3 Service for Two (18 page)

Ethel, who was standing at the sink peeling potatoes, appeared not to hear her.

Mrs. Chubb shook her head at the girl. Had her mind in the
clouds for the past two days, she had. Ever since she collided with Joe Salter. Looked like Ethel had finally found a man.

The door flew open at that moment, and Gertie rushed in, one hand holding her cap on straight, the other holding the strings of her apron.

“About time you showed up,” Mrs. Chubb said, sending a meaningful glance at the china clock above the fireplace. “I was just about to come and get you.”

“Bleeding overslept, didn’t I,” Gertie said, letting go of her cap to tie the apron strings. The cap slipped down over one eye, and she giggled.

Mrs. Chubb peered closer at her. “You had a talk with Ian, then, did you?”

“Yes, I did, Mrs. Chubb.” Gertie grabbed the housekeeper by the shoulders and danced her around. “I bloody well did. And he’s agreed to let me work.”

“He has?” Pleased that she wouldn’t be losing the girl after all, Mrs. Chubb forgot to be outraged by this unorthodox behavior.

“Yes, he has, he bleeding has, so what do you think about that, then? Worth getting in a tiz about, wasn’t it? I got me own way, I did. Or nearly all of it.”

Intrigued, Mrs. Chubb said eagerly, “Go on. What did he say, then?”

Gertie hugged herself with glee. “He said as how it was all right with him, as long as I worked three mornings a week and no more. I went to see madam last night, before I went to bed, and asked her if it was all right with her. She said she was delighted that the wedding was still on, and happy I’d be working at the Pennyfoot for a while longer.” She looked down and patted her stomach. “That’s until I get a bun in the oven, I s’pose she meant.”

“So the wedding is back on, then?”

“You bloody well bet it’s on. On Saturday morning, Gertie Brown is going to be walking down that bleeding aisle on her new husband’s arm. Mrs. Ian Rossiter. Cor blimey, that will take some blinking getting used to, won’t it!”

“Oh, no!” A loud wail erupted from the sink, and her attention jerked away from Gertie, Mrs. Chubb looked at
Ethel, who stood staring at them with her hand clamped over her mouth.

“What’s the matter with her, then?” Gertie demanded, staring at the girl as if she’d suddenly sprouted horns.

“Did I hear you say you’re getting married after all?” Ethel said, her voice rising in dismay.

“Where have you been?” Gertie shook her head. “I just been telling Mrs. Chubb all about it. What’s the matter with you, then? I thought you was happy for me.”

“I am,” wailed Ethel, looking thoroughly distraught. “But you’re not going to be too happy with me.”

Mrs. Chubb looked on in alarm as Gertie belligerently jammed her fists into her hips. “And why not?”

Ethel looked at Mrs. Chubb for help, but all the housekeeper could do was stare helplessly back, wondering what on earth had got into the girl.

“I thought you wasn’t getting married. I thought it was all off. I was going to finish my frock yesterday. It was my afternoon off. But when you said the wedding was off, I went out into the village to meet Joe instead. I didn’t finish it, Gertie. I’ll never have time to finish it now.”

“Blimey,” Gertie said in disgust. “There ain’t much more can happen this week, can there?”

CHAPTER
18

Michel chose that moment to sweep into the kitchen, waving his hands about dramatically. “What is all this chattering about? Why are we not all busily working on the preparations for breakfast? Or ’ave we decided that today we do not have the breakfast, no?”

“We have the breakfast, yes,” Mrs. Chubb assured him. “Just a minor catastrophe, that’s all. And I think Gertie has something to tell you.”

She bustled over to the sink to have a quiet word with Ethel, leaving Gertie alone for a moment with Michel.

“Well, what is it?” Michel demanded, already pulling down pots from the shelf with an almighty clatter. “I have to mix the eggs for the omelettes, so be quick.”

“The wedding’s on again,” Gertie said, dodging out of the
way as he spun around to the table. “Thanks to you. And Ian even promised me I could work three mornings a week.”

