Herald Of Death

by Kate Kingsbury

  Basil shrugged. “Yeah? So what?”

  Samuel made a movement, and Cecily held up her hand before he could say what was on his mind. “Jimmy Taylor died on a Sunday.”

  Basil didn’t answer, but his mouth started twitching at one corner.

  “You were not working that day, Basil. I want to know why you lied.”

  For a moment she thought he was not going to answer her, but then he turned so suddenly he made her jump. “I lied because I knew you wouldn’t believe me when I said I didn’t kill Jimmy. I knew you’d find out we had that fight, and I thought you’d blame me for his death. I wasn’t anywhere near him that day. It wasn’t me what threw that rock, I swear it.”

  “Very well, but there’s something else I need to know.” Cecily watched him carefully. “What I want to know is if you paid Colin Mackerbee a visit this week.”

  Pure amazement crossed his face. “Mackerbee? Why would I go over there?”

  “You used to work for him, I believe.”

  “Yes, I did, but-”

  “I understand that he considered you unsuitable for farmwork.”

  Basil’s face darkened. “He had no right to tell me that. I worked hard, I did, and that man got rid of me even though I was taking good care of his animals. He should have been grateful, but instead he threw me out like I was a criminal or something.”

  “And you were angry with him about that.”

  “Not only that.” Basil swiped at the advertisement with his hand, knocking it to the ground. “He told every other farmer I went to that I wasn’t cut out for farmwork. He cost me a lot of jobs, and I have him to thank for me ending up in this rotten hole.”

  “So you decided to punish him.”

  “What?” Basil looked straight at her for the first time since the conversation began. “I’ve never punished no one. I haven’t seen that miserable bugger since the day I left the Mackerbee farm.” His eyes narrowed. “Why are you asking me all these questions about him, anyway? What’s it to you?”

  “Colin Mackerbee was killed the other day. Someone took a knife into the barn where he was working and stabbed him.”

  Basil’s jaw dropped. “Blimey, not another one.”

  “So you’re saying you didn’t know?”

  “No, I didn’t know.” Basil thrust out his jaw. “And don’t you go putting this on me, neither. I ain’t been near that farm since the day I left, and that’s the truth. Now I’ve got to get back to work or I’ll be losing this flipping job as well.”

  Cecily let him go, knowing there was nothing else she could get out of him. Disgruntled, she said little to Samuel as they made their way back to the carriage.

  She was getting tired of spinning her wheels with nothing to show for it. She could neither pin down a suspect nor eliminate one entirely. The only logical conclusion was the theory that the killer was totally unrelated to his victims and therefore an unknown factor in the investigation.

  She would be more inclined to believe that if it wasn’t for the annoying niggling feeling in the back of her mind that she already knew what she needed to know and just couldn’t recognize it.

  This had happened so often in the past now that she clung to it like a life raft. Sooner or later, she was sure, the solution to the puzzle would reveal itself. She could only hope that happened before someone else lost his life.

  Pansy was in a fever of impatience as she cleared the tables after the midday meal in the dining room. Her first rehearsal was starting in a few minutes, and she wanted to get there before Doris to show her eagerness to do her part.

  She was placing the last of the dishes on the tray when two arms snaked around her waist, making her squeal.

  Her face warming, she turned to greet Samuel. “Whatcha doing here?”

  “I just got back from taking madam into Weller-combe.” Samuel unbuttoned his coat. “It’s getting warmer outside.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Pansy went to lift the tray but Samuel took it from her. “I don’t suppose she’s caught the Christmas Angel?”

  “Not yet.” He pulled a face at her. “She wasn’t happy that everyone found out about it. I told you not to tell anyone.”

  “Sorry.” Pansy walked ahead of him to open the door. “It just sort of slipped out while I was talking to Gertie and dopey Lizzie heard me and went around telling everyone that a killer was chopping off people’s heads.”

  “Yeah, so I heard.” The glasses rattled on the tray as Samuel carried them to the dumbwaiter. “This is a bad one. I can tell madam’s worried about it. She’s afraid if she doesn’t find him soon someone else will get bumped off.”

