A Merry Murder

by Kate Kingsbury

  His words warmed her heart, and she smiled. “That’s all I can ask of you. And that you love me.”

  “That I do, my love.” He raised her hand to his lips. “Forever and always.”

  “As I do you.” She slipped her hand from his and sank back on her seat. For now, she was content and at peace. Once she returned home, however, she must pursue this riddle and solve it, and hopefully, find Mazie so that they could all enjoy Christmas.

  A soft hum of voices greeted them when she and Baxter arrived back at the hotel. Several of the guests were in the lobby, some standing in front of the Christmas tree, engaged in conversation, while others sat on the couches talking among themselves.

  Cecily always derived a good deal of satisfaction from seeing her guests mingling with one another. This was how Christmas should be celebrated, with a joyful communion of strangers brought together in the festivities of the season.

  She recognized Sir Clarence and his wife in the group by the tree. The aristocrat seemed surprisingly affable as he smiled at another guest’s comment, while his wife remained somewhat aloof from the crowd.

  Cecily crossed the lobby with Baxter following closely behind, to find Philip dozing in his chair. Her husband, as usual, rapped loudly on the desk, startling the receptionist so badly, he almost toppled off his perch.

  As it was, his glasses fell to the floor, and he stared blindly down at his feet, clutching his chest as if he were about to suffer a heart attack.

  Cecily gave Baxter a reproachful look before walking around the desk to retrieve the spectacles. Handing them to the confused gentleman, she said quietly, “I’m sorry if we alarmed you, Philip. I just need to look at the register.”

  She gave Baxter a meaningful stare, which he immediately interpreted.

  “I shall be upstairs in my office if you need me,” he said, and headed for the staircase.

  “I’m sorry, m’m,” Philip said, adjusting his glasses on his nose. “I must have nodded off for a moment. I don’t know how that happened.”

  Cecily refrained from mentioning that his nodding off was a common occurrence, and she frequently had to wake him up. Fortunately, for some odd reason, he always became alert the moment a guest approached, as if he had a sixth sense.

  Reaching for the register, she drew it toward her.

  Belatedly remembering he was supposed to stand in her presence, Philip struggled to his feet. “Can I help you with something, m’m?”

  Cecily briefly touched his arm. “Sit down, Philip. I shan’t be but a moment.”

  “Yes, m’m. Thank you, m’m.” Looking relieved, he sank down on his chair again.

  Cecily turned the pages, scanning the lines, until she spotted the flowery signature of Lady Farthingale. Well, at least that part of the lady’s story was true. She had booked a room for July of the following year.

  Cecily closed the register and smiled at her receptionist. “Thank you, Philip.”

  “Yes, m’m.” He frowned. “There’s something I was supposed to tell you, but I’m dashed if I can remember what it was.”

  “Did you not write it down?”

  “I don’t think so.” Philip started shuffling a pile of papers around. “Though maybe I did.” He rubbed his forehead with the back of his thumb, dislodging his glasses again. “Mrs. Chubb came up to tell me something. She said to be sure and tell you when you returned.”

  “Very well. I shall go down to the kitchen and talk to her.” Cecily walked out from behind the desk. “Don’t worry, Philip. Mrs. Chubb can tell me whatever it is.”

  “Very well, m’m.”

  Cecily had taken only a few steps when Philip shouted, “Oh, now I remember, m’m! It’s about the chap that was murdered in the laundry room. The police have arrested the perpetrator!”

  For an elderly gentleman, her receptionist had a strong voice at times. She heartily wished this hadn’t been one of those times. The sudden hush that fell over the lobby signaled the worst. There was no doubt in her mind that everyone there had heard Philip’s words.

  She noticed Sir Clarence staring in her direction, while his wife had turned her face away. Everyone else had their heads together, whispering among themselves like gossiping housewives. The news would be all over the hotel in short order.

  Her housekeeper must have passed on the news to Philip, she thought, as she retraced her steps to the desk.

