A Merry Murder

by Kate Kingsbury

  Baxter sent them a sour glance before reaching for one of the tasty morsels on his plate. “I saw you talking to Kevin,” he said after he’d swallowed the canapé. “Did he have anything helpful to say about our predicament?”

  Reminded once more of Madeline’s warning, Cecily took a moment to answer. “He said he would contact me tomorrow if he had more news.” She made an effort to dismiss her uneasiness. Baxter was perceptive, and would sense if something was wrong. The last thing she needed right now was a lecture from him on the dangers of delving into a case of murder.

  Her husband, at that moment, was watching Kevin glide around the floor. Madeline, so light on her feet, always appeared to float above the ground. Several of the couples dancing gave them a wide berth. Madeline’s dubious reputation had spread beyond Badgers End. It wasn’t only the villagers who were unsettled by her presence.

  Once more Cecily’s mind was drawn to her friend’s ominous words. She never took Madeline’s warnings lightly. Paying heed to them had saved her life more than once. Beware of the beast that flies. It was an odd thing to say. Which made it seem all the more menacing. Cecily couldn’t imagine what the phrase might mean, and her attempts to decipher it created such gruesome pictures in her mind, she hastily brushed them aside.

  She would just have to be vigilant, and pray that her guardian angel would remain by her side.

  * * *

  • • •

  The following morning Phoebe arrived at the Pennyfoot Hotel promptly at eleven o’clock. She made her way immediately to the ballroom, where she hoped to find her dance troupe ready and waiting, eager to begin rehearsals.

  As always, her optimism exceeded the outcome. The ballroom was empty, except for a young man squatting on the stage, wielding what appeared to be a folding measuring stick. Assuming this to be the handyman, she hurried forward.

  Appreciative as she was that he was prompt and apparently willing, she had to set the standards from the very beginning. She had learned from past experience that allowing one chink in the armor of supervision could lead to a battle for control. Then it would be her requirements versus the handyman’s lack of interest in the project, usually ending in some kind of disaster.

  This time she was determined that nothing should go awry at this year’s pantomime. Come what may, her set would be stable and perfect, her dance troupe would be competent, if not dazzling, and the audience would rise to their feet, loudly applauding the genius who had presented such an unforgettable performance. Her reputation as a brilliant producer and director would be broadcast far and wide.

  It was her favorite dream, and she took a moment to indulge in it.

  “Mrs. Fortescue, I presume?”

  Rudely awoken from the fantasy, Phoebe blinked up at the stage. She had to tip her head way back to see the young man from under the brim of her hat. He stood looking down at her with a rather disrespectful grin on his face, and appeared even younger than she’d first thought.

  “I assume you’re Mr. Docker. How much experience do you have in building stage sets?” she demanded.

  The handyman looked somewhat taken aback. “Er . . . I am, and not much, I confess, but I’m good with my hands.” His expression lightened. “Just tell me what you want and I’ll do everything in my power to see it’s done and done right.”

  Somewhat mollified by the man’s enthusiasm, she nodded. “Very good, Mr. Docker. Wait there a moment and I shall join you.”

  “Yes, m’m. And it’s Archie, m’m.”

  Unwilling to be that familiar with the handyman, she refrained from answering him. Instead, she made her way to the side of the stage and pushed open the door to the wings.

  When she arrived onstage, Archie was once more squatting on the floor with the measuring stick stretched out in front of him.

  Curious, she halted a yard or so behind him. “What are you doing?”

  He turned his head to look up at her. “Measuring the stage, m’m. Mrs. Baxter couldn’t tell me the dimensions, and I don’t want to guess.”

  Impressed in spite of herself, Phoebe nodded. “I see. Well, that can wait for now. I want to give you an idea of what I need.”

  Archie got to his feet and folded up the measuring stick. Sliding it into his belt, he looked up and down the stage. “You’re doing Aladdin, is that right?”

