Authors: Kate Kingsbury
Mrs. Chubb emerged from the pantry and looked around the kitchen. “Where’s Stanley?”
“Gone to bleeding drown hisself, I hope,” Gertie said, twisting her shoulders around so she could look at the mess dripping from her skirt. “Look at this.” She turned her back on the housekeeper. “That little bugger put an egg on me chair and waited for me to sit in it. I’m going to kill that bleeding kid when I get me hands on him, so help me I am.”
“No, you are not,” Mrs. Chubb said quietly. “We have to make allowances for him. He’s had a terrible shock and he’s only acting out his grief.”
“Acting it out? He’s bloody giving all of us grief.” Gertie stomped over to the sink and grabbed a dishcloth. Holding it under the tap, she turned on the water and saturated the cloth. Dabbing ineffectively at her skirt, she added, “I’ll be bloody glad to get rid of him, that I will. When is his bloody bedtime, anyway?”
As if to answer her question, the door opened, and Cecily walked in with an anxious frown on her face. “Oh, Mrs. Chubb,” she said, “I’m so glad you’re here. I’m afraid that Lady Lavinia is not at all well. I don’t like to send Master Stanley up there while she’s like that. Do you think you could find a space for him down here for the night?”
A short silence greeted her words, and she added a little sheepishly, “Perhaps his mother will be better in the morning.”
“He’s not bleeding sleeping with me,” Gertie said, turning to show Cecily the back of her skirt. “Look what that little perisher did to me. Stuck a bleeding egg on me chair, he did.”
“Gertie,” Mrs. Chubb said warningly.
“And he put a bloody frog in Michel’s best saucepan. Dropped butter on the floor—”
“Gertie,” Mrs. Chubb said again, louder this time.
“Mrs. Chubb slipped and dropped the saucepan, and now there’s a bleeding big dent in it—”
“Ger-tay!”
Gertie clamped her mouth shut.
Mrs. Chubb gave Cecily a tight smile. “I’m sorry, mum, there’s been a spot of bother down here, but it’s all right now. We’ve taken care of it.”
“I’d like to bloody take care of it,” Gertie muttered.
“Gertie,” Mrs. Chubb said in a voice that would have cut through steel, “go and find Master Stanley at once. Bring him back here, and make sure he stays here while I go and make up a bed in Samuel’s room. If there’s any more trouble, it will be on your head.”
Something seemed to snap in Gertie’s brain. She’d taken all she was going to take. With pure murder in her heart, she went once more in search of Master Stanley Malton.
Cecily was pleasantly surprised when Madeline called in at the hotel the next morning. The slender woman looked almost ethereal in a large-brimmed hat and a frothy gown of lavender gauze that swirled around her ankles, revealing matching silk shoes.
Madeline had never talked much about her past, but Cecily knew she had lived with a much older man for many years. Apparently he had rescued her from the streets when she was very young and had taken her in.
Although he had taken good care of her, feeding and clothing her by all accounts, Cecily suspected that Madeline had paid a heavy price for her benefactor’s benevolence.
Whatever had transpired in their relationship Cecily could only guess. Madeline was now alone and without any means of supporting herself except for the handcrafts she
sold to the gift shops and the occasional interior decorating she did for Cecily at the hotel.
And the potions. That was something else Madeline rarely spoke about, perhaps because her talents with herbs and flowers had earned her such an adverse reputation. People, for the most part, were afraid of Madeline and her strange powers.
There had even been times when she had unsettled Cecily, though, of course, Cecily would never admit that to her friend.
Madeline announced that she had come to discuss the flower arrangements for the ball and seemed more than eager to make amends. Pleased that the slight discord between them seemed to have been settled, Cecily gladly accepted her invitation for lunch. She was particularly gratified when Madeline added that the treat was to make up for their disagreement.
“I don’t see enough of you,” Madeline said as they settled themselves in the trap. “I certainly don’t want to spend our time together quarreling.”
“Neither do I.” Cecily looked out across the crowded beach to where the sea lay shimmering beneath a cloudless sky. “I’m so glad the good weather is holding. This has been our busiest season in years, and we have the heat wave to thank for that. The city can be so miserable when it’s hot.”
“It can indeed.” Madeline let out a sigh. “We are so fortunate to be living here on the coast, to enjoy the fresh sea breezes.”
“Even if they do turn into gales in the winter.” Cecily laughed. “But I do agree. Badgers End has to be the most perfect place to live in the whole of England.”
She cast an appreciative eye on the elegant pastel gowns and matching parasols that adorned the ladies strolling along the sands. While the children frolicked in the ocean, several adults stood at the water’s edge, chatting amongst themselves.
Further down the beach the brightly striped awning of the
Punch-and-Judy show stood outlined against the chalky cliffs, and sea gulls wheeled and swooped overhead, ever on the lookout for a tasty morsel dropped from a careless hand.
Deck chairs were scattered all across the beach, and gentlemen slept with handkerchiefs draped over their faces to protect their skin from the burning rays of the sun.
