The Clue is in the Pudding (15 page)

“I’m not moving another inch until you tell me what is troubling you.” Cecily moved closer. “You’re keeping something from me. I can tell.”

“No, m’m. That is . . . ah . . . yes, m’m.” Samuel cleared his throat again. “I’m sorry, m’m. I’m just a bit fuzzy, that’s all. It’s not every day a man gets engaged to be married.”

Cecily opened her mouth, closed it again, then let out a squeal that echoed all the way down the lane. “
Married?
Samuel! Is it Pansy? Yes, of course, it’s Pansy. Who else would it be? Oh, I’m so happy for you!” Forgetting herself entirely, she threw her arms around his thin shoulders and hugged him.

Samuel seemed shocked by her embrace and quickly moved away from her. “Thank you, m’m. I’m happy you’re happy. Of course, you do know that means I’ll probably be going after my own business next year. I promised Pansy we’d be married before next Christmas, and I won’t marry her unless I’m in business for myself.”

“Oh.” Deflated, she drew back. “Well, of course, but Samuel”—her voice wobbled and she quickly controlled it—“I really don’t know what I shall do without you. You have been such a good worker, an excellent stable manager, but more than that, you and I have shared so many interesting situations. I’ve come to rely upon you to aid and abet me, as it were, and even to protect me when needs be.”

Samuel’s grin was replaced by a frown. “I know, m’m. I did think about that. A lot. But one of these days you’ll be giving up chasing after villains, and you won’t need me anymore. Whereas Pansy needs me now, and I want to build a life with her.”

“Of course you do, Samuel. Take no notice of a silly old woman. Get married, build your business, and have lots of children. I know you’ll make a great father. Now come along, we have business to attend to, and a Christmas pageant to see when we get back to the Pennyfoot.”

Fighting ridiculous tears, she led the way back up the path to the church doors. Samuel was like a son to her. Her own two sons lived abroad, and she barely heard from them from one year’s end to the next. They were both busy with their lives and families, and seldom had time to write. She had replaced them with Samuel, and now she was losing him, too.

It was all very sad, but the natural progression of life, and she was the last person in the world to stand in his way. She wanted him to be happy, and to be happy for him. Pansy would make him a good and loving wife. She couldn’t ask for anything better for him.

Shaking off her melancholy, she once more pushed open the doors of the church and stepped inside. There was still no sign of anyone in the main hall, and she turned to her stable manager. “Go into the rear of the church to see if Mr. Rickling is here. If not, ask whoever is here for Mr. Rickling’s address. I would really like to speak to him before this evening.”

Samuel gave her a sharp look. “Does this have anything to do with the murder of that actor?”

She did her best to look innocent. “Why would you think that?”

“Because you’re here to question the choirmaster.” Samuel fixed her with a stern stare. “Does Mr. Baxter know you’re here?”

She patted his arm. “Now don’t fret, Samuel. We shall be in and out of here before anyone knows we’re gone.”

“He doesn’t know, does he.” Samuel wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “You know I’ll be the first one he blames when he finds out. He’s threatened to give me the sack if I let you get into trouble again.”

“Oh, piffle. He’ll never do that. As I’ve reminded you many times, I’m the manager of the Pennyfoot Country Club and I’m the one who decides who shall work for me. Besides, I have no intention of getting into trouble, as you so succinctly put it. Now run along and see if you can find Mr. Rickling. I just want to ask him a question or two, that’s all.”

She watched him trudge down the aisle and disappear out of sight. Poor Samuel. She’d led him into so many scrapes in the past, and he’d never once complained. Where was she going to find another stable manager willing and able to follow her into danger without question?

Seating herself in one of the pews, she mulled over his words.
One of these days you’ll be giving up chasing after villains, and you won’t need me anymore.
Perhaps this was a sign. Perhaps it was time she did give up trying to solve murders and let the constables do their job.

Baxter would be elated, and she’d be released forever from the threat of him taking a job overseas—something he so far had refused to give up entirely. She’d miss the excitement and the challenge of following clues and the thrill of bringing a miscreant to justice. She wasn’t quite ready yet to settle down in an armchair and sew away the rest of her life.

She would have to find something else to do. Perhaps write a book about her adventures. She’d certainly had enough of them.