  In answer to her nod, he waved an arm at stage left. “I believe you’ll want a cave over there, and a palace over here.” He waved his other arm at stage right. “Unless you have a revolving platform, which would make things easier.”

  Phoebe’s eyes lit up. “A revolving platform? Can you build one?”

  Archie frowned and rubbed his chin. “Well, I suppose I could, but we don’t have much time before the performance. I might need some help with it.”

  Phoebe’s hat trembled on her head in her excitement. “Oh, I’m sure that can be arranged. I’ll ask Mrs. Baxter to provide us with one or two footmen. There’s just one thing. I’ll need three sets. One for the cave, one for Aladdin’s palace, and one for Mustapha’s desert home.”

  “Hmmm.” Again Archie rubbed his chin. “How about this? I build the palace, and we change some of the furnishings in it to turn it into Mustapha’s home.”

  “Oh, splendid!” Phoebe actually forgot herself enough to clap her hands. “I can see that I finally have someone capable of creating exactly what I want. I’m so happy Mrs. Baxter found you.”

  She was intrigued to see a dimple flash in his cheek. “So am I, Mrs. Fortescue. Believe me, so am I, and I’m looking forward to working with you on this pantomime.”

  For once, Phoebe was speechless. No one had ever said those words to her before. Not even her ungrateful dance troupe, who should be going down on their knees giving thanks to her for providing them with such a marvelous opportunity to display their talents.

  As if her mind had conjured them up, the doors flew open and a group of women entered, all cackling and giggling like silly schoolgirls. Pushing and shoving one another, they stood just inside the room, completely ignoring their director.

  Phoebe drew herself up as high as she could manage and took a deep breath. “Ladies! Let us have some decorum, please! Quieten down your noise and get up here onstage at once. We have no time to waste.”

  A great deal of mumbling followed her words, and one shrill voice could be clearly heard declaring, “Better get moving, girls. The old biddy is on the warpath again.”

  Phoebe winced, and stole a look at her handyman.

  “Blimey,” he muttered, “you’ve got your hands full with that lot.”

  Phoebe sighed. “You don’t know the half of it.” She turned back to glare at her wayward performers, but not before she’d seen the grin on Archie Docker’s face. Somehow, she thought, as she watched the women saunter across the room, she had the impression she was going to enjoy working with Archie Docker. And that, indeed, would be quite remarkable.

  CHAPTER

  6

  Cecily received the call from P.C. Northcott soon after she entered her office that morning. She had just settled down to examine Mrs. Chubb’s list of needed supplies when the jingle of the telephone abruptly scattered her thoughts.

  She reached for the receiver and lifted it off the hook, then pressed it to her ear. She still couldn’t get used to talking on the dratted thing, but she had to admit, it made life so much simpler. Before they had the telephones installed, if she wanted to exchange messages with someone, she had to rely on footmen to carry them back and forth. It all took so much time, and now she could get things done so much faster.

  Speaking loudly into the mouthpiece, she said, “Yes, Philip?”

  Philip’s quavering voice answered her. “I have a telephone operator on the line for you, madam.”

  “Thank you, Philip. You may hang up now.”

  “Yes, m’m.”

 
A loud click vibrated in her ear, then a shrill voice demanded, “Hello? Hello?”

  “Yes,” Cecily answered, slightly irritated. “This is Mrs. Baxter.”

  “Police Constable Northcott is on the line. Do you wish to take the call?”

  “I do.”

  Another click announced the presence of the constable. “’Allo? Police Constable Northcott here at your service. Is that you, Mrs. Baxter?”

  “It is, Sam.” Cecily pressed the receiver closer to her ear. “You have news for me?”

  “Yes, m’m. I’ve learned the identity of our murder victim. His name is Lord Percival Farthingale, and he is a member of the Bond Street gentleman’s club.”

  Obviously, Sir Clarence was mistaken about the caliber of his fellow club members. “So, he lives in London?”

