Charlie could see her fumbling to light it and fought the temptation to go over there to help her. Instead, he watched her while she finally lit the lamp, hung it back on the wall, and picked up the buckets before vanishing inside.
He waited just a few more seconds, listening to the sound of coal being shoveled into the buckets, and then crept across the ground to the shed. Reaching the door, he found it ajar and peeked inside.
Lilly had her back to him, bending over the coal pile as she loaded the shovel with the gleaming black coal. He wrinkled his nose against the sooty odor. He could smell the stink of something else that was probably a deposit from some wild animal. Not a pleasant place to have a chat, but then, beggars couldn’t be choosers.
Carefully he edged inside and gently closed the door behind him. The flickering glow from the oil lamp made shadows dance across the walls. As he stepped forward, his own shadow appeared on the wall opposite him.
At that moment Lilly straightened, the shovel in her hand. She must have caught sight of the shadow, as she let out an earsplitting scream, startling something hiding in the corner. Charlie heard the scuffling and, suspecting a rat, turned his head just as Lilly raised the shovel and brought it down hard on his shoulder.
“Ow!” He leapt backward, bumping his back against the door. One hand clutching his bruised shoulder, he demanded, “Watcha go and do that for?”
Lilly’s white face stared at him, her eyes looking huge. “I thought you was someone else.”
“Who? Who else do you hate enough to clobber them with a shovel?”
“Never you mind.” Much to his relief, she lowered the shovel. “What are you doing in here anyway, scaring me half to death?”
Still nursing his shoulder, Charlie muttered, “I wanted to talk to you.”
“In the coal shed? Couldn’t it have waited until I got back in the kitchen?”
“No, it’s private. It’s about Henry.”
Lilly’s lips thinned, and she turned back to shovel another load of coal. “I already told you, it’s Henry’s secret to tell. I’m not going to tell you, so you might as well get lost.”
Charlie stared at her back for a moment, then blurted out, “I think I know what it is. Henry’s a queer, isn’t he?”
For a long moment Lilly didn’t answer, then he saw her shoulders shaking and realized she was quietly laughing.
“What’s so bloody funny?” Charlie demanded. “It’s no joke for me, I can tell you. I have a responsibility, and if I’m right about Henry, then I should know and madam should know.”
At that, Lilly dropped the shovel and spun around. “You can’t tell madam anything. Henry could lose her job.” The second the words were out, she smacked a hand over her mouth. “I meant his job,” she mumbled, her words muffled by her hand.
Charlie’s mind was in a whirl. No, it couldn’t be. How could he possibly have worked so closely with the lad and not noticed? Visions of Henry danced before his eyes—the soft voice, the small steps, those, oh, so inviting lips . . .
He shook his head, remembering the moment he’d seen Henry waltzing around the stable, humming in a lilting voice that echoed in his gut. It would explain a lot. Much as he hated the idea, he had to accept the undeniable fact.
Henry was a girl. And he was sweet on her.
CHAPTER
15
It was quite late in the evening when Cecily finally had a chance to speak with Lady Oakes. She had arrived on the arm of Sir Clarence, and Cecily had resigned herself to forgoing her chat with the woman. She had concentrated, instead, on enjoying the festivities.
Madeline had lit the candles on the Christmas tree, with strict instructions to blow them all out as soon as the celebration was over. Ever since Cecily had almost lost her life in that very room when a Christmas tree burned to ashes, she had been extremely uneasy about lit candles on the tree.
She had to admit, though, that the effect of those shimmering flames reflecting off the red and silver baubles was extremely heartwarming. The choirboys, in their white surplices over red cassocks, added an extra touch to the ambience of the room. Their soaring voices, celebrating the birth of Jesus, brought a lump to her throat and total silence from the onlookers gathered around them.
Once the glorious sounds had ceased, however, and the candles on the tree extinguished, the guests broke out into enthused chattering and laughter. Two of the maids circulated among them, offering trays of delicious sausage rolls, miniature mince pies, maids of honor, and bakewell tarts. Some of the gentlemen left the room, and Cecily kept a hopeful eye on Sir Clarence in case he should decide to join them.