  “What are the constables doing about it, then? Isn’t it their job to find him?”

  Samuel snorted. “Supposed to be, isn’t it. Those twerps couldn’t find a murderer if he danced in front of them. Though I must say, this one is clever. He doesn’t make mistakes or leave clues behind. Unless P.C. Northcott isn’t telling us everything.”

  “You think he’s hiding something from madam?”

  “I don’t know what to think. I just know that madam is having a lot of trouble with this one.” He placed the tray on the dumbwaiter and tugged on the rope. “Come on, I’ll walk down to the kitchen with you. I want a word with Mrs. Chubb.”

  “I’m not going to the kitchen.” Pansy pulled off her apron and shoved it in on top of the dishes.

  Samuel raised his eyebrows. “Where are you going, then? It’s not your afternoon off.”

  “I know.” She took a deep breath, then added in a rush, “I’m going to help Doris with her costumes in the pantomime. I’m going to rehearsal now.”

  Samuel’s eyebrows twitched even higher. “Doris?”

  His voice had come out all squeaky, and Pansy glared at him. “Yes, Doris. The big love of your life. She asked me to help her and I’m going to do it.”

  For a moment Samuel looked as if he might be cross, but then he smiled. “That’s exciting, Pansy! I’m happy for you. Really I am. You’ll have a great time. Doris is a lovely person, and you’ll enjoy working with her.”

  “Yeah, I know I will.” She studied his face, trying to read what he was thinking behind that smile. Was he still in love with Doris? If only she knew for sure. If only he would say he loved her, then she could stop worrying about the songstress.

  “Well, I’d better let you go, then,” Samuel said, giving her a quick hug. “You’d better scram or you’ll be late.”

  He walked off, leaving her staring after him, unsure now if she really wanted to help Doris after all.

  CHAPTER 15

  Gertie smiled at the young woman hurrying toward her across the foyer. “Doris! I haven’t seen you since you bloody got here. Where have you been hiding?”

  Doris paused, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. “I’ve been busy with rehearsals and trying to spend time with my husband and daughter. Mrs. Fortescue keeps us all on our toes.”

  “Yeah, she’s a bloody slave driver, that woman. I’m glad I don’t have to work for her.” Gertie looked around. “Where is Essie, then? Is she with Daisy and the twins?”

  An odd look crossed Doris’s face, giving Gertie a stab of uneasiness. “No, actually Daisy went into town to do some Christmas shopping.”

  Gertie felt even more anxious. “She didn’t take the twins with her, did she? They’re supposed to be at rehearsal this afternoon.”

  Now Doris looked really uncomfortable. “No, I thought you knew. The twins are with Clive. He’s taking care of them for Daisy.”

  Gertie’s annoyance was tempered with relief. “Well, she might have bloody told me she was going to dump them on Clive. She should have asked me first.”

  “I believe she did look for you but couldn’t find you. One of the footmen was going into town this morning and offered her a ride in the carriage. She thought about taking the twins, but Clive was there at the time and he suggested the children would be happier building a snowman with him. He said the snow would all be gone by to
morrow and this was their last chance.”

  Gertie had to smile. “That sounds like Clive. He’s good with the kiddies. I heard he used to be a schoolteacher.”

  “He was? I wonder why he stopped teaching.”

  “Yeah, there’s a lot I don’t know about him.” Gertie peered at the grandfather clock, wondering if the twins had made it to rehearsal on time. If not, Phoebe would be having a fit by now. “I keep meaning to ask him about his past, but there never seems to be a good time.”

  “He’d make a wonderful father.” Doris followed her gaze. “I’d better get down to the ballroom. Mrs. Fortescue will be screaming for me any moment. Clive took the twins down there a while ago.”

  Relieved, Gertie waved a hand. “Oh, thank goodness. Good luck with the pantomime!”

  She was about to head for the stairs when Doris called out, “He’s in love with you, you know.”

  Gertie stopped dead, her heart skipping a beat. “Who is?”

  “Clive, of course. You must know that. It’s obvious by the way he talks about you.”

