The Clue is in the Pudding (13 page)

Philip’s eyes were wide with alarm, and Cecily decided it was time to intervene.

“What seems to be the trouble, Colonel?”

At the sound of her voice, the colonel swung around. “Oh, there you are, old bean. Just in time to witness the slaughter, what? What?”

Cecily glanced at Phoebe who lifted her shoulders in an elegant shrug. “He won’t listen to me,” she muttered.

“A bear!” the colonel shouted, throwing both hands in the air. “Big as a mountain. The blasted bounder was in the rose garden. Probably starving, by the look of his coat.”

“Were you with him?” Cecily asked Phoebe.

Before she could answer, however, the colonel once more butted in. “No, she wasn’t, thank heavens. I was on a leisurely stroll when I saw this great brute of a bear in front of me. I should’ve dealt with it right then and there, but I thought I’d better get back here and warn everyone.” Once more he fumbled with his belt. “If only I’d brought my pistol—”

The front door opened just then, letting in a blast of wintry air that flipped the feathers on Phoebe’s hat over her face. She brushed them back, while giving her husband a look that plainly warned him he was going too far. “That’s
enough
,
Freddy! You know very well we don’t have bears in Eng . . . oh!”

This last was directed at the newcomer who had entered the foyer. The gentleman towered above everyone, his broad shoulders and wide girth seeming to fill the room. The most striking thing about him, though, was his fur coat and furry hat pulled low over his forehead.

Even Cecily was taken aback at the sight of him, though she managed to murmur, “I think, Colonel, that this could be your bear.”

The colonel took one look, grabbed his wife’s arm and bolted for the hallway, yelling, “I need a drink!” Phoebe’s boots scrabbled wildly to keep up with her husband, as, with one hand on her hat, she was dragged out of sight. Her voice floated back from the hallway, her words indistinct, but her temper unmistakable.

Cecily turned to the visitor. “Please forgive us, sir. The colonel means well, but sometimes he gets confused.”

The gentleman pulled his hat from his head, revealing a shock of red hair that matched his bushy beard. “Quite all right, madam. I assume I’m speaking to Mrs. Baxter?” He’d rolled his
r
’s, revealing his Scottish accent, and Cecily smiled.

“You are, indeed, sir. What can I do for you?”

“I was just passing by and wanted to take a look at your fine establishment. I think this would be a bonnie place to bring the family next summer.”

“Of course. I’m sure your family would enjoy it. The beaches are lovely in the summertime. I’ll be happy to escort you myself on a tour of the Pennyfoot Country Club. Come this way.” She led him to the hallway, praying nobody within earshot mentioned the death of Archibald Armitage. One way or another, she had to solve this murder before word got out in the newspapers. Or she’d be begging for visitors come next summer.

*   *   *

Gertie paused in front of the bookstore and stared at the display of books in the window. There were dozens of them, all shapes and sizes, some with bright covers and gold inscriptions on the spine.

James tugged at her hand. “Can we go to the toy store, Mama? Can we?”

“Oh, yes, let’s!” Lillian danced a few steps down the street. “I want to look at the dolls.”

“You’ll have to wait, then.” Gertie held out her hand to the little girl. “Come along, we’re going in here.”

James pouted. “All there is in here is stuffy old books.”

Gertie looked at him in surprise. “You like books. You both love
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.
I’ve read it to you a dozen times.”

“I like trains better.” James dragged his feet as Gertie pulled him into the store. “I want to go to the toy store!”

Gertie bent over until her face was close to his. “If you don’t flipping behave and do exactly what I say, Father Christmas won’t leave you any toys tonight.”

Lillian punched him in the arm. “Yeah, so behave, James. I want Father Christmas to come tonight.”

James muttered something under his breath and stomped into the bookstore behind his mother.