It wasn’t long before he apparently made to leave, arousing his wife’s anger. Whatever it was she said to him, he attempted to placate her by placing his hand on her shoulder. She twisted away from him, snatching her arm to her chest as if he’d hurt her.
Sir Clarence hesitated for a moment, staring at his wife’s back, then he turned on his heel and strode from the room.
Lady Oakes stood quite still for several seconds, nursing her arm, making Cecily wonder if Sir Clarence had hurt the woman earlier. If so, the man was a brute, abusing his wife in that manner.
A group of deserted wives had gathered together in front of the crackling fire, and continued their conversation. Cecily watched Lady Oakes wander over to the shelves, pluck a book, and turn the pages before carrying it over to a seat across the room.
Cecily crossed the floor and pulled a chair up close to her. “May I join you?” she asked as she seated herself.
Lady Oakes’s expression warned Cecily she would have preferred otherwise, but she merely answered with a reluctant nod.
“I hope you enjoyed the singing this evening. Our choirboys have quite remarkable voices, do they not?”
“Agreed,” Lady Oakes murmured, keeping her eyes on her book.
Deciding to come straight to the point, Cecily leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I was wondering if you could tell me something. It has come to my attention that your husband and Sir Farthingale were engaged in a significant business matter. It’s rather important that I know what this entailed. I’m hoping you can enlighten me.”
Lady Oakes’s sharp features grew rigid as she stared at Cecily. “I have not the slightest idea what you mean. You will have to ask him, though as far as I know, my husband has never had any business dealings with Lord Farthingale.”
“Really?” Cecily raised her eyebrows in feigned surprise. “I was assured that the transaction had taken place.”
“Assured by whom?”
“I’d rather not say.”
Lady Oakes’s face darkened. “Allow me to guess. It was Lady Farthingale who fostered this story, was it not?”
“She may have mentioned it,” Cecily admitted.
The other woman slapped her book down on her lap. “I might have known. That woman was an outrageous hypocrite. According to her, her husband was an avid gambler who threw away his entire fortune, leaving her practically destitute, yet she paraded around wearing expensive jewelry and silk scarves soaked in extravagant French perfume as though she were still one of us.”
This time Cecily’s eyebrows rose of their own accord. “I had no idea you knew the woman that well.”
Lady Oakes tossed her head. “I passed by her upon occasion.”
“I see.” Cecily rose. “Well, I will leave you now to enjoy your book. I wish you a pleasant evening.”
“Likewise,” the other woman muttered.
Cecily’s mind raced as she walked over to the door. The persistent notion that had tormented her earlier prodded at her, though she still couldn’t quite grasp it. This happened to her often—an idea that she knew more than she was aware of, and all she needed to do was pin it down and she’d have her answers.
Somewhere deep in her mind, she had the information she needed to un
mask a killer. She just needed to unearth it.
* * *
• • •
Charlie stared at Lilly, his voice hoarse as he asked, “How long have you known?”
Lilly’s eyes widened in concern. “Please don’t tell madam or Mr. Baxter. I swore to Henry I’d keep it a secret.”
Charlie shook his head, trying frantically to clear his mind. “Why? Why is she pretending to be a lad?”
“She’s always wanted to be a mechanic. Her father was one and he taught Henry everything he knew. Then her mother died and her father got sick and couldn’t work anymore. Henry had to go to work to pay the bills. She knew she could earn good money taking care of cars, and when she heard that Mr. Baxter was looking for a mechanic, she asked for the job. She knew that he wouldn’t hire a girl to work on cars, so she pretended to be a boy. She’s been pretending ever since.”
Charlie swore quietly under his breath. “She did a good job of deceiving everyone.”
Lilly put out a hand to touch his arm. “Please, Charlie, don’t say anything to anyone. If Henry loses this job, she and her father could lose everything, even their home. Besides, she loves working here. It would break her heart if she had to go.”
