Meanwhile, she had enough on her mind to deal with, and the sooner she got to work on her investigation the better. Reaching for the telephone, she lifted the receiver to her ear. The operator answered her a few seconds later and she asked to be put through to Dr. Prestwick’s office.
Moments later his efficient voice answered her. “Cecily! How nice to hear from you. I’d be flattered that you rang me were I not certain that you are calling to ask about the murder of your maid.”
She smiled. “How did you guess?”
“As soon as I realized that she was one of your employees, I expected to hear from you.”
“Well, my reason for ringing you is twofold. It’s true, I would like to know your thoughts on Ellie’s murder.”
“Not much to tell you, I’m afraid. She was strangled. Her body was covered in coal dust, suggesting she had either been killed in your coal shed, or thrown there afterward. Probably until the killer had an opportunity to move the body.”
“Oh, my.” Cecily briefly closed her eyes. “Can you tell me when she died?”
Prestwick hesitated, as she’d expected.
“Kevin, I know you’re not supposed to tell me anything, but Ellie and Charlie were members of my staff, and you know what that means to me. I’d like to help, if I could, and knowing when Ellie and Charlie died would help a great deal.”
She heard the doctor’s sigh. “Very well, Cecily. If it were anyone but you…”
“Yes, I know, and I’m deeply grateful, Kevin. I promise I won’t mention to anyone what you tell me.”
“All right, then. The best I can estimate, Ellie’s death occurred somewhere between seven and ten o’clock two nights ago. Charlie died maybe an hour or so later.” He paused, then added, “I assume you know what is in Northcott’s report?”
“Yes, he believes Charlie killed Ellie then threw himself from the roof. Is that what you think?”
“I try not to second-guess the constable,” he said, with just a hint of rebuke. “All I can tell you is how and roughly when they died.”
“I understand, Kevin. Thank you.”
“I can tell you this,” he went on, surprising her. “It would seem that she had been wearing a necklace of some sort, which is now missing.”
Cecily caught her breath. “A necklace? Could it have broken while she was being strangled?”
“I don’t think so. There’s a deep slit in her neck above the bruises. I’d be more inclined to think the necklace was deliberately torn off her.”
It wasn’t much, Cecily thought. Still, it was something. A necklace, deliberately torn from Ellie’s neck. Why? And if so, where was it now?
“I have just one small favor to ask of you,” she said, as Kevin Prestwick prepared to hang up. “I’m having some crumpets delivered from Dolly’s tea shop tomorrow morning, and I was wondering if Madeline would like to join me for a spot of tea around eleven. With Angelina, of course. Would you pass on my invitation?”
“I’d be happy to do so. Madeline mentioned that she wanted to do a spot of shopping. I’m sure she’d be delighted to stop by. I know how much she loves Dolly’s crumpets.”
He bid her good day and hung up. Cecily was about to replace the receiver on its hook when she heard a cough on the line. “Is that you, operator?” she demanded, incensed by the intrusion. “May I remind you that eavesdropping is breaking the rules and could very well cost you your employment.”
The line clicked, and then hummed. Frowning, Cecily replaced the receiver. It had never occurred to her before that someone could be listening in to her conversations. As far as she knew, this was the first time this had happened. Perhaps the telephone exchange had hired a new operator.
Now the news could be all over town that two of her employees had been murdered and that she was investigating the crimes. Not only would that alert the killer, it could put her life in danger, as well as cause a great deal of trouble for Kevin.
From now on, she decided, she would have to conduct her private conversations in person. Apparently there were a good many disadvantages to this modern technology. Thoroughly disgruntled, she went in search of Samuel.
She found him in the courtyard, throwing a stick for a large, lanky dog who looked as if a good bath would do wonders for her appearance.
“I need you to do something for me,” she said, as Samuel greeted her. “I need you to search the coal shed and the backyard to see if you can find a necklace.”
Samuel looked at her in surprise. “You lost a necklace in the coal shed, m’m? What does it look like?”
