The Clue is in the Pudding (14 page)

Lady Bottingham smiled. “It sounds like my cup of tea. I’m looking forward to it.”

Cecily followed her out the door, her mind still feverishly working. Cuthbert Rickling seemed to have a habit of making abrupt exits. Each time, it seemed, whenever Lady Bottingham was present. It seemed as though he was deliberately trying to avoid the lady. Which brought up some very interesting questions.

She parted company with Lady Bottingham in the foyer and headed down the steps to the kitchen. There was something she needed to ask her temporary housekeeper. Pushing open the kitchen door, she saw Michel at the stove and Mrs. Tucker at the kitchen table. The maids were apparently attending to their duties elsewhere, and Cecily wasted no time in seizing the moment.

“Mrs. Tucker, would you please step outside with me for a moment?” Without waiting for an answer, she marched across the room and out of the back door. The housekeeper followed her, stumbling over the step in her haste.

“What is it, m’m? Is there something wrong?” She looked fearfully over her shoulder. “Not another murder, is there?”

Irritated to discover that the woman knew Archibald Armitage had been murdered, Cecily shook her head. As usual, the grapevine had been busy. “No, thank heavens. There’s something I must ask you, however, and it concerns some of our guests.”

Beatrice’s frown deepened. “Is it Lady Henrietta? Has she been complaining? Is it about the gown that Gertie ruined? I already told Gertie she would have to pay for another one.”

Cecily raised her eyebrows. “Gertie ruined Lady Henrietta’s gown?”

“Yes, m’m. She’s clumsy and careless, that one. Spilled sherry all down the front of the gown and Lady Henrietta was most upset. She said it was a Paris original and irreplaceable. I told her we would give her another one.”

“Did you now.” Cecily folded her arms. “Gertie is supposed to buy a Paris original from out of her salary?”

“Yes, m’m. I thought it only right.”

Cecily leaned forward. “Mrs. Tucker.
I
couldn’t afford a Paris original. Could you?”

“Well, no, m’m. But then I didn’t—”

“Then you have no right to expect my chief housemaid to produce such an outrageous sum of money for what was no doubt a simple accident. In future, I suggest you be a little less generous with your compensation to strangers.” She paused. “I assume that Lady Henrietta is a stranger?”

The housekeeper looked puzzled. “Pardon, m’m?”

“I mean, were you acquainted with Lady Henrietta before this week?”

“Why no, m’m.”

“And Lady Bottingham? Are you acquainted with her?”

Beatrice’s frown deepened. “We have spoken on occasion. Lady Bottingham asked me for an extra blanket for her bed. Other than that, I don’t know her at all.”

“I see.” Cecily glanced out toward the ocean. She could see the horizon over the top of the gate and the faint smudge of gray above the blue water. Clouds were gathering, probably bringing rain, or maybe even snow if it got any colder.

Turning back to the housekeeper, she said quietly, “Then tell me, Mrs. Tucker, how you heard about Lady Bottingham’s unfortunate relationship with Archibald Armitage. Lady Bottingham told me that no one but she and her family knew about it.”

The housekeeper’s cheeks grew red. She stared down at the tips of her shoes poking out from under the hem of her skirt and nervously traced a circle with her foot. “I . . . ah . . . I’d rather not say, m’m.”

“Your loyalty is admirable, but entirely misplaced. I insist that you tell me the name of your informant.”

The housekeeper’s lips trembled. “I don’t want to get no one in trouble, m’m. He’s a nice man and I’m sure he meant no harm. I swore I wouldn’t tell no one else about it, and I haven’t. I—”

“Mrs. Tucker.” Cecily hardened her voice. “I simply won’t take no for an answer. I have to know who it was who gossiped about Lady Bottingham. I would hate to have to give your agency an unfavorable reference.”

Beatrice’s eyes opened wide. “Oh, please don’t do that, Mrs. Baxter. I need to work. I have no one to take care of me.”

Considering the housekeeper’s unfortunate temperament, that came as no surprise to Cecily. “Very well, then, I suggest you tell me the name of the person who appears to know so much about Archibald Armitage.”

Beatrice hesitated a moment longer, apparently struggling with her conscience, then blurted out, “It was Mr. Rickling, m’m. I’ve been acquainted with him ever since I met him in church a few weeks ago. We were sharing a glass or two of whiskey the other night and I happened to mention Lady Bottingham. I don’t think he would have said anything if he hadn’t been a little fuzzy in the head with the drink.”

Cecily let out her breath, sending a puff of steam into the air. “Thank you, Mrs. Tucker. I appreciate your candor.”

