7 Pay the Piper (9 page)

Gulping down a sob, Doris nodded her head. “It were him, Mrs. Chubb, honest it was. I saw him as plain as the nose on me face. I know what he looks like, I spoke to him long enough. It were him, I’d stake me life on it.”

“What did he say when you went up to him?” Daisy asked, looking as if she were fascinated by the story.

“Nothing.” Doris’s frail body shook violently, and Mrs. Chubb tutted.

“I’d better get you a spoonful of Michel’s cognac,” she muttered. “Hold still a minute, love, I’ll be back in a tick.”

She rushed off to the pantry, leaving Daisy and Gertie staring at Doris, who sat huddled by the fire as if she would never get warm again.

“Come on,” Gertie said, rubbing her cold hands together, “it had to be one of the other pipers. Playing a joke on you, he was, though I don’t think much about his bleeding sense of humor.”

“It weren’t anyone else,” Doris whispered. “I tell you, it were him. I know, I went right up to him. I touched him.”

“Well, that proves it, doesn’t it?” Gertie said with relief. “You can’t touch a bleeding ghost. Your hand would go right through him.”

Doris started shivering again. “I know,” she whispered, her voice barely audible in the quiet kitchen. “That’s exactly what happened. I put out my hand to touch his arm, and it went right through him. Then he just … disappeared.”

Gertie hardly noticed Mrs. Chubb come back with the brandy. She was too busy trying to still the quivers in her
stomach. It wasn’t so much what Doris had said, as the way she had said it. Somehow Gertie knew the housemaid was telling the truth. And it scared the bleeding daylights out of her.

CHAPTER
9

Stepping out of the trap late that afternoon, Cecily was happy to see a thin stream of smoke rising from the chimney of Dr. Prestwick’s cottage. It would appear that the good doctor was at home, unless some poor soul had called him out on an emergency.

She paused at the gate as Samuel called out, “Would you like me to wait, mum?”

“I shall be but a moment.” She had no intention of going inside the cottage, and it was much too cold to stand for long outside of it. Already the first stars could be seen in the rapidly darkening sky. It would be cold and frosty that night, with perhaps a hint of snow in the wind.

Shivering at the thought, Cecily made her way up the path to the porch. Her shoes crunched in the gravel, apparently
alerting the doctor to her presence, as the door opened before she reached it.

“Cecily, my dear! What a very great pleasure, as always.” He took her proffered hand and pressed his lips to her gloved fingers. “Though I trust you are not ill? I hope this is a social visit?”

“I am quite well, Doctor,” Cecily assured him. Withdrawing her hand from his hold, she added, “Though I must confess, this is not entirely a social call.”

Dr. Prestwick shook his handsome head. “I feared as much. But do please come inside, out of this miserable weather. As much as I should be delighted for an excuse to see you again, I prefer it not to be in my surgery.”

“Thank you, Doctor, but I shall not take up too much of your time. Just long enough for you to give me the answers to a question or two.”

Kevin Prestwick’s dark brown eyes regarded her solemnly. “In the first place, my dear, I thought we were well enough acquainted for you to call me by my Christian name. In the second place, you could never take up too much of my time. I find your charming presence both stimulating and thoroughly fascinating.”

“Thank you, Doctor, but—”

“Kevin, if you remember. And in the third place, if the questions you refer to have anything to do with the recent murder of Peter Stewart, you know full well that I am unable to give you the answers.”

Cecily pursed her lips. “I’m quite sure, Kevin, that you can tell me what I need to know without violating any of Inspector Cranshaw’s illogical regulations.”

Dr. Prestwick uttered an audible sigh. “Perhaps if you were to tell me the reason for your interest?”

She hesitated, then said quietly, “I believe that P.C. Northcott has arrested the wrong man.”

For a moment longer the doctor continued to regard her with a serious expression, then his engaging smile brightened his face. “Ah, Cecily, as always I am powerless when
you look at me with such charming appeal. Come inside and I will tell you what little information I am permitted to give you.”

Cecily shook her head, sending a backward glance over her shoulder. “Samuel is waiting. In any case, I prefer not to risk your reputation, Kevin. You know how tongues wag in this village. Entertaining a widow alone in your cottage would no doubt be the subject of conversation in every drawing room by morning.”

Dr. Prestwick sighed and rolled his eyes heavenward. “As always, you are quite right, my dear. As I have said before, were it only my reputation to worry about, I would not care one whit, but I will do nothing to besmirch your impeccable standing in Badgers End.”

Cecily had to smile. “I’m not so sure it’s all that impeccable. I have been known to kick over the traces now and again.”

“So I have heard. I greatly admire a woman who can fly in the face of convention. I only wish it could be me with whom you defy the proprieties, instead of that granite-faced manager of yours.”