Letting go of their hands, Gertie picked up a book from a table close by. Its pale blue cover gleamed in the light from the gas lamps, and words were embossed in silver on the front and the spine. It would look lovely sitting on a bookshelf, she thought, then read the title.
Mrs. Bartholomew’s Book of Etiquette.

She hastily dropped the book back on the table. The last thing Clive needed was lessons in manners. There were so many books to look at her head spun with indecision. She wandered down an aisle between shelves crammed with titles she barely understood. Choosing Clive’s Christmas present was a lot harder than she’d imagined.

“Can I help you find something?”

The voice came from behind her and she spun around to face an earnest young man staring at her through thick-rimmed glasses. Taken by surprise, she muttered, “I’m looking for a book.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place.” The shop assistant smiled. “What kind of book are you looking for?”

Gertie looked around the shop, her stomach beginning to tie up in knots. “I dunno. It’s for a Christmas present.”

“I see. For a friend or a relative?”

“A friend.” She gulped, wishing she’d thought of something less complicated for Clive’s present.

“A good friend?”

Something in the way he said it caught her attention. She lifted her chin. “A very good friend.”

“Ah.” The assistant nodded and smiled. “Then may I suggest a book of poetry?”

Gertie let out her breath on a sigh. Of course. Why hadn’t she thought of that? “That would be perfect. Where is it?”

The young man looked confused. “Where’s what?”

“The pertry book.”

“Oh.” He waved a hand at the end of the aisle. “We have several. They’re on the first and second shelves.”

“Ta ever so.” Feeling completely out of her depth, she rushed to the end of the aisle. A quick glance revealed two rows of books, all labeled as poetry. Feeling the assistant’s gaze burning into her back, she grabbed one and tore back to the counter.

Without even looking at the title, she paid for it, grabbed the bag from the assistant and headed for the door. She was halfway through it when she remembered she’d brought the twins with her.

Cursing under her breath, she turned back into the shop. At that moment she heard a yelp from somewhere in the back of the shop, followed by a series of thuds. The next instant Lillian’s familiar wail echoed throughout the aisles. “Mumm-e-e-e-e!”

Rolling her eyes, Gertie rushed in the direction of the cries, and a moment later found her daughter sitting on the floor, surrounded by books, while James did his best to scoop some of them up in his arms.

The assistant who had served her towered over both twins, eyes blazing. “What do we have here?” he bellowed, above Lillian’s howls.

“So sorry,” Gertie muttered, hauling Lillian to her feet. She glared at James. “Put those down. We’re going home.”

James obligingly dropped the books back on the floor and trotted off toward the door. Gertie managed a weak grin at the furious assistant and, dragging Lillian with her, fled after her son. Next time she went shopping, she vowed, she’d do it without the twins. She only hoped that the book she bought for Clive was a good one, or she was going to look like a proper ninny.

CHAPTER

12

Cecily finished her tour of the Pennyfoot Country Club in record time and sent off her prospective guest with a brochure and a tin of mince pies. She was on her way to her office when she heard strains of piano music and raised voices drifting down the hallway.

She hesitated for a moment, mindful of her meeting with Gilbert Tubbs, then decided she should probably look in on Phoebe’s last-minute rehearsal, just in case the new idea turned out to be disastrous.

As she drew closer to the ballroom the voices sounded louder and more belligerent. Her heart sinking, she pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Phoebe was at the foot of the stage, throwing her hands in the air while her hat tilted back and forth. Her yells were drowned out by the pandemonium onstage. Two of the dancers were actually fighting, pulling hair and clawing at each other’s faces. The rest of the troupe stood around and watched. Some applauded and called out encouraging remarks while others covered their mouths with their hands, their eyes wide with apprehension.

Over in the corner, the pianist was still thumping away at the keys, his long hair bouncing on his shoulders as he jerked in time to the music. He seemed to be the only one in the room unaffected by the melee going on onstage.

Cecily hurried over to Phoebe’s side and touched her arm.