  Her supposition proved to be correct when her clerk announced, “Mrs. Chubb told me not to tell anyone else, so I didn’t.”

  Reminding herself that Philip was in desperate need of his job, Cecily leaned across the desk. “Philip, do not mention this again. To anyone. Not even a whisper. Do you understand?”

  He raised his chin, obviously offended. “I do understand, madam. I assure you I can be trusted to keep my mouth closed.”

  “Thank you, Philip. I appreciate your discretion.”

  Looking appeased, Philip nodded. “My lips are sealed, m’m.”

  Cecily walked back across the lobby, trying not to notice the glances cast her way. She did see that Sir Clarence had left the group, and she was just in time to see him escorting his wife up the stairs before they disappeared around the curve.

  As she reached the kitchen downstairs, she could hear Michel crashing his pans around on the stove. Apparently the preparations for dinner were not going well. She braced herself as she opened the door, inhaling a delicious aroma of herbs and spices that teased her stomach.

  Mrs. Chubb was just emerging from the pantry, carrying a tray of cheeses. She hurried forward when she saw Cecily, and laid the tray on the table. “Is something wrong, m’m?”

  At her words, a hush fell over the kitchen. Michel stopped bashing his utensils, the maids stopped rattling the silverware they were polishing, and Henry paused in front of the stove, where he’d been shoveling coal into the open belly.

  Cecily nodded at everyone. “Carry on, please. I’m just here to have a word with Mrs. Chubb.”

  One by one, the staff returned to their work, though Michel was a great deal quieter as he turned his attention back to his cooking.

  “Philip said you had something important to tell me,” Cecily said as the housekeeper stared at her with anxious eyes.

  “Oh, yes, I do.” Mrs. Chubb wiped her hands on her apron. “I wanted you to know that Mazie has been found. P.C. Northcott stopped by here to let us know.”

  “Oh, thank God. Is she all right?”

  Mrs. Chubb lowered her voice. “Yes, I think so, but she’s been arrested for the murder.”

  “I expected as much.” Cecily felt a deep sense of sorrow for the girl’s plight.

  “I knew Philip would probably be the first person you saw when you got back from London, so I told him to tell you that. He must have forgotten what I said.”

  Which he had, until he’d remembered and shouted it out, Cecily thought ruefully. She wished her housekeeper had found someone more reliable to pass on the news, but it was too late now. The damage had been done. “Well, thank you for letting me know.”

  Mrs. Chubb wore a worried frown as she stared at her. “What will happen to the girl? I still can’t believe she killed that man on purpose. It must have been an accident, or something. Or maybe she was trying to protect herself from his advances.” She shook her head. “You know what some men are. I heard that he’d been following Mazie around. Charlotte said they seemed more than friendly, if you know what I mean.”

  Charlotte, Cecily thought, was entirely too vocal with her opinions. She would have to have a word with the girl. “Well, let’s not jump to conclusions. I will try to speak with Mazie and see if I can find out what happened.” She raised her voice. “Meanwhile, I’d appreciate it if all of you would keep silent about this. Unfortunately, Philip announced to everyone far and wide that we have had a murder in the hotel, so I’m quite sure there will
be questions. Say as little as possible. Insist that you know nothing about it and eventually the gossip will die down.”

  “You hope,” Mrs. Chubb muttered. “What I don’t understand is what Mazie was doing meeting that man in the laundry room at midnight. She must have been out of her mind.”

  “That’s what I intend to find out.”

  Cecily was about to leave when Michel called out, “Mazie, she eez just a child. She does not know what she does. She did not kill anyone on purpose.”

  “Thank you, Michel.” Cecily smiled at him. “I am quite sure Mazie would appreciate your belief in her.”

  “It eez not just my belief, madame. All of us here, we believe the same. Non?”

  A chorus of voices answered him. “Oui!”

  Cecily sighed. Now Michel had half the staff talking in atrocious French. She headed for the door, calling out, “Thank you, everyone! The meal smells delicious, Michel! Keep up the good work!” She was out the door before she could hear his answer.

