Now she was in a quandary. Should she tell Burma what she had heard, or just leave well enough alone? She thought she could manage to word a comment in such a way that she could give Burma a fair warning of what to expect. Hearing voices again she stepped away from the wrought iron railing, pressing herself against the solid stone frame. She hoped that none of them would look up as the four of them walked across the floor, the girls’ kitten-style heels tapping a sharp tattoo on the flagstones. Sylvia hung on Frederic’s arm and Cecily and Jeffrey had their arms about each other. They disappeared from her view and, when she could no longer hear them, she hurried to her room.
For all that she had thought about what she might do, she had come no nearer to a plan to discredit Frederic in Fliss’ defence. Maybe she had done enough. Maybe there was nothing she could do. Feeling a little glum, she let herself into her room.
“Where have you been?” Fliss asked, her voice quivering on an anxious note. “I’ve been worried sick about you.”
Tilly slumped on her bed. Her long day had begun to take its toll and she found it difficult to keep her eyes open.
“Sorry I took so long but you will not believe what happened.” She scrubbed her hands over her face in an effort to keep herself awake.
“Well don’t keep me in suspense,” Fliss prompted. “What happened about the dress?”
“The dress?” Tilly frowned, then remembered the whole reason she had gone rushing out earlier that evening. “Oh, yes. The dress. Well, Burma was in a bit of a state, I must admit. She didn’t throw anything at me, before you ask. She seems to be really worried about her father’s arrival. I guess I was just lucky with my dad. I could talk to him about anything and I was never afraid of him as Burma seems to be of her father. I guess he’s too busy making money to give her the attention she needs.”
Fliss twisted around and plumped up her pillows. “I certainly prefer love over money but I can’t say I wouldn’t mind a bit more of it.”
“Are we talking about love or money?” Tilly asked as she switched the light off.
“Both,” Fliss said with a giggle.
“Oh, Lord, this feels good.” Tilly sighed as she lay down on her bed. Should she tell Fliss about the music and dancing with the ghost in the ballroom? She thought she might, but not tonight.
As she hovered on the edge of sleep, Fliss startled her awake.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Her voice echoed in the darkness. “Saul said Miss Richards was looking for you.”
Tilly’s eyes flew open. She caught her breath as she propped herself up on her elbows.
“And you’re only telling me this now?”
“Sorry, but at least I didn’t completely forget. What have you been up to?” In a rustle of sheets, Fliss sat up. “Was it something to do with Burma’s dress or—Tilly! You didn’t mess up my rooms the other day, did you?”
“Not that I know of, no.”
Now they were both fully awake again, Tilly knew she would not be able to keep the story to herself. Still not quite believing it and thankful for the shadows to cover her blushes, she described the ghost in the ballroom.
“And there I was, lost in the music and spinning around like a top with my arms full of Burma’s wet dress when in walks Miss Richards.” Tilly dropped her face in her hands. “I couldn’t have been more mortified.”
“Did you go and see her after you went to Laundry?”
“She never asked me to,” Tilly said. “At least, I don’t remember her asking. Saul didn’t say what she wanted, did he?”
A loud yawn came from the other side of the room. “No, just that she wanted to see you. It’s probably nothing.”
Tilly lay down again, but now she couldn’t close her eyes. She lay quietly, pleating the hem of her sheet between nervous fingers. Had she damaged the ballroom floor? Had someone seen her talking to the musicians and complained? She mentally reviewed each room she had serviced that day and knew that each had been thoroughly cleaned. Surely there could be no complaints there.
She turned on her side and tried to sleep but, try as she might, she could not settle. Her thoughts soon became a jumbled mess of dresses and brides, of music and Ryan, of mules and mountains. She tossed and turned, was hot then cold. She turned her pillow so that it would be cool beneath her cheek and at last huffed a troubled sigh and gave up and slept.
Chapter Eighteen
Her alarm clock went off long before Tilly was ready to wake up. She hit the ‘off’ button and peered at the time. The clock peered back at her like a pale, baleful eye.
Still only half awake, she stumbled out of bed and shook Fliss, who was barely stirring. By the time she’d used the bathroom, Fliss had made both beds and opened the curtains. Tilly looked out onto a bright, fresh morning full of sunshine. She hoped it was a good omen of what her day had in store for her.
After they had breakfast, Fliss took off to the sixth floor to start work, and Tilly, heart-in-mouth, presented herself to Miss Richards. The woman was no more welcoming than she had been on Tilly’s first day. If anything, she looked more austere and regarded Tilly in glacial silence for what could only have been seconds but felt like eternity.
“McCormack, do you remember what I said to you on your first day here?” she asked when she finally dropped her gaze to some paperwork on her desk.
Tilly raked through her mind for the various instructions she had received that day. There had been so many. “With regard to what, Miss Richards?”
“Don’t be so impertinent.” Her hard glare pinned Tilly to her chair. “I warned you to not make me regret hiring you.”
Her heart thumped uncomfortably and Tilly ran her tongue across her bottom lip. “Has my work not been satisfactory?”
