The Clue is in the Pudding (11 page)

James looked up from where he sat on the floor, his hands busy with a pile of building bricks. “I’m not lying down,” he said, giving his sister a scornful glance. “I don’t have nothing wrong with me.”

“You flipping well will have if you’re not in the same place when I get back.” Shutting the door firmly behind her, Gertie hurried down the hallway to the kitchen. Above her head she could hear the faint strains of a Christmas carol, though she couldn’t make out which one it was.

A surge of regret caught her unawares. Much as she enjoyed the ceremony, it wasn’t so much missing it that she minded. It was missing a few moments of sharing something really nice with Clive.

The minute the thought popped into her head, she shoved it aside. No, she would not think about Clive. Not tonight. It was the excitement of the Christmas festivities that was making her all soft and soppy about the man. Once the New Year started, bringing with it the long dreary nights of bitter cold winds and snow, she’d forget all about her daft feelings. The best thing she could do was stay out of his way, and then she wouldn’t have to think about him at all.

Besides, right now she had a sick child to worry about. She was glad Dr. Prestwick was in the club. He’d be right there for her if she needed him.

Absorbed in her worry about Lillian, she filled the jug with water and started back up the hallway. She was halfway there when a familiar voice spoke her name.

She almost didn’t stop. But then good manners kicked in and she slowed her pace. Glancing over her shoulder, she called out, “I’m sorry, Clive. Lillian’s got a tummy ache and I don’t want to leave her alone.”

“I know.” He caught up with her, taking the jug from her suddenly shaky hand. “I saw Daisy in the library and she told me about Lillian. I came down to see if I could help.”

Drat the man. Why did he always make her feel like crying? She never cried. Not even when her heart was breaking. She refused to waste time shedding tears. It did no good. It never made her feel better. Pansy cried a lot and her eyes got all red and puffy. Made her look like a bloody clown. Who wanted to look like that?

She realized Clive was staring at her, waiting for an answer. “Oh, it’s very kind of you, but really, I don’t need no help. I’m just taking the water in case Lillian is sick and makes a mess.”

Clive gave her a deep look that made her shiver inside. “Then you’ll need someone to help clean up.” They had reached her door and he pushed it open. “Besides, you’ll need help with the carol singing.”

She followed him into the room, trying to make sense of what he said. “What? I’m not going to the carol singing.”

“I know.” Clive grinned as James leapt to his feet and threw his arms around Clive’s legs. “That’s why I’m bringing the carol singing to you.” He untangled himself from James’s death grip and carefully stood the water jug beside the washbowl.

Turning to Lillian, he sat down gently on the bed. “Hello, little one. What’s the matter with you?”

“I got a tummy ache.” Lillian sat up and belched.

“Uh-oh.” Clive opened the nightstand door and dragged out the chamber pot. Just in time as Lillian brought up her supper.

“Ugh!” James leapt backward, banging his elbow on the dresser. He let out a howl and Gertie rubbed it for him, all the time staring at Clive in dismay. “You don’t think she’s got what Mr. Armitage had?”

Clive raised his eyebrows. “What did Mr. Armitage have?”

“I feel better now,” Lillian announced.

Clive looked at her. “Well, that’s good. You must not have what Mr. Armitage had, whatever it was.”

“Mr. Armitage is dead,” James announced.

Gertie gasped. “How did you know that?”

Lillian shrieked. “Am I going to die?”

“No, no, of course not.” Clive raised an eyebrow at Gertie. “Mr. Armitage was a very old man. That’s why he died.”

To Gertie’s relief, Lillian’s sobs subsided.

“I promise you, you’ll feel much better in a little while.” Clive got up from the bed. “I’ll empty this. I’ll bring back some milk from the kitchen. That’ll help settle her stomach.”

Gertie stopped him, reaching for the chamber pot. “You don’t have to do that,” she said, trying to take it from him.

“I know I don’t have to do it.” He gently pushed her away and stepped outside into the hallway. “I want to do it.” He smiled at Lillian, who had slid off the bed. “I’ll be back in a few minutes and we’ll sing some carols. Would you like that?”

Lillian clapped her hands. “Yes! I want to sing carols.”

James scowled, still holding onto his elbow. “I don’t. Singing is sissy stuff.”

