Herald Of Death

by Kate Kingsbury

  “I walked in on them.” Cecily frowned. “Someone must have told them.”

  She reached the turn of the staircase just as a voice called out from below.

  “Oh, there you are, Cecily! A word with you, please?”

  Baxter groaned. “I was wondering where she had gone.”

  Cecily turned to look down at Phoebe. “She must have stayed behind in the ballroom. She probably wants to know what all the ruckus was about.”

  “Just don’t bring her up to the suite.” Baxter left her, climbing rapidly to the top of the stairs.

  Grimacing, Cecily hurried down to where Phoebe stood by the Christmas tree. Cecily had been so focused on the group of hysterical women she’d failed to notice that Madeline had decorated the tree.

  Colored glass balls hung from the branches, while lacy white snowflakes and red and gold bells added color. Cecily saw gold garlands and silver ribbons, but nowhere on the tree were the golden angels that usually hung there. Madeline obviously had decided they would be inappropriate.

  Phoebe looked at the tree with an air of disdain. “It’s not up to her usual standards.”

  “I think it’s lovely.” Cecily relaxed her shoulders. Phoebe must not have heard the uproar in the lobby or the news of the Christmas Angel, or she would most likely have been beside herself with terror.

  “Well, to each his own.” Phoebe tucked her hands inside her fur muff. “Have you seen Frederick? I looked in the bar, but he’s not there. I was wondering if perhaps he was visiting Mr. Baxter in your suite.”

  Cecily almost laughed. The idea of Baxter entertaining the addle-headed colonel was ludicrous. “I just left Baxter and he made no mention of the colonel. Have you looked in the library? Sometimes he takes a brandy in there to sip by the fireplace.”

  Phoebe clicked her tongue in annoyance. “I suppose he could be there. Now I shall have to go all the way back there to look.”

  Just then Cecily caught sight of Gertie and Pansy emerging from the hallway. She beckoned to them, and they rushed over to her.

  “I’m so sorry, m’m,” Pansy said, dropping a shaky curtsey. “I had no idea Lizzie was there. I wouldn’t have said nothing otherwise. It just sort of slipped out.”

  Cecily realized at once to what she referred.

  Before she could signal to her to be quiet, however, Gertie added, “That bloody twerp told everyone about the Christmas Angel. I told her he was just chopping off locks of hair, but she went running around saying he was killing people and chopping off their heads, and I…” Gertie’s voice trailed off as she finally noticed Cecily’s eyebrows frantically twitching up and down.

  It was too late, however. Phoebe turned slowly to Cecily, her voice pitched an octave higher. “Chopping off people’s heads?”

  Cecily took hold of her arm and felt it shaking beneath her fingers. “Now, now, Phoebe, it’s quite all right. No one is chopping off heads.”

  “No, course not,” Gertie said helpfully. “The crazy bugger cuts off a lock of their hair after he kills them and sticks a gold angel on their foreheads. That’s why they call him the Christmas Angel.”

  “Oh, my.” Phoebe’s eyes rolled up in her head and her knees sagged.

  Supporting her friend as best she could, Cecily glared at Gertie. “Bring a chair over here and don’t say another word.”

  “Yes, m’m.” Gertie hustled across the foyer and dragged a chair out from behind the reception desk.

  Phoebe moaned, and her eyes fluttered open. “Oh, my goodness. What happened?”

  “You had rather a nasty shock,” Cecily said, seating her on the chair. “Pansy, fetch a glass of brandy from the bar, and while you’re there look for Colonel Fortescue and ask him to come to the foyer right away. If he’s not in the bar, look in the library on your way back.”

  “Yes, m’m.” Pansy sped off, leaving Gertie standing there with a sick look on her face.

  Looking at her, Cecily felt a sense of impending doom. “What is it?”

  “I just remembered something, m’m.”

  “What is it?”

  Gertie sent a worried glance at Phoebe, then said quickly, “We found a walking stick stuck in a holly bush in the woods this afternoon. I think it belonged to the colonel, m’m.”

  Phoebe uttered a little cry, while Cecily asked sharply, “Are you sure?”

  “Well, it had his initials on it, F.G.F., and what looked like a military cross. Didn’t see the colonel anywhere, though.”