In the distance Cecily could hear the faint sound of music carried on the ocean breeze, heralding the orchestra playing in the bandstand further down the Esplanade.
Yes, she thought, feeling a little rush of pleasure, this was indeed a wonderful place to live. The only thing that was missing was someone with whom to share it.
An image of a square-cut face with cool gray eyes popped into her mind for some reason. Uncomfortable to be thinking about Baxter in that context, Cecily said brightly, “I haven’t been to Dolly’s Tea Shop in quite a while. This is a most pleasant surprise.”
“I’m sure it will be crowded, this being the height of the season. I never can understand how Dolly gets so many people crammed into that tiny space.” Madeline grabbed hold of her hat as the breeze threatened to dislodge it.
She had apparently forgotten to pin it securely, as Cecily had done with hers. But then Madeline had no bun to pin it to, preferring to wear her hair loose and flowing over her shoulders.
Cecily thought about Simani and her short hair. It would be nice to have her own hair shorn off, so much cooler and infinitely easier to manage. She could just imagine Baxter’s expression should she do something so drastic. He would no doubt have a great deal to say on the subject, none of it complimentary.
“What are you looking so gleeful about?” Madeline said, sounding more than a little curious.
Cecily shrugged. “I was wondering how I would look with my hair cut off.”
She almost laughed at Madeline’s shocked expression. Fortunately the trap pulled up in front of Dolly’s before
Madeline could comment on her friend’s outrageous suggestion.
After instructing Samuel to return in an hour, Cecily led the way to the door of the tea shop. The High Street was thronged with visitors, most of them peering into shop windows or trudging along the pavement with their arms loaded with an assortment of buckets and spades, large rubber balls, fluttering paper windmills, and cumbersome fishing nets just waiting to snare an unsuspecting creature of the sea.
The tinny bell jangled on its hook when Cecily pushed the door open and stepped inside. A ripple of voices filled the room, couples murmuring over steaming cups of fragrant coffee and tea, friends enjoying the delectable cakes and pastries that had made the tea shop such a thriving business.
Dolly herself greeted them as Cecily and Madeline approached the counter. “Well, I do declare. You ladies are a sight for sore eyes, I must say. I was beginning to think you had lost your appetite for my currant buns.” Her heavy jowls wobbled as her raucous laugh rang out.
“Never, Dolly,” Cecily assured her and followed the bulky figure as she squeezed past the tables, muttering apologies for nudging the occasional elbow with her massive hips.
Settled at a table by the window, Cecily removed her gloves and tucked them into the prongs of her parasol. “I think I shall order the Ploughman’s Lunch,” she announced. “That drive along the Esplanade has really given me an appetite.”
Madeline shook her head. “Not for me. I just adore Dolly’s Eccles cakes, and if I eat all that cheese and pickled onions I’ll have no room left to enjoy the cakes.”
Cecily sighed. “You are right, of course. What is the point of coming to Dolly’s if you don’t sample her incredible baking? Eccles cakes it is, with perhaps a sausage roll?”
“I think I can manage that.” Madeline leaned forward,
tilting her head to look at Cecily from under the brim of her hat. “You are not really contemplating cutting off your hair, are you? I mean, I know some of the women on the Continent are doing it, but it looks so terribly degrading.”
The arrival of Dolly’s latest assistant prevented Cecily from answering right away. After giving the girl their order, she looked back at Madeline and gave her a smile of resignation.
“I wonder why it is,” she said, “that everything that seems more relaxing, more manageable, or just more plain fun is deemed to be disgraceful by our ever-watchful society? I had high hopes, once Edward became king, that the Victorian limitations would be relaxed.”
“They are, to a certain degree.”
“For the aristocracy perhaps. They seem to be able to get away with murder these days.” Cecily smiled at the assistant as she placed the silver tray on the table.
“Don’t worry,” she added when the girl hurried away, “I have no intention of cutting my hair. I was thinking about Simani and how much easier it must be for her to take care of hers.”
Madeline’s expression changed immediately, becoming wary. Cecily waited until she had poured the tea before saying quietly, “I do think it would be kind to tell me what it is you are apparently hiding.”
The other woman’s eyes widened in protest. “Hiding? Why, Cecily, dear, you don’t imagine I would hide anything from you?”
“If it had something to do with my new daughter-in-law, I think you might. Particularly if it was something you knew I wouldn’t care to hear.”
Madeline dropped her gaze and reached for a sausage roll. “I’m so glad we ordered these,” she said, raising it to her mouth. “I have also discovered an enormous appetite. Just the heavenly smell of these things convinces me I’m starving.”
“Madeline. I truly want to know. I think I have a right to know.”
Cecily watched her friend struggle for a moment or two longer, then Madeline shrugged her slim shoulders. “Very well. If you must know, I’ll tell you. I found out about it purely by chance.”
Cecily tried to ignore the little flutter of apprehension. “Found out about what?”