“I don’t know what it looks like, Samuel. It isn’t mine.” She paused, then added quietly, “It belonged to Ellie. It was missing when the doctor examined her and I just wondered if perhaps it got lost in the scuffle.”
Samuel’s expression changed, and he looked down at the ground. “Oh, I see. I’ll take a look, m’m. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”
“Samuel?”
He looked up, but now she could see nothing in his face to tell her what he was feeling.
“Were you and Ellie… involved romantically?”
Samuel’s cheeks glowed red and he shuffled his feet as once more he dropped his gaze. “Course not, m’m. We were just friends, that’s all. I liked her, but not in that way, if you get my meaning.”
Feeling relieved, though she wasn’t quite sure why, Cecily said cheerfully, “Of course I understand, Samuel. Forget I asked. I would appreciate it if you would tell me if you find the necklace.”
“Yes, m’m. Right away.” He turned and whistled to the dog, who came loping over to him with her furry tail wagging.
“This is your new pet, I assume.” Cecily offered the back of her hand to the dog and received a wet lick across her fingers.
“Yes, m’m. This is Tess. She’s a good dog. If it hadn’t been for her we might never have found Ellie.” He patted the dog’s head, and a pair of adoring eyes stared back at him. “I hope Pansy is feeling better. She just about fainted when I told her. I wouldn’t let her see the body.” He looked at Cecily then and once more his eyes were moist. “I’d like to get my hands on whoever did that to Ellie.”
Cecily patted his shoulder. “We’ll find him, Samuel, never you fear. And when we do, we will see that justice is served.”
“Yes, m’m.”
“Meanwhile, Samuel, keep a sharp lookout, will you? Not only for yourself, but for everyone downstairs.”
Alarm slashed across his face. “You don’t think he’s after someone else, do you?”
“I don’t know what to think. I certainly hope not, but I don’t think we can rule out the possibility.” She tried to sound confident when she added, “Just be on your guard, though, all right?”
“You bet I will, m’m.” Samuel patted the dog again. “So will Tess, won’t you, girl.”
Cecily rather doubted that the friendly dog would be much defense against a ruthless killer, but if it made Samuel feel better to think so, then she certainly wouldn’t argue.
On her way back to the building she spotted Clive digging up potatoes in the vegetable plot and hurried over there to have a word with him.
He straightened when he saw her, and wiped a sleeve across his forehead. “Nasty business, this, m’m.”
“It is, indeed.” Cecily peered up at him. “I suppose Samuel told you he found Ellie?”
“Yes, m’m. He was shaken up, all right. It must have been a shock for him.”
“I’m sure it was.” She hesitated, then added, “Clive, I’m sure you’re aware that we could have a dangerous criminal still lurking around the Pennyfoot. With two of our staff dead, I’m worried there could be more. I’ve asked Samuel to be on guard, and I’d appreciate it if you would keep an eye open for anything unusual or suspicious.”
“I already made up my mind on that, m’m.”
“Good. That makes me feel a little easier. Thank you, Clive.”
She left him, somewhat reassured. Clive was big enough and
strong enough to wrestle a bear, and she had no doubt he would take care of anyone who threatened to harm one of her staff. She had done all she could do to protect everyone. Now it was time to start looking for answers. All she could hope was to find them before someone else got hurt.
CHAPTER 11
“It’s the Mayfair Murderer, I just know it.” Gertie stood in the middle of the kitchen, hands on hips, feet spread apart. “I told you it was him that killed Charlie and now Ellie. Who’s blinking next, I wonder?”
“You, I hope,” Michel snapped, dropping a saucepan lid on the floor with a loud crash. “How can I make my soufflés rise with all this racket going on? All that screeching is making them flat. I do not cook soufflés until you shut up, comprenez-vous?”
“Oh, put a bloody sock in it, Michel.” Gertie turned back to Mrs. Chubb, who was beating eggs in a basin so rapidly, froth was flying over the edge of the bowl. “We’re not safe in our beds, that’s what. I was worrying about my twins being in London with that maniac on the loose and now I have to worry about them coming home to him.”
