CHAPTER 3
Having invited Madeline over for breakfast the next morning, Cecily happened to be in the lobby when she arrived earlier than expected. Thrilled to see that her friend held her tiny daughter in her arms, she held out her hands as Madeline approached. “Oh, she is so precious. Do let me hold her.”
“With pleasure.” Madeline handed over the baby. “She is getting so heavy. She was such a tiny thing when she was born. That’s less than six months ago.”
“Babies grow fast the first year.” Cecily touched the soft cheek. “Hello, little Angelina. I wonder what Father Christmas will bring you for your very first Christmas.”
“Too much. Kevin utterly spoils her.” Madeline unwound her chiffon scarf from her head and tucked it in the cloth bag hanging from her arm. Her hair gleamed like black gold as it streamed over her shoulders. Glancing up, she murmured, “I’m having second thoughts about that kissing bough. I’m not sure the lobby is the right place to hang it. Perhaps we should hang it in the ballroom, instead.”
Cecily frowned. “Baxter said the same thing. I suppose we could move it there. After all there’s a lot more room in there.”
Madeline chuckled. “You are expecting a good many people to take advantage of it, then?”
“I’m expecting people to admire it, at least. But you’re both right. It needs plenty of room to show it off properly. I’ll have one of the footmen move it this afternoon. But before I do, I’m going to make use of it right now.”
She bent her head and pressed a light kiss to the baby’s soft forehead. “Merry Christmas, little one. May this Christmas be the first of very many happy ones to come.”
Angelina gurgled in response and stretched up a pudgy hand as if reaching for the huge ball above her head.
Cecily drew her away. “You don’t want to play with that, precious,” she murmured. “That has holly in it and will prick your fingers.”
“You’re forgetting whose daughter she is,” Madeline said, as Cecily headed for the stairs. “She has a fascination with all kinds of plants.”
She’d said it with a note of resignation in her voice, and Cecily felt a thump of apprehension. The one thing Madeline had worried about was that Angelina would inherit her mother’s special powers. Dr. Kevin Prestwick would not accept his daughter’s abilities lightly. As a man of science, his methods of healing differed vastly from his wife’s and had proved a formidable bone of contention in their marriage.
Once inside her suite, Cecily motioned Madeline to take a seat, then sat down herself on the chaise lounge. Still holding the baby, she rocked her for a moment or two, then said lightly, “So how is your husband adjusting to fatherhood? You haven’t mentioned much about Kevin recently.”
Madeline’s expression grew wary. “I haven’t seen much of him of late. He spends a great deal of his time in surgery or visiting patients, and it’s often quite late before he returns home. That’s why we arrived early this morning. Kevin brought us in the carriage before he started his rounds. He sees so little of his daughter. He’ll forget what she looks like before long.”
“I doubt that.” Cecily watched in fascination as Angelina tugged at the strings of her bonnet until they came undone. “She is as beautiful as her mother.”
“And just as controversial, I’m afraid.”
Cecily looked up. “Are you saying she has your powers? How do you know? What-” She broke off as an urgent rapping on the door interrupted her words. “Oh, that must be our breakfast. I thought it would be better to have it sent up here. You can lay Angelina on the floor and eat your food in peace.” Getting up, she handed the baby to Madeline.
“Won’t Baxter be joining us?” Madeline asked, as Cecily hurried across the room.
“He’s already had his breakfast.” Cecily opened the door. “He’s gone to the barber’s. He likes to get there before it gets too busy.” To her surprise, she saw Gertie hovering outside, a breakfast tray in her hands, and by the look on the housemaid’s face, something had greatly upset her.
“Come in, Gertie.” Cecily opened the door wider. “You don’t usually deliver trays. Where are the maids?”
“All busy, m’m. Most of them are serving breakfast in the dining room, and Pansy is taking a tray to Mr. Mortimer.” Gertie marched into the room, murmured a polite greeting to Madeline, and set the tray down on the table in front of her. “Ellie didn’t come in this morning, either, so we’re bit short.”
“Oh, dear. Is she not well?”
Gertie shrugged. “I dunno, m’m. I haven’t heard nothing about it.”
“Well, perhaps we should send a footman over to her house later to see if she is all right.”
“Yes, m’m.”
