Mistletoe and Mayhem

by Kate Kingsbury

  “Of course not.” Mrs. Chubb sounded cross, though her face was creased in worry. “She’s probably just gone somewhere and didn’t tell her mother. These young girls nowadays can be so thoughtless.”

  Gertie felt sick. “Where would she go without telling someone?”

  “I don’t know. But it’s not for us to say, anyway.” Mrs. Chubb turned to Samuel. “Have you told madam yet?”

  “No, I couldn’t find her. She’s nowhere in the club, and Mr. Baxter is in her office. He doesn’t know where she is, either.” Samuel pulled his cap from his pocket. “She must be outside. I’ll go and look for her.”

  “Just try not to alarm her,” Mrs. Chubb said, as he crossed to the door. “She’s upset enough about Charlie. We don’t want her thinking the worst.”

  Samuel nodded, but he didn’t look too convinced when he left.

  Gertie didn’t feel all that reassured either as she picked up the tray again. “I’d better get this up to Mr. Mortimer,” she said, and followed Samuel out the door.

  The stable manager had already disappeared up the stairs when she stepped out into the hallway. Too bad, Gertie thought, as she followed him up to the lobby. She would have liked to ask him how things were with Pansy. He might have said something she could pass on to her friend to cheer her up a bit.

  Not that Pansy was the only one who needed cheering up. Gertie had her own problems with Dan, and now there was this awful business with Charlie dying and Ellie missing. What a blinking Christmas this was turning out to be.

  Reaching the top of the stairs, she glanced up to look at the kissing bough. To her dismay, it had disappeared. Someone must have taken it down. Maybe because of Charlie.

  More depressed than ever, she crossed the lobby to the stairs. The kissing bough had looked so cheery hanging up there.

  It was the first thing people saw when they walked in the door. Not that anyone would feel like celebrating once word got around about Charlie. It was bound to get around, like it always did, no matter how hard they tried to keep such bad news under their hats.

  She reached the first landing and stomped around the railing to the second flight of stairs. Two small bodies barred her way and she came to an abrupt halt. Just her luck to bump into the Millshire brats.

  “Excuse me,” she muttered. “I have to go upstairs.”

  Wilfred, a freckle-faced lad with orange hair, stood on his toes to look at the tray. “What’s that?”

  Gertie resisted the temptation to tell him to mind his own business. “It’s somebody’s meal, that’s what. Now please move aside so I can take it upstairs.”

  Adelaide was a smaller version of her brother, except that her hair, a much darker shade of red, hung almost to her waist. “Who’s it for?”

  “A gentleman.”

  “Can Harriet have some?” She held up a china doll, beautifully dressed in pink satin and white lace. A pink hat sat on the yellow woolen curls, decorated with flowers, ribbons, and a tiny white dove.

  The doll reminded Gertie of Phoebe Fortescue, and she hid a smile. Mrs. Fortescue would not be flattered by the comparison.

  “I don’t think your dolly would like roast beef sandwiches.”

  “Harriet likes anything to eat. I give her some of my food all the time.”

  “She doesn’t eat it,” Wilfred said, his tone thick with disgust. He looked up at Gertie. “She thinks her doll is really alive. She gives it stuff to eat and drink and sings it to sleep every night.”

  Adelaide snatched the doll to her chest and stamped her foot. “She is real, so there.” She rocked the doll, murmuring, “There, there. Don’t let the nasty boy upset you, then.”

  Wilfred laughed. “I can’t hear it crying. Where are its tears?”

  “You just can’t tell, because you’re a stupid boy and boys don’t know anything.”

  Sensing a squabble coming on, Gertie raised the tray above the children’s heads. “I have to take this upstairs now, so kindly get out of my way.”

  Adelaide shifted sideways, but Wilfred held his ground. “Why doesn’t the gentleman eat his meals in the dining room, then?”

  Gertie gritted her teeth. “Because he doesn’t want to be bothered with naughty little children who won’t do what they’re told.” Shoving her hip forward, she nudged Wilfred aside and charged up the stairs.