Clive nodded. “All right, then we’ll just have to have a contest to see who can sing the loudest.”

James’s face broke out in a huge grin. “Yay! That’ll be fun!”

Gertie shook her head. “You’ll be sorry you said that.”

Clive grinned. “I’m never sorry to have an excuse to spend time with you and the twins. I’ll be back in a minute.”

He disappeared and she shut the door, fighting her mixed feelings. It was dangerous to have him there, especially in such close quarters as her tiny room. On the other hand, the children were there and they made good chaperones. She and Clive wouldn’t have much chance to talk with Lillian and James hanging on to every word.

She quickly washed Lillian’s hands and face and dried her with a towel. She washed James, too, for good measure, while he protested the whole time and wriggled out of her grasp before she was finished.

By the time she’d straightened everything up, Clive was back, carrying a bottle of milk and two cups. He put everything down on the dresser and grinned at the twins. “All right, it’s time to celebrate. We’ll all have a drink first then we’ll sing.”

He poured a small amount of the milk into each cup and handed it to the twins. “Here you go. Drink up and happy Christmas!”

James swallowed his all at once and held out his cup. “That’s good. Can I have some more, please?”

“Maybe later,” Gertie said firmly. “You’ll be asleep if you drink any more.”

“That was sort of the idea,” Clive said, with a wink.

Gertie could feel her cheeks growing warm. She dropped her gaze and pretended to be very busy making sure Lillian drank her milk.

The next hour passed swiftly as Clive led them in singing carols, the twins contributing with gusto, even though they didn’t know all the words. James was the most creative. Instead of singing, “The cattle are lowing, the baby awakes,” he sang, “The cattle are blowing the baby away.” When Gertie corrected him he insisted he liked his version better.

At that point, Clive decided it was time to tell the twins a story. Gertie found herself every bit as fascinated as her children in the story he told. It was one she’d never heard before, about a brother and sister who ran away to find Father Christmas, and instead found the stable where the baby Jesus was born and learned the true meaning of Christmas.

By the time Clive announced “The end,” both children were dozing and within minutes were fast asleep.

Clive got up from the bed slowly and came to sit next to her on the settee. It was a very small sofa, and although he wasn’t exactly touching her, she could feel the heat of his body. Pressing herself as far as she could against the arm of the settee, she murmured, “That was a lovely story you told.”

“I’m glad you liked it.”

“I’ve never heard it before.”

“That’s because I made it up.”

They had been talking in whispers, wary of waking the children. Gertie was so surprised by his answer, however, she forgot and raised her voice. “You made it up?”

James stirred, and Clive placed a finger briefly over his lips. “Yes,” he whispered. “I made it up.”

“Do you make up a lot of stories?”

He smiled, and as usual, her heart did a little dance. “I did once. I don’t much anymore.”

“Why not?”

“I suppose because I have no one to hear them.”

“You do now.” She paused, knowing this was her chance, yet unsure how to proceed. She so badly wanted to know more about him, yet if she pressed him for details, would that give away her feelings for him? Dare she take that chance? If only she had someone who could give her advice.

But she had no one. She’d never had that luxury. All her decisions had been made on gut feelings, and brought her nothing but heartache. How could she trust them now? Could she grab this chance to learn more about the man she loved, and perhaps set her on a road she didn’t want to go down? Or should she send him away right now, and spend Christmas regretting what she’d given up?

Clive had once told her that he would wait for her to make up her mind about him. Men didn’t wait forever, though. She’d found that out a long time ago. It was time to make a decision that would affect not only her, but the twins as well. Somehow she sensed she was at a crossroads, and whatever path she took now would seal her fate, one way or another.

CHAPTER

10

Cecily watched in frozen anticipation as Madeline continued to stare at some unseen vision. Kevin apparently hadn’t noticed his wife’s condition, his attention focused on the choir. Which was fortunate, since his scientific mind often clashed with Madeline’s herbal remedies and uncanny sixth sense. He would not forgive a public display of her psychic abilities.

All Cecily could hope was that Madeline didn’t make one of her dramatic announcements before she was fully awake. She had no doubt that her friend had picked up some kind of message concerning the murder and was now in the process of interpreting it.