  “Yes, m’m. I’ve been trying to reach his wife, but she doesn’t appear to have a telephone. In any case, it would be better if she was informed of her husband’s death in person.”

  “Of course.” Cecily thought quickly, then added, “Sam, I know how busy you are with this investigation. I have to go to London to do some Christmas shopping. Why don’t I call in on Lady Farthingale and give her the sad news?”

  The constable sounded vastly relieved when he answered. “That would be really helpful, Mrs. B. Since it’s not strictly police work, you wouldn’t be breaking any rules, so to speak, and it might be easier for the widow to take the news from another woman.” He gave her an address in Eaton Square and added, “Please offer the poor lady my condolences, and give me a ring when you get back.”

  “I will, Sam. Now I must go. I will speak with you later.” Cecily quickly replaced the receiver on its hook before Sam could realize that speaking with the dead man’s widow could be helpful in his enquiries.

  Leaving the supplies list until later, she went in search of her husband. She found him in the boudoir, where he had set up his desk. He looked up when she entered, his face lighting up at the sight of her.

  Putting down his pen, he leaned back in his chair. “To what do I owe this most delightful intrusion?”

  She laughed. “How important is your work at the moment?”

  “Never too important to pay heed to you, my love. What can I do for you?”

  She still had trouble reconciling this new version of her husband with the old. His attitude had changed a year ago, and she had never been able to understand what had brought about the transformation.

  Baxter had always been attentive and caring toward her, but for the most part his manner had been rather crotchety and uncompromising. She had put it down to the demands of his business, coupled with her constant absence from his side while she managed the hotel and, worse, embarked on questionable pursuits of criminals. He had never been comfortable with that.

  Then, seemingly out of the blue, everything had changed. He had become more affable, more interested in assisting her, to the point where he’d come very close to serious danger. After that they had drawn even closer, and she no longer questioned the reason. It was enough that he had reformed, and she couldn’t be happier about it.

  Realizing that her husband was watching her with a quizzical expression, she said quickly, “I was wondering if you might spare some time for a quick visit to London. I would like to do some Christmas shopping, and I thought you could use the opportunity to review your business affairs.”

  Baxter raised an eyebrow. “This is rather sudden, isn’t it? Don’t you usually plan these shopping trips in advance?”

  She might have known she couldn’t fool him for long. “Oh, very well. Sam told me that our dead man is Lord Percival Farthingale. I offered to go to London to give his widow the sad news. Sam thought it would be less difficult for her if a woman gave her the news.”

  “Hmmm. And I don’t suppose it occurred to him that you could also investigate into Lord Percival’s life and perhaps discover a motive for his murder?”

  Cecily walked around his desk and deposited a swift kiss on his cheek. “I knew you would understand, darling. I’m overjoyed that we are now partners in crime-solving instead of always being at loggerheads over it.”

  Baxter sighed. “It was either that or suffer an attack of my heart for fear of your safety. Not exactly a valid choice.”

  “Well, I won’t be needing your assistance for my visit to Lady Farthingale. I don’t expect to stay for long, and I would like to do some shopping in Harrods.”

  Baxter raised his eyebrows. “You have expensive tastes, my dear.”

  She smiled. “Nothing is too good for my loving husband.”

  “You always did know how to placate me. Very well. When did you wish to go?”

  “Right away! We can catch the noon train and return by this evening.”

  He thought about that for a moment, then rose from his chair. “I’ll go down and order the carriage.”

  “I’ve already taken care of it. Charlie will be waiting for us at the front steps.”

  “You were so sure I’d agree?”

  “Of course, my love!” She didn’t feel the need to add that had he hesitated about joining her, she would have gone alone. She had a feeling that her conversation with Lord Percy Farthingale’s widow could be very interesting, and she couldn’t waste a minute to get there.