  The last thing she heard as she reached the landing was Adelaide declaring, “Harriet is alive, I tell you. She wets her drawers and everything.”

  Gertie didn’t hear Wilfred’s answer, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t polite.

  Reaching room nine, she balanced the tray on her hip and rapped on the door with her knuckles. After waiting for longer than her patience would allow, she rapped again. Louder this time.

  The door swung open, but all she could see was hairy fingers clutching the edge. “What is it?”

  The harsh tone seemed to grate right inside her head. “Your tray, sir.” Her own voice had sounded higher than usual and she cleared her throat.

  “Leave it there. I’m indisposed at the moment. I’ll pick it up in a while.”

  Concerned, she edged closer to the door. “Are you ill, sir? I can bring some powders up for you, if you like?”

  “I am not ailing, woman! Just leave the tray and go away.” The door snapped shut again.

  Offended, Gertie bent her knees and dropped the tray none too lightly on the floor. Serve him bloody well right if the ants got to it before he did. Straightening, she thumbed her nose at the door and turned her back on it. That was the last time she was taking up a tray to that old bugger. He could starve inside that bloody room for all she cared. Having settled that in her mind, she tramped back down the stairs to the kitchen.

  Cecily shivered as she rounded the corner of the building.

  Stray snowflakes still floated down on the wind, but turned to water the moment they hit the ground. With any luck, they would have no snowfall to spoil the Boxing Day hunt.

  Her skirts whipped around her ankles as she entered the rose garden, and she drew her shawl closer around her throat. She was thankful to see Clive raking the flower beds as she passed under the trellis arches that supported the roses in the summer.

  Although Charlie’s body had been removed from the premises, viewing a crime scene was never one of her favorite things to do, and it was comforting to have someone else present.

  The big man paused when he saw her coming, and propped his rake up against the wall. “I’m sorry about what happened to Charlie,” he said, as she approached. “I would have come and told you myself, but I thought it best to stay here until the body had been taken away.”

  “Of course, Clive. Thank you.” Cecily glanced at the rose bushes. “Whereabouts did you find him?”

  “Right here, m’m.” Clive stepped into the row of bushes and pointed at the ground. “I picked up the gargoyle pieces and raked it all over. I hope that was all right.”

  Cecily would rather have seen the murder weapon still in place, but she was reluctant to tell Clive what she suspected. He would find out soon enough if Madeline’s vision proved to be correct. “Where did you put those pieces?” she asked him instead.

  “In the dustbin, m’m.” He gave her a sharp look. “I can retrieve them if you like?”

  She shook her head. “No, that won’t be necessary. Both Dr. Prestwick and P.C. Northcott are satisfied with their investigations.” She glanced up at the roof, unable to suppress a shudder at the thought of that heavy masonry hurtling down on Charlie’s defenseless head. “I suppose the men are still doing the repairs on the roof?”

  “No, m’m. They finished up this morning. They left a short while ago.”

  “Oh, dear. I really needed to talk to the foreman.”

  “Mick Docker?” Clive looked even more curious. “Well, he did say he’d be back this afternoon to pick up his money.”

  “Oh, good. I can talk to him then.” Of course, how silly of her. The man had to be paid, and she would take care
of that herself, as usual.

  “The constable talked to Mick this morning about the accident,” Clive said, reaching for his rake. “I heard Mick tell him he packed everything down tight last night and he can’t understand how the gargoyle got loose.”

  Avoiding Clive’s probing gaze, Cecily said hurriedly, “Well, these things happen. It could have been the wind, or maybe a cat brushing up against it.”

  “Yes, m’m. If you say so.”

  She was about to answer him when she heard someone call out behind her. Turning, she saw Samuel hurrying toward her. One look at his face told her he was bringing bad news. Clutching her throat, she prayed it wasn’t another so-called accident.

  “It’s Ellie, m’m,” Samuel said, panting a little. “She’s gone missing and her mum doesn’t know where she is.”

  Cecily felt as if someone had punched her right in the ribs. “Missing? For how long?”