  Gertie laughed, though it sounded hollow, even to her. “Clive talks that way about everybody. He loves people, that’s all.”

  Standing in the entrance to the hallway, Doris looked back at her. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “He’s in love with you, Gertie. He’s a good man. Don’t keep him dangling too long or you’ll lose him.”

  With a quick wave of her hand she was gone, leaving Gertie staring after her, speechless and dumbfounded.

  “Doris isn’t here yet,” Phoebe said, waving an irritated hand at Pansy. “When you find her, tell her we’re waiting for her.”

  Pansy started to speak, but Phoebe shot up her hand again. “I don’t have time for anything else. Go, child! Find my star!”

  “I thought I was your star,” Deirdre whined from the stage. “The pantomime is called Peter Pan, isn’t it? I’m Peter Pan, aren’t I? I should be the star.”

  A chorus of voices echoed her.

  “Yeah, she’s Peter Pan!”

  “Yeah, she’s the star!”

  “Deirdre’s Peter Pan!”

  “Yeah, she’s just as good as Doris!”

  “Quiet!” Phoebe clapped her hands. “I will not have this insubordination on my stage.”

  “There’s that word again.” Deirdre advanced to the front of the stage. “Why don’t you speak bloody English?” The titters behind her grew louder.

  Phoebe’s face turned scarlet.

  Pansy held her breath, waiting for the onslaught.

  Phoebe marched up to the front of the stage and shook her fist at the grinning Deirdre. “If I have to speak to you again,” she roared, in a surprisingly strong voice for a woman of such petite stature, “it will be to tell you to get off my stage. You’re not the only one who can play Peter Pan. Everyone knows your lines by now. It won’t be that difficult to replace you. If I do that, make no mistake, you will never appear on this stage again. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

  Deirdre stopped grinning and, mumbling something under her breath, backed away.

  “Good.” Phoebe folded her arms. “Now you listen to me, all of you, just in case someone else has delusions of grandeur. Mrs. Lansfield is far and above you pathetic amateurs. She is a star in every sense of the word. She is a professional, and as such she will be treated with the respect she deserves. Anyone of you can be replaced. Doris cannot. Do you understand?”

  Mumbles and grumbles drifted down from the stage.

  Phoebe raised her voice again. “I repeat, do you understand?”

  A few voices muttered, “Yes, Mrs. Fortescue.”

  “I’m not a professional. Not anymore.”

  Pansy swung around as the new voice spoke from behind her. Doris smiled at her. “Hello, Pansy. Thank you for coming.”

  Phoebe frowned. “Do you need her to fetch you something?”

  “No.” Doris linked her arm in Pansy’s, making the younger girl’s knees go weak. “Pansy has kindly offered to be my dresser for the pantomime.”

  Phoebe’s charcoaled eyebrows disappeared under her hat. “Your dresser? But… but she’s one of the maids!”

  “So was I, once.” Doris started walking toward the backstage door, pulling Pansy along with her. “And look at me now.” With that, she tugged Pansy through the door and closed it behind them.

  Cecily was enjoying a quiet meal with her husband in their sitting room that evening when Pansy disturbed them with the news that P.C. Northcott was waiting in the library to see her.

  Baxter exploded as usual. “Who the devil does that blasted man think he is, invading our privacy at this hour?” He turned on Pansy, who was hovering in the doorway, fingers nervously plucking her apron. “Tell him madam is indisposed, and he will have to wait until she is ready to receive him.”

  “Yes, sir.” Pansy hesitated, biting her lip.

  “Well, what is it, child? Speak up!”

  “Hugh,” Cecily warned, feeling sorry for Pansy.

  “It’s the constable, sir,” Pansy said, stumbling over her words in her haste to get them out. “He said as how it was very important he speak with madam. Urgent, he said.”

  “Oh, dear.” Her appetite gone, Cecily laid down her dessert spoon. “That can only mean one thing.” She stood. “Thank you, Pansy. Please tell the constable I will join him directly.”

  “Yes, m’m.” Pansy ducked a curtsey and fled.

