The Clue is in the Pudding (17 page)

Cecily took a moment to control her temper. “Do I have to ring Inspector Cranshaw? I’m sure he’ll be interested to know one of his constables is not taking care of his duties.”

The operator paused, then said quietly, “I’ll put you through to P.C. Watkins’s home.”

“Thank you.” Cecily waited, one foot tapping the floor, while a series of buzzing and whistling went on down the line. Then a male voice demanded, “P.C. Watkins. What do you need?”

Frowning, Cecily answered, “This is Mrs. Baxter, and I need you to come to St. Bartholomew’s church right away.”

“Is this a joke? If so, it’s not very funny. I’m trying to enjoy Christmas with my family.”

Losing her patience, Cecily raised her voice. “This is not a joke. I have your killer, Constable Watkins. The man who poisoned one of my guests in the Pennyfoot Country Club. He tried to kill me and my stable manager. I have him locked in a room in the church and I suggest you get here right away to arrest him, or do I have to call Inspector Cranshaw?”

P.C. Watkins stammered into the telephone. “No, no. I’ll be there right away. Keep him locked up until I get there.”

“No need to worry about that. I have no intention of doing otherwise.” Shaking her head, Cecily hung the receiver back on the hook and returned to where she’d left Samuel in the hallway.

She found him slumped on the floor, his back resting against the wall. “Samuel! What’s wrong? Is it your head?”

Samuel looked up at her, his face pinched with pain. “It hurts, and I’m a bit light-headed. I feel like I’m floating off the floor.”

“Oh, my.” She squatted down beside him. “I’ll have Dr. Prestwick take a look at you as soon as we get back to the Pennyfoot. I—” She broke off and stood up. “Oh, my, I wonder what time it is. I had better ring the Pennyfoot and let everyone know we’re all right. They must be wondering where we are.”

Once more she left Samuel and went back to the office. This time the operator put her through right away. Cecily waited while the telephone rang once, twice, three times and kept on ringing without an answer.
Where is Philip?

She looked around the office and spotted a small clock perched on a shelf. One look at it and she cried out in horror. It was much later than she’d thought. She must have been locked inside that wardrobe for hours. The evening meal at the Pennyfoot would be over by now. The pageant was probably coming to a close as well. Baxter must be out of his mind with worry.

Of course. She’d given Philip the night off, thinking there would be few, if any, telephone calls until after Christmas. Everyone else was most likely at the pageant. The only other telephone was in her office and no one would be in there.

She would just have to wait until P.C. Watkins arrived to arrest Cuthbert Rickling. Without a horse and carriage neither of them was going anywhere for a while. All she could hope was that Baxter would forgive her for this latest escapade.

*   *   *

Baxter had long ago given up any hope that his wife would lead a normal life. He blamed the dratted women’s movement and all the controversy over equal rights. It had turned women into autonomous adventurers with a thirst for excitement and a belligerence that was entirely unladylike.

Although he would die rather than admit it, he rather liked Cecily’s feisty nature, even if it did land her into trouble more often than was comfortable. As for women’s rights, he didn’t know why the government didn’t just hand them the vote and be done with all the nonsense. If half of them possessed the intelligence of his wife, the country might well be better off with their contributions.

Right at that moment, however, he was not at all happy with Cecily’s penchant for danger and excitement. Having searched the town with Kevin Prestwick in vain, he had returned to the Pennyfoot only to find the carriage they’d sought standing in the middle of the courtyard, with the bay hanging its head and steam gushing from its nose.

At first his heart had leapt with relief. Cecily had returned home safely after all. Then the realization had hit him. Had Samuel been with her, the bay would have been snug in its stall, and the carriage put away in the stables.

He had wasted no time bounding up the steps to the front door. The foyer was quite empty. Even Philip was not in his usual position behind the reception desk. Cecily must have sent him home.

Kevin halted behind him, his voice strained with anxiety when he said, “She’s not here, is she.”

Baxter glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. “Take a look in the ballroom, just in case she’s there. I’m going up to the suite. Meet me back here.”

Kevin nodded and disappeared down the hallway. Baxter’s stomach felt like an angry ocean churning away inside him as he swiftly climbed the stairs. The unaccustomed exercise took a toll on his knees, and he was hobbling by the time he reached the door of the suite.