“You won’t say anything to Mr. Rickling about this?” The housekeeper wrung her hands. “He and I have become friends, and I’d hate to lose that.”

Stunned at the thought of the rather sedate choirmaster befriending someone like the outspoken, brash housekeeper, Cecily took a moment to answer. “Rest assured, Mrs. Tucker, Mr. Rickling will never know you spoke to me about this.”

Beatrice’s features relaxed in relief. “Thank you, m’m. I’m much obliged. Will that be all?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Cecily preceded her into the kitchen, acknowledged Michel’s salute with a wave of her own and hurried out the door into the hallway.

So Cuthbert Rickling knew Lady Bottingham well enough to know about her secret involvement with Archibald Armitage. Yet the woman hadn’t remembered where she’d met him, so obviously she hadn’t imparted the knowledge herself.

Which could mean only one thing. Mr. Rickling must have obtained the information from another source—the only other person who would have told him. Namely, Archibald Armitage himself.

Then again, the choirmaster had proclaimed no knowledge of the man when she’d mentioned his name. It would appear that Cuthbert Rickling had lied, and she would very much like to know why.

CHAPTER

13

Having reached the foyer, Cecily headed for the reception desk. Philip was slumped in his chair as usual and started up as she spoke his name.

“Sorry, m’m.” He ran a hand over his sparse hair. “I was just about to straighten up the desk.” He reached for the heavy ledger that contained the signatures of the guests and shifted it over an inch.

Cecily curbed her rebuke. Receptionists were hard to find in Badgers End. “Have Samuel bring a carriage round to the front door as soon as possible. Tell him we’ll be going into town.”

“Yes, m’m. Right away, m’m.” Philip settled his spectacles a little more firmly on his nose and reached for the telephone.

Cecily headed for the stairs and started to rapidly climb them. As she reached the first landing she saw Lady Bottingham stepping down the next flight toward her. Passing each other on the landing, the aristocrat acknowledged Cecily’s smile with one of her own.

“I’m off to do a bit of last-minute shopping,” she said, gathering up her skirt in readiness for the next flight down. “I do love to shop on Christmas Eve. There’s such an air of excitement and merriment among the people.”

Cecily nodded in agreement. “Not to mention the last-minute bargains.”

Lady Bottingham laughed. “There’s that, too, I suppose.”

Cecily turned to leave, only to be halted again by Lady Bottingham’s next words.

“Oh, by the way, I remembered where I’d seen that gentleman who disappeared in the library.”

Turning back, Cecily waited.

Lady Bottingham shook her head. “I should have remembered, of course, but I’ve tried so hard to blot out all those memories. His name is not at all familiar. In fact, I’m almost certain he used a different name when I knew him.”

Hardly able to contain her impatience, Cecily asked quietly, “So where did you meet him?”

“He was a friend of Archie’s. Or I should say, a former friend. The gentleman was also an actor and doing quite well on the stage from what I remember. That is, until he suddenly fell apart at a rehearsal. The director was Richard Tidewell, one of the best in the country. Your choirmaster got his lines all mixed up and caused an uproar onstage. Everyone was laughing at him. The director fired him, and from what I heard, he was so mortified by it all he left the profession. Actors can be so terribly sensitive, you know.”

“That’s awful.” Cecily felt a surge of sympathy for Cuthbert Rickling. Becoming the laughingstock of his profession must have been devastating.

“Yes. It is.” Lady Bottingham stared into the distance, as if reliving another moment in time. “I remember there were rumors that Archie had stolen the heart of the gentleman’s lover and that’s why he fell apart and left the stage. How true that is I couldn’t say.” Her face grew bitter. “Though, knowing Archie, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if it were true.”

Cecily watched Lady Bottingham descend the stairs. Had Archibald Armitage really stolen away Cuthbert Rickling’s lover? Rickling’s name had been on the list of people buying whiskey from the bar. But then so had numerous other people, some with just as strong a motive for the murder.

Though none of the other suspects had worked so hard at concealing their past relationship with the victim. It was obvious that Cuthbert Rickling had gone out of his way to avoid meeting up with Lady Bottingham. Was it because he knew she would recognize him and remember his past association with Archibald Armitage? Was it possible Mr. Rickling had more to hide than the others?

Now it was all the more imperative that she have a word with the choirmaster, and as soon as possible. It was quite likely that he would be at the church, preparing for the midnight Mass. She would go there first, and if he was not there, she would have to pay a visit to his home. No doubt Phoebe’s son, Reverend Algernon Carter-Holmes, would direct her to the choirmaster’s house.