Phoebe turned a red face toward her and yelled, “I have no control over these hooligans. I give up. There will be no presentation tonight.”

Alarmed now, Cecily held onto her friend’s arm. “Surely it can’t be that bad?” She glanced up at the screeching combatants. “What happened?”

“I wanted to add a tableau to the presentation.” Phoebe paused for breath, having been forced to shout to be heard. “A living Christmas tree. Five girls on the floor, three standing on their shoulders, then two, and then the angel at the top.”

Cecily noticed now that all the dancers were dressed in various shades of green, except for one of the fighting women, who was dressed all in white.

“Everything was going just fine until Ada fell,” Phoebe yelled. “She said Mathilda pushed her. Mabel said she should be the angel anyway because she’s lighter. They started fighting and won’t listen to me.” She turned and screamed at the pianist. “For heaven’s sake stop that infernal racket!”

The pianist, obviously offended, tossed his head and mercifully lifted his hands from the keys.

Cecily held up a finger at Phoebe then marched over to the door leading backstage. Moments later she walked out onto the stage. Ada was now on her back on the floor, while Mathilda sat on her, arms flailing wildly. The dancers jumped back when they saw Cecily, but the two fighters were too intent on killing each other to notice.

Cecily reached out and grabbed a handful of Mathilda’s hair and pulled it hard.

“Ow!” The young woman swung around, her hand raised to swipe at the new threat.

Cecily stepped out of reach and crossed her arms. “This stops
now
,” she said, “or you will both be out of the presentation. What’s more, you will never be invited back again. Do I make myself clear?”

Both women nodded and scrambled to their feet. “It weren’t my fault,” Ada began, but Cecily silenced her with a quick jerk of her hand.

“I’m not in the least bit interested in hearing the lurid details. Not another word about it, understand?”

Cecily left the women mumbling among themselves and joined Phoebe out front. “I take it the Christmas tree tableau was your new idea?”

Phoebe nodded. “Yes, I thought it would make a wonderful festive finale and—”

“I suggest you cut it,” Cecily said bluntly. “Stick with what you already have rehearsed and hopefully there will be no more of this sort of disruption.”

Phoebe raised her chin. “But I called a special rehearsal just for the tableau.”

“Then use the time to perfect the original numbers.” Cecily smiled in an attempt to soften her words. “It would be nice to have an accident-free presentation, don’t you think?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Phoebe glanced up at the dancers, who were now meandering about like lost souls. “If such a thing were possible.”

“I’m sure everything will be just fine.” Cecily patted her friend on the shoulder. “I have to get back to my office, but I know I’m leaving all this in good hands.” She marched off before Phoebe could protest and headed for the door.

She was halfway down the hallway to her office when she saw Cuthbert Rickling turn in at the other end and hurry toward her.

“Oh, good afternoon,” the choirmaster murmured when he reached her. “I’m sorry to intrude, Mrs. Baxter, but I left all my sheet music in your library last night. I was hoping I might retrieve it?”

“Of course!” Cecily waved a hand at the hallway behind her. “I’m fairly certain my maids would have left it there for you to collect, but if not, be sure to tell me and I’ll ask my housekeeper where it might be.”

“Thank you, madam, so very much. I’m much obliged.” He hurried off, just as another figure appeared at the end of the hallway.

Cecily recognized the woman as she walked toward her. “Lady Bottingham? Is there something I can do for you?”

The woman seemed to be looking past Cecily’s shoulder, a puzzled frown creasing her brow. She gave a little shake of her head and focused on Cecily. “Ah, Mrs. Baxter. I just wanted to ask what time the pageant will be presented tonight.”

“Directly after the evening meal.” Noticing that Lady Bottingham still seemed absorbed in something behind her, Cecily turned her head, just in time to see Cuthbert Rickling disappear into the library.

“I think I know that man,” Lady Bottingham murmured. “I just can’t remember where I met him.”

