A Merry Murder

by Kate Kingsbury

  The woman hurried forward, one hand covering her heart. “Is she all right? She’s not ill, is she? Hurt?” She shook her head. “I told Walter she was too young to go to work. He wouldn’t listen to me.”

  Cecily’s spirits sank. Her hopes of clearing things up with Mazie were fading fast. “She’s not here with you?”

  Mrs. Clarke’s eyes grew wide with fear. “No, she’s not. Where is she? What’s happened?”

  Taking the woman’s arm, Cecily began leading her back to the house. “Let us go inside and I will explain everything.”

  Once inside, Mazie’s mother led her visitor to a small parlor, sparsely furnished with a narrow settee and an armchair, and not much else. A few pictures hung on the wall, as well as a photograph of Mrs. Clarke and a rather grim-looking gentleman, while five young children sat in front of them with varying degrees of discomfort mirrored in their faces.

  Cecily recognized Mazie as the eldest of the children. A shiver of apprehension attacked her spine as she prepared to give this unfortunate mother the bad news. Declining the woman’s offer of tea, she motioned for her to sit down.

  Mrs. Clarke’s face was tight with apprehension as Cecily sought for the right words to begin. “I’m afraid we’ve had a spot of trouble at the hotel,” she said, holding up her hand when Mrs. Clarke answered with a cry of fear. “As far as we know, Mazie is unhurt. She has, however, left the hotel, and as of now, we don’t know where she may be.”

  Mrs. Clarke lifted a trembling hand to her throat. “What kind of trouble, m’m? She’s not done nothing wrong, has she? She was giving me money. A lot more than what she was earning. I asked her where she got it but she wouldn’t tell me. She wasn’t stealing, was she?”

  Cecily heaved a sigh. “Not as far as we know. A gentleman was found in our laundry room. He’d been hit over the head. He had a note from Mazie in his pocket, asking him to meet her there.”

  The other woman raised her chin. “My Mazie with a man? She’s not old enough for that. Besides, she’s not that kind of girl. I bring my children up proper, Mrs. Baxter. Mazie would never get herself into that kind of trouble.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Cecily said carefully. “However, there is this note that was found in the victim’s pocket. It does appear to have been written by Mazie.”

  Mrs. Clarke’s eyes widened in her ashen face. “Victim? He’s dead?”

  She had barely whispered the questions, and Cecily took a deep breath. “I’m afraid he is.”

  Mrs. Clarke let out a wail of despair, and Cecily quickly added, “I must tell you, I have a great deal of trouble believing your daughter is guilty of the crime. I do think, however, that she discovered the body and the shock sent her running for her life.”

  Mazie’s mother covered her mouth with her hand, while her pale blue eyes stared into Cecily’s face.

  She seemed unable to answer, and Cecily leaned toward her. “I will do everything I can to help Mazie, but I must talk to her to find out exactly what happened. Do you have any idea where I might find her? Anyplace she might have gone to hide?”

  The woman shook her head, then eventually lowered her hand. “I can’t think of anywhere right now, m’m. I can’t even think straight.”

  “I understand.” Cecily rose to her feet. “If you do think of something, or if Mazie should return home, please send me a message as soon as you can. The only way I can help her is to talk to her.”

  Mrs. Clarke got up slowly, nodding her head. “I will, m’m. Thank you.”

  “I have to warn you,” Cecily said, feeling awful that she had to add to the woman’s anxiety, “P.C. Northcott will be paying you a visit. He wants to find Mazie, too. Don’t let anything he says upset you. We will get to the bottom of this, I promise you.”

  A faint light of hope crept into the other woman’s eyes. “Thank you so much, m’m. If I find out where my girl is, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

  Praying that she was right about Mazie’s innocence, Cecily returned to the carriage. The news that Mazie had money to give to her mother was troubling. Perhaps she’d been wrong about the girl. Could Mazie possibly have killed that man to take money from him?

  No, she assured herself in the next breath. She just couldn’t imagine that young, fragile girl beating someone over the head to steal from him.