Leaning toward Baxter, Cecily murmured, “I shall be back in one moment.” Before he could argue, she slipped away from him and made her way to Madeline’s side. She had to squeeze in next to a rather stout matron who seemed disinclined to give up her space. Cecily gave the woman a sweet smile and whispered an apology.

Just as she was about to speak to Madeline, her friend raised her hand and pointed at the Christmas tree. “Beware, the danger is right there,” she said clearly.

Cecily grabbed the hand and pulled it down. “Madeline. Not now.”

Madeline blinked, shuddered, and looked at her friend. Her eyes still looked a little unfocused, and Cecily squeezed the hand she still held. “We’ll talk later,” she whispered.

Madeline leaned toward her. “Evil is near. Be very careful.”

“I will.” Cecily turned her head as the choirboys’ voices rang out in a glorious final chorus and faded amidst a burst of applause from their appreciative audience. “I must go now. Will you be all right?”

To her relief, Madeline’s smile chased the remnants of her trance away. “I shall be fine, Cecily. Go and take care of your guests.”

Kevin leaned across his wife to say, “The choir was excellent, Cecily. They really added to the festive occasion.”

“Thank you, Kevin. I’m happy you enjoyed it.” Satisfied that the doctor had apparently not noticed his wife’s brief episode, she felt comfortable in leaving them, though she gave the Christmas tree a thorough inspection as she passed by it.

Whatever had Madeline seen? There was nothing, as far as Cecily could tell, that was remotely sinister about the tree. Indeed, most of the decorations had been used before, with no ill effect. There wasn’t a candle in sight. Cecily shivered. She had almost died in that very room when the tree had caught fire. Could Madeline have been seeing that again and confusing it with the present danger?

Promising herself she would talk to her friend later, she joined the group of choirboys at the windows. After directing them to enjoy the refreshments before they departed, she informed them that the carriages waited outside to take them home.

Samuel had already disappeared to supervise the footmen, while Pansy and the other maids were making the rounds of the guests. They carried trays loaded with vol-au-vents stuffed with shrimp, toast squares topped with pate, caviar and pearl onions, buttered toast rounds with ham and mustard, pickled onions on toothpicks and for the sweet tooth, coconut balls and cream fondants.

Sherry and port were in ample supply, and Cecily spied Lady Bottingham requesting a maid refill her glass as the string quartet took over from the choir and guests strolled around exchanging polite conversation.

Spotting Sir Reginald Minster and his wife in a corner, Cecily made her way over to them. Lady Henrietta seemed ill at ease and kept fidgeting with the sash of her pink silk gown. Sir Reginald, on the other hand, was apparently in good spirits, having no doubt consumed a fair amount of the port he held in his hand.

“Jolly good recital,” he said, his eyes sparkling above his rosy nose. “We really enjoyed it, didn’t we, Henny?”

Lady Henrietta opened her mouth to speak, but her husband continued in his rather strident voice, “Good voices, those choirboys. You can’t beat a choir for singing carols. Makes it all the more significant—the religious aspect, you know. Am I right, Henny?”

Again Lady Henrietta attempted to speak, only to be thwarted by her husband’s booming voice. “Shame about that chap dying, Mrs. Baxter. Must put a dampener on the proceedings, I imagine?”

Cecily flinched but managed to keep her expression indifferent. “Somewhat, Sir Reginald. I trust, however, that it will not spoil your holiday.”

She watched his face carefully, trying to detect some sign of guilt. Sir Reginald, however, seemed quite unconcerned. “I have to admit, Mrs. Baxter, that from what I’ve heard, no one is going to miss that blighter. He caused a great deal of anguish for a good many people. Am I right, Henny?”

Lady Henrietta managed to murmur something unintelligible.

“I hope you enjoyed our special brand of whiskey,” Cecily said boldly. As she expected, she received a puzzled glance from Lady Henrietta which she ignored. “We have it specially brewed for our guests.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s excellent, but I never drink the stuff. Burns holes in my stomach.” Sir Reginald nudged his wife. “Henny will tell you.”

“I thought I already did,” Lady Henrietta murmured.

Cecily rather rudely cut in. “Oh, I assumed the bottles you bought were for you.”