“Miss Taylor appears to have no complaints as to your actual work, but it is your general conduct that is sadly lacking. There is not only the incident I myself witnessed, but several guests have reported you running through the hotel, up and down stairs where you should not be and at times long after your shift has ended. Not only that, your honesty is now under review.”
“My honesty?” Tilly stammered. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Miss Turville is missing a valuable diamond ring. You are the only person, other than herself, who has been in her room.”
“But I have only been in her room once,” Tilly protested. “That was yesterday when Fliss was sick.”
“And was she there?”
“Well, no.”
“So you had plenty of opportunity to search her belongings,” Miss Richards accused.
Anger curled in Tilly’s stomach. She clenched her fists in her lap. This, she was sure, had to be Frederic’s doing. “Actually, Miss Richards, no, I didn’t. My time was fully taken with doing my job and making sure I did all the extra rooms just as carefully as I did my own allocation.”
“So you are denying any accusations of theft?”
Her face now flushed with the effort of keeping her temper, Tilly looked directly at Miss Richards. “I most certainly am.”
“And you would have no concern if your room was searched?”
“Of course not.” Tilly bit off the words before she exploded in a tirade that would not do her any good.
“Very well.” Miss Richards lifted her telephone and dialled a number. “Mr. Spence, we are ready now.”
Tilly gasped as she looked up. If she had not been sitting she feared her legs might not support her. Mr. Spence was head of hotel security.
“Come with me.”
Holding her head high, Tilly followed Miss Richards’s long, sweeping stride across the service floor. Mr. Spence met them in the lobby and greeted Miss Richards with a gruff hello. He gave Tilly a long, assessing stare before briefly nodding his head.
The hour was too early for many guests to be about, but there were enough of them. They and the bellhops and receptionists watched the little party pass by with curiosity. Tilly sensed the whispers and knew the gossip train would be building up
a full head of steam. She lifted her chin and kept her shoulders back. She had done nothing wrong, had nothing to be ashamed of.
She opened the door to her room and stepped aside to let Miss Richards and Mr. Spence enter.
“My bed is the one on the right,” she said, “and I have the bottom two drawers in the dresser.”
Mr. Spence first pulled apart her bed, expertly searching the bedding and mattress. Tilly bit her tongue. If she had been so stupid as to steal a ring in the first place, she would not compound her stupidity by hiding it in her bed, but it would not do her any good to say so.
She watched as her belongings were pulled out of the drawers, shaken out and thrown on her bed. Fear and anger changed into indignation, but she kept quiet.
“Have you anything else?” Miss Richards asked.
“I have a jacket and a coat in the armoire and two boxes under my bed.” Tilly folded her arms tightly across her stomach. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep her temper. She could not accuse Frederic Vanderoosten of any wrongdoing without disclosing her own involvement with him. And what repercussions would there be if she allowed that to happen? She knew how cruel and manipulative he could be. Had he coerced Sylvia Turville to help him? That was just the sort of thing she could imagine him doing.
Having finished searching the armoire Mr. Spence knelt and pulled the boxes out from under her bed. There were a few magazines given to her by departing guests and a couple of books in one, her spare monthly toiletries and some make-up in the other. Miss Richards looked at her with hard, narrowed eyes.
“I take it this is your own make-up?”
“Yes, Miss Richards,” Tilly said in a tone tight from clenching her jaws together. “That is for occasional use when I go out.”
“And what about this?” Mr. Spence held up a small, round tin. It looked like a decorated pill container but the closest thing to a pill she ever took was an infrequent aspirin for monthly stomach cramps.
“That’s not mine,” she said firmly. “I’ve never seen it before.”
Mr. Spence shook it. It rattled ominously. Tilly held her breath while he removed the lid. He looked inside the tin then held it out for Miss Richards’s inspection.
“McCormack, how could you—?” Miss Richards tipped the tin into her palm and held up a ring. Even in the early morning light, the rose gold band glistened softly while the diamonds, clustered into a turban design, caught every vestige of light and winked mockingly at her.
Tilly shook her head slowly.
“No,” she said, weathering the accusing stares from two pairs of eyes. “I have never seen that ring before.”
“Then how do you account for it being found amongst your belongings?” Mr. Spence got up and brushed the dust from the knees of his pants.
“I have no explanation for that.” Tilly vibrated with anger. “I am not here for more than half the day. Anyone could have come in and hidden it.”
“And yet the ring went missing the day you were in Miss Turville’s room, and is found in your possession today,” Mr. Spence continued. “Something of a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”
“Too much of a coincidence,” Tilly blurted out. “I have no doubt that someone is trying to make it appear that I am a thief. I can assure you I am not. And even if I were, would I really be so stupid as to hide something that valuable in my own room and then agree to your searching it?”
Mr. Spence rubbed a hand along his jaw but said nothing. He glanced at Miss Richards, a glance in which his doubt was all but spelled out. Tilly narrowed her eyes. There was something more going on here, something she was unaware of and not privy to. Another thought came to her. She had never seen Burma wearing her engagement ring. What if Sylvia Turville’s ring was not the only one to go missing? What if there was more? Wouldn’t that indicate that there might be thief at the hotel?