  She was still wrestling with the problem when they reached the gate. As they pulled out onto the road, the constable appeared on a bicycle, pedaling around the bend. His face was hidden by his helmet as he bent his head against the wind, and his knees pumped up and down in a vigorous attempt to make headway.

  Cecily kept her own head down as they passed by him on the road. That was a little close for comfort. He would learn soon enough that she had visited Mazie’s mother. She could only hope that she could question Mazie before Northcott found the maid. That is, if some terrible tragedy had not befallen her.

  Cecily had not mentioned that possibility to her mother, but the feeling of dread that had plagued the pit of her stomach ever since she’d learned of the maid’s disappearance had intensified, and she was very much afraid that this particular situation was not going to end well.

  If Mazie was still alive, however, she must find the child. As long as Mazie was employed by her, she was responsible for the girl. It was up to her to sort out this puzzle and make sure, if Mazie was innocent, that she received the best help possible in clearing her name.

  Or the best professional advice if she had indeed killed the stranger in the laundry room. There was always the possibility of self-defense if that were so.

  On the other hand, if her worst fears were realized, and some dreadful mishap had happened to her servant, then she would be there to comfort the family and make suitable arrangements for her burial.

  She had instructed Charlie to take the longer route over the cliffs, and a shudder shook her body as she gazed down at the angry ocean. She could not dismiss the vision of Mazie’s scrawny body hurtling to the rocks below.

  Turning her face away from the view, she prayed again for the child’s safety. She had to find Mazie alive, or she would never forgive herself. If she had not hired her, Mazie would not be in this predicament now. She must find her and get to the bottom of the puzzle as soon as humanly possible. At the moment, however, the chances of achieving that seemed pretty slim.

  * * *

  • • •

  Gertie stood back from the table and studied her handiwork. Like the rest of the tables in the dining room, she had covered it with a fresh white tablecloth. She’d set the silverware in the correct pattern on either side and at each end of the embroidered table runner. Aperitif glass, wineglass, and brandy glass had all been placed neatly upside down on the right side of the setting. Red candles nestled in silver candlesticks waiting to be lit, and an arrangement of holly and mistletoe with a bright red ribbon bow finished off the display.

  Nodding with satisfaction, she picked up the tray of silverware and turned to move on to the next table. Charlotte suddenly appeared in front of her, taking her by surprise. “Blimey,” Gertie blurted out, “where’d you flipping come from?”

  Charlotte grinned. “Watcha doing? Admiring your own work?”

  Gertie sniffed. “It ain’t a crime to take pride in what I’m doing. Better than trying to duck out of work like some people I know.”

  Charlotte tossed her head. “I do my share. More than Lilly does, I know that much.” She looked around the room. “It looks very nice. You did all right.”

  “Thanks.” Somewhat mollified by the faint praise, Gertie added, “Wanna help me? This is the last one, then we can go down to the cellar to fetch the wine.”

  Charlotte shivered. “I hate going down there. It gives me the creeps.”

  “It’s a lot better since madam got it done up.” Gertie started laying out the solid silver utensils. “It were a mess for a lon
g time—full of cobwebs and spiders and Gawd knows what else. Now that they’ve opened the card rooms again, the housemaids have to keep it a lot cleaner.”

  “I’ve just been talking to Archie.” Charlotte giggled. “He’s a bit of all right, he is.”

  Gertie tried not to listen to Charlotte mooning over the new handyman, and concentrated instead on the proper order for the knives, forks, and spoons.

  “I love the way he smiles, and he has the most gorgeous body—all muscles and—”

  Gertie thrust a handful of silverware at her. “Here, lay these out for me over there.” She nodded at the other end of the table.

  For a moment, Charlotte looked as if she would refuse, then she shrugged her shoulders and took the utensils from Gertie’s hands. “Anyhow, from now on, I’m going to be spending a lot of time finding excuses to see him.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re probably wasting your time. I think he’s sweet on Mazie.”