So deep was she in her thoughts she didn’t notice the gentleman entering the pew until he sat down beside her. His presence startled her, and she turned to him so suddenly her muff slid off her lap. “Why, Mr. Rickling!” She smiled at him. “How quiet you are. I was hoping to find you here.”

He was watching her, his gaze intent on her face as if he were trying to read her mind. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes, I did.” She glanced toward the altar, hoping to see Samuel emerge from the shadows beyond. “I wanted to talk to you about Archibald Armitage.” She saw it then, in his face. The hatred and bitterness in his eyes shocked her.

“What about him?”

His tone of voice warned her, and she felt a quickening of her pulse. He looked different somehow. All traces of the meek, nervous choirmaster had disappeared. The man next to her was stronger, forbidding,
dangerous.
Of course. The man was an actor, after all. It had been easy for him to hide his true nature behind a façade.

Madeline’s words came back to her, chilling her to the bone.
Don’t go there alone.
But she wasn’t alone, was she? Samuel couldn’t be too far away. She made an effort to sound indifferent. “I was just wondering why you professed to have no knowledge of him, that’s all.”

He didn’t answer her, but just kept staring at her with that evil gleam in his eyes.

Unnerved, she said the first thing that popped into her head. “You did know him, didn’t you, Mr. Rickling. You knew him quite well, in fact. I believe he was responsible for the loss of your acting career.”

“He was responsible for a lot more than that.” Rickling raised his chin for a moment. “You know, Mrs. Baxter, you should really curb that incessant curiosity of yours. It could get you into trouble one of these days.”

She might have smiled at that, had she been less anxious. “I manage to take care of myself, Mr. Rickling. I was merely curious as to why you went to such trouble to hide your association with Mr. Armitage.”

“I think you know the answer to that.” His smile was pure evil, transforming his face from a mild-mannered choirmaster to something far more menacing. “Unfortunately, I cannot allow you to inform anyone else of that fact.”

Again Cecily heard Madeline’s voice.
Beware, the danger is right there.
She’d been pointing at the Christmas tree at the time. No, not the Christmas tree. Madeline had been pointing
at the choirboys
.

Cecily slid away from Rickling along the bench. “I’m not the only one who knows about it. Lady Bottingham—”

“Ah, yes, the dear Lady Bottingham.” He shook his head. “I shall have to take care of her, too. That’s the problem when you get rid of someone. There’s always a loose end or two.”

Horror was making her skin crawl. Once more she sent a searching glance beyond the altar.

“If you’re looking for your stable manager,” Rickling said, slithering toward her, “I’m afraid he can’t help you. He’s taking a nap right now.”

A whimper escaped her lips. Dear heaven, had she finally overstepped her mark? Why did she always act before she thought things through? Was Samuel dead? She couldn’t bear the thought of it. “If you’ve hurt Samuel—” she began, but once more he cut her off, this time by grabbing her arm.

“You’re in no position to threaten me,” he snarled, his fingers biting into her flesh. “You are a busybody, Mrs. Baxter, and now you will pay the price. You and your pathetic little stable manager. You should have minded your own business. Armitage deserved to die, in the worst way possible. A young girl took her own life because of him. A woman I loved with all my heart. He had to pay for that.”

Cecily stared at him. “You were in love with Sir Reginald Minster’s daughter?”

For a moment she saw pain and vulnerability in his face, then it was once more replaced by the mask of evil. “The world is better off without Archibald Armitage. But you couldn’t leave it at that, could you. You’re causing me a great deal of trouble, and now I shall have to get rid of more people. Come.”

She tried to resist as he dragged her down the pew, but he was surprisingly strong for his lean build. Her feet scrabbled for a hold as he hauled her past the altar and through a door in the rear of the church.

Still struggling to free herself, she noted two more doors they passed as Rickling hauled her along a dark, narrow hallway and into a tiny office. Shoving her over to a wardrobe, he opened the door and shoved her inside. “You can stay here while I decide what to do with you. I have no qualms in killing men, but I have no taste for slaughtering women. I shall have to think of a merciful death for you and your precious Lady Winifred Bottingham.”

With that, he slammed the door and clicked the lock, leaving her in the musty darkness.

