A Merry Murder
Page 11
Albert’s freckled face turned pale. “Ah, I’m afraid that won’t be possible, m’m. P.C. Northcott left strict instructions that no one be allowed to talk to her.”
“I see.” Cecily cast a glance around her. She had never felt comfortable in this room, with its bare floorboards and harsh faces peering out from the wanted posters pinned to the walls. The strong odor of soot from the potbelly stove in the corner irritated her nose, telling her the stove’s chimney was in dire need of cleaning. As were the dust-covered cabinets against the far wall. It was a dismal place in which to work, and she felt sorry for the young man behind the desk.
Turning back to him, she demanded, “And where is P.C. Northcott? I’d like a word with him.”
“Left for the day, m’m.” The constable sent a meaningful look at the clock. “It’s after hours now. I’m on night duty until the morning.”
The dratted man had no doubt left before he would have to deal with her, Cecily thought, with a good measure of resentment. “My sympathies, Albert.” She moved closer to the desk. “It’s vitally important that I talk to Mazie. I am sure we can come to an understanding?”
Albert’s expression reflected a sudden desire to flee. “I’m sorry, m’m. My orders, you know.”
“Yes, well, we all know that orders can be bent a little. I won’t tell anyone I spoke with my housemaid. She is still under my care as my employee, and I have a right to speak with her. I don’t believe she has been formally charged yet, am I right?”
Albert backed up a step or two and started stammering. “I s’pose so, not until the inspector gets here anyway. But—”
“Ah-ah-ah!” Cecily held up her hand, palm facing out. “Not another word, Albert. Now open that door and let me through to the holding room.”
Albert made one last attempt at restoring his authority. “I can’t, Mrs. Baxter. I worked hard to be a constable. I don’t want to lose my job.”
“And you shan’t. I’ll make sure of that.” Cecily walked around the desk and took up a stand at the locked door. “Open this at once, Albert, or I shall report you as being insubordinate.”
Albert’s eyes widened in alarm. “I’m only doing my job.”
“Then do as I ask.” She gave him a tight smile. “And all will be well. I promise. I shall only be a second or two, and no one will ever have to know.”
For a moment she thought he would hold his ground. He stood staring at her as if conjuring up the courage to order her to leave.
Crossing her arms, she gave him her most commanding frown. “Now, Albert.”
“Yes, m’m.” To her relief, he opened a drawer and pulled out a ring of keys. Selecting one, he walked over to the door and unlocked it. “Five minutes, m’m,” he muttered. “Please.”
“I swear,” Cecily told him, “and thank you, Albert. I shan’t forget this.” Flashing a smile at him, she slipped through the door.
She found Mazie in one of the two holding cells at the back of the building. To her immense relief, the other one was empty, meaning she’d have privacy for her conversation with her housemaid.
Mazie lay on a disheveled bunk, fully clothed except for her shoes. When Cecily called out her name, she stirred and sat up.
Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, and her cheeks were so pale, Cecily feared for the child’s well-being. The moment she saw Cecily, she burst into noisy sobbing that echoed through the barren walls.
“Shhh!!” Cecily touched her lips with her finger. “We don’t want to bring in the constable. I’m here to help you, but you need to calm down and talk to me.”
The ragged sobbing slowly subsided as Mazie gained control.
“That’s better.” Cecily drew closer to the bars. “Now, I don’t have long, so quickly, tell me what happened between you and Lord Farthingale in the laundry room.”
Mazie gulped, and shook her head. “Nothing. I mean, I didn’t meet Lord Farthingale in the laundry room, and I didn’t write no note.” She drew a quick cross over her chest. “’Pon my heart, I didn’t, m’m.”
Cecily frowned. “Then why did you run away?”