“It is not the serial killer!” Michel shouted. “You are a stupid woman to frighten everyone. He kills only the young girls, oui? Why would a serial killer come here to kill a footman and a maid? It makes no sense.” He glared at the housekeeper. “Stop beating my eggs to their death, s’il vous plaît! There will be nothing left of them to put in my soufflés.”
Mrs. Chubb put down the bowl. “Some of the maids think the man in room nine is the Mayfair Murderer.”
Michel snorted, and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Pansy is ze idiot as well.”
Gertie glared at him. “She’s not an idiot. She could very well be right about that man. He’s really strange.”
“There are many strange people who come to the Pennyfoot. They are not serial killers.”
“People don’t usually come here alone, stay in their rooms all day, and cover their faces with a hat.”
“He is rather unsociable,” Mrs. Chubb put in. “I passed him in the corridor and wished him good morning. He just grunted at me.”
“Was he wearing that big hat?” Gertie demanded.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, he was.”
Gertie swung around to give Michel a triumphant wave of her hand. “See? I told you!”
“Wearing a big hat does not make him a serial killer.” Michel bent over to pick up the saucepan lid. “Now give me the eggs and be quiet, both of you. I need complete silence for my soufflés.”
“You’d better go and help Pansy with the tables,” Mrs. Chubb said, glancing at the clock. “It’s almost time to ring the dinner bell.”
Gertie needed no second bidding. There were times when she’d like to sock Michel in the jaw. Him and his fake French accent. Give him a bottle of brandy and that accent disappeared fast enough. Telling her to keep quiet, the saucy blighter. He made more noise than anyone when he was in a bad mood. Which was pretty much all the time.
She stomped up the stairs and across the lobby, her mind churning over the news that Ellie’s dead body had been found. Pansy had cried when she’d told her. Poor Pansy. She’d been so excited about going for that walk with Samuel. What a horrible way for it to end.
She turned the corner of the hallway and halted with a gasp as she collided with someone tall and stout. To her dismay Sir Walter Hayesbury stood looking down at her, his eyes gleaming in the flickering light of the oil lamps. She could smell a faint aroma of whiskey, and guessed he was on his way back from the bar.
“I’m terribly sorry, sir,” she stammered, as she leapt backward. “I was thinking so hard I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“That’s quite all right.” He smiled at her, and a dimple flashed in his cheek.
Fascinated, she stared up at him. He might be getting on in years, but he was still a good-looking chap. She and Pansy had both said what a handsome couple he and his wife were. In fact, they’d fought over who should serve them in the dining room. So far Gertie had won, and although she would never admit it, she’d been flustered more than once by a smile and a wink from the charming aristocrat.
“So,” Sir Walter murmured, “what was it that occupied your mind so intensely? A young suitor, no doubt.”
Gertie shook her head, her face growing warm. “Oh, no, sir. I was thinking about the Mayfair Murderer.” Horrified, she slapped a hand over her mouth. She’d committed the cardinal sin. Her mind had been boggled by the handsome gentleman’s seductive voice, and she’d forgotten she wasn’t supposed to mention the murders to anyone outside the staff.
She saw the aristocrat’s face change, and her heart sank. Now the word would be all over the Pennyfoot and she was to blame. Madam would be really cross with her when she found out. Trust her to go and blabber it all out. She looked up at Sir Walter. “You won’t tell no one, will you? It’s supposed to be kept a secret.”
He stared back at her. “What is supposed to be kept a secret?”
Inwardly cursing her stupidity, Gertie shook her head. “Nothing, sir. It’s nothing. Forget I said anything.”
He glanced over his shoulder, down the empty hallway. “Are you talking about the footman who was killed?”
She felt a small ray of hope and clutched at it. “You already knew about that?”
“Mrs. Baxter mentioned it, yes. I understood it was an accident.”
“Oh, yes, sir, it was.” Relieved now, she started to back away. “I must be getting down to the dining room, sir. It’s almost dinnertime.”
