Herald Of Death

by Kate Kingsbury

  Gertie put down her knife. “It wasn’t gossip. It was news, and we didn’t tell anyone except ourselves and it wasn’t our fault that some people have bloody big ears and were flipping listening to what they shouldn’t have been.”

  For a long moment Mrs. Chubb’s fierce gaze bored into Gertie, then she sighed. “Well, all right. I’ll let it go this time.”

  “Speaking of gossip,” Gertie said, wiping her hands on a tea towel, “who are the special guests what’s supposed to be coming for Christmas? And why didn’t you tell me about them?”

  “You don’t have to know everything, non?” Michel muttered.

  Gertie ignored him. “Who are they, Chubby?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say.” Mrs. Chubb waved her rolling pin at her. “And don’t call me Chubby! I’ll take your afternoon off away if you don’t stop calling me that.”

  “Aw, go on with you. You like it, really.” Gertie dug in her pocket for a handkerchief and blew her nose. “Anyhow, we’ll know soon enough when they get here. So you might as well tell us now.”

  “My lips are sealed.” Mrs. Chubb drew a finger across her mouth. “And in future, you both better be extra careful of who might be listening when you’re having a private conversation. It can cause all sorts of trouble, like today. Are you hearing me?”

  Gertie and Pansy answered together. “Yes, Mrs. Chubb.”

  Michel echoed with a high-pitched mimic, “Yes, Mrs. Chubb.”

  The housekeeper glared at him, then picked up a lump of pastry and threw it at his head. He didn’t duck quite fast enough and the lump of dough knocked off his hat.

  In spite of her worry, Gertie laughed. It wasn’t often anyone got the best of Michel, but oh, how she loved it when someone did.

  “So can I help Doris with her costumes?” Pansy asked, her voice full of hope.

  Mrs. Chubb frowned. “I don’t know that we can spare the time. We have only two more days left before the Christmas guests arrive.”

  “I can manage without her,” Gertie said, giving her friend a nudge. “She can help me later when she’s done with rehearsals.”

  “Yes, I can do that!” Pansy was practically jumping up and down with anticipation.

  Mrs. Chubb looked doubtful. “Well, I don’t know…”

  “Oh, come on, Chubby. What will it hurt?” Gertie wiped her hands on her apron. “Doris needs someone to help her and she doesn’t trust no one else. You don’t want to make Doris look like a fool up there because she doesn’t have the right costume on, do you?”

  “Well, no, of course not, but-”

  “I’ll work twice as hard afterward.” Pansy held out her hands. “Please?”

  Mrs. Chubb shook her head. “Oh, all right. But you’ll have to make up for it later, young lady.”

  “Oh, I will! I will!” Pansy threw her arms around Gertie’s waist. “Thank you, thank you! You’re the best friend anyone could have. You really are.”

  Gertie cleared her throat. “Go on with you. Get off me before I choke.”

  Pansy grinned. “I’m going to get you the best present you ever saw for Christmas. You’ll see.”

  “You don’t have to get me nothing.” Gertie turned back to the sink. Just get Clive back alive, she silently prayed. Oh, and Dr. Prestwick and the colonel. That was all she asked. All she wanted.

  Baxter’s expression spoke volumes as Cecily led Phoebe and Madeline into the sitting room. Only then did she remember his last words. Just don’t bring her up to the suite. Ah well, it was too late now.

  Smiling brightly at him, she said, “Clive and Dr. Prestwick have gone to look for the colonel. We are going to wait here until they all return.”

  Baxter raised an eyebrow. “I don’t suppose they happened to look in the bar, by any chance?”

  Cecily gave him what she hoped was a meaningful look. “The colonel is not in the bar, or anywhere else in the Pennyfoot. The men are looking for him in the woods on Putney Downs.”

  At her words, Phoebe uttered a little moan.

  Baxter raised both eyebrows. “In the woods? What in blazes is he doing up there?”

  “We don’t exactly know, darling.” Cecily seated Phoebe next to the fireplace and motioned Madeline to sit across from her. “All we know is that Gertie found his walking stick up there and Madeline thinks he’s still there somewhere.”