  * * *

  • • •

  Charlie drove back from the railway station with one thing on his mind. He hadn’t eaten since six o’clock that morning and his stomach was growling at him, demanding food. Before he could eat, however, he would have to unhitch Champion and settle him in his stall. Then he had to put the coach away and order one of the stable lads to clean it before he could go to the kitchen for his midday meal. By that time his stomach would be protesting so much, everyone within a mile of him would be able to hear it.

  His sour mood didn’t improve when he pulled up outside the stables just in time to see Lilly turn away from Henry and hurry across the courtyard toward the hotel. Apparently, the maid had been chatting with his mechanic instead of letting him get on with his work.

  Jumping down from his perch, he called out, “Did you find out what’s wrong with Lord Melton’s motorcar yet?”

  Henry had already disappeared into the stables and must not have heard him. Grumbling to himself, he led the horse up to his stall and began unhitching the carriage.

  He tried not to notice Henry bending over the bonnet of the Austin. Instead, he kept his gaze firmly on the harness as he removed it from Champion’s neck. In spite of all his efforts, however, he was uncomfortably conscious of the slim boy’s presence just a few yards away.

  He’d planned to teach Henry how to walk and act more like a man, but the more he’d thought about it, the more unsettled he’d become. He didn’t know why, but something was telling him that would be a big mistake, though he couldn’t for the life of him understand why.

  Frowning, he opened the stall gate and allowed Champion to trot inside. The more he’d thought about it, the more his suspicions had grown. The way the lad walked, the way he talked—it all added up. He’d finally arrived at the conclusion that Henry was one of them.

  Not that there was anything wrong with that, he quickly reminded himself. In spite of what most people’s thoughts were on the subject, he was open-minded enough to accept that some people were born different. What they did with their lives was their business and none of his. Live and let live, that was his motto.

  Still, that didn’t explain why he got the collywobbles every time Henry was around him. He’d always fancied girls. Never once had he had any inkling that he might be interested in boys.

  Then why in heaven’s name did he find himself unable to keep his eyes off Henry? There had to be something else going on in his brain. He just wished he knew what the heck was tormenting him.

  “Sir?”

  Henry’s soft voice floated
into his mind. Without turning around, he asked gruffly, “What is it?”

  “I found the problem.”

  Hearing the boy’s footsteps approaching, Charlie braced himself.

  “It was the gasket. It was leaking. I replaced it and the engine is running smooth as silk.”

  Charlie made himself glance at the boy. Henry was looking at him with those alluring blue eyes that made him forget where he was. Hastily switching his gaze back to the carriage, he muttered, “Good work, Henry. I’ll send the word to Lord Melton. Now this carriage needs cleaning, so take care of that, then you can get something to eat.”

  “Yes, sir.” Henry turned away and walked over to the shelves to fetch a bucket.

  It took a supreme effort for Charlie to avoid watching the lad. Gripping the shafts of the carriage, he gave it a mighty shove. This nonsense had to stop. What he needed was to find a girlfriend. He used to have one, until she went off with someone else. Since then he’d been wary of getting involved with the fair sex. He’d convinced himself that his work was enough, and he didn’t need female company in order to be happy.

  Well, obviously he’d been wrong about that. When he started getting hot under the collar over some boy, that was a warning that he needed to get close to a girl again. But how? He was kept busy at work and didn’t spend much time away from the Pennyfoot.

  He went down to the Fox and Hounds now and then to play darts and sink a couple of beers, but girls weren’t allowed in the public bar. No, the only girls he came across worked right there at the Pennyfoot.

  Charlie sighed. Well, it would just have of be one of them. Charlotte? Nah. Too aggressive. Definitely not Gertie. Lilly? He nodded. That was a possibility. He ran pictures of the rest of the maids through his head. None of them really appealed to him. So, all right, then. It would have to be Lilly.

  Feeling only slightly better at the prospect, he started working out in his mind how to approach the housemaid and find out if she might be interested in going out with him. This wasn’t going to be easy. But necessary.