Herald Of Death

by Kate Kingsbury

  Samuel patted Tess’s head. “Yeah. I still find it hard to believe. She didn’t look like a killer.”

  “Will she go to prison?”

  Samuel shrugged. “I dunno. I suppose that will be up to a judge and jury to decide.”

  “What will happen to all her cats and dogs if she goes to prison?”

  Samuel looked miserable. “I dunno. I hope they can all find good homes.”

  Pansy glanced around the stables. “I don’t suppose they could stay here.”

  “Madam would never allow that. She wasn’t too happy about me keeping Tess.”

  Pansy gave the dog another hug. “Well, I’m glad she did let you keep her.” She scratched Tess’s ear. “What would we do without her now?”

  Samuel grinned. “We?”

  Red-faced, Pansy stood up. “You know what I mean.”

  “Do I?”

  Aware he was teasing her, she went on the defensive. “Well, I’ve got something to tell you. We had the final dress rehearsal for Peter Pan today and Mrs. Fortescue said I’m the perfect Tinker Bell.”

  The amusement drained out of Samuel’s face. “You’re really enjoying being in that pantomime, aren’t you.“

  Pansy clasped her hands together and closed her eyes. “Oh, yes. It’s the most exciting thing I’ve ever done in my life. When I’m up there, I’m in another world. I feel important, special, like everyone’s watching me and loving me. I’ve never felt like that before.”

  She opened her eyes to see an agonized expression on his face. It was gone so quickly she thought she might have imagined it, but something in his eyes told her he wasn’t as happy for her as she’d expected him to be.

  Catching his sleeve, she said earnestly, “You must come and see me, Samuel. At the performance. You must see me being Tinker Bell.”

  “Of course I will.”

  His voice was gruff, as if he was having trouble getting the words out.

  “It’s what I want to do for the rest of my life.” She was talking fast, words spilling out in her excitement. “I want to be onstage in London and Paris and Rome.” She waved a hand in the air. “All over the world.”

  He still had that strange look on his face. It was as if he was pulling away from her, shutting himself off so she couldn’t reach him.

  Worried now, she shook his arm. “I want you to be proud of me, Samuel. I want you to look at me the way you look at Doris.”

  It was out before she’d known she was going to say it. Samuel pulled away from her, shaking her hand free, turning his back on her.

  Tears formed in her eyes, dribbling down her cheeks. “What is it, Samuel? Why are you so cross with me?”

  “I’m not cross with you.” He hunched his shoulders. “I’m disappointed, that’s all.”

  “Disappointed? I don’t understand.”

  He turned back swiftly, grabbing her shoulders with rough hands. “Doris did that to me,” he said, his voice harsh with anger. “She let me fall in love with her and then she abandoned me for the stage. I couldn’t compete with all those toffs waiting for her every night at the stage door. They made me feel I wasn’t good enough to lick their boots.”

  Sobbing, Pansy tried to free herself from his grip. “I’m sorry, Samuel. But that wasn’t my fault.”

  “You’re doing the same thing, don’t you see?” He let her go so suddenly she almost fell. “You’ll go off with her to London to be on the stage, and I’ll never see you again.”

  Pansy stared at him, her heart pounding and her tears drying on her cheeks. “Are you saying you’d miss me?”

  “Course I’ll miss you!” He threw a hand up in the air. “I love you, don’t I. I can’t stand the thought of you breaking my heart the way Doris did.”

  “Oh, my.” Pansy drew a deep breath, then let out a shriek that made Tess bark. Throwing herself at Samuel, she clung to his neck. “I love you, too, Samuel, and I would never leave you to go on the stage. Never!”

  Samuel seemed to have trouble finding his voice. “Really?”

  “Really.” She looked up into his face. She’d been wrong. Being onstage wasn’t the most exciting feeling in the world. Being in Samuel’s arms, hearing him say he loved her-that was the most wonderful, thrilling feeling she’d ever known. She was going to remember it for the rest of her life. “Happy Christmas, Samuel.”

  He gave her the most beautiful smile she’d ever seen. “Happy Christmas, my love.”

  “Where the devil have you been?” Baxter stared in horror as Cecily hurried over to the fire and stood shivering in front of it. “You look like you’ve been swimming in the ocean.”

  “I’ve been up on Putney Downs.” Cecily couldn’t seem to stop her teeth chattering, though whether it was from the cold or the drama she’d just been through, she couldn’t tell.

  “What on earth for?” Frowning, Baxter approached her. “You’re soaking wet. What were you doing up there?”

  She gave him a weak smile. “Catching the Christmas Angel.”

  “Good Lord! Tell me what happened. No, get out of those wet clothes first, then tell me what happened. I’ll send for some hot cocoa.”

  Feeling a little steadier, Cecily headed for the boudoir. “Tell them to put some brandy in it. Oh, and I’d like some of Mrs. Chubb’s mince pies. I feel like celebrating.”