It was those last few words that settled Charlie’s mind. Whatever else was at stake, including his own job if all this came to light, he could not be responsible for breaking Henry’s heart. “I’ll say naught for now, but if things get too messy, I might have to say something later on.”
“Things won’t get messy.” Lilly turned around and picked up the shovel. “Henry’s an excellent mechanic and does her job. As long as nobody says anything, nothing’s going to change.”
“Someone’s going to notice sooner or later,” Charlie said grimly. “Where did she get the name ‘Henry’? Did she just make it up?”
Lilly turned her head to look at him. “Her parents thought she was going to be a boy and were going to call her Henry. When she was born, they changed it to Henrietta.”
“Henrietta.” Just saying the name gave him squiggles in his stomach. He coughed, then said gruffly, “I’ll give you a hand with those coal buckets if you like.”
For a moment or two it seemed as if Lilly would refuse his offer, but then she nodded. “Ta, ever so.”
“Okay.” Reaching for a second shovel leaning against the wall, Charlie hoped fervently that he’d be able to keep his thoughts to himself when he was around Henry. It wouldn’t be easy, and he would have to do his best to avoid her as much as possible. Just the thought of that made him miserable. What a mess.
On the one hand, he should be over the moon to discover Henry was really a girl, but on the other hand, knowing that now and not being able to do anything about it just about killed him.
With a deep sigh he dug the shovel into the pile of dusty, smelly coal and heaved the load into the empty bucket. The important thing was that Henry keep her job, and to do that he’d walk through fire for her. Heaven help them both.
* * *
• • •
Cecily slept fitfully that night, tossing around with her head full of scenarios, none of which made sense. She finally awoke the next morning to find her husband gone and daylight flooding the room. Baxter had drawn back the curtains, no doubt hoping to rouse her from her deep slumber.
One of the maids had brought in a china washbowl full of cold water. After sluicing her face and hands, she quickly dressed in a blue serge pleated skirt and a cream lace-trimmed shirtwaist. The room was chilly, and she drew a pale blue shawl about her shoulders before leaving the suite and carefully descending the stairs.
As she reached the lobby, she saw Mrs. Chubb striding toward her, a frown creasing her face.
“Good morning, m’m.” The housekeeper paused in front of Cecily and peered into her face. “Are you feeling all right?”
Taken by surprise, Cecily took a moment to answer. “Why, yes, thank you, Altheda. I’m perfectly well.”
Mrs. Chubb’s features relaxed. “Thank goodness. I saw you limping yesterday and now you’re late getting up this morning. Mr. Baxter said to take breakfast up to your room if you weren’t down here by nine, but he wouldn’t tell me if you were ill or not, and I was worried.”
Cecily smiled. “That’s very kind of you, but as you can see, I am quite well. I had a slight accident on the stairs the other night, but my knee is healing now.”
“I’m very glad to hear that, m’m.” The housekeeper glanced at a spot behind Cecily. “Good morning, your ladyship.”
Cecily turned just in time to see Lady Oakes reach the bottom stair. Before she could greet the woman, however, the aristocrat swept a haughty glance across both of them, nodded at Cecily, and headed at a fast pace for the hallway.
Mrs. Chubb shook her head. “I don’t know what she has to be so stuck up about. If people knew the truth about her, she’d soon be brought down a peg or two.”
Her attention alerted, Cecily stared at the housekeeper. “What do you mean? What is this truth you’re talking about?”
Mrs. Chubb shook her head. “I’m sorry, m’m. It just slipped out. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m not one to pass on gossip. Especially about the guests.”
Cecily drew closer to her. “Mrs. Chubb, I need to know what you meant by the truth about Lady Oakes. It’s important.”
Curiosity flooded the housekeeper’s face. “Important?”
“Yes.” Cecily crossed her arms. “Never mind that. Just tell me what you meant.”