“That is good.” Michel’s dark gaze swept across her face; then he flung himself back to the stove. “Then I am happy for you.”

She stood there for a moment, twisting her apron in her fingers. “I wish you could be happy, too, Michel. Honest I do.”

He glanced back at her over his shoulder. “It is not possible for us all to be happy all of the time, Gertie. So make the most of your happiness while you have it.”

She nodded. “Oh, I will, Michel. And thank you ever so much for what you said to me.”

He nodded, then snapped his fingers. “Come, enough of this idle chatter. I need three bowls,
tout suite
.”

Gertie jumped to obey, almost colliding with Ethel. “You’ll have to wear your white frock tomorrow,” she muttered at her as she passed.

Reaching up for the bowls from the cupboard, she felt a momentary misgiving. So much had gone wrong with this wedding. Was she really doing the right thing? If only she could be sure. But who could be sure about a thing like that?

Ethel came back across the room with a tray of bread loaves. “Mrs. Chubb is going to finish the dress,” she said, pausing in front of Gertie.

“It’ll take her all bleeding night,” Gertie said, glancing over to where the housekeeper was stacking cups and saucers on a tray to be taken to the dining room.

“She offered to do it,” Ethel said. “She didn’t want you disappointed, not on the most important day of your life, she said.”

Gertie felt like crying. She wanted to go over and hug the housekeeper, but that would be sappy. So instead she sent her a huge wide grin and a wink, and started to hum to herself. It was going to be all right, after all.

Cecily pulled her cape closer around her as the trap bowled along the Esplanade. She hoped that Madeline would be at
home. If she was going to put her plan into action, she needed her friend’s full cooperation.

It was a desperate plan at best, and if it didn’t work, she would not have another chance. It was all or nothing. A sobering thought.

She gazed through the small window at the various shops along the way. The sun shone weakly on the leaded panes of their display windows, and small mounds of grayish-looking snow still lay in the corners where the sun couldn’t reach.

It didn’t seem possible that in less than three months the Esplanade would be teeming with people. Ladies with flowery hats and parasols and gentlemen in straw boaters would be strolling along the sands, laughing at the Punch and Judy show or watching the children astride the slow-moving donkeys.

Gaily striped bathing tents would line the beach, while some of the more daring women would take to the water in scanty bathing suits that bared their knees.

Cecily smiled to herself, remembering James’s shocked comments the first time he’d seen a woman in a bathing suit. She’d noticed, however, that he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off her. She had teased him unmercifully for days.

A tear glimmered in her eye, and she brushed it away with her gloved hand. Those days were gone forever, and she shouldn’t dwell on them. But she couldn’t help wondering what kind of changes were in store for a world rushing toward progress and technology. How much more enjoyable the anticipation of those changes would be if only she had someone with whom to share them.

The trap pulled up at the end of the lane, and Cecily waited for Samuel to alight and hold the big bay steady while she climbed down. After instructing him to wait for her, she picked her way along the lane to Madeline’s gate and opened it.

The path wandered up to the front door, looking much bigger without the jungle of flowers, herbs, and weeds that overflowed on either side in the summer.

Madeline had no rhyme or reason for the way she planted
her garden, yet somehow she always found exactly what she wanted and could go straight to it.

To Cecily’s relief, Madeline opened the door promptly in answer to the rap of the door knocker. Her beautiful smile flashed across her face at the sight of her friend.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” she said as she opened the door wider. “I would have baked some of those French cream slices you like so well.”

“In that case I am glad that I didn’t warn you.” Cecily stepped down into the cluttered living room. “My waist is beginning to thicken as it is. I will either have to buy new corsets or go without them entirely.”

“I often do,” Madeline said, sweeping a large pile of silk flowers off one of the armchairs onto the floor. “Sit down while I put these things away.”