Sir Reginald narrowed his eyes. “Actually, I bought them for gifts. Henny’s brothers both enjoy whiskey. I bought them a bottle each. Right, Henny?”

“Oh, yes, yes.” Lady Henrietta nodded, her tiara slipping in the process. Straightening it, she added, “Charles and Douglas will so enjoy the whiskey. We have sent the bottles to them by courier to make sure they arrive on time.”

Cecily was about to respond when she caught sight of Baxter beckoning to her. “If you will excuse me,” she said, “I must attend to my duties. I do hope you will enjoy the rest of your stay. The pageant will be held tomorrow night. I trust you will both attend?”

“Wouldn’t miss it, would we, Henny?” Sir Reginald assured her, apparently having discarded his momentary pique at her questions.

Cecily left before his wife could get out an answer. Was Sir Reginald as innocent as he sounded, or was he lying, with his wife confirming his lies? She could of course, check with the couriers to see if they really did send out the bottles. It would however, be much quicker to search their room. Sir Reginald had bought two bottles of whiskey. Only one had been found in Archibald Armitage’s room. If she found the other in Sir Reginald’s room, instead of on its way to Lady Henrietta’s brother, then she would have enough to confront him.

Baxter seemed perturbed when she reached him. “Barry gave this to me to give to you.” He handed her a slip of paper. “He said to tell you he did his best.”

Glancing at it, Cecily was about to respond when he added, “Look at Lady What’s Her Name, over there.” He nudged his head at the fireplace.

Following his gaze, Cecily saw Lady Bottingham standing perilously close to the smoldering coals and visibly swaying.

“I think she’s had a touch too much to drink,” Baxter said. “You might want to rescue her before she falls into the fire.”

Cecily wasted no time in rushing over to the aristocrat. Grasping her arm she said gently, “Lady Bottingham, would you like to sit down? There’s a sofa over there that’s quite comfortable.”

The other woman stared at her with bleary, bloodshot eyes. “I was cold,” she mumbled. “Now I’m hot.”

“Well, then, why don’t we move away from the fire.” Guiding her guest to the settee, Cecily managed to get her seated without arousing attention. “Can I fetch you a nice cup of tea?”

Lady Bottingham shook her head. “Thank you, no.” She hiccupped, and put a hand over her mouth. Leaning forward, she looked earnestly up into Cecily’s face. “I had a little drink.”

“Yes, I can see that. Perhaps some tea will help clear your mind.”

Again the aristocrat shook her head. Patting the empty seat beside her, she said carefully, “I’d like to talk.”

Cecily glanced around the room, decided she could spare a moment or two, and sat down next to the woman.

“Nobody talks to me,” Lady Bottingham said, speaking in a whisper so soft Cecily had to lean closer to hear. “No one cares about me.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true.” Cecily smiled at her. “I care about you, for one, and I’m quite sure there are others.”

Lady Bottingham’s face screwed up, as if she were about to cry.

Alarmed, Cecily reached for her hand. “Perhaps I should escort you to your room?”

“Would you?”

“Of course.”

The other woman’s grip almost broke Cecily’s hand as she helped Lady Bottingham to her feet. Holding her charge firmly under the elbow, Cecily made her way to the door. She caught sight of Baxter staring at her with anxious eyes and nodded at him, hoping that would convey that she had the situation well in hand.

Although somewhat unsteady, Lady Bottingham managed to mount the stairs without too much trouble, and they reached her room without mishap.

Cecily would have left her at the door, but Lady Bottingham insisted on her coming inside. Following the woman into the room, Cecily watched her sink onto the bed, one hand passing across her forehead.

“I must apologize, Mrs. Baxter,” she mumbled. “I don’t usually imbibe to that extent. I’m sure I shall pay for it in the morning.”

“No doubt.” Cecily smiled. “Perhaps it would be best if you retired for the night. A good sleep might help.”

“Perhaps.” Lady Bottingham uttered a shuddering sigh. “It was seeing that man again. It was just too painful. I should have known better than to obey such a ridiculous impulse.”

Cecily frowned. “I’m sorry. Is there someone here who makes you uncomfortable?”

“There was.” The other woman’s smile was a trifle lopsided. “Thankfully, he is dead now.”