CHAPTER

14

Gertie paused at the top of the stairs to catch her breath. It wasn’t often she got an urgent summons from Mr. Baxter. Usually when she did it meant trouble, and that was something she could do without right now. She had a hundred things to do before she could join Daisy and the twins at the pageant.

Meeting Clive, for one, and giving him his present. Every time she thought about it, her stomach jiggled around and she felt dizzy. If only she’d had time to go back to the store and exchange the book for a more suitable one. How was he going to react when he saw the title?

Would he think her too brazen and pushy? What if he got embarrassed and turned away from her? Perhaps it would be better not to give him anything. But that would make her look stingy. No, she had to give him something and the book was the only thing she could give him.

A door suddenly opened beside her and Baxter’s furious face peered out at her. “Gertie! Where have you been? I called for you ten minutes ago.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” She dropped a curtsey. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“You can tell me if you’ve seen my wife lately. I’ve been looking all over this dratted hotel for her and I can’t find her. We’re supposed to go to that dismal pageant together tonight and she should have been back by now, getting ready for supper.”

Gertie frowned. “I think she left to go into town. I saw Samuel waiting with a carriage at the front door.”

“When was that?”

“Earlier this afternoon, sir, when I went shopping.”

“Did you see Mrs. Baxter in town?”

“No, sir. I went shopping along the Esplanade. I didn’t go into town.”

Baxter shook his head. “All right. I suppose she’ll be back when she’s ready. If you see her, though, please tell her I’m waiting for her here. Tell the others to keep an eye out for her, too.”

“Yes, sir.” Relieved that she wasn’t in trouble after all, Gertie sped back to the stairs. She was late herself now, and Mrs. Tucker would probably be screaming her head off, wanting to know where she’d been. She had dinner to serve and dishes to be done before she was free to go to the pageant. Her afternoon off had come and gone, and now she wouldn’t get another one until after Christmas. She was tired already just thinking about it.

Reaching the foyer, she waved at Philip and dashed across to the kitchen stairs. Just as she reached them, a tall, bulky figure barred her way. Clive’s deep voice seemed to penetrate right through her bones.

“What’s your hurry, Gertie? Not trying to avoid me, are you?”

“N-no, of course not.” Why was it she stammered every time she was around him?

“Good, because I was hoping to catch you. I came back early so that I could give you the twins’ Christmas presents. Though we’ll have to find somewhere to hide them until after they fall asleep.”

Her stomach was flopping around so fiercely she was sure she would be sick. “I’d love to see them, Clive, but I’m already late in the kitchen. Can we meet later?” She swallowed. “I have something to give you, too.”

“I was going to suggest I bring the toys to your room later tonight, when the twins are asleep, but I wasn’t sure if you’d like that.”

“I’d love that.” She couldn’t seem to get her breath and her voice sounded funny when she added, “The children are going to the pageant, though, so it will be late by the time they’re asleep.”

“The later the better.” He stepped aside to let her pass. “Until tonight, Gertie.”

She was too agitated to speak and could only manage a brief nod before dashing down the stairs so fast she almost tripped at the bottom.

Arriving at the kitchen door, she paused to get her breath. She had to get ahold of herself. She couldn’t go tearing in there like some nut-head from the asylum. Everyone would notice and want to know what was up with her. This was something she couldn’t talk about to anyone.

She stood for a moment longer, filling her lungs with air, then walked into the kitchen. Michel was at the stove as usual, throwing sliced carrots into a boiling pot of soup. Two of the maids stood at the dumbwaiter, loading trays of canapés. Another maid was helping Mrs. Tucker form lumps of marzipan into roses to put on the trifle.

The housekeeper looked up at Gertie and yelled, “Where in blazes have you been? You’re needed up in the dining room. One of the maids took sick and has gone to bed. Get up there at once and help serve the dishes, and for heaven’s sake straighten your cap. You look like a street urchin.”

Gertie turned tail and burst through the door into the hallway. She’d rather be in the dining room anyway, she told herself as she stomped back up the stairs. It might help settle her mind and her stomach. As for bossy old Tucker the Terrible, if it wasn’t Christmas she’d tell that old woman what she really thought of her.

The dining room was buzzing with conversation when she walked in. Candles flickered on every table, throwing shadows across the holly and ivy centerpieces. The huge chandelier hanging from the ceiling sent a soft glow across the white tablecloths, while swathes of red and green velvet ribbons colored the walls.

