Herald Of Death

by Kate Kingsbury

  That didn’t seem likely at this point, and Cecily was inclined to agree with her husband. They needed the full force of Scotland Yard if they were to capture the Christmas Angel and put an end to this deadly onslaught of terror.

  She was about to say as much when a familiar sensation filled her head. She knew the answer. It kept tantalizing her, only to disappear like a mischievous sprite when she reached out to grasp it.

  Often, when the feeling was this strong, it meant she was close to solving the puzzle. She leaned forward, looking earnestly into the constable’s face. “Give me two more days,” she said, aware of Baxter’s disapproving gaze on her face. “If I don’t have the answer by then, we will call in Scotland Yard.”

  Sam’s nod was skeptical, and he frowned as he reached for his helmet. “If we have to do that,” he muttered, as he made his way to the door, “it will be a miserable Christmas for everyone.”

  “He’s right,” Baxter said gruffly, as the door closed behind him. “I wasn’t going to tell you this, but we received another telegram this morning.”

  Cecily looked up at him. “Who from? Not…?”

  “No. As far as I know, our important guest is still coming. It’s unlikely he’s heard the news, or Badgers End would be swarming with bobbies from the Yard.”

  “Then who?”

  “It was from the Windermeres. They must be friends of Lord Chattenham.”

  “Canceling their reservation?”

  “I’m sorry, m’dear. It looks as if news of our infamous murderer is spreading.”

  Cecily got up from her chair. “Two days. That’s all I have. Let us pray it’s enough.”

  “Amen.” Baxter opened the door for her and followed her outside into the dimly lit hallway.

  Cecily slept badly that night, haunted by dreams of golden angels buzzing around her head while she followed a shadowy figure through a dark forest of trees.

  She awoke with a start to find her husband gone and daylight streaming through the window. Annoyed at herself for sleeping late, she hurriedly dressed and went in search of Baxter.

  She found him in her office, working on the stack of papers he’d brought home from the city. He looked up when she opened the door.

  “Ah there you are.” He shuffled the papers and piled them on the side of the desk. “I let you sleep. You had a restless night.”

  “Yes, I did. Have you had breakfast?”

  “An hour ago.” He got up and walked around the desk to plant a kiss on her cheek. “Would you like something sent up to the suite?”

  “No.” She patted him on the arm. “I should look in on the kitchen, so I’ll find something there to eat. I was going shopping this morning but I think I’ll wait until tomorrow. Go back to work.”

  He tilted his head to one side and regarded her with a frown. “You look tired, Cecily. This Angel business is getting you down.”

  “I’m all right.” She managed a smile. “One way or another, this will all be over in two days. Once Inspector Cranshaw takes over I shall leave him to it.”

  Baxter raised an eyebrow. “It isn’t like you to give up.”

  “Maybe I’m just getting too old to do this anymore.”

  “Now I am worried.” He raised her chin with his finger. “You will never be too old for anything, my love. You have a young heart and soul, and age can’t take that away from you.”

  Touched, she went up on her toes to kiss him. “It is you who keeps me young. But thank you. Now go back to work. I’ve distracted you enough.”

  Feeling a little less downhearted, she left him and made her way down to the kitchen. The wonderful spicy aroma of steamed puddings greeted her when she pushed open the door.

  Michel caught sight of her first and called out a greeting. Mrs. Chubb looked up from the bowl of eggs she was beating and waved the whisk at her.

  “Madam! We were wondering what happened to you. You haven’t had any breakfast. What can we get for you?”

  “Just two scones and a cup of tea, Althea.” Cecily glanced at the two maids washing dishes at the sink. “How are things coming along?”

  “We’re catching up.” The housekeeper nodded at Michel. “The last of the Christmas puddings are boiling on the stove, and the mince pies are in the pantry. I’ll start icing the Christmas cakes this afternoon.”

  “Wonderful.” Cecily sat at the table to wait for her tea and scones. “The guests will be arriving the day after tomorrow. We should be ready for them by then.”