One look inside told him what he’d feared. Cecily had not arrived home. What in the world had happened to her? He sunk on the bed, burying his head in his hands. It was all his fault. He should have been more strict with her. Not allowed her to go chasing after criminals. Obviously that’s what she’d done this afternoon, and it appeared that she had ended up in serious trouble. He would have to call the constabulary and ask for their help.

A wave of fear took his breath away.
Dear God, don’t let anything bad have happened to her.
He fought against the vision of her lying in some dark alley, her throat cut and her life’s blood trickling down the road.
No, not Cecily
. He simply couldn’t live without her. Raising his chin, he once more appealed to the heavens. “It’s Christmas, for pity’s sake,” he whispered. “Let her come home to me. I can’t lose her now.”

An urgent tapping made him jump. Dashing at his eyes with the back of his hand, he rose and stumbled over to the door to open it.

Madeline stood in the doorway, with Kevin peering over his shoulder. “Is she not here?”

Baxter shook his head. “I’m going down to the foyer to ring the constabulary. Then I’m going out again to look for her.”

“I’m coming with you.” Kevin silenced his wife’s murmur of protest with a raise of his hand. “I’ll have one of the footmen take you home, Madeline. Our nanny will be wondering where you are, and you should be with little Angelina tonight.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Madeline looked at Baxter. “Don’t worry, Cecily will be all right. The Lord is taking care of her in his house.”

Alarmed, Baxter stared at her. “I hope you don’t mean—”

“She means nothing.” Kevin gave his wife a little push. “Go home, Madeline. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

Madeline turned to leave, and glanced at Baxter over her shoulder. “Look for her there.” She was gone before he could ask her again what she meant.

“You know Madeline,” Kevin said, with a smile of apology. “She means well, but she relies entirely too much on her visions and dreams. It’s best to take whatever she says with a grain of salt.”

Baxter shook his head. “I’m inclined to agree with you, old man, but I have to say, there are some things about Madeline that defy explanation. In any case, I’m going down now to ring the constabulary. I truly appreciate your help tonight, but there’s no need for you to stay. It’s Christmas, and you should be home with your wife.”

“I’m not going home until I know that Cecily is safe.” Kevin turned and started walking toward the stairs.

Baxter followed him, his mind whirling and his stomach feeling as if it were on fire. He had to cling to the banister rail on the way down and felt quite weak by the time he reached the foyer. He managed to get over to the reception desk without stumbling and reached for the telephone. After dialing for the operator he waited. And waited. The only sound in his ear was the insistent buzzing on the line. Burning with frustration, he slammed the receiver back onto its hook.

Kevin raised his eyebrows in silent question.

“They’re not answering,” Baxter said, his voice hoarse with the strain. “They must have gone home for Christmas.”

Kevin rolled his eyes. “Come on, let’s get out there and look for them.”

Baxter lifted his hands, a feeling of utter helplessness almost overwhelming him. “Where? We’ve looked everywhere. How—?”

A voice from across the foyer interrupted him. “Mr. Baxter?”

Baxter scowled at the footman hurrying toward him. “Not now, Charlie. I’m busy.”

“This is important, sir.” Charlie halted in front of him, his eyes wide and full of concern. “I thought you should know. I’ve been trying to find Mrs. Baxter to tell her, but I can’t find her anywhere.”

Baxter brushed weary fingers across his eyes. “Tell her what?”

Charlie glanced at Kevin, then lowered his voice. “Samuel told me earlier today that Mr. Armitage had been poisoned by arsenic in a bottle of whiskey.”

Baxter sent a quick glance around the foyer. “I hope you haven’t repeated that to anyone. Samuel knows better than to spread gossip like that.”

Charlie shook his head. “No, sir, I haven’t told anyone. I didn’t think that much about it at the time, but then I remembered a short while ago that Mr. Rickling had asked me to take up a bottle of whiskey for Mr. Armitage. He said to tell Mr. Armitage it was a Christmas gift from an admirer.”

Kevin uttered a startled curse, while Baxter stared at Charlie. “Rickling? The choirmaster?”

“Yes, sir.” Charlie looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know if it means anything but—”

“The house of the Lord,” Baxter muttered. He surged forward, heading for the door.

Behind him, Kevin called out, “Where are you going?”

Baxter shouted over his shoulder. “The house of the Lord. Madeline said to look for Cecily there. She’s with Rickling in the church!” He didn’t wait for an answer but went leaping down the steps, praying as he’d never prayed before.