Now looking deflated, Mrs. Chubb shrugged her shoulders. “It was just something that Gertie heard when she was at the suffragettes’ protest in Wellercombe.”
Shocked, Cecily’s voice rose. “Gertie was at a protest?”
“Yes, m’m. She went to keep Charlotte company.”
Cecily groaned. “How long has this been going on?”
“I think it was the first time for Charlotte, and the first in a long time for Gertie.” The housekeeper smiled. “I think it will be the last for both of them. They didn’t know I was in the pantry and I overheard them talking about it. Apparently they got chased into a church by an angry mob.”
“Heaven help us.” Cecily threw up her hands. “Talk some sense into those two women, Altheda. Explain to them in great detail what could happen to them if they are caught by anti-protestors, or arrested by the constabulary.”
“I already have, m’m. The minute I came out of that pantry. Don’t you worry. I don’t think they’ll be doing any protesting for a while.”
“Well, good. Now tell me what you know about Lady Oakes.”
Mrs. Chubb fidgeted with the ribbons of her apron. “Well, one of the suffragettes helped rescue the girls and took them to the church. She told Gertie that a friend of hers was lady’s maid to Lady Oakes. She said that the maid overheard Lady Oakes arguing with her husband.”
The housekeeper hesitated, forcing Cecily to give her a nudge. “Do go on, Altheda. I haven’t got all day.”
“Yes, m’m. Well, it seems that before Lady Oakes met her husband, she was a woman of ill repute.”
It took Cecily a moment or two to interpret her housekeeper’s statement. “You mean she was . . . ?” She couldn’t quite bring herself to say it.
“Yes, m’m,” Mrs. Chubb said cheerfully. “She was a lady of the night, or a—”
“Yes, yes, I understand.” Cecily held up her hand to stop the flow of words.
Mrs. Chubb nodded. “Yes, m’m. Anyway, according to what Gertie heard, Sir Clarence rescued her off the streets and fell in love with her. He’s gone to great lengths to keep it a secret ever since.”
“I imagine he has,” Cecily murmured, her mind still grappling with what she’d heard. Lady Oakes, that beautiful, elegant, sophisticated woman, had once been a prostitute. It was difficult to believe.
“Well, m’m, I’ll be off the
n. The maids will be clearing off the breakfast tables by now, and if I’m not down there to organize everything, there will be a holy mess. I can have breakfast sent up to your office, if you like?”
“That would be very nice, Altheda. Thank you.”
“Yes, m’m. My pleasure.” With that, she nodded, smiled, and trotted off for the stairs.
Cecily stood for a long moment staring after her, the housekeeper’s words still ringing in her ears. He’s gone to great lengths to keep it a secret ever since.
So, could that have been the lucrative business deal that Lord Farthingale was celebrating? Could he have been blackmailing Sir Clarence, having found out the truth about his wife? It certainly seemed feasible, and a sound motive for silencing the man forever.
Walking slowly down the hallway to her office, she mulled over her options. Talking to either Lady Oakes or her husband would be a waste of time and would undoubtedly alert him that she suspected him. She had already had one brush with death. She didn’t need another.
She reached the door of her office and opened it. Lady Farthingale must have learned of the secret from her husband and perhaps, suspecting Sir Clarence, had threatened to carry on with the blackmail. Which could be why she was disposed of as well.
Frowning, Cecily walked over to her desk, and sat down. Now she was fairly confident that she had identified the killer of both Lord Farthingale and his wife. The problem remained, however, of how she could prove it.
Sam Northcott would never take her word for it. Especially since he already had Mazie in custody and was convinced she was the perpetrator of the crime. Sam did not like to be proven mistaken.
Perhaps she could discover something helpful in the aristocrats’ suite. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d searched a suspect’s room for clues. She would have to do it when she was certain not to be disturbed.
She shuffled the papers in front of her, and stared at the next day’s menu that Michel had provided. Roast pork and applesauce appeared on there for tomorrow’s evening meal. Baxter’s favorite. He would be delighted.
A Merry Murder Page 20