Tears started spilling down the housemaid’s cheeks again as she climbed off the bed and crept closer to the bars. “I went into the laundry room that morning to fetch the sheets and pillowcases for the maids’ beds, and there he was, lying on the ground with his eyes wide open and staring. I was going to run and tell Mrs. Chubb about it, but then I started thinking about my arrangement with him and how people might think I done him in, so I ran.” She gulped. “I know it was a stupid thing to do, but I was scared no one would believe me.”
Cecily barely heard the last words. “Your arrangement? What are you talking about?”
“I unlocked the wine cellar door for him, m’m. I know he wasn’t a guest and wasn’t supposed to go down to the card rooms, but he gave me a lot of money to let him in and my mum needed the money so bad and . . . I wanted . . . to help her. . . .” She dissolved into more sobbing and returned to the bed, where she flopped down and covered her face with her hands.
“Listen to me,” Cecily said firmly. “What you did was wrong, but I believe you when you say you didn’t kill him. Now, how about the note? You say you didn’t give it to Lord Farthingale?”
Mazie dropped her hands and raised her tearstained face. “No, m’m, I didn’t. I really didn’t. The constable showed me the note and I could never write fancy like that. My writing looks like a spider crawled all over the page. That’s what my teacher told me in school. I kept telling the bobby I didn’t do it but he wouldn’t listen.”
Of course. Cecily chided herself for not realizing that earlier. The hand that wrote that note certainly didn’t belong to this child. The writing was bold, precise, and educated. A style that would, perhaps, belong to an aristocrat?
“I wished I hadn’t done it afterwards,” Mazie said between sniffs.
Confused, Cecily stared at her. “Done what? What are you saying?”
She was relieved when Mazie said quickly, “I mean letting him into the card rooms. I know it was wrong, but he gave me money to help him, and my mum needed it so bad and that’s why I said I would, but I wish I hadn’t now. He was really horrible to another gentleman in there.”
“Horrible? In what way?”
“He lost at a game and accused the gentleman of cheating. They were both going at it hammer and tongs, and the other gentleman told Lord Farthingale that if he wasn’t careful, someone would shut that revolting mouth of his once and for all.”
Cecily leaned closer. “Do you know the name of the other gentleman?”
Mazie thought for a moment. “I think it’s Cooper—no, Compton?” She shook her head. “No, it weren’t that. Something to do with hair, I think. Combs?”
“Edwin Coombs,” Cecily said quietly.
“That’s it!” Mazie sighed. “He was really angry with Lord Farthingale. I thought it would come to blows between them, but then Mr. Coombs got up and left.”
“Did Lord Farthingale leave then also?”
“No, m’m. He went on playing for a while.”
“And this was the night before you ran away?”
“Yes, m’m.” Mazie’s lip trembled. “I never should have done that. I should’ve come to you instead.”
“Well, if something like this happens again, you’ll know better.” Sending up a silent prayer that the child never had to experience anything so devastating again, she added, “Try not to worry, Mazie.” She moved even closer to the bars. “I promise I will find out what really happened and we will soon have you out of here.”
Mazie didn’t look too convinced, but at least she had stopped crying. She sniffed, dashed her forefinger across her nose, and murmured, “Thank you ever so, m’m.”
Cecily squinted into the shadowed cell. “Do you need anything? Is there anything I can bring you?”
“I will do that. Stay strong, Mazie. I will get to the bottom of this, I promise.” With that, Cecily hurried back out to the office. She hated leaving the young girl alone back there, but the best way to help her was to get on the trail of the real killer, and as soon as possible.
Albert shot to his feet, relief flooding his face as she swept through the door. Without a word, he sprang over to lock it, then turned to look at her. “She’s all right, isn’t she?”
Somewhat comforted by his concern, she nodded. “At the moment, yes, but she’s scared to death. She didn’t do this, Albert, and I intend to prove it. Please tell P.C. Northcott when he arrives in the morning that I need to speak with him right away.”
“Yes, Mrs. Baxter. I’ll be sure to tell him.”
“Thank you, Albert. Good night.” She left the building, drawing her cloak around her as the bitter wind stung her cheeks.