“A friend told me he saw Simani late one night behind the inn. She was acting very strangely. When he described to me what he had seen, I knew what it was.”
“And what exactly did he see?”
Madeline sighed. “He saw Simani chanting and sticking pins into a doll. Then she started to dance, and she was talking to the moon, he said. He couldn’t understand it, of course. He thinks she is strange in the head. I think I managed to persuade him that she was probably sleepwalking.”
“But you have a different explanation for her odd behavior?”
Madeline looked around to make sure no one could overhear. Then she leaned forward and whispered, “judging from what he told me, I am certain that Simani was practicing voodoo.”
Cecily stared at her in astonishment. “Voodoo?”
Madeline lifted a finger to her lips. “Shsh. It’s not something you want spread around. You know how people gossip in the village.”
“I don’t pay much attention to gossip. Neither does anyone else who has an ounce of sense. They gossip about you and your powers, but anyone who knows you pays no attention to it.”
Madeline shook her head. “You don’t understand. It’s not the same thing at all. My potions and spells are created to help people. Voodoo is evil. It is used to bring curses down on the heads of unfortunate victims. A voodoo curse can make an enemy do some very strange things.” She sat back,
an odd expression on her face. “It can force someone to destroy himself, without knowing why, or without the power to stop it.”
Cecily stared at her friend. “Like attempting to balance on a balcony railing, for instance?”
Madeline slowly nodded. “Precisely.”
Although the room was unbearably stuffy, Cecily felt suddenly chilled.
With his connections as a barrister and his influence with some of the wealthiest men in London, he could easily have put me out of business.
Michael’s words. And what was it Lady Lavinia had said?
Black magic, if you ask me.
“That’s nonsense,” Cecily said sharply.
Madeline’s expression softened. “Of course it is. You know that, and I know that. But I wonder how many people would consider the possibility, if they heard the gossip? And how many people would risk patronizing the George and Dragon if they considered Simani capable of such a feat?”
Suspecting that Madeline was merely attempting to appease her, Cecily said carefully, “We shall just have to make sure that such gossip is never started.”
“My friend will not say anything, I promise you. And no one will hear it from me.”
Cecily leaned forward and patted her friend’s hand. “Thank you, Madeline, but I never suspected they would. Now, tell me what you think about these poor suffragettes starving themselves to death in the London prisons.”
Madeline had a great deal to say, much to Cecily’s relief. It was high time she changed the subject. The last thing she wanted was a discussion on Simani and her questionable powers. For no matter how hard she tried, Cecily could not entirely dismiss the possibility that Simani could be involved in some way in the death of Sir Richard Malton.
It was one of the advantages of getting old, Colonel Fortescue thought as he dozed contentedly in the Rose
Garden. Nobody thought it strange if he caught forty winks now and again.
The sun felt warm on the top of his head, and the humming of the bees in the roses lulled him, soothing his nerves.
He sometimes got very tired of all the clamor and clatter in the hotel, and it was wonderful to stroll outside, find a quiet spot, and nod off for an hour or two. Did one a world of good, he assured himself, as his chin dropped lower and lower onto his chest.
After a while he found himself standing in the jungle in Kenya, rifle at the ready. He actually heard the monkeys chattering and the sound of a heavy animal crashing through the undergrowth.
Then he saw it. Two yellow eyes gleaming at him through the dark green foliage. A tiger.
There it was, standing motionless, its eyes fixed on him. He could see the muscles in its powerful shoulders bunched, ready to spring. He started to raise the rifle higher, to bring it to shoulder level. But it was damnably heavy.
The rifle wasn’t the only thing that was heavy. His eyelids felt as if they had weights hanging on them, dragging them down. He couldn’t afford to close his eyes. He had to watch for the tiger, wait for it to spring, then aim and fire.
He just couldn’t keep his eyes open. They closed of their own accord, and he tensed, his hands gripping the rifle that suddenly seemed very slippery in his hands.
He heard the rustling noise, and the brute prepared to leap. Frantically he struggled to open his eyes. The noise got louder; the damn animal must be walking toward him. He waited for the next growl, hoping to pinpoint the monster’s position.
What he heard instead was more like a giggle.
Startled, the colonel’s eyes popped open. Right in front of his face, nose to nose, was another face, with wild, staring eyes.
He jumped back with a loud yelp. The face broke into
crazy laughter, and the colonel was jolted wide awake. It was that dratted boy, Master Stanley Malton.
“Here, here,” the colonel protested lustily. “Where are your manners, young man? How dare you creep up on me like that. Dashed bad form, you know.”
Stanley’s face dropped. “I do beg your pardon, sir, but I was merely trying to find out if this is your watch. I found it lying near the fish pond, and since I saw you there yesterday, I wondered if it belonged to you.”
Ashamed of his curt manner in the face of such consideration, the colonel was immediately apologetic. “Oh, jolly decent of you, my boy. But I don’t wear a watch. Never have. Pesky things, they are.”