  “You don’t have to drop everything at the beck and call of that imbecile,” Baxter said, with a disgruntled sigh. “He probably just wants to know how the investigation is going. He could have waited until tomorrow for that.”

  “Exactly.” Cecily crossed the room to the door. “In which case, I’m very much afraid that he is here to tell me about another victim of the Christmas Angel.”

  “If that’s so, then I’m coming with you.” Baxter threw down his serviette in disgust. “Much as I hate talking to that fool, if he is going to involve you in yet another dastardly murder, I want to hear about it.”

  Worried now, Cecily tried to dissuade him. “You know how he always irritates you so. Why don’t you allow me to talk to him alone, and then I’ll tell you everything when I return.”

  “Because, my dear, much as I adore you, I cannot trust you to tell me everything. You have a tendency to omit certain information under the mistaken impression it will ease my concerns about your safety.”

  “I always tell you everything eventually, Bax. You know that.”

  “True, you do tell me. Usually, however, after you have escaped from the jaws of some frightful danger. Except, of course, for the rare occasion when I have had to rescue you myself.”

  Cecily smiled. “Look how noble it makes you feel to have rescued me.”

  Baxter’s stern features softened. “I’d vastly prefer it if you avoided danger altogether.”

  “Yes, I know.” Resigned to having him listen in on her conversation with Sam Northcott, Cecily opened the door. “We have had that conversation numerous times, darling. There’s no point in rehashing it now. Come along, then. Let’s hear what awful news Sam has brought us this time.”

  The constable stood in his usual spot with his back to the fireplace when Cecily entered. Following closely behind her, Baxter closed the door and ushered his wife to a maroon velvet armchair.

  Sam Northcott seemed shocked at Baxter’s presence. He hummed and ah’d quite a bit before coming to the point. “I’m sorry to h’inform you, Mrs. B., that there’s been h’another unfortunate incident concerning our… mutual acquaintance.” He shot a look at Baxter, obviously hoping that he would not understand the meaning behind his words.

  “It’s all right, Sam. Baxter knows all about the Christmas Angel and my participation in the investigation.” Cecily sat down on the armchair, feeling the familiar sense of hopelessness that grew stronger with each new murder. “Who is it this time?” She clasped her hands in her lap, praying it wasn’t someone she knew.

&nbs
p; Sam still seemed uncomfortable. He kept sliding his gaze sideways at Baxter, as if expecting him to erupt in a torrent of abuse at any moment. “He’s outdone himself this time, m’m. The Angel, I mean. He didn’t just go after one person; he tried to take out the entire membership of the Fox Hunters Club.”

  Baxter swore, something he rarely did in public, while Cecily fought hard to regain her breath. “Dear God. What happened?”

  “They were all at their annual Christmas meeting earlier this evening. Fifty-four members in all. The Angel set fire to the place. Burned to the ground, it did, before the fire engines could get there from Wellercombe.”

  Cecily felt her throat tighten up and swallowed. “How many, Sam?”

  “By good fortune, they managed to get all but one out of there before the roof caved in. The firemen found his body when they went in.”

  Her mouth was so dry she had trouble forming the words. “Was the lock of hair missing?”

  “Not that I heard. The doctor was still down there when I left, so I don’t know all the details yet.”

  “Then how can you be sure it was the work of the Christmas Angel and not simply an accidental fire?”

  Northcott puffed out his chest. “They were those little golden angels scattered all around on the ground outside the meeting hall.”

  Baxter swore again. “For heaven’s sake, man, when are you going to catch this madman? He’s got to be stopped.”

  Northcott scowled. “We are doing the best we can, under the circumstances. We’ve never had a case like this one before.”

  Baxter waved his hand in irritation. “Isn’t it time you brought in Scotland Yard?”

  The constable winced. “We’re considering it.”

  Cecily felt sorry for him. Failing to solve this case would mean much more for him than a missed Christmas visit to London. He had let things get too far along without involving Inspector Cranshaw. If the inspector got word of the murders now, he would be down on Sam Northcott’s head like a herd of raging bulls. It could even cost Sam his job. His only salvation was to solve the case and quickly.