Henry sat hunched up on his seat as she approached the carriage, his cap pulled low over his face. A sea mist had rolled in from the ocean, blanketing the flickering glow from the gas lamps and creating halos around the globes. The darkness made it difficult for Cecily to see Henry’s face, but she could tell the lad was shivering with cold.
“Henry,” she said as he opened the carriage door for her, “next time you wait for me like this, please seat yourself inside the carriage. There’s no need for you to freeze out there on the box.”
“Yes, m’m. Thank you, m’m.”
His teeth were chattering, and Cecily felt guilty for not mentioning it before. Normally Charlie drove her carriage, but lately he’d been kept busy ferrying the hotel guests back and forth.
Ordering Henry to return to the hotel, she climbed up onto her seat and settled back for the ride. She had intended to stop by Mazie’s home to have a word with her housemaid’s mother, but that would have to wait until the next day. Henry needed to get back to the Pennyfoot and into the warmth, and she could not delay their return another minute. The last thing she needed was a sick footman when they were in the midst of their busy Christmas season.
Already the lines of Henry’s duties were blurred, considering he took care of the motorcars, as well as assisting Charlie in the stables. Henry was a little bit of everything—a mechanic, a groom, a footman, a coachman, and whatever else was needed at the time.
It would be a huge loss to the hotel if he should fall ill. As would any of her staff.
Such as Mazie, for instance. Frowning, Cecily recalled her discussion with the housemaid. Convinced beyond doubt that the child had nothing to do with Lord Farthingale’s murder, she turned her thoughts to who might have had reason to dispose of Lord Percy Farthingale. Edwin Coombs, perhaps?
Falsely accusing the gentleman of cheating could have repercussions for Mr. Coombs. Other players would view him with a certain amount of suspicion, and if he were fortunate enough to win a large amount, there would be some dissention among his fellow players as to his integrity. They could even banish him from their midst, which would severely curtail his enjoyment of the holiday season, not to mention the possible further ostracism once he returned home.
That sounded like a strong reason to silence someone, or extract revenge for the damage already done.
Cecily stared out of the window as the carriage bounced and jolted along the Esplanade. It was too dark to see the ocean, except for a thin line of foamy waves reflected in the glow from the gas lamps. Once more, tiny snowflakes frolicked in the wind, melting as they touched the pavement. It was only a matter of time before the heavier snow arrived, covering the roads and making things difficult for the horses.
As the carriage rounded the curve, she caught a glimpse of sparkling lights in the distance. The glow from the windows of the Pennyfoot Hotel were calling out their welcome, and as always, the sight of them warmed her heart. She would soon be back in the comfort of her suite, discussing the day’s events with her husband.
Now that Baxter had finally accepted her penchant for solving crimes, he had become a vital partner in her pursuit of justice. She had fought him hard and long to arrive at this enviable state of affairs. For so many years he had disapproved of her chasing after villains. Fearful for her well-being, he had done his very best to dissuade her, even to the point of forbidding her to continue her quests.
That had caused so much dissention between them, she had feared for the solidity of their marriage. She knew that was the reason he had even considered a position abroad. But then he’d announced that although he still didn’t approve of her activities, he was prepared to help her in any way that he was able.
She had accepted the offer with delight, though not without reservations. Her husband was not as practiced as she with sleuthing, and she was concerned that he might land in trouble. Her fears were realized when he was attacked by a criminal, but thankfully he had survived. The experience had only strengthened his resolution to assist her, and although she still had qualms about it, she couldn’t be happier.
Now she couldn’t wait until she could tell him what she had learned from Mazie, and her theories about the murder. At the thought of it, she felt a delicious shiver of anticipation. Solving intricate crimes had become so much more enjoyable now that she had a viable partner with whom to share the experience. Leaning forward, she fixed her gaze on the approaching lights.