“Well?” When no comment was forthcoming Tilly looked from Mr. Spence to Miss Richards. “May I tidy my room and go to work?”
Miss Richards looked nonplussed, and Mr. Spence simply shook his head, as if to say any decision made would have to be hers.
“I think it best, McCormack, that you resign your post here,” she said quietly. “There appear to be some anomalies that need to be considered, but I have to satisfy Miss Turville that I have taken appropriate action. As the ring has been recovered, she may not press charges. I know you have no home to return to and because of that, I will permit you to stay here until you can find another position. Accommodation only. You will not be permitted to enter the hotel again. Do you understand?”
Tilly nodded wordlessly and closed the door behind them. Tears of frustration stung her eyes as she looked at the wreckage of her meager possessions strewn across the beds. Mr. Spence had not been the least bit tidy in his search. Was that something of a punishment for his having to do it? Her mind whirled as she began to pick up and fold her clothes.
Without a word being said, without any direct contact, Frederic had discredited her more quickly and thoroughly than any plan she could have devised for him. She had crossed him in the most humiliating way, and this was his revenge. She had no doubts at all about that. She sat on the edge of her bed and covered her face with her hands.
She had no family or home to go to. After all he had done for her she did not want to have to contact Mr. Bentinck for help. Miss Richards wanted her to resign, which meant the hotel management would not pay her fare to anywhere. She doubted there would be a reference to help her get another job.
Miserable though she was, something else bothered her. How had Frederic known who slept in which bed? She knew Fliss would never have told him anything. That meant someone had spied on them, or had already been in their room to find out that information. Staff came and went at all times of day and night depending on their shifts. There was always someone about but the thought was not a comfortable one.
She’d finished sorting through her belongings, and packed most of them, when Fliss came rushing in.
“I can’t stay long, but I’ve just heard the news,” she said. “Tilly, this is awful. I know you would never have done such a thing. Is there anything I can do?”
Tilly shook her head. “Not unless you know where I can get a job and a home all rolled into one. Miss Richards said I could stay here for now, accommodation only. I could starve before I find something else.”
“Why don’t you try The Dominion Cafe or the Paris Tearoom?” Fliss suggested. “They’re both on Banff Avenue and busy enough that they might take you on as a waitress.”
“Not without a reference, they won’t.” Tilly sighed. “I wish Ryan was back.”
“Look, I’ve got to go.” Fliss gave her a quick hug. “Don’t do anything rash. I’ll see you later.”
Once she was alone again Tilly quickly changed into her pants and boots. If she was going to have to find another job, she wanted one out doors. She emptied the small change from her purse, counting the coins into her palm. Just enough for a meal and coffee.
The morning had gone from being bright and clear, to cold and misty. She pulled up her collar against the chill and pushed her hands into her pockets. Before she went anywhere, she would go to the Brewster’s barn.
Right now the only person Tilly wanted to see was Ryan.
Chapter Nineteen
The smell of horses and hay, leather and rope in the dimly lit barn reminded her of home. She stood just inside the doorway, listening to the stomp of hooves as horses shifted in their stalls and their soft snorts of curiosity as they sensed her presence. She took a few more steps, drawing comfort from the old familiar smells that enveloped her.
Headstalls and bridles, cinches, ropes, and chains covered one wall. Beside them hung an assortment of chaps and slickers with an untidy pile of boots beneath them. She guessed anyone could take what they needed, when they needed it.
“Can I help you, miss?”
Tilly turned around, not sure where the man had sprung from or how he had mana
ged to approach unheard. He was a little more than her height, and surveyed her from a pair of eyes almost as blue as her own. He’d crammed his hat firmly on his head and pulled up the collar of his denim jacket to his ears, as she had. Dusty denim pants covered a pair of bandy, skinny legs that declared him to be a life-long horseman.
“I’m hoping you would know when Ryan Blake is due back.”
“So you’re his girl are you? Heard you were a pretty one. Put it there.” He stuck out a none-too-clean hand and Tilly shook it, noting the calluses and broken nails, the nicks and small scars. “Like some coffee?”
“I’d love some,” Tilly said, warming to the man.
“Come with me then.” He scurried along the aisle between the stalls and Tilly followed him. “We don’t exactly have an office, but here’s where most of the paperwork gets done and the coffee made.”
Tilly followed him into a space holding a desk, a couple of chairs and a stove. The coffee pot sat on top the stove, and she warmed her hands while her new-found friend took two mugs off a shelf and poured the coffee.
“No fancy fixin’s here, miss,” he warned as he handed her a steaming mug.
“Strong and black is just fine.” Tilly smiled at him and sat down. “Thank you, Mr.…?”
“Nugent. George Nugent, but just George will do.” He raised his mug to her before taking a sip, and she wondered how he could drink it so hot without even blowing on it.
“Would you be Billy Nugent’s father?”
“I am that.” George lifted his mug again. “Knowed you met him, ‘cause it was him told me about you. Seems like you got young Ryan hog-tied from the get-go and I can see why. And you can’t wait for him to get back.”
Tilly looked up into those blue eyes and felt comforted by the warmth she saw there. “Yes, I’m in a bit of bother and need to talk to him.”
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