her to the door. “I’m surprised they remember to put the mister in front of it.”

  Daisy laughed. “Have a lovely afternoon.”

  She planned to do just that, Gertie told herself, as she hurried down the hallway after her children.

  Clive was waiting for them in the lobby, nervously twisting a fur hat around and around in his hands. He grinned when he saw the twins and held out his arms.

  Both children rushed forward and were swept up to his chest, each receiving a kiss before being set down on the floor again.

  Clive turned to Gertie and swept her a deep bow. “Your carriage awaits, madam.”

  Hearing Philip’s snort of derision behind the reception desk, Gertie sent him a glare before smiling at Clive. “We are ready, sir.”

  James let out a howl of protest. “A carriage? I thought we were going riding on a sleigh!”

  “We are,” Clive hurriedly assured him. “We have to go through the kitchen to it, though. I had to harness it up in the courtyard and leave it there. We’ll go out the back way.”

  Gertie felt a little letdown. She would have loved to leave from the front of the country club, driving away from the entrance in high style with everyone watching her.

  She soon forgot her disappointment, however, in the excitement of climbing aboard the sleigh. Touching the red leather seats, she thought it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. Made of strong oak, the sides had been painted white with a wide red stripe c
urling along the sides.

  Shiny brass fittings sparkled in the frosty sunlight, and the chestnut impatiently stamping its feet at the front wore red ribbons in its mane. Clive had even provided blankets-thick red fluffy ones to wrap around their knees.

  The whole thing looked like it had been plucked from one of the twins’ picture books. James’s and Lillian’s faces glowed with excitement, and Gertie felt like hugging Clive for giving them such a special treat. She sat with an arm around each of her children as he climbed aboard.

  “It’s good that we’re going today,” he said, gazing up at the clouds. I think the thaw is just about ready to settle in.”

  “Then we’re going to enjoy the snow while it’s still here, aren’t we?”

  The twins answered her with an enthusiastic “Yeah!” as the horse took off, dragging the sleigh behind him.

  It was a bit bumpy, but once they got onto the Esplanade the sleigh ran smoothly over the packed snow. Gertie pointed out the Christmas goods in the shop windows as they sped by, and to her great delight, people on the street turned to wave at them.

  The twins waved back, shouting, “Happy Christmas!” at the top of their voices, nearly deafening Gertie, though after a while she was calling out, too. She felt like a queen, riding along and waving to her subjects.

  Before long they had left the town, headed for the path leading up to the Downs. Gertie began to get a bit nervous as they climbed higher, following the path as it ran along the cliffs.

  The twins were not a bit scared. They hung over the edge to watch the waves rushing onto the beach, and waved at the seagulls that swooped overhead.

  Gertie hung on to them both, terrified they would fall and plunge down the cliffs to the rocks below. She breathed a huge sigh of relief when Clive turned the horse off the path and followed the trail into the woods.

  Once inside the trees, he pulled up and brought the sleigh to a stop. “You wanted to get some mistletoe,” he said, as the twins scrambled down to the ground. “This is the best place to find it.”

  Smiling her thanks, Gertie let him help her down. Standing beside the sleigh, she ran her hand along the smooth side. “This is lovely, Clive. You’re so blinking clever with your hands. You should be doing it for a living. It must have cost a bloody fortune to build, though.”

  Clive laughed. “Mrs. Baxter helped out with the fittings. The leather seats came out of a motorcar that Samuel had in the back of the stables.”

  Gertie stared at him. “Was that the one what was given him last year by one of our guests?”

  “Yes, it was.” Clive watched James dart off into the trees. “The guest gave the motorcar to him because it had broken down and he was getting a new one. Samuel thought he could fix it, but it was beyond repair.” He started forward. “James? Come back here! You’ll get lost if you stray too far.”

  James’s voice drifted back to them. “I’m right over here.”

  Clive shook his head. “I’d better go and fetch him. It’s too easy to get lost in these woods.”

  He rushed off, leaving Gertie alone with Lillian. The little girl’s shoulders were hunched, and she hugged her muff close to her chest.

  “Are you cold, sweetheart?” Gertie put an arm around the shivering child.

  Lillian nodded her head, her teeth chattering. Gertie shoved her back into the sleigh. “Here, cover yourself up with the blanket. I’ll go and look for some mistletoe and I’ll be back right away, so you stay here until I get back, all right?”

  Lillian nodded again and snuggled down under the blanket. Satisfied the child was all right, Gertie trudged off after Clive and James.

  When she caught up with them, she was surprised to see they had collected several bunches of mistletoe. “Where did you find all that?” she demanded. “It’s not easy to find.”

  Clive grinned. “It is when you know where to look.”

  She made a face at him. “Well, I’m glad you found some. Lillian’s feeling the cold, so I think we should be getting along.”

  “Look what I found!”

  Gertie turned around to look at her son. He held a thick walking stick in his hand and he waved it at her in his excitement. “I can keep it, can’t I?”

  “I don’t know. Let me look at it.” Gertie took it from him and examined it more closely. The knob of the walking stick gleamed like gold, and it had some sort of military cross on it. “This looks like the walking stick Colonel Fortescue always carries,” she murmured, turning it around in her hands. “Though what would it be doing out here?”