Catching sight of Pansy on the other side of the room, Gertie skirted the tables to reach her. Trays of canapés sat on the sideboard and Pansy thrust one of them at her. “Thank goodness you’re here,” she said, sounding out of breath. “We’re getting behind on everything. These need to go to the tables over there.” She nodded at the windows, where several couples sat waiting.

Gertie took the tray and was about to leave when Pansy added, “I’ve got something important to tell you. Meet me outside in the hallway when all these have been served.”

Taking a good look at her friend, Gertie couldn’t tell whether it was good news or bad. Pansy’s face was flushed, but then it always was when she got really busy. Her eyes were sparkling, too, but that could have been either excitement or temper.

“Go!” Pansy said, giving her a little push. “They’ve been waiting ages for those.”

Gertie went, threading her way through tables to reach the windows. She was supposed to be the one giving orders and normally she would have bristled at Pansy’s arrogance. Tonight, however, was different. Tonight she had more important things to worry about. Like the chances of Clive taking her gift the wrong way and getting offended.

The niggling worry started again in her stomach, and she did her best to ignore it as she approached the windows. After placing a dish of canapés on each table, she carried the empty tray back to the sideboard and grabbed another one. What was it Pansy had to tell her? Was it about Mr. Armitage? In all the excitement of everything she’d almost forgotten about the murder.

Thinking about the murder reminded her of madam. She’d forgotten to tell them in the kitchen to watch out for her. It wasn’t like madam to be late for a meal. Normally she’d be right there in the dining room, joining her guests for the Christmas Eve banquet.

Gazing around the dining room, Gertie could see no sign of madam or Mr. Baxter. That was strange. She forgot about it again in the next moment, though, as Pansy rushed up to her and grabbed her arm. “We’re finished when you’ve emptied that tray. I’ll wait for you outside. Hurry! The soup will be here any minute.”

Gertie rushed over to the last tables and deposited the dishes, then still carrying the tray, slipped out of the door into the hallway.

Pansy was jogging up and down, hugging herself as if she were cold.

“Whatever’s the matter with you?” Gertie demanded.

Before her friend could answer, the bell at the dumbwaiter rang out a summons. Pansy sent a desperate look in that direction then blurted out, “Samuel asked me to marry him. I’m engaged!”

Gertie screamed. “What? Bloody hell! I don’t believe it.” With one arm she hugged Pansy’s thin body so tight her friend called out in protest. Letting her go, she added, “Did he give you a ring?”

Pansy nodded. “It’s in my pocket.” The bell sent out another strident demand and she jumped. “We’d better get the soup. I’ll show you later.”

“Why aren’t you wearing it?”

“I didn’t want anyone to know until I’d told you about it.”

Gertie followed her to the dumbwaiter, her heart bursting with joy for her friend. Pansy and Samuel had been through a lot together, and Gertie was happy that Samuel had taken her advice and finally proposed.

If only she was as good at managing her own life. Right now she was so topsy-turvy she didn’t know which way to turn. One minute she felt like bursting with happiness and the next she was down in the dumps worrying about that stupid book. She’d be glad when she could give it to Clive and get it over with so she didn’t have to worry about it anymore.

Carrying the heavy tureen of soup through the dining room door, she concentrated on getting it to the sideboard without spilling it. Pansy had gone ahead of her and was waiting for her put the tureen down.

“Look!” Pansy pulled a ring from her pocket and held it up. “Here it is. Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Let me look.” Gertie took the ring from her and held it up to the light. A flash of brilliance from the square cut diamond almost blinded her. “It’s blinking gorgeous. You’re a lucky girl.” She went to hand it back but as Pansy reached for it her hand shook and somehow the ring fell from her fingers. Before either one of them could grab it, the ring rolled out of sight underneath the nearest table.

Gertie’s heart sank when she saw Sir Reginald and Lady Henrietta seated there. “Cripes,” she muttered. “Now we’re in trouble. We’ll have to wait until they leave before we can get it.”

“I’m not waiting,” Pansy wailed, and dived to her knees. Crawling forward, her head disappeared underneath the table.

Gertie froze for a moment, then sprang into action. Leaping over to the table she plastered a smile on her face. “Good evening, Lady Henrietta. I trust you are enjoying your meal?”