CHAPTER

16

Gertie had been waiting for the knock on her door for what seemed like hours. Even so, she nearly jumped out of her skin when at last she heard the light tap. Glancing at the twins to make sure they were fast asleep, she crept over to the door and opened it.

Clive stood outside, a huge doll’s house in his arms. At his feet stood a castle, its battlements filled with knights in armor, each holding either a lance or bows and arrows. Both toys were so exquisitely crafted, Gertie shoved a hand over her mouth to muffle her cry of delight.

“How did you carry them both down here?” she asked, as she stooped to pick up the castle.

“I made two trips.” He followed her into the room and carefully lowered the doll’s house to the floor at the foot of Lillian’s bed. The children had hung pillowcases on the bedposts, and Gertie had already filled them with toys and sweets. She placed the castle at the bottom of James’s bed and squatted down for a better look.

The walls of the castle had ivy growing up them, and windows in the turrets. There was a courtyard in front, with double gates that opened, and inside the castle she could see tiny furniture and colorful banners on the wall.

Lillian’s dollhouse had curtains at the window, and was also furnished with miniature chairs, tables, a bed and wardrobe. Two little dolls sat in the sitting room side by side, and a small dog lay in front of a fireplace.

Gertie breathed out a sigh. “How do you do this? It’s so . . .” She sought for a word to describe what she saw and could find only one. “Perfect.”

Clive grinned. “I hope they like them.”

“I know they will.” She got up and signaled him to take a chair. Sitting down in the other one, she said quietly, “Thank you, Clive. You are so clever. Why don’t you start up a business as a toy maker? I know you could do really well at it.”

He studied her face long enough to unsettle her. “You know, I might just think about that.”

Now she was sorry she’d said anything. The thought of working in the Pennyfoot without the possibility of bumping into Clive now and then was too depressing to even consider.

“I brought something for you, too.” He dug in his vest pocket and drew out a small box. “Happy Christmas, Gertie. I hope you like it.”

She took it from him, trying not to let him see her hand shaking. “Thank you! Can I open it now?”

There was laughter in his voice when he answered her. “Of course. I was hoping you would open it while I’m here.”

She slowly lifted the lid, aware of her heart thumping madly in her chest. She wasn’t sure what she expected to see. Something carved in wood, most likely. A serving spoon, perhaps, or an ornament for her mantelpiece. What she saw when she opened the box was so unexpected, she could hardly breathe.

Nestled on a bed of red velvet lay a gleaming gold bracelet engraved with silver swirls. She was afraid to touch it. Never in her life had she ever owned such a beautiful thing, and she was half afraid it would vanish if she put a finger on it.

She was quiet for so long, Clive leaned toward her, his voice now taut with anxiety. “Is something wrong?”

“No, not at all.” She looked up, her words threatening to choke her. “It’s bloody gorgeous.”

Clive grinned. “Here, let me put it on you.”

She gave him the box and held out her wrist. His fingers were warm on her arm as he fumbled with the catch, and she thought she would faint by the time he’d fastened the bracelet.

He sat back and tilted his head on one side. “It looks very nice on you.”

She lifted her wrist and studied it, wishing she could find the words to thank him properly. The last thing she had expected from him was jewelry. Especially something this nice. She knew he didn’t have much money, and the thought of him spending it on her like this was so overwhelming she almost cried. Considering the fact that she hardly ever cried, that was quite a shock to her system.

“It looks bleeding beautiful and I can’t wait to show it off.” She smiled at him, putting her heart into it. “Thank you ever so much, Clive. It’s the nicest thing anyone has ever given me.”

“Then you deserve to be spoilt.”

She stared at the bracelet for several seconds more, then jumped to her feet. It was time, and she couldn’t put it off any longer. Her heart was racing so fast she felt dizzy as she went to the dresser and picked up the package she’d wrapped for him.

“Here,” she said, thrusting it at him. “Happy Christmas, Clive.”

He took it from her, and carefully undid the string and unwrapped the paper. He took so long she thought she would scream. At last he took out the book with a murmur of appreciation. “A book! You couldn’t have given me anything better. Thank you, Gertie.” He turned it over then, and read the title out loud. “
Love Poems for Your Loved One
.”