  “We’ll be ready.” Mrs. Chubb drew closer and lowered her voice. “I don’t suppose there’s any word about this Christmas Angel, m’m?”

  Cecily hesitated, wondering how much they all knew. “Not yet, but there’s really no need to worry, Althea. It won’t affect anyone here in the Pennyfoot.”

  Mrs. Chubb nodded. “I only asked because of all the rumors floating around. Lizzie was convinced he was running around chopping off people’s heads.”

  “I can assure you, that’s not happening.” Cecily smiled as one of the maids brought her a steaming cup with saucer and a plate of scones. “We must stop these ridiculous rumors from making the rounds. We don’t want to frighten the guests when they arrive.”

  “Yes, m’m. We’ll do our best. Though, I’ll be surprised if they haven’t heard about it. Such terrible things going on out there.”

  “Yes, well, hopefully it will all end soon and we can all stop worrying about it.” Determined to change the subject, she asked the housekeeper about her daughter and managed to enjoy her breakfast while Mrs. Chubb happily gave her the latest news.

  After leaving the kitchen, Cecily headed for the library. Madeline had planned to decorate the tree in there that morning and Cecily wanted some time alone to talk to her.

  Madeline was over by the window, putting the finishing touches on the magnificent fir that had taken three footmen to set up in the corner.

  Cecily took a moment to drink in and enjoy the sight. As always, Madeline had created a breathtaking vision of color and design. Balls of frosted glass spun slowly on silver strings, pomander spice balls dangled from red ribbons, and a cascade of crocheted snowflakes clung to every branch.

  In between hung tiny bags of bright green and red cotton, filled with candied fruit and almond sticks for the children. There were even glistening sugar fondants nestled among the branches in various shapes and sizes.

  “Madeline! It looks absolutely beautiful! I don’t know how you do it.”

  Madeline stood back to inspect her work. “Really? I was thinking it looked a little insipid. It needs more color, don’t you think?” She dug into a box and pulled out a handful of bright red velvet birds. “How about these scattered about? Like so.” She perched one of the birds on a branch and stood back again, her head tilted so that her shiny black hair swung about her hip.

  “They are adorable!” Cecily moved closer to examine the colorful ornament. “Wherever did you find them?”

  “In a curiosity shop in Wellercombe.” She darted about the tree, poking the birds in between the branches. “They had all kinds of new ornaments there. Most of them are made by the villagers. You should go with me next time. We’d have fun picking out pieces we like.”

  “I’d love that.” Cecily walked over to the window. “The snow has almost all gone now. At least I don’t have that to worry about now.”

  “You have nothing new on the murders?”

  Cecily wandered back to the tree. “Nothing, unless news of the fire at the Fox Hunters Club didn’t reach you yet.”

  Madeline looked at her, her eyes troubled. “Kevin was called out to the scene yesterday. That was the work of the Christmas Angel?”

  “We think so. Though the only clue they found were the gold angels scattered about. Those stamps are easy enough to come by and could have been left by anyone. It was fortunate that all but one survived, though that won’t be any comfort to the family of the victim.”

  Madeline placed another bird on a branch. “We
ll, this might sound uncharitable, but that’s at least one hunter who won’t be chasing an innocent fox.”

  Knowing how her friend felt about hunting, Cecily merely nodded.

  “Not that I wish death on any of them,” Madeline added, “but I do wish the destruction of their clubhouse and the loss of a member would put an end to their diabolical practices. Foxhunting is particularly cruel and inhumane. It should be banned.”

  Something inside Cecily’s mind ticked over. “I wonder if that could be a motive for the fire,” she murmured. “Maybe someone else feels as strongly as you do about foxhunting and decided to take advantage of the search for the killer to get rid of a few hunters and put the blame on the Christmas Angel.”

  She had been more or less making light of her suggestion, but Madeline immediately raised her head. “It’s certainly a possibility. I’m sorry, Cecily. I don’t have anything that would help you. When I think about the Christmas Angel all I see is darkness and confusion. If that is the mind of the killer, then he is in a very dark place indeed.”