Baxter was not in the suite when she arrived, much to her relief. She hated lying to him, which more often than not she’d been forced to do while pursuing a villain. Telling Baxter the truth about her activities usually ended up in an argument, and she did her best to avoid that.

After pulling on her heavy wool coat and green velvet hat, she wound a red scarf around her neck and picked up her fur muff for good measure. She passed no one on the stairs and arrived in the foyer just as Samuel appeared in the doorway. He wore his cap pulled low over his forehead and the wool earmuffs Pansy had bought for him last Christmas.

Hurrying across the lobby, she half expected to hear Baxter calling out her name. It was with relief that she stepped out into the chill of the afternoon. The clouds were drawing in and had already turned the ocean into an angry gray.

“It looks like we’ll have snow for Christmas again,” she observed, as she followed Samuel down the steps to the carriage.

“Yes, m’m.” He opened the carriage door for her and offered his hand.

Ignoring the offer as usual, she clambered up and settled herself on the creaking leather seat. The interior of the carriage smelled of damp upholstery. The cold quickly numbed her fingers, and she tucked them inside the muff. Her nose felt as if it had been dipped in ice. She wriggled her toes inside her boots, trying to keep the circulation going.

“Where to, m’m?” Samuel asked, sounding somewhat impatient. “Philip just said you were going into town.”

“We’re going to St. Bartholomew’s,” Cecily said, her teeth beginning to chatter. “Do get going, Samuel, before I freeze to death.”

Instead of jumping to obey as he normally did, her stable manager stood staring at her. “The church, m’m?”

“Yes, Samuel. The church. I need to speak with the choirmaster.”

Samuel frowned. “But the service isn’t until midnight.”

“I know that. I’ll be attending it as usual. However, I need to speak with the choirmaster now.” She peered down at him. “Are you all right, Samuel? You look a little out of sorts.”

“No, m’m. I mean, yes, m’m. The church it is.” He slammed the door shut so hard it rocked the carriage. The bay in front snorted and stamped his feet, as if startled by the sound. The carriage rocked again as Samuel swung up into the driver’s seat.

Cecily leaned back as the carriage lurched forward, its wheels rattling on the hard ground. Something was wrong, she was sure of it. She and Samuel had shared many adventures together and she knew him almost as well as she knew her husband. If she wasn’t hot on the trail of a murderer she’d stop the carriage and insist that he tell her what was concerning him so.

She couldn’t spare the time right now, but just as soon as the opportunity arose, she would find out what was causing her stable manager to act so strangely.

*   *   *

Gertie arrived back at the Pennyfoot just a few minutes before Daisy, who had also been out Christmas shopping. “I have to be back on duty in half an hour,” Gertie said, as the nanny helped her take off the children’s coats, hats, and boots. “There’s something I want to do before then.”

“Go right ahead.” Daisy hung the coats up in the wardrobe. “I’ll be taking the twins to supper soon.”

Thanking her, Gertie grabbed her apron and the package from the bookstore and tore off down the hallway. She took the stairs two at a time and arrived in the foyer out of breath and thankful she was still wearing her coat. No doubt Clive would be outside somewhere in the cold.

Philip was dozing behind the counter, and she slammed her hand down on the bell. He leapt to his feet, blinking at her as if he didn’t recognize her. “What can I do for you, madam?”

“I’m not a madam, you flipping twerp. It’s me, Gertie.”

“Oh, it’s only you.” He sat down again, looking grumpy. “I thought you were one of the guests. We have to get brighter gaslights in here. It’s too dark to see properly.”

“You’d see a lot bleeding better if you kept your flipping eyes open.” She leaned across the counter. “I’m looking for Clive. Do you know where he is?”

Philip gave her a sour look. “What’d you want him for?”

“None of your bloody business. Do you know where he is or not?”

“Not. Though I should think he’s gone home by now.”

A wave of disappointment almost overwhelmed her. She was about to turn away when Philip added, “He’s coming back tonight, though. He has to be here to help with the Christmas pageant.”

She felt like hugging the frail little man. “Oh, that’s right! I’d forgotten that. Thank you, Philip!”

Without waiting for a response she dashed back across the foyer to the stairs. She’d see Clive tonight and give him his present. She should have known he wouldn’t go home without seeing her. After all, he’d told her he had presents for the twins, and he hadn’t given them to her yet.

Skipping down the stairs, she decided she now had time to wrap the book. A gift was always nicer if it was wrapped. Hoping she wouldn’t run into Tucker the Terrible, she hurried down the hallway to her room.