  Phoebe uttered a shrill scream. “The Christmas Angel! He’s killed my Freddie!” With that she slumped into a dead faint.

  CHAPTER 13

  A few moments later, while Cecily and Gertie were still trying to revive Phoebe, Pansy returned with the brandy.

  Cecily took it from her, and tried to dribble a few drops in between Phoebe’s lips. Making things difficult was the wide brim of Phoebe’s hat, which kept getting in the way.

  Cecily would have taken it off her head, except that Phoebe never removed her hat in public. Although she had never openly admitted it, it was generally believed by her peers that she was completely bald and wore a wig. Cecily wasn’t about to prove or disprove that theory.

  Having no luck with the brandy, she decided to wait it out. Eventually Phoebe would recover. She looked at Pansy, who was hovering close to Gertie, her face creased with worry.

  “I looked for the colonel, m’m,” she said, plucking at the folds of her skirt. “I couldn’t see him anywhere. I asked in the bar and no one’s seen him all afternoon.”

  “Oh, bugger,” Gertie muttered. “That’s why Clive was so scared. He must have seen the Christmas Angel.”

  Cecily carefully put the brandy down on the hallstand. “What are you talking about, Gertie?”

  The housemaid shivered, and hugged her arms. “It were in the woods, m’m. Up on Putney Downs. We were looking for mistletoe when we found the walking stick, and then Clive thought he heard something and the next moment he was off and running with James back to the sleigh where we left Lillian and then he took off so fast like he was scared or something and we hit a bump and James was leaning out and he fell out of the sleigh and broke his arm and-”

  “What!” Cecily halted the torrent of words with a sharp gesture of her hand. “James has broken his arm?”

  “Yes, m’m. He fell out of the sleigh. But Clive bound his arm up and we took him to Dr. Prestwick and he put it in a cast.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Cecily considered for a moment taking a gulp of brandy, then thought better of it. “How is the child now?”

  “Well, he’s hurting a bit but he was playing with his soldiers when I left him with Daisy. I think he’s going to be all right.”

  Hearing a moan, Cecily turned her head. Phoebe’s eyes were open and she was struggling to sit up. Putting a hand under her friend’s elbow, Cecily asked, “Did Clive tell you what made him run from the woods?”

  “No, m’m. We were too busy worrying about James.”

  “I think we need to speak with Clive. Please find him, Gertie. He should still be on the grounds somewhere. Have the footmen help you look for him, and while they are about it, have them look for the colonel, too.”

  “Yes, m’m, though if you ask me, Colonel Fortescue is somewhere out there in the woods.”

  Phoebe moaned again and slumped back, eyes closed once more.

  Gertie stomped off, leaving Pansy to tremble alone. Cecily was about to order the child to the kitchen when the front door opened, and Kevin Prestwick strode into the foyer.

  Doffing his hat, he took one look at Phoebe and rushed over to her. “What happened here?”

  “Phoebe just heard about the Christmas Angel. The shock made her faint.” Cecily watched anxiously as the doctor lifted one of Phoebe’s limp arms and took out his pocket watch.

  “Pulse is normal,” he announced, after a tense moment or two of silence. “I wish I had smelling salts with me.” His glance fell on the glass. “Is that brandy?”
r />   Cecily handed it to him. “I thought it might revive her.”

  The doctor tilted Phoebe’s head back. Holding her nose, he tipped the glass to let the liquid run into her open mouth.

  Phoebe coughed, spluttered, and sat up. “What are you doing?” She glared at the doctor. “Are you trying to choke me?”

  Kevin handed the glass back to Cecily. “She’ll be all right. Now, where’s my wife? She said she’d be ready to come home by now.”

  “I’m right here.” Madeline appeared as if by magic in the hallway entrance. “What’s this I hear about Colonel Fortescue missing?”

  Cecily sighed. Apparently Pansy had not been discreet in her search. “We’re a little concerned, since no one has seen him all afternoon. Gertie found his walking stick in the woods on Putney Downs.”

  Phoebe moaned again, but this time managed to hold on to her senses. “Poor, poor Freddie. Whatever am I going to do without him?”

  “I’m sure nothing dreadful has happened to him,” Cecily assured her, being sure of no such thing. “Perhaps he got tired of waiting for you and went home?”