  “He would have to be to destroy the lives of so many people-none of whom seem deserving.”

  “Obviously the killer thinks they’re deserving.”

  “Exactly.” Cecily uttered a sigh of frustration. “If I only knew why he thinks so, I might be able to find him.”

  Madeline started packing up the box. “Just be sure he doesn’t find you first. By now he must know you’re looking for him. Be on your very best guard, Cecily. I have a feeling the time is near when you will meet.”

  Startled, Cecily was about to ask what she meant by that when a tap on the door interrupted her. Pansy sidled into the room and curtsied. “Dr. Prestwick is here, m’m. He’s waiting for Mrs. Prestwick in the lobby.”

  Madeline picked up the box. “I’m coming right now.” She smiled at Cecily. “Don’t worry, my friend. It will all turn out all right in the end.”

  She sailed through the door, leaving Cecily to stare after her.

  CHAPTER 16

  The dress rehearsal for the pantomime had already started by the time Pansy was through with her chores. Even though it was forbidden, she picked up her skirts and tore down the corridor to the ballroom.

  Arriving breathless, her cap askew on her head, she darted past a disapproving Phoebe and barged through the door to backstage.

  Seated at the mirror in the dressing room, Doris was already in her first costume. She was doing something to her eyes as Pansy rushed over to her, scattering the group of children waiting for their cue.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Lansfield, really I am.” Pansy fought back tears. “I had to clear all the tables and set them up again and-”

  Doris laid a slender hand on her arm. “It’s all right, Pansy. Really. I was a maid here once, and I know what it’s like. I’m just happy you are here now, and please, call me Doris.”

  Pansy could have hugged her. “Thank you so much, Mrs… Doris. I’ll get the next costume ready right away.”

  A loud rapping on the door turned both their heads. “You’re on, Wendy,” a male voice announced.

  Pansy recognized him as one of the footmen working backstage. “She’s coming,” she called out.

  Doris got up and hurried over to the door. “Thanks, Pansy.” She flashed a smile that dazzled Pansy so much it made her blink.

  The door closed behind the songstress, and Pansy turned her attention to the row of costumes. Behind her, the children chattered with excitement, and Phoebe’s dance group huddled together in a corner discussing something that caused eruptions of giggles.

  Pansy felt a warm glow of immense satisfaction. She loved being part of it all, being backstage to see the performers getting ready and then coming back to talk about how it was out there onstage.

  What a thrilling life it must be for people like Doris, who had performed in front of huge crowds in the West End. It had to be the most exciting thing in the whole world.

  Caught up in her thoughts, she didn’t hear her name called until one of the dancers poked her in the ribs. Turning, she was surprised to see Phoebe standing in the doorway, flapping her hands, the wide brim of her hat flopping up and down in her agitation.

  “Pansy, for heaven’s sake, child. I need you onstage. Tinker Bell is sick, and I need someone to take her place.”

  Pansy’s jaw dropped. “What?”

  “Now, child, now. Get into the costume and be out there in five minutes.”

  She started to turn away but paused when Pansy cried out, “I can’t be Tinker Bell.”

  Phoebe turned back, hands on her hips. “Why not?”

  “I’ve never been onstage before.”

  “Well, there’s always a first time.”

  Again she turned away, only to be brought up short by Pansy’s agonized protest. “But I don’t know the part.”

  Once more Phoebe faced her. “You don’t have to know the part. Tinker Bell doesn’t have any lines. I’ll talk you through the dress rehearsals and the other actors will prompt you for the performance. Don’t worry, child. You’ll manage beautifully. Now get into costume.”

  “But what about Doris? I’m supposed to be her dresser.”

  “You can dress each other.”

  “But-”

  Phoebe turned back again, her voice rising to yell, “That’s enough buts! You are the only one scrawny enough to fly on those wires. Now, either you take the part or we cancel the entire production!”

  Howls of protest filled the room, and dozens of eyes glared at Pansy. She opened her mouth to say something but Phoebe had already disappeared.

  “Come on, I’ll help you.” One of the dancers rushed over to her and grabbed the glittering costume from its hanger.