  “What? That little bugger? I don’t believe it.”

  “I saw them together more than once,” Gertie said with relish. She was beginning to enjoy the conversation now. “They had their heads together, talking and laughing. . . .”

  “Go on with you. You’re making it up.”

  “I’m not.” For a second or two she wished she were making it up, then pulled herself together. “Anyhow, he won’t have much time to dillydally. I heard Chubby talking to him about building a set onstage for the pantomime.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Charlotte peered at a fork, then polished it with the corner of her apron. “So, do you think our Mazie killed Percy?”

  “What, that little midget? I don’t think she could reach high enough to hit him on the head.”

  Charlotte carefully set down a fork. “I never thought of that. You’re right! I wonder if madam and the constable thought of that.”

  “Then again, he could have been on the floor when she hit him.”

  “Right again. She just doesn’t seem like a killer, though. She’s such a quiet little thing.”

  “She’s just a baby.” Gertie gazed off into the distant past. “I was that age when I started working here. I was just like her.”

  Charlotte let out a burst of laughter. “Wot, you? Go on with you. You was never like her. Never in a million years.”

  “Maybe not on the outside, but on the inside I was scared out of my wits.” Gertie placed a fish fork next to a pearl-handled knife. “I only pretended to be tough, ready and able to clobber anyone who looked at me wrong, but then I did it for so long, it started to be who I was, and I just grew from there.”

  “Strewth!” Charlotte’s expression reflected her astonishment. “I never would have thought that.”

  “Well, don’t tell anyone that.” Gertie grinned. “I have a reputation to keep up.”

  Charlotte looked as if she wanted to say something, then apparently changed her mind.

  Curious now, Gertie felt compelled to prompt her. “Go on, say what you want to say.”

  Charlotte glanced over her shoulder at the door, then moved closer to her. “I wasn’t going to tell you this, but I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, and there’s something I want to ask you.”

  Gertie was all ears as she leaned forward. “What is it?”

  “Well . . .” Again Charlotte looked over her shoulder, then lowered her voice. “I’ve joined the Women’s Social and Political Union.”

  “The suffragettes? When did this happen?”

  “About two months ago. I went to one of their meetings and I got caught up in all the excitement, and before I knew it, I became a member.”

  Gertie groaned. “You have no idea what kind of trouble that can get you in. I used to go on protests and stuff and I know what I’m talking about.”

  “I know. Pansy told me. That’s why I was hoping you’d go on a protest with me. There’s going to be one in Wellercombe and I really don’t want to go on my own.”

  Gertie took a deep breath. “Sorry, Charlotte, but you’ll have to ask someone else. I can’t do that again. I nearly ended up in jail when I did it before and I have my twins to think about now.”

  Charlotte’s face clouded with disappointment. “I thought you were strong on women’s rights. You’re always talking about it—how men take advantage of us, and don’t treat us like human beings and stuff.”

  “Yeah, well, talking about it and going to prison about it are two different things.” She lowered her voice for effect. “Did you know they punch up suffragettes in prison? And if you don’t want to eat the slop they give you, they force it down your throat in a tube.”

  “Then I’ll just have to make bloody sure I don’t get dragged off to the clink, won’t I.”

  “Yeah, and the best way to do that is to stay away from those protests.”

  “All right, Gertie McBride. If you’re too afraid to go with me, then I’ll just have to go alone.” She started for the door, throwing over her shoulder, “But I thought you had more guts than anyone else around here. Obviously, I was mistaken.”

  Gertie felt a harsh rebuttal rising in her throat and fought to keep it down. Maybe Charlotte was right. Maybe, after everything that had happened to her, she had lost some of the fire and fury that had landed her in so much trouble back then. But she was older now—and a mother of twins.

  It was all right for Charlotte—she was a lot younger and didn’t have no family to worry about. Gertie picked up the empty silverware tray. As for herself, she had more to lose, and no matter how strongly she agreed with the suffragettes’ fight, she had to put her children first.