  “Good Lord.” Baxter rubbed his brow. “I hope the poor blighter is all right.”

  Phoebe whimpered and dug out her handkerchief again.

  “I’m quite sure he is,” Madeline said firmly.

  “Darling, why don’t you go down to the library and take your newspaper with you.” Cecily smiled sweetly at her husband. “I’m sure you will be more comfortable down there.”

  To her relief, Baxter picked up his newspaper, nodded at the ladies, and strode to the door. “Please inform me of any news,” he said, and closed the door with a firm snap behind him.

  “I think he’s upset about something,” Phoebe said, tucking her handkerchief back in her sleeve. “Sometimes it’s hard to know what Mr. Baxter is thinking.”

  Madeline smiled. “I always know what he’s thinking. Right now he’s very happy to escape a room that contains three ladies, all of whom are quite capable of taking him down a peg or two.”

  Cecily laughed. “You may be right. As long as we have this time for ourselves, let’s discuss the pantomime.” Hoping to take Phoebe’s mind off the missing colonel, she turned to her. “How are things with your presentation, Phoebe?”

  Phoebe drew a shuddering breath. “As well as can be expected. Doris is an absolute gem, of course. We are so lucky to have her in the pantomime. She is wonderful as Wendy, and the children adore her. She has a way with them, you know.”

  Cecily nodded. “Yes, I can imagine that. How are my godchildren doing? Are they enjoying their first experience as performers?”

  Phoebe actually smiled. “They are wonderful, Cecily. Wait until you see them! James is quite masterful onstage, and little Lillian follows directions beautifully. In fact, all the children are doing extremely well.”

  Cecily hesitated, then decided she might as well break the news. “Speaking of the children, I don’t know if you heard Gertie mention that James has broken his arm?”

  Phoebe uttered a cry of dismay. “Oh, no! Does that mean he won’t be in the pantomime?”

  Madeline uttered a scornful laugh. “Dear Phoebe, always putting her own concerns in front of everything else.”

  Phoebe scowled. “What exactly does that mean?”

  Madeline shrugged. “You could have asked how the child was feeling.”

  Phoebe looked offended. “I was coming to that.” She turned back to Cecily. “I do hope he is feeling well enough to participate in the pantomime.”

  Madeline rolled her eyes but mercifully said nothing.

  “I think that will be up to Gertie to decide,” Cecily said.

  Phoebe sighed. “It’s always something. If we have to do without him, then so be it. We’ll manage. I really think this will be the very best event I have ever produced.”

  “That shouldn’t be so hard to do,” Madeline murmured.

  Cecily spoke quickly, before Phoebe had time to realize the sting in that remark. “Splendid! I am really looking forward to seeing the production. I understand Clive put up the wiring for you.”

  “Yes, he did. He really is a remarkable man. He built the most amazing pirate ship and it’s on wheels and actually moves.” Phoebe shook her head. “I don’t know how he does it. I-” She broke off, her eyes wide as she stared at Madeline’s face.

  Cecily followed her gaze, and caught her breath. Madeline was in one of her trances, her eyes glazed and staring, her body stiff and motionless.

  Phoebe hunched closer to the fire. “I wish she wouldn’t do that,” she whispered. “It’s so unsettling.”

  Cecily hushed her with a finger over her lips.

  Madeline sat like a stone. Her lips moved, though no so
und emerged.

  Phoebe gulped and drew back on her chair.

  The silence in the room was almost painful. Cecily waited, heart pounding, for what seemed like minutes until Madeline stirred.

  She opened her eyes and looked straight at Phoebe. Her next words sent a cold chill through Cecily’s bones.

  “They have found the colonel.”

  CHAPTER 14

  “He’s not dead, is he? Oh, please tell me he’s not dead!” Phoebe leaned forward, one hand pressed to her throat. “I can’t bear to think of it.”

  Madeline blinked. “I’m sorry, Phoebe, truly. I just don’t know.”

  Phoebe sank back, her handkerchief pressed to her mouth. “What am I going to do? What am I going to do?”

  “Now, now.” Cecily reached out to pat her arm. “I’m sure the colonel is perfectly fine.” She looked at Madeline, willing her to give them some good news.