  As if in a dream, Pansy felt the smooth white satin slipping over her head. The costume left more of her arms and legs exposed than she’d ever allowed before, but somehow it didn’t seem to matter.

  One of the dancers painted her face while another placed a sparkling tiara on her head and attached wings to her back with a heavy brace. Someone else helped her into the harness that would take her flying across the stage.

  Looking at her reflection in the mirror, Pansy couldn’t recognize herself. Surely this radiant creature couldn’t possibly be her. This was all a dream, and any minute now she was going to wake up and find herself lying on her cot in the maids’ quarters.

  Oh, if only Samuel could see her now! It might just be enough to make him forget about Doris. Maybe he’d even be so impressed he’d finally tell her he loved her.

  Another loud rapping on the door shattered her thoughts. “Tinker Bell! You’re on!”

  One of the dancers gave her a little push. “Go on, luv. Break a leg!”

  Pansy gave her a horrified look. “That’s a nasty thing to say!”

  The other dancers laughed, and one of the children piped up, “It’s what actors say for good luck.”

  “Oh. All right, then. Thank you.” Stumbling out the door, Pansy felt a momentous wave of panic. What did she know about performing onstage? She was going to make a complete and utter fool of herself up there.

  She had to fly, for goodness’ sake! What if she fell off and really did break a leg? Her Christmas would be ruined, and the pantomime would have to be canceled, and everyone would blame her for being such a clumsy twerp.

  She reached the edge of the stage and heard Peter and Wendy speaking their lines.

  “She’s hiding in here somewhere,” Peter said, bounding toward the fake sideboard.

  Frozen to the spot, Pansy watched helplessly as Peter opened a drawer and peered inside. Someone behind her fiddled with her harness, but she paid no attention, her mind a complete blank. Then she felt a sharp shove in the back and all of a sudden she was lifted off the floor.

  Letting out a yell, she flailed her arms and legs, which tipped her upside down. Her tiara fell off as she swooped across the stage, her screams echoing up to the rafters.

  “Let her down!” Phoebe yelled f
rom somewhere out front. “Get her down, now!”

  Pansy shut her eyes as the floor came up to meet her. Someone caught her and held her tight until her feet touched the floor. Opening her eyes, Pansy saw Doris’s anxious face.

  “Goodness, are you all right?”

  Pansy grinned. “I’m fine.” With that she closed her eyes again and gave up to the darkness sweeping over her.

  Still mulling over her conversation with Madeline that morning, Cecily decided to go down to the ballroom to see how the rehearsals were coming along. Perhaps if she gave her mind a rest she could eventually understand what her instincts were telling her.

  Besides, she was anxious to see her godchildren performing onstage, and this would be a good excuse to peek in on them.

  Crossing the foyer, she was too late to avoid the colonel, who was apparently on his way to the bar, as usual.

  “Hello, there, old girl!” He put a hand up to his head, apparently forgetting he had already removed his hat. “Looks like the snow’s disappearing, what?”

  “It does, indeed, Colonel. The weather is warming up at last.”

  “Jolly good show. It was dashed cold out there in the woods, I can tell you. All that snow about.”

  “I’m sure it was.” Cecily edged closer to the hallway. “I’m just on my way to the dress rehearsal, so if you will excuse me…”

  “I just hope I don’t run into any more pheasants out there. I should have had my shotgun with me. A blasted sword is no good for killing pheasants, you know. They move too fast.”

  Nodding, Cecily backed away. “I believe they have a new delivery of scotch in the bar. I’m sure you would enjoy-”

  The colonel didn’t even bother to answer her. With a brief salute he was off and running, leaving her free to continue on to the ballroom.

  She reached there just in time to see Tinker Bell buckle at the knees and fall to the floor.

  “I told them not to hook her up to the wires yet,” Phoebe exclaimed, as Doris knelt by the prone figure. “She needs to be taught how to fly. I was going to have Clive show her after rehearsal.” She clasped her hands together. “This is all the fault of those incompetent footmen.”