  “Since last night, m’m. According to Mrs. Tidwell, Ellie never went home from here.”

  “I see.” Aware of her maintenance man’s steady gaze on her face, Cecily made an effort to recover her composure. “Well, perhaps we should pay Mrs. Tidwell a visit, Samuel. Please have a carriage ready at the front door in half an hour.”

  “Yes, m’m.” Samuel touched his cap with his fingers and hurried off in the direction of the stables.

  “Thank you, Clive.” Cecily gave him an uncertain smile. “I appreciate you taking care of things here.”

  “Not at all, m’m. My pleasure.” Clive’s dark eyes raked her face. “I hope you find Miss Ellie, m’m.”

  A chill that had nothing to do with the cold wind chased down her spine. “So do I, Clive,” she muttered as she turned away. “So do I.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Baxter was still in her office when Cecily returned a few minutes later. As she pushed open the door and entered, he snapped shut the ledger he had in front of him, and replaced his pen in its stand. “Excellent timing,” he said, as she reached the desk. “I was about to come looking for you.”

  “Oh?” She glanced at the ledger and then back at his face. “You have something to tell me?”

  A flicker of discomfort tightened his mouth for a moment, then he smiled. “Only that I’ve missed your pleasant chatter. What have you been up to this morning? I assume Mrs. Prestwick has left?”

  “She has indeed.” Cecily hesitated, wondering if she should tell him that Ellie was missing. In the next instant she dismissed the thought. It would only worry him, and if he had the slightest inkling that she suspected foul play and intended to look into it, he would immediately launch into a hundred reasons why she shouldn’t.

  She had been through that particular argument with him more than enough times already. If she had to resort to a little subterfuge now and again to avoid unpleasantness then that’s exactly what she would do.

  “Well, then.” He rose, tucking the ledger under his arm. “What say you to a pleasant lunch in our suite?”

  She would have liked nothing more, but the fate of Ellie lay heavily on her mind. She couldn’t rest until she had at least spoken to the maid’s mother in the hopes of uncovering a clue as to where the young girl may have gone.

  “I’m sorry, Bax, really I am, but I have to prepare the envelope for the roofers, and then I have an errand to run in town. I’m afraid it will have to be a very late lunch, unless you would prefer to dine alone?”

  For an anxious moment she thought he might protest, but then he sighed, and headed for the door. “One of these fine days we really do have to reexamine our lives. When you have free time in the spring, that’s when I’m at the peak of my business. Then, when I have time to spare, you are always busy here. We never seem to have any time when we can enjoy some relaxation together.”

  “Perhaps tomorrow my time will be a little less in demand.” She smiled at him, hoping to soften his scowl. “You know I would much rather spend it with you.”

  He opened the door, his words almost lost as he stepped outside. “Would you? I’m beginning to wonder.” The door closed behind him, leaving her staring after him.

  She didn’t have much time to ponder his words. She had barely finished stuffing pound notes into an envelope when Pansy arrived to announce that Mick Docker was waiting for an audience with her.

  Inviting him in, she waited for him to seat himself. He was a stout man, almost as tall and broad shouldered as Clive, but carried a great deal more flesh on his belly. His cheeks glowed, more from a penchant for ale than from the biting wind, and his graying dark hair had thinned considerably above his brow.

  He sat with an expectant look on his face, and she indulged him by passing the envelope across the desk. “I think, Mr. Docker, that you will find this pays for all the repairs in full.”

  “Thank you, m’m.” He reached for it, and without opening it, stuffed it into the breast pocket of his coat. “I trust you found everything satisfactory?”

  The roofer’s thick Irish accent confused her, and it took her a moment to realize what he’d said. “Well, I haven’t observed the repairs myself, but I’m sure everything is in order. We shall soon find out with the next fall of rain, no doubt.”

  He uttered an irked laugh. “I can assure you, m’m, there will be no more leaks from that part of the roof, at least.”

  She felt a pang of dismay. “Oh? Are you saying the rest of the roof is in need of repair?”