  Madeline hesitated, then said firmly, “Phoebe, I can tell you that Kevin and Clive are with your husband, and I saw nothing to indicate that he is dead.”

  Phoebe shuddered. “Just hearing those words makes me ill. How long do you think it will be before the doctor and Clive return?”

  Madeline glanced at the mantelpiece, where an ornate clock sat steadily ticking the seconds away. “Not long, I promise you.” Again she paused, then added quickly, “The colonel might not be with them. They might have taken him home first before coming back for you.”

  “In which case,” Cecily put in, “Samuel will take you home immediately.”

  “We can take Phoebe home,” Madeline said, getting up from her chair. She walked over to the window and drew back the heavy velvet curtain to peer outside. “They should be back soon.”

  “Oh, poor Frederick.” Phoebe started rocking again. “He will be so cold and wet. I hope he doesn’t get pneumonia or something awful like that.”

  The thought crossed Cecily’s mind that being able to catch pneumonia was better than the alternative. All she could do was pray they’d found the colonel alive and that he hadn’t fallen prey to the murderous Christmas Angel.

  In spite of Madeline’s prediction, it was a long, agonizing wait, during which Phoebe fluctuated between bouts of deep depression, when she was certain her life with the colonel was over, to moments of hope and optimism, where she intended to scold him for straying so far.

  At long last, they heard the welcome tap on the door. Madeline’s face was inscrutable as Cecily got up from her chair. “Come in!” she called out and reached for Phoebe’s hand.

  The door opened and Dr. Prestwick strode in, his face a grim mask. He carried his hat in his hand, and it dripped water all across the carpet as he walked toward the fire.

  Cecily ignored him, her gaze pinned on the door. For a dreadful moment she thought the colonel wasn’t with him, but then a familiar voice bellowed from the other side of the door.

  “I say, old chap, unhand me at once. I’m not a blasted invalid!”

  Phoebe let out a cry of pure joy and raced across the room to the door, just as a disheveled colonel stepped through it. “Freddie! Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

  Cecily hurried over to him and saw Clive standing in the hallway outside, twisting his cap in his hands. “Thank you, Clive.” She smiled at him. “Would you please go down to the kitchen and tell Mrs. Chubb to send up a bottle of brandy and glasses.”

  “Yes, m’m.” He touched his forehead, grinned at her, and ambled off down the hallway.

  “I say, that sounds like a jolly good idea!” Colonel Fortescue disengaged himself from his wife’s suffocating hug. “I could use a brandy, old bean.”

  “It’s on its way, Colonel.” She looked at Kevin, who stood with his back to the fire, hands clasped behind him. “I imagine you would like some, too.”

  “Thank you, Cecily, but we must leave.” He reached out a hand to Madeline, who, after a moment’s hesitation, took it and rose to her feet. “We have a baby waiting for us at home.”

  “Yes, thank you, Cecily.” Madeline walked to the door, followed closely by her husband. “I shall return tomorrow to finish the decorating.”

  Troubled by her friend’s somber expression, Cecily closed the door behind them and returned to the fire. Phoebe had sat down again, while the colonel had taken up residence with his back to the smoldering coals. Mud stained his heavy coat, his beard was matted with pine needles, and a deep scratch adorned his nose. Otherwise he seemed in good health.

  Having apparently assured herself that her husband wasn’t seriously hurt, Phoebe demanded, “What on earth were you doing in those woods? Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving the Pennyfoot? You know very well you don’t go anywhere without me.”

  The colonel raised his chin. “I was going to buy you a Christmas present.”

  “In the woods?”

  “No, of course not.” A puzzled look crossed his face, as if he was trying to remember. “I… er… got waylaid.”

  Phoebe sounded exasperated. “Waylaid?”

  “Yes.” He stared into the fire for a moment, then startled them all by raising his hand and shouting, “I was ordered into battle!”

  “Oh, dear,” Cecily murmured.

  Phoebe merely looked exasperated. “Frederick, I don’t think-”

  “There I was,” the colonel bellowed, “surrounded on all sides by the enemy. I took my trusty sword and I had at them.”

  Phoebe uttered a little scream as her husband lunged forward with an imaginary sword, narrowly missing her head with his fist.