  Instead of joining Baxter in their suite, she headed to her office, where she put in a telephone call to the constabulary. After a lot of clicks and buzzes, and the operator’s voice assuring her she would be put through immediately, she eventually heard Sam Northcott’s voice on the end of the line.

  “’Allo! Police Constable Northcott at your service. What can I do for you, Mrs. B?”

  Cecily came straight to the point. “I hear you have arrested Mazie Clarke for the murder of Lord Farthingale.”

  “Yes, m’m. We found her hiding with her belongings in the back of Dolly’s Tea Shop, under the stairs. Dolly didn’t even know she was there.” He paused a moment before adding gruffly, “At least, that’s what she says.”

  “Did Mazie tell you what happened?”

  “She told us a lot of lies. That’s what she told us.”

  “What exactly did she tell you?”

  “That I can’t say, m’m. I locked her up until the inspector can get down here and question her.”

  Cecily’s pulse quickened. She needed to talk with Mazie before Inspector Cranshaw confronted her. Once Mazie was in that monster’s hands, there would be no chance of her coming even close to her housemaid. “Sam, it’s very important that I talk with Mazie immediately.” She hesitated, then firmly added, “It could mean a matter of life or death.”

  “Oh, cripes, m’m. That does sound a bit dire. But—”

  “No buts, Sam. I’m on my way. Please have Mazie available for a private conversation.” She hung up before the constable could answer her. She’d found that the best way to deal with P.C. Northcott was to take command. It confused him and she usually got her way before he realized what was happening.

  Now, all she had to do was to keep up the pressure once she arrived at the constabulary. Hopefully she would be granted access to the prisoner, and with any luck, she would find out exactly what happened in the laundry at midnight.

  * * *

  • • •

  Reaching the dining room, Gertie paused at the door. She could hear someone’s voice speaking loud enough for the whole hotel to hear her. Whoever it was sounded agitated, like she was spoiling for a fight.

  Gertie pushed open the door and walked in to find Charlotte standing in the middle of the room, her arm raised in the air, spouting something about standing up to the tyrants and showing the world that women mattered.

  “Bloody hell, Charlotte!” Gertie charged over to her. “Keep your voice down or you’ll have Chubby down on us like a ton of rocks.”

  Charlotte looked at the door. “She can hear me?”

  “Everyone can flipping hear you. What are you doing anyway?”

  “I’m practicing my speech. For the protest at the Christmas parade.”

  Gertie felt her jaw drop. “Wot! What Christmas Parade?”

  “The one in Wellercombe. The suffragettes are going to march in it.”

  Gertie widened her eyes. “They’re letting you march in the Wellercombe parade?”

  Charlotte shrugged. “Not exactly letting us, no. We’re going to take them by surprise and join them.”

  “Are you blinking bonkers?”

  Charlotte looked offended. “That’s what protests are, you ninny. You go where you’re not wanted and you make them listen. You said you went on them, so you should know.”

  “I do know.” Gertie shook her head in disgust. “Which is why I’m telling you you’re bloody daft if you think you can just barge into one of the biggest Christmas parades in the country and not get into real trouble. You’re dumber than I thought you was.”

  Charlotte tossed her head. “I never said I didn’t expect trouble. But I’m telling you, if those bobbies think they can lay their hands on me, then they’re in for a shock. I’ll bash them over the head with my signboard. So there.”

  Now Gertie was really worried. It was obvious that the girl had no idea what she was letting herself in for, and if someone didn’t stop her, Charlotte could end up in jail and maybe even die in there.

  Short of telling Chubby, however, which would cause just as much trouble, she couldn’t see any way to stop the girl. She knew determination when she saw it, and Charlotte’s eyes were full of it. “How are you going to get time off to go? You can’t tell Chubby where you’re going. She’d put a stop to that right away.”

  “I’m swapping my afternoon off with Lilly. I told her I was meeting a friend in town.”