  “Those military sticks are quite common,” Clive said, taking it from her. He held it up to the light. “This one has initials carved into it.” He squinted. “F.G.F.”

  “Frederick G. Fortescue.” Gertie frowned. “I bet it’s his.”

  “He must have lost it when he was out walking.” Clive ran his fingers down the stick. “It doesn’t look as if it’s been here too long, though.”

  “Can I keep it, Mama? Can I?” James reached for the stick, but Gertie pulled his hand away.

  “No, luvvy, we have to take it back to the Pennyfoot to see if it belongs to the colonel.”

  “But-”

  James’s words were cut off by Clive, who had thrust up his hand. “Shshsh! Listen.”

  Gertie looked at him in alarm. “What’s the matter?”

  “Listen!”

  Gertie listened, and heard what Clive must have heard-the sounds of snapping twigs and crackling leaves. Scared, she clutched James close with one hand and Clive’s arm with the other. “Is it a wild animal?”

  “Not unless one has escaped from a zoo.” Clive tilted his head to one side. “That sounds too big for an animal in these woods. That’s a man crashing around out there.” He thrust the mistletoe and walking stick at her and then snatched James up in his arms. “Where’s Lillian?”

  Something in his voice scared her even more. “She’s in the sleigh. I tucked her up to get warm.”

  “Quickly. We have to get back to her.” Clive surged forward, brushing aside branches and shrubs as he ran back to where they’d left the sleigh.

  Clutching the mistletoe and walking stick, Gertie stumbled after him. Panic. That was what she’d heard in his voice. She’d never seen Clive scared of anything before. She couldn’t imagine what had scared him now, but she wasn’t going to wait around to find out. Picking up her skirts, she tore after him.

  CHAPTER 11

  Pansy scuffed her feet as she walked slowly down the hallway to the ballroom. From the far end she could hear music and a chorus of out-of-tune vocalists. The pianist sounded as if he was taking his anger out on the piano. That didn’t surprise Pansy. Every year Phoebe Fortescue had to hire a different pianist. They never came twice.

  Pansy heard one say that he wouldn’t work with that screaming witch again if his life depended on it. And now she had to tell that witch that Gertie’s twins would not be at rehearsal.

  Pansy knew what that meant. It meant she’d get screamed at, that was what. Phoebe Fortescue wasn’t all that friendly at the best of times, but when she was working on one of her events, she’d tear someone apart if they didn’t do what she wanted when she wanted it.

  Pansy was not looking forward to being torn apart.

  She reached the doors of the ballroom and slowly eased one of them open. Phoebe was marching back and forth in front of the stage, shouting directions at everyone while the scarlet-faced pianist thumped the keys in a desperate effort to drown her out.

  The women up on the stage completely ignored Phoebe as usual. They were used to her tantrums and blithely turned a deaf ear, much to Pansy’s admiration. They were all singing, but it sounded as if they were singing different songs. Some were singing faster than others, and some were so off-key it hurt Pansy’s ears to listen.

  Phoebe leapt up and down, shrieking, “Stop! Stop!”

  No one listened, and the women went on warbling their awful medley until finally Phoebe stalked over to the pianist
. “I said, stop!” she yelled in his ear. Apparently running out of patience, she grabbed the lid and slammed it down.

  The poor man snatched his hands off the keys and out of the way just in time. “I say!” he said, in a pained voice. “You don’t have to be so vicious. I heard you.”

  “Then why didn’t you stop?” Phoebe leaned forward so sharply her hat toppled over her eyes.

  Giggles erupted on the stage, interrupting the singing. One by one the voices faded into blissful silence.

  Struggling to straighten her hat, Phoebe’s voice cut across the room like ice. “If any of you want to appear in this prestigious event, I suggest you pay attention and obey instructions. I should hate to have to dismiss you for insubordination.”

  The women looked at one another, whispering and shrugging.

  Phoebe walked to the front of the stage. “The word means disobedience!” she yelled.

  “Oh,” said one of the performers, a hefty woman with ginger hair and a double chin. “Why the flipping heck didn’t you say so, then? I thought it meant not being able to sing.”

  “If I were going to dismiss any of you for that,” Phoebe shrilly declared, “none of you would be in… this… pantomime!”

  She’d shouted the last three words, making Pansy wince. Deciding that to prolong the wait would only make matters worse, she crept forward until she was within three feet of the woman.

  Phoebe raised a hand, obviously about to deliver another scathing remark.

  Pansy coughed. “Er… Mrs. F-Fortescue?”

  Slowly lowering her hand, Phoebe turned. “Yes?”

  Pansy swallowed. There was more venom in that one word than in a dozen vipers. “I… er… I have a message for you, m’m.” She hurriedly curtsied, hoping that would earn her points.

  Phoebe seemed unmoved. “What is it, child? Speak up!”

  “It’s Gertie… I mean, Mrs. McBride. She says to tell you the twins can’t come to rehearsal this afternoon.”

  Phoebe’s eyes seemed to glow with hostility. “And why not, pray? Are they ill?”