  “Colonel-” Cecily began, but now the colonel was at full throttle and cut her off with an expansive flourish of his hand.

  “I caught up with one of them and charged!” Once more he dove forward, and this time Phoebe managed to lean back out of harm’s way.

  “Frederick!” She sat up, tugging on her hat to straighten it. “Stop this nonsense at once!”

  “I stabbed at the blighter and…” The colonel paused, his face going blank. “And then…”

  Both Cecily and Phoebe stared at him in expectation. After a moment, Phoebe prompted, “And then?”

  “He flew off.”

  Phoebe rolled her eyes. “Flew off?”

  The colonel gave her a sheepish smile. “Must have been a blasted pheasant.”

  Cecily hid a smile, while Phoebe uttered a guttural sound of disgust. “I don’t know why I humor him so.” She glared at her husband and stood up. “Come, Frederick, it is time we went home. We have inconvenienced these good people quite enough for one day.”

  “But what about my brandy?” Colonel Fortescue appealed to Cecily. “You did send for brandy, didn’t you, old girl?”

  “I did, and you are most welcome to it.” Cecily glanced at Phoebe, who gave her a fierce shake of her head. “I think, however, that it will have to wait for now.” She rose. “I will make sure there is a snifter waiting for you when you bring Phoebe back for rehearsal tomorrow.”

  The colonel sighed. “Oh, very well. Much obliged, old bean.” He took hold of Phoebe’s arm. “Come along, then, ducky.”

  Phoebe looked as if she would like to resist but allowed him to escort her to the door. “Until tomorrow, then, Cecily!” She waved, then disappeared as the colonel tugged her out into the hallway.

  A few minutes later Cecily opened the door to find her husband standing outside with a tray of glasses and a bottle of brandy.

  “I passed Gertie on the way up,” he said, as she stood back to let him in. “Thought I’d save her a trip.”

  “That’s very accommodating of you, my love.”

  Baxter looked around the room. “Everyone gone home?”

  “Yes.” Cecily walked back to the fireplace and sank onto her chair. “It’s been rather a long day.”

  “Aren’t they all?” Baxter placed the tray on the side table. “Since we have a bottle of excellent brandy right here, we might as well enjoy a sip, don’t you think?”

  She smiled, feeling suddenly weary. �
�Excellent idea.”

  He gave her a hard look as he handed her a glass. “Investigation not going well?”

  Deciding there was no point in keeping everything from him, she told him all that had transpired that day. “I don’t seem to be getting any closer to solving this one,” she said, while Baxter sat stern-faced and silent. “If only I could understand the reason behind the killings, and by what criteria the Christmas Angel selects his victims, perhaps I could pinpoint the culprit. He is clever. Except for the angel stamp and the missing lock of hair, he is meticulously careful to leave no clues.”

  “You don’t have any suspects?”

  Cecily took a sip of the brandy, wincing as usual as it burned her throat. “Oh, I have suspects. I just can’t seem to connect them to all of the crimes. Each suspect has a motive for killing one of the victims, and none of the others.”

  “Maybe they’re all copying the first one.”

  “I thought of that.” Cecily sighed and put down her glass. “But that would mean there are four killers running around out there. I find that hard to believe.”

  “It does seem improbable.” Baxter tipped his head back to savor a mouthful of brandy before swallowing it. “So, what’s the answer?”

  “I don’t have one.” Cecily fought a wave of depression as she gazed at her husband’s troubled face. “For the first time since I began this questionable pastime, I really believe I am out of my depth. This killer might be just too clever for any of us. If that’s so, we are all in terrible danger.”

  The following morning, Cecily woke up early, determined anew to attempt to track down the Christmas Angel. Her destination, she told Samuel, was to the paper factory in Wellercombe.

  She had to wait more than half an hour for Basil Baker to join them in the drafty entrance. He seemed ill at ease and refused to look Cecily in the eye when she greeted him. Instead, he pretended to have an intense interest in a printed advertisement for soap that hung on the wall.

  “I spoke to your manager the other day,” Cecily said, coming straight to the point. “He tells me you have Sundays off. Is that right?”