  By the time she had changed out of her wet and muddy clothes and into a warm woolen frock, she was feeling quite exhilarated. A dangerous killer was safely behind bars, the snow had gone, and Christmas was a week away. The Pennyfoot was ready for the Christmas guests, and all was well with her world.

  Joining Baxter in the sitting room, she accepted the steaming cup of cocoa he handed her and sniffed it to make sure the kitchen staff had added the brandy.

  The welcoming warmth sliding down to her stomach was most satisfying, and she sat down with a sigh of pleasure in front of the fire. Baxter had stoked it, and flames licked the shiny black lumps of coal, creating a smoldering red glow of heat.

  “Now,” Baxter said, as he sat opposite her, “tell me what happened.”

  She told him, leaving out the moment when Madeline called forth her powers to create the lightning bolt that saved them. “It was a miracle,” she said instead. “Madeline called it divine intervention.”

  “I’m inclined to agree.” He tilted his head on one side. “Are you telling me everything?”

  “Everything I know.” Cecily stared into the fire. “I was so certain Lester Salt was the killer at first. I don’t know how I could have been so misled.”

  Baxter finished off his mince pie and leaned back. “So when did you realize it wasn’t Lester Salt?”

  “When I learned that his book on mysticism wasn’t what I thought. Until then I was convinced he was practicing black magic. Then he told me that Caroline Blanchard had told him that Thomas Willow’s dog refused to leave his side when he died. He’d already told me that he rang the constabulary when the dog returned without Thomas, so how would Caroline have known that about the dog unless she’d been there?”

  “Good point.” Baxter laced his fingers together. “Still, she could have seen someone else kill Thomas and been too afraid to say anything.”

  “She could have, but she didn’t. I should have known when I was thinking about Henry Farnsworth shooting pheasants. Everyone said that Jimmy Taylor had a nasty temper. I’m guessing that Caroline saw him beating his horse and perhaps threw the rock at him to make him stop.”

  “So you think she didn’t mean to kill him?”

  Cecily shrugged. “I don’t know. Whether she did or not, she must have realized he was dead, and took a lock of his hair to send his soul to the devil for tormenting his horse.”

  Baxter nodded. “That makes sense. But what about the others?”

  “Lester Salt told me that Thomas kicked his dog. Colin Mackerbee slaughtered pigs. Henry Farnsworth shot pheasants. The foxhunters killed foxes. I think that with Jimmy’s death, Caroline went on a rampage of revenge-cu
tting off locks of hair and sending the souls to hell.”

  “So how in blazes did you end up on the Putney Downs?”

  Cecily told him about the plan she’d devised, knowing that if Caroline Blanchard was the killer, she’d have to silence Madeline before she could tell everyone the true identity of the Christmas Angel.

  “She called herself the angel of mercy,” Cecily said, staring into the flames. “That must have been why she left the angel stamps on her victims’ heads.”

  Baxter’s expression was one of alarm. “Good Lord, Cecily! You could all have been killed.”

  Cecily leaned forward and patted his hand. “Yes, well, we weren’t, darling, so all’s well. Sometimes one has to take extraordinary measures to catch a killer as devious as the Christmas Angel. Madeline assured me she could defend herself. I had complete faith in her abilities.”

  Baxter groaned. “I hate to think what you will get into next.”

  “I hope there won’t be a next.” Cecily stretched her toes closer to the fire. “Of course, if Sam Northcott hadn’t fallen off his bicycle again, he would have been there to protect Madeline.”

  Baxter made a sound of disgust in his throat. “That idiot needs to find better transportation. I’ve lost count of the number of times he loses his bicycle.”

  “Well, perhaps after this he’ll get one of those newfangled motorcars you’re always complaining about.”

  Baxter grunted. “Heaven preserve us. Knowing Northcott, he’d drive the dratted thing right into the lobby. He has to be the most incompetent constable on the force. His clumsiness could have cost you all your lives.”

  “Well, fortunately for us, that bolt of lightning took care of things. I don’t think Kevin was very happy with Sam. Or me, for that fact. Madeline was nice enough to tell him the whole thing was her idea.”

  Baxter shuddered. “When I think what could have happened to-” He broke off as a light tap on the door interrupted him. “Now what?” Grumbling to himself, he walked across the room to open the door.

  Cecily heard one of the maids announce, “P.C. Northcott is in the library. He wants to speak with madam.”

  “Tell him we will be there shortly.” Baxter closed the door and strode back to her. “Northcott,” he said, his tone thick with disgust. “I’ll speak with him. You stay here and rest.”

  “No.” She put down her cup and rose. “I want a word with him. There are questions yet to be answered.”

  She thought about the questions as she led the way down the stairs to the lobby. She had spent so much time looking for a link between the victims, instead of searching for a motive.

  It had been there right under her nose. She had just been too blind to see. Was she losing her powers of deduction? Was she taking far too much for granted, instead of digging beneath the surface of lies to find the truth?

  If so, then she would be well to heed Baxter’s wishes, after all. For without the sharp edge that had always served her so well in the past, she would be a danger not only to herself, but to everyone else around her.