Cecily raised her eyebrows. “Why, Kevin, I am surprised at you. Everyone knows that Baxter was appointed my protector by my late husband. He is simply doing his duty, at considerable risk at times.”

“To his reputation or his health?” Dr. Prestwick asked dryly.

“Both, very likely,” Cecily admitted. “I’m afraid that Baxter is far more concerned with decorum than I, and it is with a great deal of reluctance that he accompanies me in my misadventures.”

“Then the man is a fool,” the doctor said crisply. “I would dearly love the opportunity to cavort with you all over the countryside.”

“I assure you there is a great deal less cavorting than there is simple investigation.”

“Which might be better left to the local police officers, if I might be so bold.”

Cecily lifted her chin. “There are times when our local constabulary are hampered in their efforts. I enjoy the privilege of the villagers’ trust and can therefore learn a great deal more than the police, simply by asking questions. Most of the people in Badgers End refuse to talk to the officers, for fear of reprisal. I’m afraid our local police constable can be quite obtuse at times.”

“Obtuse and quite stubborn.” Prestwick shook his head. “Very well, if I can’t persuade you to step inside, I will answer what I can as quickly as possible. It is decidedly chilly out here tonight.”

Feeling the wind cutting through the cloth of her coat at her back, Cecily had to agree. “Do you know what time Peter Stewart was murdered?”

The doctor’s face became grave. “I would say somewhere around midnight. Not too long after he apparently left the George and Dragon.”

“And where would you say he was killed?”

He looked surprised at that. “There’s no doubt the victim was killed inside the shop. There were no bloodstains outside on the street. Judging by the amount of blood on the floor at the victim’s feet, he was most likely killed after he was hung on the rack. His throat was neatly slit with a butcher’s knife. Much as a butcher would slaughter beef.”

Cecily gave a violent shudder, and Kevin Prestwick looked at her with concern. “My dear, please forgive me. This is gruesome talk for a lady’s ears.”

“Not at all, Kevin. Merely the bite of the wind, I assure you.” Which was not strictly true, but she was not about to admit that to him. “What about the knife found at his feet? Did it belong to Tom Abbittson?”

The doctor lifted his hands in a gesture of appeal. “Please, Cecily, I really am not at liberty to discuss the details with you. I am sorry.”

She gave him a resigned nod. “I understand. I have taken
up enough of your time, in any case. I must be getting back to the hotel.” He had been more than generous with the information, and she would not push him. Though she was very much afraid that what she had learned had done little to help Tom. Things looked very bleak for the butcher indeed.

“I will see you at the christening on Sunday?”

She looked at the doctor in surprise. “You will be at the church?”

“Miss Brown was kind enough to give me an invitation, since I delivered the babies. I sincerely hope that meets with your approval?”

She shivered and drew the collar of her thick wool coat closer about her ears. “Of course, Kevin. We shall be delighted to see you there.”

“And I shall look forward to it. Until we meet again, Cecily.”

He reached for her hand and once more pressed his lips to her fingers. He held them there just a little longer than was comfortable, and Cecily sharply pulled back her hand.

Although she liked the doctor quite well—in fact, there had been a time when he could easily fluster her with one of his warm looks—she had no wish to be included in the adoring group of women who flocked to his surgery on the merest of excuses. “Good night, Kevin. I appreciate your help in this matter.”

“It has been a privilege and a pleasure, Cecily, as always. You will promise me not to take any undue risks in your investigation? I’m afraid I do not share your faith in your manager’s abilities.”

She smiled, lifting her hand in a wave of farewell as she moved down the path. “Please don’t concern yourself, Kevin. There is no one in this world I would rather trust with my life than Baxter.”

For some reason, those words warmed her far more than anything Kevin Prestwick might have said.

* * *

When Cecily returned to the hotel, she was greeted in the foyer by Gertie, who looked as if she had been wrestling with a bear. Her jet black hair flew in wild wisps from beneath her cap, which was tilted at a crazy angle on her head.

One strap of the housemaid’s apron hung off her shoulder, and her blouse had been hastily tucked into the waistband of her skirt, leaving it bunched up in front instead of neatly smoothed out.

Cecily had long ago given up on Gertie’s lack of attention to her appearance, preferring to leave any criticism for the sharp tongue of her housekeeper. Even Mrs. Chubb found it difficult to keep the girl looking neat and tidy, in spite of her constant harping on the subject. But this evening Gertie looked even more disheveled than usual.

Cecily was quite anxious to reach the warm comfort of her suite, the cold night air having seemingly penetrated her bones. She could hardly ignore the jittery state of Gertie, however, and paused to question her.

“You seem upset about something, Gertie. I do hope there is nothing wrong with the babies?”