The silence that followed seemed as thick as a fog. Gertie sought frantically for the right thing to say, but everything she thought of seemed only to make things worse.

Finally Clive spoke. “Am I your loved one?”

Everything hung in the balance with her answer. She opened her mouth to tell him the whole thing was a mistake and she hadn’t even read the title before buying the book. Then she saw the hope in his eyes and the words died before they were ever spoken. Feeling as if she were standing on the very edge of a high cliff, she whispered, “Of course you are.”

His smile dazzled her, and she blinked. Hard.

Clive looked down at the book and opened it. He began to read out loud, though softly, so as not to awaken the children. “‘How
do I love, thee? Let me count the ways.’”

Overcome by the beauty of the words flowing over her, Gertie closed her eyes.
Let this moment never end, and I’ll be content the rest of my life.
She opened her eyes again to find Clive watching her with an expression she’d never seen on him before. It took her a moment to realize he was about to kiss her, and when he leaned forward, she hesitated, just for a second. Then she leaned forward to meet him, and in that moment she knew where her heart belonged. Come what may, she would follow this man to the ends of the earth.

*   *   *

“You know, Samuel, we really should stop all this nonsense.” Cecily studied her stable manager, concerned by his pallor. “If you keep getting hit on the head like this, your brain will be addled.”

Seated on the floor with his back propped up against the wall, Samuel managed a weak grin. “I think it’s a bit late to worry about that, m’m.”

Cecily shook her head. “No, really, I mean it. You have been a good and faithful servant all these years, and you’ve risked life and limb for me too many times for me to remember. You’ve been rendered unconscious far too often, and it’s time this stopped.”

Samuel’s face registered dismay. “Are you giving me the sack, m’m?”

“Great heavens, no! Of course not.” Cecily edged herself down the wall until she was sitting next to him on the floor. “I’m saying that I’ve been entirely too selfish all these years, expecting you to accompany me on these wild pursuits that generally end up with you getting injured. If we keep this up, you could very well be permanently damaged, or worse. Now that you have a future wife to think about, I simply can’t allow you to put yourself in harm’s way anymore.”

Samuel’s frown deepened. “But who will take care of you if I don’t? Who will help you hunt down these scoundrels and bring them to justice?”

Cecily smiled. “I’m not sure I’ll be doing any more scoundrel hunting myself, but if I do, I’ll find someone else to assist me.” Seeing his forlorn expression, she hastened to add, “Not that I could ever replace you, Samuel, but I’m sure I can at least find someone halfway decent.”

“If you don’t mind me saying so, m’m, perhaps it’s time you gave up chasing after criminals altogether.”

“I think that’s a very good idea.”

The deep voice had come from down the hallway. At the sound of it, Cecily scrambled to her feet, just in time to see her husband rushing toward her, his arms outstretched.

Enclosed in his embrace, she felt a moment of weakness, and had to fight against shedding a tear. “I’m so glad to see you, darling,” she murmured, when she could speak without faltering. “The constable should be here any minute. Mr. Rickling is locked up in that room.” She nodded at the door. “I’m afraid he’ll have rather a nasty headache when he wakes up.”

Baxter let her go and stepped back to look at Samuel. “What about him?”

“He has a headache as well.” She looked past Baxter, relieved to see Kevin Prestwick standing there. “Perhaps you could take a look at him, Kevin?”

Kevin nodded and squatted down in front of Samuel.

Looking up at her husband, Cecily asked, “How did you know we were here?”

“Madeline. She told me to look for you in the house of the Lord. Charlie Muggins told me that Rickling had sent up a bottle of whiskey for Armitage. I put two and two together.”

She grinned. “Clever. Perhaps I should enlist your help more often.”

“I think not.” He looked grim. “Do you have any idea how I felt when I realized you were missing?”

“I’m dreadfully sorry, darling.” Cecily patted him on the arm. “I’m perfectly all right, as you can see. That dreadful man shut me up in a wardrobe, but I managed to get out. She gazed at the lone vase sitting on the shelf. “I’m afraid I broke the other vase.”

Baxter glanced at the vase. “You did? How did that happen?”

“I smashed it over Mr. Rickling’s head.”

Baxter rolled his eyes. “You will be the death of me, wife of mine.”

“Piffle.” She gave him a serene smile. “Think how bored you’d be if you didn’t have me to worry about.” She glanced over at the doctor, who was leaning over Samuel. “How is he?”