  Having reassured herself that she was doing the right thing, she followed Charlotte out into the hallway. Though she couldn’t quite suppress a tinge of regret for the rebel she used to be.

  CHAPTER

  4

  The first thing she needed to do, Cecily told herself as she entered the Pennyfoot’s lobby, was find out the full name of the dead man. If she could learn more about him, then maybe she could piece together exactly what had been going on between him and Mazie.

  Glancing up the winding staircase, she spotted a gentleman on his way down. He was dressed fashionably in a checkered coat and trousers, with a red velvet vest and a black bow tie under his starched white collar. In spite of his protruding belly, he descended the stairs with alacrity, apparently on his way to an appointment of some kind.

  Cecily recognized the gentleman as Edwin Coombs, who had something to do with engineering, if she remembered correctly. He had arrived alone and been joined by a stylish young woman shortly after. At the moment, however, his companion appeared to be elsewhere. This would be a perfect opportunity to question the guest. She always had better luck digging up information when her target was alone.

  Seizing the opportunity, Cecily met the gentleman at the foot of the stairs. She would have to tread delicately, she warned herself, so as not to divulge that Percy was deceased. “Good afternoon, Mr. Coombs,” she said as he doffed his cap at her. “I trust you are enjoying your visit to the Pennyfoot Hotel?”

  Her guest seemed ill at ease as he paused beside her. “I am, Mrs. Baxter. Very much so.”

  “I’m so happy to hear that.” She peered up the stairs. “And your . . . er . . . companion? I trust she feels the same way?”

  Edwin Coombs cleared his throat and ran a finger under his collar. “Yes, indeed, madam.”

  “Wonderful!” Cecily gave him a bright smile. “We try our best to keep our guests entertained. I was talking to another gentleman earlier, and he mentioned that he especially enjoyed the card games. Do you play cards, Mr. Coombs?”

  “Er . . . yes, I do.” He gazed across the lobby as if seeking a way to politely escape.

  Cecily shifted her position a little, making it difficult for him to get past her without bumping into her. “Then you probably know t
he gentleman.” She pretended to think. “His name escapes me at the moment. Percy something or other.”

  The guest’s expression surprised her. His face darkened, and a slight flush spread across his cheeks. “Yes, I know the chap. Nasty piece of work, if you ask me.”

  Cecily raised her eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

  As if realizing he had misspoken, Coombs doffed his cap again. “If you will excuse me, Mrs. Baxter? I have an urgent appointment I must keep.”

  Cecily stood her ground. “Mr. Coombs, if one of my guests has upset you, I am obligated to know why, in that I might be able to do something about it.”

  Coombs held up his hand, which shook with agitation. “No, no, it is nothing. We had a slight altercation, that is all. He accused me of cheating when I won a sum of money from him, and I took umbrage at that. I have never cheated in my life.” He hesitated, coughed, then added, “Not at cards anyway. Now, I really must be on my way.”

  He moved toward her, and there was nothing more she could do but stand aside. As he passed her, however, she asked, “I seem to have trouble remembering Percy’s surname. Can you enlighten me?”

  He paused again and gave her a dark look. “I cannot. He didn’t mention it and I didn’t ask for it. I don’t think he’s a guest in this hotel, which made me wonder how he was at the card tables in the first place. I do remember seeing him at a gentleman’s club a few weeks ago. He was being loud and obnoxious, as he was here in the card room. I noticed Sir Clarence Oakes frowning at him as well. If you wish to know Percy’s last name, I suggest you ask Sir Clarence. He attends the same gentleman’s club.”

  Picturing the rather austere aristocrat she had met earlier, Cecily felt reluctant to approach Sir Clarence, or his wife for that matter. Lady Penelope Oakes seemed rather distant and somewhat disparaging of her surroundings, which did not sit well with Cecily at all. The woman’s husband wasn’t much better.

  Then again, Cecily reminded herself, if she were to discover Percy’s identity, a brief conversation with Sir Clarence seemed necessary.