“His name is Cuthbert Rickling and he’s our local choirmaster. Though I do believe he lived in London before moving to Badgers End.”

Lady Bottingham nodded. “I know him from somewhere, though the name is not familiar. Cuthbert Rickling? No, I don’t know the name. How odd. I could swear I’ve met the man somewhere.”

“Perhaps he reminds of you of someone you know?”

Still frowning, Lady Bottingham muttered, “Perhaps. And yet . . .”

“Well,” Cecily said brightly, “why don’t we go to the library and you can meet him. Then perhaps you’ll find out whether or not you’ve met before.”

“That’s a good idea.” She followed closely on Cecily’s heels as they walked toward the library. “I’m not usually so persistent, but I do hate it when I can’t remember something I should know.”

Cecily laughed. “I find myself doing that more often these days.”

Lady Bottingham paused, waiting for Cecily to open the library door, then stepped inside ahead of her. “I suppose one should become accustomed to these little inconveniences and be thankful for . . . oh!” She broke off and stared around the room. “Where did he go?”

Joining her, Cecily looked around in disbelief. The room was quite empty. It was as if Cuthbert Rickling had simply disappeared into thin air.

*   *   *

Pansy stomped across the courtyard, struggling to carry the loaded coal scuttles in each hand. Usually Gertie filled the coal scuttles. She was much bigger and tougher and didn’t seem to mind the weight that dragged down Pansy’s arms and shot pain across her back.

Gertie, however, was out Christmas shopping, and Mrs. Tucker had ordered Pansy to fetch the coal. Pansy had tried to argue that she wasn’t strong enough to carry the scuttles, but the housekeeper, as usual, had simply waved a hand at the door and turned her back.

Another pain shot across Pansy’s back, taking her breath away. Groaning, she dropped the scuttles onto the ground and stretched, one hand rubbing the sore spot. A stiff breeze caught her cap, lifting it off her forehead. She grabbed it and fiercely pinned it back into place.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a figure turn the corner of the building and march toward her. Her stomach gave a treacherous flip before her temper overruled her heart.

Samuel was actually smiling as he drew closer, which did nothing to cool her resentment. Arms crossed, she glared at him. “Watcha want?” she demanded, letting him know she was in no mood for his nonsense.

He paused in front of her, his smile wavering. “I came to wish you a Happy Christmas,” he said, his hands thrust deep in his pockets.

“Same to you.”

She bent to grasp the handles of the scuttles but he was too quick for her. Snatching them up, he swung them easily back and forth. “I’ll take these for you.”

“Why?”

“’Coz they’re heavy.”

“I can manage.”

“I know you can. I just want to help, that’s all.”

She tried to reach for the handles, but he backed away. “I don’t want no favors from you,” she muttered. “Give them to me.”

Instead of handing them over, he put the scuttles down on the ground and stood in front of them. “I got something to say to you.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“I’ve got a Christmas present for you. It’s right here in my pocket.”

Curiosity almost won her over, but her pride was stronger. “I don’t want nothing from you, so there.”

“You’ll want this.” He drew a small package from his pocket and held it up for her to see. “I know you’ll want this.”

Hope started fluttering deep inside, but she was too afraid to entertain it. “Well, you don’t know everything, do you.”

“Pansy.” He stepped closer to her, and she had to struggle to breathe. “Here, just take this. Just look at it. If you don’t want it, I’ll go away, and I won’t bother you anymore.”

She stared at the package, every instinct in her body urging her to take it.

“
Please
, Pansy.”

She’d never heard that tone in his voice before. Her hand seemed to have a mind of its own. It reached out and took the package from him.

Her fingers trembled so much she had trouble opening it up. The small box inside had a lid to it, and she slowly lifted it off.

Just at that moment the sun slid out from behind a cloud and sent a beam of light across the courtyard. It fell on the tiny box and filled it with such dazzling radiance Pansy was momentarily blinded. She lifted the diamond ring from its nest of velvet and stared at it. Dare she hope that it meant what she wanted it to mean?