Gertie seemed in no hurry to move, and Cecily was startled to see her chief housemaid’s lower lip trembling. “Is something the matter?”
Gertie glanced at Madeline, then back at Cecily. “I don’t like to be the one to tell you this, m’m, but… there’s been an accident.”
Cecily felt as if her stomach had dropped all the way to her shoes. “What kind of accident?”
Gertie swallowed, then blurted out, “It’s Charlie, m’m. He got hit in the head. He’s… I’m afraid he’s dead, m’m.”
Cecily sat down heavily on the chaise lounge, while Madeline uttered a soft cry of distress.
Gertie looked as if she wanted to run from the room. “I’m sorry, m’m. It were Clive what found him this morning. Said Charlie was lying behind the rose bushes. Good job and all, ’cos no one else could see him. Clive went in to dig up the flower beds and saw him lying there in a pool of blood.”
Cecily closed her eyes while Madeline muttered something under her breath.
Gertie struggled on, her words becoming more and more strangled. “Clive says Charlie got hit on the head by a gargoyle from off the roof. It must have been left up there by the workmen last night and got blown off by the wind. It were lying next to Charlie all broken in pieces.”
Cecily took a deep breath. “Where is the body now?”
“Still in the rose bushes, m’m. Clive said it was best to leave it there until the doctor could take a look at him.” She glanced at Madeline. “Mrs. Chubb has sent for Dr. Prestwick, m’m.”
Madeline nodded, and Cecily rose to her feet. “Thank you, Gertie. Please, do let me know the minute Dr. Prestwick arrives.”
“Yes, m’m. Oh, and Mrs. Chubb wants to know if we should send for P.C. Northcott.”
Madeline groaned. “That’s all you need.”
Cecily heartily agreed. Police Constable Sam Northcott was more often than not a hindrance rather than a help. Though the sole constable in Badgers End, he usually had little to do, except occasionally arrest one of the customers from the Fox and Hounds for disturbing the peace.
Cecily was forced to summon him whenever a death occurred on the Pennyfoot property. No matter how gruesome the situation, Northcott’s main concern was how much food he could consume from the kitchen before he left.
“With any luck at all,” Cecily said, “the constable will be leaving for his annual Christmas visit to his wife’s family.” She frowned. “I suppose, however, that we must inform him of the death, even if it was an accident. Tell Mrs. Chubb to ring the police station, and leave a message for him there.”
“Yes, m’m. Sorry, m’m.” Bending her knees, Gertie dropped a brief curtsey and left.
Madeline lowered her head to press her cheek against her baby’s. “I’m sorry, Cecily. The Christmas curse again. At least this time it appears to be an accident.”
Cecily sat down opposite her again. “We have thought so before, only to have it turn out to be murder.” She stared hard at her friend. “I don’t suppose you…?”
She had left the question unfinished, but Madeline had understood. “I’m sorry, Cecily. My dratted intuition tells me nothing. As you well know, my revelations are far from predictable.”
“Poor Charlie. He had only been with us a short time, but he seemed such a nice young lad. I can’t imagine what he was doing in the rose garden, though. I do hope Kevin gets here soon. I don’t like to think of that poor boy lying out there all morning.”
“Kevin will still be on his rounds,” Madeline said. “Very few of his patients have telephones. We’ll probably have to wait until he gets back to his office.”
“Oh, dear. I hope none of the guests see the body. It’s hard enough getting visitors to stay here this time of year with rumors abounding about the dratted curse. We do our best to keep it quiet but you know how people love to gossip.”
“Well, Clive didn’t see him until he went behind the bushes, and in any case, it’s chilly out there this morning. I doubt that too many people will be strolling around the rose gardens, especially since all the roses have died.”
Cecily reached forward for the teapot. “I suppose you’re right. I know Clive will do his very best to keep the body hidden.”
“He certainly seems competent.” Madeline gave her a sharp look. “He also appears to be far too intelligent to be a maintenance man.”
Cecily concentrated on pouring steaming brown liquid into the delicate china cups. It wasn’t her place to repeat Clive’s history of the alcohol addiction that had cost him not only a teaching career, but his marriage as well. “He seems happy enough working here. I don’t question his motives.”
“I sense something in his past. Something that causes him great pain and guilt.”