The woman looked startled, and without answering, glanced at her husband. Sir Reginald grunted something under his breath.

Gertie struggled to keep her smile going, even though her face felt like it was being stretched like a starched collar. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”

Sir Reginald scowled. “We haven’t had our soup yet. How much longer do we have to wait?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll get it to you right away.” Gertie stuck her foot under the table, hoping to give Pansy a nudge to get out of there.

Instead, Lady Henrietta uttered a little yelp.” You kicked me!”

Hastily withdrawing her foot, Gertie stammered, “I’m dreadfully sorry. I was just—” Out of the corner of her eye she saw Pansy rapidly scrabbling backward across the carpet, one hand holding up the ring. “I’ll get your soup now, m’m.”

Still baring her teeth in a smile, Gertie backed away and then made a dash for the sideboard. “Look what you did,” she muttered, as Pansy slipped the ring on her finger. “I’m already in trouble with her. She’ll be complaining to madam next.”

“Sorry.” Pansy grabbed the soup ladle and started spooning soup into a bowl. “But I didn’t know you were going to kick her. Why’d you do that, anyway?”

“I was trying to kick you.” Gertie sighed. “The way this bleeding day is going I’ll be lucky if I get through the rest of it alive. Everything’s going wrong.”

Pansy stared at her. “What’s the matter? Has something happened?”

“Not yet.” Gertie filled two bowls with soup and picked them up. “But I’ve got a nasty feeling that it’s going to.”

Pansy looked scared. “Another murder?”

“No, nothing like that.” Gertie turned to face the tables. “Just maybe the end of my hopes and dreams again.”

Pansy opened her mouth to answer, then made an odd sound as she stared past Gertie’s shoulder.

Gertie turned her head to see what her friend was looking at and saw Gilbert standing in the doorway, frantically beckoning to them.

“What does he want?” Pansy put down her bowl of soup. “I hope he’s not cross with me for telling Samuel what he said about Mr. Armitage.”

“I’ll go and see what he wants,” Gertie said, handing over her bowls of soup. “I’ll get rid of him. He has no business coming in here after you.” She marched across the room to the door, glad to have an outlet for her bad mood.

Gilbert had retreated into the hallway and she pushed open the door, ready to give him a piece of her mind.

Before she could say anything, Gilbert grabbed her arm. “Is Mrs. Baxter in there?”

“No, she’s not.” Seeing the worried look on Gilbert’s face, she added, “Is something wrong?”

“I dunno.” Gilbert sent a hunted glance over his shoulder. “She told me to meet her in her office. I’ve been in there waiting for her. I was supposed to be off an hour ago. My mum’s waiting for me to come home for dinner.”

Gertie stared at him, all the anxiety of the past few hours coming to a head. “That’s not like her. Something must have happened to her. You’d better go and tell Mr. Baxter. I’ll go down to the kitchen to see if anyone’s seen her down there.”

Gilbert dashed off and Gertie hovered in the dining room doorway for several seconds, torn between helping Pansy and finding madam. She looked across the room and saw Pansy flapping a frantic hand at her.

Deciding that she owed Pansy an explanation, she tore back to the sideboard. “I have to go down to the kitchen,” she said, cutting off whatever Pansy was about to say. “I’ll be right back.”

“But—”

“Sorry, I’ve gotta go.” She sped off again, narrowly missing a maid carrying a tray of dirty dishes. She didn’t stop until she arrived at the kitchen, heart pumping and chest heaving.

Both Michel and Mrs. Tucker looked up as she burst into the kitchen. She got the words out, despite her lack of breath. “Has anyone seen Mrs. Baxter?”

“Not since the midday meal.” Mrs. Tucker put down the spoon she was using to dollop crème Chantilly on the top of the trifles. “Why? Is something the matter?”

Gertie looked at Michel. “Have you seen her?”

“I have not.” The chef walked toward her, still holding a jug of cream. “Why ze big fuss? She is a busy woman,
non
?”

Gertie glared at him. “Busy here in the hotel, yes. The problem is, she’s not here in the hotel. Mr. Baxter can’t find her, and she was supposed to be in the dining room having dinner with him. She’s kept Gilbert waiting in her office for over an hour. She
never
does that. Something must have happened to her.”