Samuel stepped closer and took the ring from her. Tears spurted from her eyes as he knelt in the dirt, the ring in his hand and his heart in his eyes. “Pansy, I love you. Please say you’ll marry me.”

It was as if all her doubts, fears, and anger were released in one ear-splitting scream as she flung her arms around his neck. Taken by surprise, he lost his balance and toppled over. She fell on top of him, laughing and crying at the same time.

Sitting together on the ground, he hugged her until her tears dried, then gently took her hand and slid the ring on her finger. “Now it’s official,” he said. “We’ll be getting married just as soon as I have the down payment for a lease. Before next Christmas, I promise. We’ll work together to build the business. If that’s all right with you.”

“It’s more than all right. It’s perfect!” She hugged him again. “I can’t wait to tell everyone!”

“Well, we’d better get this coal to the kitchen before Mrs. Tucker gets her knickers in a twist.” Sam climbed to his feet and pulled her up into his arms. “Happy Christmas, the future Mrs. Whitfield.”

She clasped her hands and stared at the ring sparkling on her finger. She’d never seen anything so marvelous in all her life. “Mrs. Whitfield. It sounds wonderful.”

Grinning, he dropped a quick kiss on her mouth, then hauled the scuttles up in his hands. “All right, then. Lead the way.”

She skipped across the courtyard, feeling as light as a snowflake. Reaching the kitchen door, she turned to take the coal from him. “See you tonight?”

“Of course.” He handed the heavy scuttles over. “We have a lot to celebrate.”

“Happy Christmas, Samuel. I’m so happy.”

“Me, too.” He reached out to stroke her cheek. “Happy Christmas, Pansy.”

She waited until he’d disappeared before carrying the scuttles into the kitchen. Although she was bursting to tell someone—anyone—she also wanted a few quiet moments to herself. To think about what had just happened and what it meant.
Mrs. Whitfield
. She was going to be a wife and mother. She’d be scrubbing her own floors instead of someone else’s. No more waiting on tables, making up all those beds or cleaning silver. No more Pennyfoot.

She dropped the scuttles on the grate next to the stove.
No more Pennyfoot.
The country club and all the people in it had been her home and family for so long. How she would miss them all.

The thought tempered her happiness for just a moment, but then she felt a surge of excitement. She was going to be married and have children of her own. In less than a year. She uttered a little squeal of joy, and then realized Michel and Mrs. Tucker were watching her as if she’d gone out of her mind.

She opened her mouth to make her stupendous announcement, then closed it again. No, she would tell Gertie first. Gertie was like an older sister to her, and she would be happy for her. Hugging herself, she ignored the stares and marched across the kitchen. This was going to be the very best Christmas of her life.

*   *   *

Cecily stared in disbelief at the empty room. “I saw Mr. Rickling come in here moments ago,” she murmured. “How very odd.”

Lady Bottingham looked around. “Perhaps he’s hiding?”

“Why on earth?” Cecily shook her head, unable to accept such a ridiculous idea. Nevertheless, she walked around the room, peering behind the furniture just to make sure. Just as she was about to pass the French windows, she felt a draft across her face. Upon further inspection, she saw that the doors were slightly ajar.

Staring out at the rose garden, she murmured, “I do believe Mr. Rickling chose to leave through here.”

“I wonder why?” Lady Bottingham joined her in front of the windows. “There isn’t much to see out there this time of year, is there?”

“I wouldn’t think so.” Cecily stared at the doors for several moments, turning everything over in her mind. Turning to her guest, she murmured, “If you will excuse me, Lady Bottingham, I have an urgent meeting to attend. I do hope you will enjoy the pageant tonight. Mrs. Carter-Holmes usually presents very good entertainment, as long as one doesn’t expect too much professionalism. She and her cast are strictly amateur, but what they lack in expertise they make up for in enthusiasm.”