  She put her depressing thoughts aside as they entered the library. Sam Northcott was in his usual spot in front of the fire, rocking back and forth on his heels.

  He saluted her when he saw her. “Very commendable, Mrs. B. We would not have caught her without your help.”

  “Well, don’t get too reliant on my wife,” Baxter said, wagging a finger for emphasis. “I don’t relish the idea of her putting herself in danger for your benefit.”

  Northcott puffed out his chest. “For the benefit of mankind, sir. A dangerous killer was h’apprehended because of your wife’s commitment to the law.” He coughed. “Though I was a little surprised it were Caroline Blanchard.”

  Cecily sighed. “Yes, it took me a while to see her as a killer. Am I right in thinking that she threw the rock that killed Jimmy Taylor?”

  “Yes, you are, m’m. Right as rain. She admitted as much when I talked to her a while ago. Said she saw him beating his horse. She said she was filled with a terrible anger and threw the rock to stop him. He fell off the wagon and hit his head going down on the wheel. That’s what killed him.”

  Cecily felt a stab of sympathy for the seamstress. “And the locks of hair?”

  Northcott smoothed a hand over his bald head. “I don’t rightly understand all that mumbo jumbo, m’m. Miss Blanchard said something about throwing them on the fire and speaking to the devil, but by then she was talking a lot of nonsense.” He touched his forehead with his fingers. “Not quite right in the head, m’m, as I see it.”

  “Did she say why she left the stamps on their heads?”

  Northcott looked uncomfortable. “She said as how she had some in her pocket, and when she bent over Jimmy Taylor, they fell out and one stuck on his forehead. She thought it were some sort of sign, so she left it there and that’s when she decided to take his hair.”

  “Ah, that explains it. She must have decided to leave the same sign on all her victims. What will happen to her?”

  Northcott shrugged. “That’s up to the courts. If she’s as daffy as I think she is she’ll probably be sent to an institution.” He shivered. “I don’t envy her that, m’m. I’ve seen some of them places. Horrible, they are.”

  Cecily tried not to imagine Caroline Blanchard locked away in a mental asylum. “What about her animals? Will they be looked after?”

  “We’ll try to find them homes, m’m, though I don’t know how soon we can do that. Might be a while. At least until after Christmas.”

  Cecily struggled with her good sense for a moment, then said quickly, “We can house them in the stables until they find homes. I’m sure my staff won’t mind taking care of them.”

  She heard Baxter make a choking sound and ignored him. “Well, thank you for telling us all this, Sam. I suppose you’ll be on your way to London now?”

  “Yes, m’m. Me and the missus will be off in the morning.” He glanced at the mantelpiece where the clock ticked away. “Well, I’d better be on my way. I don’t suppose…”

  She understood at once. “I’m sure Mrs. Chubb can find you a sausage roll or two on your way out.”

  “Very kind of you, I’m sure, Mrs. B.” Northcott got to his feet. “I did want to thank you, m’m, for all your help. Because of you, the missus and I can have a good Christmas holiday. She’ll be grateful to you, I know.”

  “I’m glad, Sam.” Cecily waited for Baxter to get up before rising herself. “Have a very happy Christmas.”

  “You, too, m’m.” He looked at Baxter. “And you, sir.”

  “Likewise,” Baxter mumbled.

  As the door closed behind the constable, Cecily sank onto her chair. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that’s over. Now I can focus on Christmas.”

  Baxter grunted. “I can’t believe you invited a horde of cats and dogs to run all over the place. What on earth prompted you to do that?”

  Cecily shrugged. “I couldn’t just leave them in the house to starve. The staff will look after them. I’ll make sure they’re not allowed in the club.”

  “I should think not. Our first guests will be arriving tomorrow.”

  “Including Arthur Balfour.” Cecily smiled. “Imagine having Britain’s prime minister as our guest. That should give the Pennyfoot’s reputation a boost. The maids will have a fine time fighting over who waits on him.”

  “Well, let’s hope we get no more mass murderers lurking around, or we’ll be spending next Christmas alone.” He raised his chin to stare at the ceiling. “Though, come to think of it, that might be rather nice.”

  She laughed. “You know you’d be bored to death.”

  “After all that’s happened around here lately, boredom might be a welcome change.”

  “Nonsense.” She linked her arm through his. “Come, darling. Let’s enjoy our last night of peace in our suite before the hotel is full of clamoring guests.”

  They climbed the stairs together, with the scent of the glistening fir tree
mingling with the aroma of nutmeg and cinnamon rising from the kitchen below.

  Once more, Cecily thought, as they turned onto the landing, she had brought a villain to justice. It had been a hard-won battle, with too many missteps along the way.

  Her confidence had been shaken. She felt she was losing her edge, and she wasn’t at all certain that if she were to face another villain, she’d be able to outwit him.

  Right now, however, she would put all such thoughts out of her mind. It was Christmas, and she had all the time in the world to enjoy it.

  Kate Kingsbury

  ***

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