She disappeared through the curtain of beads that served as a doorway, leaving a swinging, clattering rainbow of color to settle behind her.

Cecily smiled as she glanced around the room. Madeline made an adequate living from her potions and the variety of crafts in which she excelled. But she lived in utter chaos, sharing her living space with the materials she used to create the beautiful and sometimes whimsical objects that so clearly reflected her personality.

The beads clattered again as Madeline returned carrying a large basket, into which she piled the delicate silk flowers. “A large order from Genevieve the hatter,” she explained, as the pastel silks filled the basket. “Have you noticed how much more decoration is being piled on the new hats nowadays? If they continue this way, they will be far too heavy for anyone to wear. Except for Phoebe, of course. She has a neck of steel.”

Cecily shook her head. “You are much too intolerant of Phoebe,” she said mildly. “She has her funny ways, I grant you, but her heart is in the right place.”

Madeline sat back on her heels. Her frock flowed around her feet in a pool of pale mauve muslin, a perfect foil for her tawny skin. In the summer Madeline’s unlined face would
turn a dark brown, but now it was a golden color, as smooth and pure as the unblemished skin of an infant.

“Phoebe is living in the past,” she said, her clear gaze challenging Cecily. “It doesn’t do for us to dwell in the past. That is behind us; it is to the future we must direct our thoughts and our passions.”

Aware of the underlying message in her words, Cecily smiled. “Good advice for all of us, I would say.”

Madeline stared at her for a moment longer, then, apparently satisfied, she nodded. “There is romance in the future for you, Cecily Sinclair. But until you let go of the past, your heart has no room to welcome it.”

In a bid to change the subject, Cecily shook her head. “I didn’t come here to talk about my future. I came here to ask a very large favor of you.”

Madeline rose with the basket in her arms. “I’ll make some tea, then we can talk. Just sit and relax, Cecily. You are far too tense.” Once more the beads swung and clattered as she pushed her way through them.

Cecily watched the colored glass settle back into place. Madeline’s words had disturbed her more than she had let on. For some strange reason, an image of Dr. Prestwick had formed in her mind. She felt decidedly uncomfortable about that.

She was still frowning when Madeline returned with a tray, and she made an effort to smooth her brow. She waited while her friend filled a cup and handed it to her, then took a sip of the sweet, hot liquid. Madeline’s tea always tasted unusual and faintly exotic, so different than the Assam blend from India that the Pennyfoot used.

“Now,” Madeline said, balancing her saucer on her knee, “what is it you would like me to do for you? Prepare a remedy?” She peered anxiously into Cecily’s face. “You’re not ill, are you?”

“No, I am very well, thank you.” Cecily replaced her cup in the saucer, trying to think how best to explain what she wanted.

“A love potion?” Madeline’s eyes suddenly sparkled. “You haven’t by any chance taken a fancy to the new doctor?”

Cecily was very glad she didn’t have a mouthful of tea at that precise moment. She might well have spurted it across the room. “Madeline,” she said a trifle irritably, “you really do have an obsession with romance. No, I am not in the least interested in Dr. Prestwick. My request has to do with Lord Chickering.”

Madeline’s eyes opened very wide. “You want a love potion for Lord Chickering?”

“I do not want a love potion at all,” Cecily said crossly, before she realized her friend was joking.

Madeline’s laugh sounded softly in the fragrant room. “I don’t think you will need one, my friend. All you will need is trust. Now, what is this about that fool, Chickering? I really can’t abide that man. He puts on all those airs and graces, and yet when he’s crossed he can swear and spit like a common alley cat.”

Taken aback, Cecily said carefully, “Lord Chickering? Surely not!”

“Oh, but yes,” Madeline said, lifting her cup. “I heard him just the other night.”

She sipped her tea as Cecily drew in a sharp breath, her senses sharpening. “And which night was that?”

Her interest obviously aroused, Madeline put down her cup. “Why, Cecily, you are positively panting. Pray tell me, what is this all about?”