Knowing Madeline’s uncanny knack of seeing into people’s minds, Cecily concentrated on placing the cup and saucer in front of her friend. “Well, if so, he appears to have laid his ghosts to rest. He’s an excellent maintenance man and that’s all I ask.”
“He’s certainly strong enough for any task you may give him.” Madeline rolled her eyes. “Those muscles are quite impressive.”
Aghast, Cecily stared at her. “Madeline! Let us not forget you are a married woman and a mother.”
Madeline’s lyrical laugh rang out. “I’m teasing you, Cecily. Forgive me. I was trying to lighten your mood. This is not the time, I know. You’re upset about your footman, and rightly so, but try not to worry for now. Wait and see what Kevin has to say.” She lowered Angelina to the carpet and laid her on her back. “Let us eat breakfast. It will make you feel better.”
She sniffed with an appreciative air. “I’m starving, and this food smells delightful. There’s nothing like the smell of bacon and sausage to torment the appetite. It’s not my usual fare for breakfast but I’m willing to indulge myself once in a while.”
Cecily wasn’t at all sure she could eat anything. In spite of Madeline’s apparent lack of concern, Cecily couldn’t help worrying that the curse was upon them again. The Pennyfoot Christmas curse, which always brought death, and always by someone’s hand.
All she could do for now was wait for Kevin Prestwick’s verdict and pray that this time would be different.
Pansy’s hand trembled when she lifted it to knock on J. Mortimer’s door. The shock of hearing about poor Charlie’s death had made her feel sick, and she was in no shape to face the sinister Mr. Mortimer. Indeed, she was sorely tempted to place the tray on the floor and knock on the door, then run down the stairs before the spooky old gentleman could open it.
The fear of reprisals should Mr. Mortimer complain, however, kept one hand lifted in the air while she balanced the tray on her knee with the other. She would count to ten, she decided, then rap on the door with her clenched knuckles. One, two, three…
The door opened without warning, sending her off balance. Uttering a shrill shriek, Pansy clutched the tray. The poached eggs started to slide off their bed of toast, and she had to jiggle them to get them back in place.
“Good heavens, girl! Do you have to make that unearthly noise?” The tray was snatched from her hands and the door slammed in her face before she even had time to draw breath and apologize.
Grumbling to herself, she fled down the stairs. Next time someone else could take up the tray to room nine. If Ellie had been there like she was supposed to be then she would have taken up the ogre’s tray.
Pansy stomped down the last few steps, deciding that the very next time she saw Ellie she’d give her a piece of her mind for making her do twice the work.
She was about to cross the lobby to the kitchen stairs when she heard a soft whistle over by the front entrance. Pausing, she saw the face of a young man peering around the door, smiling at her.
It was a nice face, with twinkly blue eyes and a cheeky grin. A hand appeared next to the face, with a beckoning finger. “Here! Come over here.”
Pansy hesitated. She’d seen the young lad on the roof earlier, when she’d gone out to fill the coal bucket. He’d whistled at her, the sort of whistle that made her blush. She’d given him a wave of her hand before going back into the kitchen, and that whistle had warmed her right through, making her forget how cold the kitchen could be before the stove was lit.
“Come here! I want to talk to you!” The words hissed across the empty lobby, inviting and dangerously exciting.
Pansy glanced at the reception desk, where Philip, the desk clerk, sat huddled over a newspaper. He hadn’t even looked up. Pansy hesitated a moment longer, then darted across the lobby to the front door.
Slipping outside into the chilly air, she crossed her arms to hug herself against the cold wind. “Whatcha want?”
“I just want to talk to you, that’s all. Tell me your name.”
“Pansy.” She stared boldly into the laughing eyes. “What’s yours?”
“Lenny. I’m working up there on your roof.”
“Yeah, I saw you.” She chewed her bottom lip. “Did you hear about the footman what got killed, then?”
Lenny’s eyes clouded with concern. “Yeah, I did. Poor bugger. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time, that’s what.”
“Yeah, he was.” She shivered as a gust of wind whipped her skirt around her ankles. Across the street the empty sands stretched out to the rows of frothy waves racing to shore. The water looked dark and gray, signaling the onset of a storm. Maybe even snow, though it didn’t usually last long if it came. Looking back at Lenny, she added, “Mrs. Chubb says as how your boss will be in trouble.”