  Phoebe’s face turned red with indignation. “Frederick would never go home without me. Even if he had, which is ridiculous to even imagine, he certainly wouldn’t walk through the woods to get there. What on earth was he doing in the woods, anyway?”

  “We don’t know that he was in the woods. We only know his walking stick was found there.” Cecily looked at Madeline for help. “Someone could have stolen it and taken it there.”

  “He had it with him when we got here this afternoon.” Phoebe started crying. “I know he’s dead. That dreadful murderer has killed him.”

  “He’s not dead.” Madeline’s voice echoed clearly across the foyer.

  Everyone turned to look at her. Cecily caught her breath at the sight of Madeline’s face, eyes wide and glazed over, her expression completely blank.

  Cecily stole a look at Kevin. He was staring at his wife as if he didn’t recognize her. Undoubtedly this was the first time he’d seen her in a trance. Up until now, Madeline had always been careful to conceal that element of her powers from him.

  Cecily felt a warm rush of gratitude for her friend. Phoebe would never know the sacrifice Madeline had made to help her.

  Madeline spoke again, her voice flat and unemotional. “He’s cold. Very cold. He’s frightened. All alone in the dark. Trees all around, bushes… cold and damp. He’s in the woods.”

  “I told you so.” Gertie spoke from the hallway, startling them all.

  Madeline blinked, and glanced at her husband.

  Phoebe stopped crying and reached for the doctor’s hand. “Please, find him for me?”

  Kevin seemed not to hear her. He was still staring at Madeline with a strange look on his face that made Cecily nervous. This latest revelation concerning his wife would not sit well with him.

  Cecily had not seen Clive standing behind Gertie until he stepped forward. “I’ll be happy to search for the colonel, m’m.”

  Kevin jumped, as if suddenly gathering his senses. “Good man. I have a carriage outside. We’ll take that.”

  “On your way out, Clive, tell Samuel to take the footmen out to help.” Cecily held out her hand to Madeline. “Thank you,” she said quietly, hoping her friend understood how much she meant it.

  Madeline grasped her hand and gave it a little shake. “I know they will find him,” she said to Phoebe, who sat rocking back and forth on her chair.

  For once Phoebe didn’t retaliate with a scornful dismissal of Madeline’s powers. Instead, she looked up at her, tears once more trickling down her cheeks. “I hope so,” she whispered.

  “I’ll talk to you later,” Kevin said, giving his wife a penetrating look before striding out the door with Clive right behind him.

  Cecily watched them leave, praying they’d return with the colonel, safe and sound.

  “Clive feels really awful,” Gertie said, when Cecily turned to face her. “He heard someone crashing around in the woods while we were out there. He said he thought it was the Christmas Angel and that’s why he rushed us out of there, but now he thinks it might have been the colonel. He’ll know where to look, so I’m sure he’ll find him.”

  “Oh, my poor Freddie.” Phoebe sought for a handkerchief in her sleeve, produced a dainty lace-edged one, and dabbed at her nose.

  Gertie dragged a man’s white handkerchief from her apron pocket and flapped it at Phoebe. “Here, you can’t blow your nose on that flipping thing. Use this and have a bloody good snort.”

  Cecily winced, expecting the distraught woman to scream in outrage.

  Phoebe surprised her, however. She took the handkerchief without a word, dangling it from the tips of her fingers to inspect it thoroughly. Having apparently deemed it suitable to use, she heartily blew her nose.

  Gertie beamed. “There, now. Doesn’t that feel better?”

  “Thank you,” Phoebe answered stiffly, and handed the handkerchief back to her.

  Stuffing it back in her pocket, Gertie looked at Pansy. “Come on, mate. We’ve got to get back to the kitchen before Chubby starts bellowing for us.”

  She stomped off with Pansy following meekly behind.

  “We’ll go up to the suite to wait,” Cecily said, helping Phoebe up from her chair. She turned to Madeline. “Would you like to wait with us?”

  “I might as well.” Madeline glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. “I could walk home, I suppose, but by the time I arrived there, Kevin will probably be back here with the carriage.”

  “Oh, I hope so.” Phoebe clung to Cecily’s arm and looked down her nose at Madeline. “I hope for once your ridiculous hocus-pocus works.”