“So what was all this about the Mayfair Murderer?”
Gertie’s nerves jumped. “Oh, nothing sir. Er… my twins are in London and I worry about them with that serial killer running around, that’s all.”
“Ah, I see.” He nodded, his expression amused. “Well, run along then. I don’t want to keep you from your work.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” She dropped a curtsey and rushed down the hallway without looking back. What a fool he must think her, blabbering like an idiot out there. Pansy would have a good laugh when she told her. Nearly spilt the milk, she did. You’d think she’d learn to keep her bloody mouth shut. Thank goodness he didn’t know what she was talking about. She’d have been in hot water, all right, if madam had found out she’d let it slip about the murders.
Still, she couldn’t help being nervous about Ellie being dead as well. She never really liked the girl, but it was sad to think she was dead. Gertie shivered as she entered the dining room. She only hoped it wasn’t the Mayfair Murderer, or none of them would be safe in their beds.
By the time all the guests had left the dining room and the tables had been cleared, Pansy was ready to crawl into bed and forget the horrible day. She kept picturing Samuel’s face when he told her he’d found Ellie lying dead among the leaves in the woods.
She didn’t think she would ever go into those woods again. Certainly not by herself. She kept imagining a sinister figure dragging poor Ellie by her feet, her head bumping along the ground. It made her sick to think about it.
Stacking the last of the dishes on the cupboard shelf in the kitchen, she breathed a sigh of relief. The day was over at last. Not that she was looking forward to falling asleep. She was sure she’d have terrible nightmares about Ellie.
“Pansy!”
She jumped and spun around to find Mrs. Chubb glaring at her.
“Did you, by any chance, forget to bring down Mr. Mortimer’s tray again?”
Pansy grabbed her stomach, feeling it start to churn. The last thing she wanted to do was climb those stairs to that room.
“I could get it first thing in the morning,” she offered, without much hope.
“Oh, no, you won’t.” Mrs. Chubb folded her arms across her ample bosom. “This is the third time you’ve forgotten. I’m beginning to think you forget on purpose.”
Pansy pinched her lips. “I’ve been busy. Why can’t someone else get it?”
“Because I told you to take care of it.”
The housekeeper pointed at the door. “Now you get upstairs this minute and fetch that tray. We don’t want any of the guests falling over it, now do we?”
“No, Mrs. Chubb.” Dragging her feet, Pansy headed toward the door.
Gertie stood by the kitchen cabinet and gave her an encouraging smile as she went by, which did nothing to make her feel better.
She hated going up to that room. That old man frightened her, and she was sure he was the killer everyone kept talking about, come down from London to do his horrible deeds.
What if he came out when she was picking up the tray and pulled her into his room? She’d end up like poor Ellie, dragged by the feet into the woods.
She felt reasonably sure Ellie had been dragged by her feet because of the missing shoe. It must have come off when the killer grabbed her feet. Pansy shivered. She wished she’d brought a knife with her. Then again, there’d be a knife on Mr. Mortimer’s tray. Feeling only slightly reassured, she climbed the stairs.
No one passed her on the way up. Most of the men would be in the gambling rooms or the bar, while the women were either in the library or in their rooms. As she turned the corner of the landing, she shivered again. The gas lamps were turned down low this time of night, and shadows leapt along the walls as she crept down the hallway.
She was almost at the door of room nine when she noticed the tray wasn’t sitting on the floor outside. Mr. Mortimer must still have it in his room. That old man’d had plenty of time to finish his meal. He must have fallen asleep in there and forgotten about the tray.
Now she really did feel sick. Mrs. Chubb wouldn’t like it if she went back down without it, and she’d just have to come all the way back up again for it.
It took several long moments of indecision before she gathered the courage to tap on the door. She wasn’t terribly surprised when she received no response. Holding her breath, she rapped louder. Still no answer.
Pansy turned away and started walking slowly back down the hallway. She’d just tell Mrs. Chubb that the old man had the tray in his room and wouldn’t answer her knocking.
Mistletoe and Mayhem Page 12