  “Not at this very moment, no.” He leaned back with a smug expression that did not sit well with her. “But if I were you, I’d look into replacing a few more tiles before too long, or you’re likely to have some damp patches in your ceilings.”

  Cecily made a mental note to send Samuel up to examine the roof before she ordered any more repairs from this man. There was something about his attitude that she didn’t quite trust. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t mentioned the death of her footman. She found that callous in the extreme.

  He was about to rise when she stopped him with a quick raise of her hand. “Just a moment, Mr. Docker. I’d like to ask you about the gargoyle that struck and killed one of my trusted employees this morning.”

  The roofer’s face was instantly devoid of expression. He sat down again as if lowering himself on a prickly bed of nettles. “Yes, m’m. Please accept my sincere regrets. A very unfortunate accident, indeed.”

  “Indeed.” She folded her hands in front of her and leaned forward. “I don’t suppose you have any idea how that gargoyle happened to slip off the roof just as my footman was passing below?”

  A muscle started twitching at the roofer’s cheekbone, and his blue eyes grew wary. “I haven’t the slightest idea, m’m. I secured it myself, I did. I just can’t understand how it got loose.”

  “How did you secure it?”

  “I tied it down with rope around the chimney stack, and wedged bricks on either side of it. Then we covered it with a tarpaulin.” He shook his head, as if in bewilderment. “Can’t understand that, at all.”

  She stared at him for a moment. “Tell me, did you happen to see the spot where the young man was killed?”

  “No, m’m, I didn’t. First I heard about it was when the constable asked me about the gargoyle this morning. I never did see the body.”

  “Well, thank you, Mr. Docker. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again.”

  He looked worried about that for a moment, then his brow cleared. “Oh, right. For the rest of the repairs. Just let me know when you need me, Mrs. Baxter. I’ll do a good job for you. That’s a promise.”

  She simply nodded, and didn’t bother to get up as he let himself out the door. Her mind was focused on what he’d told her. The roofer said he’d tied down the gargoyle to the chimney stack, which was several feet farther along the roof than the spot where Charlie had died.

  Had the gargoyle simply slipped down from its moorings, it would have easily missed him. There seemed no doubt now that either Mick Docker had lied or someone had untied the masonry, carried it o
ver to the edge of the roof, and waited for Charlie to pass by below.

  If so, all she had to do was find out who had wanted her footman dead, and why.

  Pansy hummed to herself as she carried the vase of fresh flowers along the hallway to the ballroom. Madeline Prestwick had ordered them especially, to stand on the grand piano at the ball that evening. Beautiful they were, all different colors and shapes and sizes.

  Pansy didn’t know the names of half of them, but it didn’t stop her enjoying the fragrance right under her nose. She took another sniff as she reached the doors, then paused, one hand frozen in the act of pushing them open.

  The doors were already ajar and she could see inside the ballroom. The kissing bough hung just a few feet away. Someone must have moved it from the foyer. She squinted at it. Unless it was another one.

  It wasn’t the bough of greenery that held her attention, however. It was the couple standing beneath it. The young man had his arms around the lady, and he was kissing her as if he was never going to let go again.

  Pansy felt a warm feeling trickling all over her. She recognized the honeymoon couple, and it made her feel all squishy inside to watch them.

  The new Mrs. Danville must have caught sight of her, since she drew back with a gasp.

  Pansy quickly pushed the doors open. “I’m so sorry to disturb you, m’m,” she said, her voice breathless with embarrassment. “I have to put these flowers on the piano. I won’t be but a moment or two.”

  The bride blushed, but her husband swung around with a laugh. “You must catch quite a few couples taking advantage of this.” He pointed at the kissing bough above his head. “After all, that’s what it’s for, right?”

  Aware that he was trying to alleviate his wife’s discomfort, Pansy lied. “Oh, yes, sir, all the time. People do like to kiss each other under it. It’s tradition, sir, isn’t it.” She hurried over to the stage and ran lightly up the steps. Some of the water in the vase slopped over her arm, but she pretended not to notice.