* * *
• • •
Charlie dropped the last armful of hay in the end stall of the stables and patted the horse standing nearby. “Don’t gorge yourself or you’ll be getting fat.” He turned toward the gate and smiled as the horse nudged him in the back. “All right, Majesty, I’m going. Good night and sleep tight.”
He closed the gate just as Henry appeared in the doorway, carrying a full bucket of water in each hand. The lad’s shoulders were bowed with the weight of the buckets, and Charlie shook his head. Henry might be good at tending to motorcars, but he was useless with the heavier chores. He just didn’t have the strength or stamina to keep up with them.
Walking toward the boy, Charlie frowned. He should toughen up the lad a bit, and build up those muscles. That would be a lot more helpful than teaching him how to walk like a man. Some weight-lifting might do the trick. He had seen a set of dumbbells stored in the coal shed. He didn’t know who they belonged to, but since no one apparently was using them, it surely would be all right to borrow them.
He’d tried lifting them himself, but had quickly decided his muscles were fine just the way they were. But Henry, now, well, he could certainly use a little help. Yeah, that’s what he’d do. Start with the lightest one and build up. He’d have Henry swinging those pails around in no time.
He looked up and abruptly halted. Henry had lowered the buckets to the floor and was staring at him as if he’d gone bonkers. Realizing that he was grinning like a clown, Charlie straightened his face. “I’m off for the night. Make sure all the troughs have enough water before you go to supper.”
“Yes, sir.” With a heavy sigh, the lad bent over and took hold of the bucket handles.
Charlie wrestled with indecision as a strong urge to help the boy conflicted with the awareness that it was the assistant groom’s job to fill the troughs and he wouldn’t be doing Henry any favors by taking over his tasks.
No, the best way he could help the lad was to build him up, and that was exactly what he was going to do. Feeling satisfied with his decision, he nodded at Henry and headed out into the cold night.
Now his mind was concentrating on warming his insides with some of Michel’s excellent cooking. A hot, savory stew, perhaps, or a large slice of steak and kidney pie. The thought of it made his stomach rumble and he quickened his step.
As he hurried toward the kitchen door, he
saw the glow of a lamp swinging in the darkness, reflecting on the long skirt of a housemaid. He couldn’t make out the girl’s face, but he could see the coal bucket swinging in her hand. It had to be Lilly, since she usually filled the buckets at night.
For a long moment he struggled with his need to feed his stomach against the opportunity to begin his courtship with the girl. Reminding himself that there wouldn’t be too many opportunities to catch Lilly alone, he turned around and caught up with her.
“Need some help?”
He’d spoken from behind her, and she let out a shriek that would have scattered the seagulls if they hadn’t already bedded down for the night. The bucket crashed to the ground, fell over, and rolled noisily across the bumpy gravel.
Shaken by the unexpected reaction, Charlie shot a look over his shoulder, expecting to see an anxious Mrs. Chubb barging out the kitchen door.
“What the heck are you doing, Charlie Muggins! You scared me half to death.”
Charlie looked back to see Lilly’s white face peering at him in the light from the lamp. “Sorry, luv. I just thought you might need some help.” He leapt over to the fallen bucket and picked it up. “Here, I’ll fill it for you.” He bounced back to her side. “You just hold up the lamp so we can see our way.”
Lilly just kept staring at him, as if she hadn’t understood what he was saying.
Charlie shivered. The snowflakes were still falling, but they’d grown thicker, and in the reflection from the lamp, he could see the white specks beginning to settle on the ground. His light coat was no match for the biting wind from the ocean, and he could actually hear Lilly’s teeth chattering.
“Do you want me to help you or not?” Hearing the irritation in his own voice, he cleared his throat. “Come on, luv, let’s get to the coal shed and fill this thing.”
“I’m not going to the coal shed or anywhere else with you.”
She’s actually sounded scared, and he peered at her face. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to help. Honest.” He was a bit offended that she’d actually thought he’d try something.