She could hear the twins arguing before she opened the door. Daisy sat on the edge of the bed and looked at her in surprise when she walked in. James and Lillian were in the corner, arguing about whether or not they should leave the window open for Father Christmas.

“He won’t come at all if you two don’t stop flipping squabbling,” Gertie said as she sank onto the bed next to Daisy. “Leave the window shut. It’s blinking freezing out there.”

“But what if—”

Gertie cut off James’s protest with a swift flip of her hand. “He’ll find his way in, no matter what.”

“Yes, silly,” Lillian said, her voice laced with scorn. “He comes down the blinking chimney.”

“Here!” Gertie swung around to glare at her daughter. “What have I told you about using those words?”

Lillian crossed her arms and raised her chin. “But you use them!”

“I’m a grown-up. You’re just a little girl. Little girls and boys don’t use those words if they want Father Christmas to bring them presents.”

James jigged up and down, his face growing pink. “Father Christmas is coming tonight!”

“Yes, if you’re both as good as gold.” Gertie frowned at her children. “Now sit down quietly and behave. It’s almost suppertime and then you’ll be able to see the Christmas pageant, and after that it will be time for bed.”

“And then Father Christmas comes!” the twins chorused together.

“Only if you’re good.” Gertie rolled her eyes at Daisy. “I don’t envy you taking care of them tonight. They’re wound up tighter than a blinking watch spring.”

Daisy laughed. “They’ll be good. They know what will happen if they’re not.”

Taking the warning to heart, the twins dropped to the floor and began playing with some brightly colored marbles.

Gertie held up the paper bag that contained Clive’s book. “I have to wrap this before I go to work.”

“There’s some wrapping tissue left in the wardrobe.” Daisy moved to get up but Gertie stopped her with a hand on her arm. “I’ll get it. You need to save your energy for the twins tonight.” She stood up, carrying the bag with her to the wardrobe.

A few sheets of green and red tissue lay on the shelf. After a moment’s thought, Gertie decided on the red, tied up with silver string. She pulled the paper from the shelf and laid it on the dresser, then took the book out of the bag.

Turning it over, she read the title and uttered a gasp of dismay. “Oh, blinking crumbs!”

Daisy looked up at her. “What’s the matter?”

Gertie swallowed. “I bought this book for Clive.” She held it up for Daisy to see. “I didn’t look at the title. I just wanted a book of poems for him.”

Daisy squinted. “What does it say? I can’t read it from here.”

Gertie stared at the book as if it would jump up and bite her. “It says,
Love Poems for Your Loved One
.”

Daisy grinned. “That should make Clive a very happy man.”

Gertie groaned. “No, no. I can’t give this to him.” She looked at Daisy, feeling very close to tears. “What the blinking blazes am I going to do now?”

*   *   *

Staring out of the carriage window, Cecily spotted a few snowflakes drifting down through the trees as Samuel parked the carriage in front of the church gates. She waited for her stable manager to open the door, hoping that she could get her business over with quickly and get back to the warmth and comfort of the country club.

Once more she declined the offer of Samuel’s hand and alighted onto the hard ground. She was relieved to see the flickering glow of candles and gaslights in the stained glass windows. It meant someone was inside.

Pushing open the doors, she stepped into the foyer. The smell of candle wax mingled with the fragrance of pine—a familiar aroma that always reminded her of her escape from the burning library of the Pennyfoot Hotel.

She shuddered as she walked quickly down the aisle toward the pulpit. Shadows danced across the walls and along the rows of pews on either side of her. The main hall appeared to be empty. Whoever had lit the candles had to be somewhere in the rear of the church.

She turned to speak to Samuel and saw to her amazement that he was not standing behind her, as she’d expected. Frowning, she retraced her steps and opened the doors again.

Samuel was sitting on his driver’s seat in the front of the carriage. Irritated now, she called out to him. He turned his head at her shout and raised his hand in response, though he made no effort to climb down from his perch.

Muttering under her breath, Cecily marched down the path and out through the gate. “Samuel Whitfield, get down from that carriage this instant.”

The stable manager leapt to the ground, causing the bay to make snuffling noises as it shuffled its feet. “What is it, m’m?”

“Why didn’t you follow me into the church?”

Samuel looked at the church as if he’d never seen it before. “Oh, I thought you wanted to go in there by yourself, m’m. Sorry.”

“If I had wanted to go in alone I would have ordered you to wait for me here. Usually you are practically attached to my heels when I go somewhere.” She peered at him from under the brim of her hat. “What on earth is wrong with you, Samuel? You seem to be in another world. Are you not well?”

Samuel cleared his throat, peered up at the darkening sky, and blinked. “It’s starting to snow.”