“Please, Madeline, just tell me what you heard.”

Madeline shrugged. “It wasn’t that exciting. I was passing by the hotel late Sunday night. I had been to deliver one of my remedies to Sarah Courtney, who lives down by the harbor. She has a dreadful attack of consumption, I’m afraid.” She paused to take another sip of her tea while Cecily waited impatiently. “In any case,” she continued, “as I approached the hotel, I saw Lord Chickering in the glow of the gas lamps, standing at the bottom of the steps. He had a man by the scruff of the neck, and I could hear every word of what he said, in spite of the fact I was yet several yards away.”

She made a sound of disgust. “His language was quite intolerable, most unfitting for an aristocrat.” She stroked her chin. “Maybe Phoebe would know if he is a true lord. She
knew him from her glory days with ‘dear Sedgley.’ Not that she’d tell you, of course.”

“Madeline,” Cecily said evenly, “do you think you can remember exactly what it was Lord Chickering said?”

Madeline frowned. “Exactly? I don’t know if I can. Let me think. I do know he was very angry with the man. He said he was going to teach him a lesson he wouldn’t forget, and that if he ever caught him philandering in the hotel again he’d cut off his …” She lifted her shoulders. “Well, you can imagine. As I said, the man is quite vulgar.”

So that was it, Cecily thought. Apparently Chickering had found out about the murdered man’s indiscretions with a lady friend. A stupid act that could very well have threatened his entire operation. No wonder he was enraged. Angry enough to murder? That was something they would have to find out.

“Madeline,” she said, leaning forward, “how would you like to help me put Lord Chickering well and truly in his place?”

Madeline’s eyes gleamed, and Cecily began talking, rapidly outlining her plan. If it worked, and she prayed that it would, her problem would very nicely be solved.

A short while later Cecily returned to the hotel, feeling more than a little apprehensive. So much hung on conjecture and luck—and so much could very well go wrong. Madeline would do her part, of that Cecily was certain, but whether or not Lord Chickering would be as obliging remained to be seen.

She went in search of Baxter, and it was some time before she located him on the top floor, examining the window in one of the suites.

She walked into the room and closed the door behind her, just as Baxter stepped off the footstool. He spun around, his face expressing consternation when he saw her.

“You closed the door, madam,” he said, tugging at his waistcoat to straighten it.

“I did, Baxter. I do not want to be overheard.”

“It is unlikely that we will be overheard here on the top
floor, madam, since the rooms are vacant and the staff have no reason to be up here.”

“I do not care to take that chance,” Cecily said, becoming a trifle irritated.

“I do not feel comfortable being in a boudoir with you with the door closed. It could place you in a compromising position. I am quite sure I do not have to remind you of the extraordinary ability of the staff to jump to conclusions. I am quite certain there has already been gossip about our being discovered together in the card room.”

Cecily drew a deep breath. “Baxter, you have just pointed out yourself that no one is likely to come up here. So it is unlikely that anyone will know about it, unless you intend to spend the entire afternoon standing here arguing about it. In which case our absence shall undoubtedly be noticed.”

He glared at her for a moment, but she remained resolutely in front of the closed door. After a moment he cleared his throat, and though clearly unsettled, asked politely, “What is it you wished to speak to me about, madam?”

She paused to collect her thoughts, then said quietly, “I need you to accompany me tonight on a rather important mission.”

His eyebrows shot up in alarm. “I do hope this has nothing to do with Lord Chickering.”

“It does indeed. And if we are to bring this man to justice with any degree of success, I firmly believe this is the only option open to us.” Quickly, before he could waste any more time, she outlined the plan, while Baxter grew more and more perturbed by the second.

“There has to be a better method of doing this,” he muttered, when she had finished.

“If there is, Baxter, please inform me, and I will attempt it. I have considered every possibility and I am reasonably confident that this will work.” That wasn’t strictly the truth, but she had no intention of disclosing her apprehensions about the plan.