A shiver of shock ran down Cecily’s back. “Are you, by chance, speaking of Archibald Armitage?”

“I am indeed.” Lady Bottingham stared at her shoes. “He completely ruined my life, you know. Despicable man.”

Deciding that she needed to hear more, Cecily walked over to an armchair and sat down. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”

Lady Bottingham waved a weak hand at her. “Oh, it was my own fault. He’d promised marriage and I foolishly believed him. One night he plied me with brandy, took advantage of me at my most vulnerable, then having had his way with me, deserted me like a common harlot of the streets.”

Completely taken aback, Cecily managed to murmur, “Oh, how positively terrible for you.”

“Well, as I said, it was my own fault. For one brief moment I let my feelings override my good sense and have lived to regret it ever since. I cannot allow any relationship with a man, for no gentleman wants used goods. I am doomed to be alone the rest of my life.”

“Have you no family?”

“I have.” She sighed, a sound of utter despair that tore at Cecily’s heart. “I made the mistake of expecting them to understand and console me. Instead, they have disowned me. The one thing I can be thankful for was that the scandal was never made public. No one besides myself and my family knows of my indiscretion.”

“That is, indeed, a blessing.”

“When I read in the newspaper that Archie would be here for Christmas, I made a rash decision to come here and confront him. I felt there were things that needed to be said before I could put it all behind me. Now it’s over. He’s dead and I’m free at last to banish the memory of him forever.”

Cecily hesitated, then asked gently, “I do trust you didn’t do anything to hasten his demise?”

The aristocrat’s eyes opened wide. “Whatever do you mean? Was it not a natural death?”

Her shock seemed genuine enough and Cecily hastened to reassure her. “An accident, perhaps. We’re not certain of the cause of death.” It was a half truth at best, but better than openly admitting Armitage was murdered. “How did he react to your confrontation with him?”

“There was no confrontation. I never got the chance to say anything. He died before I could speak to him, and perhaps I should be thankful for that.” Lady Bottingham briefly closed her eyes. “Forgive me, Mrs. Baxter, but I have grown exceedingly weary. I feel I must lie down.”

“Of course.” Cecily rose swiftly and made her way to the door. “Will you be able to manage by yourself?”

The aristocrat’s lips twitched in a rueful smile. “I am used to managing things by myself, Mrs. Baxter. Thank you for listening. I fear the sherry has made me less than prudent. I trust our conversation will go no further?”

“You can rest assured, Lady Bottingham. No word of what you told me will pass my lips.” Cecily let herself out into the hallway, her thoughts riveted on her conversation with Lady Bottingham. Much as she wanted to believe the good lady innocent of murder, she had a strong motive for poisoning Archibald Armitage, and she was on Barry’s original list of people who purchased the whiskey.

Kevin stood close by his wife’s side when Cecily returned to the library. Madeline looked concerned and managed to whisper in Cecily’s ear as she bid her good night, “Don’t go there alone.”

Puzzled, Cecily smiled and nodded. “You will be at the pageant tomorrow night?”

“Of course.” Madeline tucked her hand under her husband’s arm. “How could we possibly miss one of Phoebe’s notorious presentations?”

Kevin rolled his eyes. “Must we?”

“Yes, dear. We owe it to Cecily to be there.”

Kevin uttered an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, very well. If you insist.”

Having settled that, Madeline gave Cecily a final wave and floated out of the room.

Cecily wasn’t given much time to dwell on her friend’s odd warning. The second the door closed behind Kevin Prestwick, Phoebe was at Cecily’s side.

“I thought she would never leave.” Phoebe fanned her face with a lace handkerchief. “I so wanted a word with you before the night was over. I have a new idea for the pageant and I wanted to know what you thought of it.”

Cecily looked at her in dismay. “A new idea? But Phoebe, you had the final rehearsal yesterday. The performance is tomorrow night. You have no time for new ideas.”

“Oh, don’t worry, it will be quite all right. I’ve told the dance troupe to be here tomorrow afternoon for another rehearsal, so we’ll have plenty of time.”

Cecily had to wonder how the members of Phoebe’s dance troupe would feel about giving up most of the day before Christmas just to please a whim of hers. “They agreed to that?”