  Madeline seemed not to take offense. “So do I.” She started climbing the stairs, saying over her shoulder, “The colonel may be as daffy as a duck but he turned you into an almost normal, decent human being. I dread to think what you’d become without him.”

  Phoebe sniffed. “How in heaven’s name would you know what constitutes a normal human being?”

  Cecily smiled. Phoebe was once more feuding with Madeline. Her friend was feeling better. Now, if only the colonel were to return with Kevin and Clive, everything would be almost normal again. Almost.

  “What?” Mrs. Chubb dropped her rolling pin onto the table and slapped a floury hand across her mouth. “Why didn’t anyone tell me about all these killings?”

  “Because no one was supposed to know,” Pansy said in a small voice.

  Across the room, Michel slammed a saucepan down with a mighty crash. “Sacre bleu! What ees this world coming to, eh? Murderers running around willy-nilly, chopping off ze heads like chickens?”

  Gertie gave him a scathing look. “Well, you needn’t worry. He only kills men.”

  The chef’s tall hat wobbled back and forth as he shook a finger at her. “None of your sauce, cochon. I will not stand for it.”

  “Who cares where you bloody stand, as long as it’s not next to me.”

  “Gertie!” Mrs. Chubb removed her hand, leaving a white mustache and beard of flour on her face. “That’s enough!”

  “All right, all right, keep your bloody socks on.” Gertie walked over to the sink and picked up a potato from the pile on the draining board.

  “So how long ago did Clive and Dr. Prestwick leave to look for the colonel?” Mrs. Chubb demanded. “How will they know where to look? He could be anywhere.”

  “The man is an idiot.” Michel slapped a lid on the saucepan so hard it bounced off and clattered to the floor. Cursing, he bent to retrieve it. “If you ask me, he should be locked up where he does no harm, oui?”

  “Well, you should know,” Gertie muttered.

  The housekeeper banged her rolling pin on the table, making Gertie jump. “Stop this bickering at once. Answer my question, Gertie.”

  Opening the drawer next to the sink, Gertie hunted for a sharp knife. Finding one, she pulled it out and began peeling the potato. “Clive
thinks he heard the colonel crashing around in the woods this afternoon while we were out there.”

  “Why didn’t you stop to look for him, then?”

  “Because at the time Clive thought it was the bloody Christmas Angel, didn’t he.” Gertie sliced one end off the potato.

  “It might have been him,” Pansy said, her voice shaking. “The colonel could be dead, and Clive and Dr. Prestwick might run into him in the woods. They could be killed, too!”

  Gertie turned on her swiftly. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that!”

  “Ooh, la la!” Michel swayed his hips from side to side. “Our Gertie has ze amoureux, non?”

  “No! So shut your bleeding mouth!” Gertie slung the potato across the room at Michel, who ducked. The potato hit a cupboard door and fell with a thud to the floor.

  Pansy giggled, then pinched her lips together when Mrs. Chubb glared at her.

  The housekeeper turned on her chief housemaid. “Whatever’s the matter with you?”

  Gertie shrugged. “I’m just worried, that’s all. About the colonel,” she added, as Michel snickered. “He’s an old man. He must be so cold and lost out there all alone.”

  “Especially with a murderer running around out there,” Pansy said, joining her at the sink.

  Mrs. Chubb slapped a slab of pastry with her rolling pin. “That’s quite enough talk about a murderer. What I want to know is how all those women in the pantomime heard about it. I could hear them screaming from down here. I thought it was part of the presentation, until Pansy told me what it was all about.”

  Pansy looked at Gertie for help.

  “Lizzie told them,” Gertie said, splashing her knife into the cold water in the sink. “At least, one of the performers heard Lizzie telling another maid and she told the rest of them.”

  “Who told Lizzie, then?”

  Pansy swallowed. Still with her back to the housekeeper, she muttered, “It was my fault. I was telling Gertie about it and Lizzie heard me.”

  Mrs. Chubb paused, both hands still on the rolling pin. “And who was it told you?”

  “Samuel did.”

  “Ah.” Mrs. Chubb wiped her mouth with her sleeve. “So what about the Pennyfoot rules that say not to repeat gossip to anyone? Did you all forget that?”