  Gertie felt defeated. There was only one thing to do. It was the last thing she wanted to do, but if it kept her friend out of trouble, then she would do it.

  “All right,” she said quietly. “I’ll try to get time off to go with you. But if I do, you have to swear to me that you will listen to what I say and do what I tell you to do.”

  Charlotte’s eyes had lost their look of desperation as she grinned at Gertie. “Promise.” She swiped a hand across her chest. “Cross my heart.”

  “And whatever you do, don’t tell no one where we’re going or what we’re doing.”

  “All right, I won’t.” For the first time, Charlotte looked uneasy. “It’ll be all right, though, won’t it? I mean, the suffragettes have protests all over the country, especially in London.”

  “Yeah, and sometimes people get hurt.” Gertie gave her a hard look. “If you want to change your mind, you’d better do it before we get there. ’Cos once we’re there, it’ll be too late to back out.”

  Again Charlotte raised her chin. “I’m not backing out of nothing. Someone’s got to stand up for women’s rights, and I might as well join them.” She raised a clenched fist in the air. “Deeds, not words!”

  Recognizing the motto of the WSPU, Gertie heaved a sigh. She didn’t like the thought of marching with them at all, but someone had to keep an eye on Charlotte, and she was the only one she knew of who could do it. She only hoped they would both come out of it unscathed. “Well, right now,” she said, “the only deeds you need to worry about is getting these tables laid for dinner.”

  “Speaking of deeds,” Charlotte said as she arranged a folded serviette in the center of a place setting, “what do you think about Mazie getting arrested for murder?”

  Gertie shook her head. “We’re not supposed to talk about it.”

  “Not when anyone’s around, but we’re on our own now.” Charlotte plucked another serviette from the tray. “It looks like we were wrong about her being innocent.”

  “They haven’t proved nothing yet.” Gertie hated the thought of the housemaid behind bars. She hadn’t had much to do with her, as Mazie spent most of her time cleaning and doing laundry, but the few times she’d talked to her, the young girl had been polite and respectful. She’d made Gertie feel important—something that didn’t happen often. “I just hope they find out what really happened, and it turns out that Mazie didn’t do it.”

  Charlotte p
aused, the serviette still held in her hand. “If Mazie really didn’t do it, that means whoever did bump off that bloke is still hanging around, maybe waiting for his next victim.”

  Gertie dismissed that with a laugh that didn’t sound too convincing. “Don’t worry, whoever did him in isn’t going after maids. He’s going after the toffs, ain’t he.” She gave Charlotte a hard look. “And don’t call them blokes. If madam hears you, she’ll box your bloody ears.”

  Charlotte shrugged, and laid the serviette down on the table. “Well, I’m going to keep my eyes skinned anyhow.” She looked up at Gertie. “You should, too. Any one of them footmen could be a killer and come after you. You never know who you can trust.”

  For a second or two the image of Clive flashed through Gertie’s mind. Shaking off the memory, she muttered, “Just let ’im try, that’s all. I’ll bloody clobber the daylights out of him.”

  Charlotte giggled. “I bet you could and all.”

  “Yeah, well, we’d better get these tables laid before we get the daylights bashed out of us.” Gertie hustled over to the sideboard and picked up a tray of glasses, wincing as they rattled against each other. Charlotte’s words had unsettled her nerves. She just hoped the bobbies found out who had bumped off the poor sod before he came after someone else.

  Charlotte was right. She needed to keep looking over her shoulder. Shuddering, she took a glass from the tray and set it upside down on the nearest table. From now on, she’d be on her guard. Like Charlotte said, you never knew who you could trust.

  CHAPTER

  8

  Cecily marched into the constabulary slightly out of breath and brimming with determination. The young constable on duty at the desk recognized her immediately and sprang to his feet.

  “Mrs. Baxter! What a pleasure! What can we do for you?”

  Cecily squared her shoulders. “Good evening, Albert. I am here to speak with your prisoner, Mazie Clarke.”