“He’ll live.” Kevin turned back to Samuel. “You’ll have to lay quiet for a few days, young fellow. You have probably got a concussion.”

“Oh, dear,” Cecily murmured. “I’ll see that he gets plenty of rest.”

Heavy footsteps from down the hallway caught her attention. “Here’s the constable now.” She smiled at P.C. Watkins as he trudged into view. “Good evening, constable. I’m so sorry to bring you out here on Christmas Eve. Your prisoner is locked in that room.” She pointed at the door. “He may be sleeping still.”

The constable gave her a sharp look. “How do you know he killed your guest?”

“Oh, he told me.” She nodded at Samuel. “He told my stable manager as well. He also planned to kill us both. I think that should be enough to put him in prison, don’t you?”

Baxter grunted. “He was going to kill you?”

“Well, yes, dear, but he didn’t get the chance.”

Baxter put both hands on his head as if he would tear out his hair. “Thank the Lord for that. I really don’t know what I would do without you.”

“I have no intention of you ever having to find out.” She slipped her hand under his arm. “Now take me home, darling. We have a Christmas to celebrate.”

*   *   *

Mrs. Chubb paused at the gate that led into the Pennyfoot Country Club’s courtyard. Rows of dazzling white sheets hung from the clotheslines, flapping in the brisk sea breeze. Overhead, fluffy clouds scudded across a pale blue sky, promising a sunny afternoon. She could just see the corner of the stables from there. Tess was chasing her tail while a couple of ducks waddled past, apparently unfazed by the big dog’s antics.

Mrs. Chubb smiled with satisfaction. She was home again and everything was as she left it. Still smiling, she hauled her bags across the yard and up to the kitchen door.

When she opened it, the first person she saw was Gertie standing at the sink. Her cap sat askew on her head as usual, allowing strands of her dark hair to float about her face. Normally Mrs. Chubb would utter a familiar phrase.
Gertie, straighten your cap and for heaven’s sake do something with that hair!

Today was different, however. She’d been gone for two weeks, and much as she loved being with her daughter and grandchildren, she couldn’t wait to get back to work in the surroundings she knew and loved.

So, instead of yelling at Gertie, she put a foot inside the kitchen and said loudly, “Well, I must say, it’s good to see you’re all still working hard.”

Three faces turned in her direction. Pansy stood on the other side of Gertie, and Michel was at the stove, waving a wooden spoon at her.

Gertie was the first to speak. Rushing toward the housekeeper, arms outstretched, she screeched, “Chubby! You’re home! Am I bloody glad to see you.”

“Welcome home, Mrs. Chubb,” Pansy called out, her face wreathed in smiles.

“It’s about time you were here,” Michel said, doing his best to hide a grin. “This place, it is a mess without you,
n’est-ce pas
?”

“He’s bloody right.” Gertie grabbed one of the housekeeper’s bags and linked arms with her. “Come on, I’ll help you take this to your room. I’ve got blinking lots to tell you.”

Mrs. Chubb allowed herself to be dragged through the kitchen and down the hallway. Opening the door, she looked inside and sighed. “The nicest thing about going away,” she said, as she walked into her room, “is coming home and finding nothing has changed.”

Gertie followed her in and dumped the heavy bag onto the bed. “Well, I wouldn’t exactly say that.”

Mrs. Chubb dropped her bag on the floor and sat down on the edge of the bed. Something in Gertie’s voice had alarmed her and she looked up anxiously at her chief housemaid. “What do you mean? Nothing’s happened to madam, has it? Or anyone else?”

Gertie sat down beside her. “Madam’s fine, though she nearly wasn’t. The new choirmaster at St. Bartholomew’s killed one of our guests and madam went after him at the church and he almost killed her and Samuel and now Samuel’s getting over a concussion and has to be really careful and he just got engaged to Pansy and—”

“What?” Mrs. Chubb grabbed Gertie’s arm. “Pansy’s engaged to Samuel?”

Gertie grinned. “Out of all that, all you heard was that Pansy got engaged?”

“No, of course not.” Mrs. Chubb collected her thoughts. “It’s awful that someone died, of course, but it’s not the first time Mrs. Baxter has done battle with a murderer, and it is the first time Pansy has got engaged.” She thought about that for a moment or two. “When are they getting married?”