“No, mum,” Gertie said, bobbing a quick curtsey, “they are both very well, thank you, mum.”

“I’m happy to hear that.” Cecily peered closer at the young woman’s strained face. “Then what is it that seems to have upset you so?”

Gertie looked over her shoulder into the dark corner of the lobby, where the light from the gas lamps could not reach. “I hardly like to say, mum. It don’t seem bleeding possible, but—”

Becoming alarmed now, Cecily said sharply, “There was not another murder, I hope?”

“Oh, no, mum, nothing like that. At least, I bloody hope not.”

“Then what is it?” Impatiently Cecily curbed her impulse to shake the housemaid’s arm.

“It’s the colonel, mum,” Gertie said quickly. “He’s in the drawing room. In a right bloody state, he is. I think you’d better have a word with him, begging your pardon, mum.”

Cecily sighed. “Very well. Thank you, Gertie.”

“Yes, mum.”

Frowning, Cecily watched the housemaid scurry off. She had the distinct feeling that Gertie hadn’t told her everything, but no doubt she’d find out when she confronted the colonel. Thinking wistfully of her comfortable settee and warm fireplace waiting for her in her suite, she set off down the hallway in search of the unpredictable gentleman.

She found him seated in the drawing room, a large glass of brandy clutched in his shaking hand. He was staring into the fireplace as she entered the room, apparently absorbed in the flames.

Two of the Scotsmen staying at the hotel sat in the opposite corner, poring over a chessboard. Cecily spared them no more than a glance as she headed across the room to the fireplace.

“Good evening, Colonel,” she said quietly, hoping that perhaps whatever had troubled him had now passed. Her hopes were dashed when Fortescue jumped as if he’d been shot. Brandy spilled from his glass, staining his jacket, but he seemed not to notice.

“What? What? Oh, there you are, Mrs. Sinclair. Didn’t see you standing there.” He started out of his chair, muttering, “ ’Pon my word, madam, you gave me quite a fright.”

“I do apologize, Colonel. Please remain seated. I’ll take the other chair.”

Cecily sat down and waited until the colonel had rather fussily settled himself again. His eyelids flapped up and down at quite an alarming rate, and his cheeks were almost as red as his nose.

When he seemed reasonably calm again, she said gently, “Gertie tells me you are upset. Is there something I can do to help?”

Fortescue looked at her as if he had trouble focusing. “What? Oh, that.” He looked over his shoulder at the two men in the corner, who were seemingly engrossed in their game. Leaning forward, he whispered hoarsely, “Found one of them in my room a little while ago. Damn bastard was standing by my bed, just looking at me.”

“One of whom, Colonel?” Cecily asked, wondering if he was being plagued by visions of his past enemies again. There were times when Fortescue’s attempts to escape from imaginary warriors could be quite disruptive.

“One of those blasted pipers, of course.”

Cecily shot a glance at the two Scotsmen, but neither appeared to have a heard the colonel’s frantic whisper. Lowering her voice, she said soothingly, “I’m sure you are mistaken, Colonel. You have the only key to your room. No one would have access to it, unless it was one of my staff, and I’m quite sure the housemaids would not be in your room at this time of the day.”

“No, no, madam. It was not one of your staff. Couldn’t mistake the blighter, he was wearing a kilt. I’ve never seen any of your staff wearing a kilt, what?”

Again Cecily glanced at the pipers. One of them sat leaning forward, his chin propped up by his elbows. The other stared intently at the board, apparently just as absorbed in the next move.

Deciding to humor the agitated gentleman, she kept her voice low as she asked, “Did this man say anything to you?”

“Nothing, old bean. Not a word. Just stood there staring at me.”

“Did you recognize him?”

“Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I did.” The colonel shook his head, as if confused by his own thoughts. “Dashed if I can remember his name now, but it’s definitely one of the blighters staying at this hotel. I’ve seen the chap more than once.”

“Did you speak to him?”

The colonel took a large gulp of brandy, coughed and
spluttered, then dug in his breast pocket for his handkerchief.

Cecily waited impatiently while he blew his nose loud enough to disturb the concentration of the pipers in the corner. One of them lifted his head and glanced across the room, then returned his attention to the game.

“Of course I did, madam. I told the bastard to leave at once, or I’d run him through with my saber.” The colonel’s eyelids resumed their frantic blinking. “Used to be a dab hand with the saber when I was younger. Why, I remember once bagging a wild boar with a saber.”

Relieved that the colonel seemed to have forgotten about the imaginary man in his room, Cecily welcomed the change of subject for once. “That must have been quite an experience.”

“What?” The colonel blinked at her. “Oh, it was, old bean. But you haven’t heard the best of it yet.”