Decked with Folly (20 page)

Trembling with suppressed fury, Phoebe fought for composure. “Dora, where are your ballet shoes?”

Dora looked down at her feet as if amazed to see they were bare. “I can’t find them, Mrs. Fortescue.”

“Then you will have to dance in bare feet.” Phoebe stalked over to another of her dancers and began tugging at her costume. “For heaven’s sake, Martha, pull this bodice up higher before you’re arrested for indecent behavior.”

Behind her, she heard Isabelle’s low voice. “He asked me out, you know.”

Dora answered in the same low tones. “Who did?”

“That Sid Barrett. He’s going to take me to the George for a gin and tonic after the show.”

“Oh, that one. He’s nothing but a saucy rake.” Dora tossed her curls so they bounced on top of her head. “He asks all the girls to go out with him. I wouldn’t trust that one for the life of me.”

Isabelle sounded sulky. “I didn’t say as I was going, did I.”

Phoebe whirled around. “I thought I said no sound.”

Both girls gave her mutinous stares. “We were just—” Isabelle began, but Phoebe stopped her with a sharp raise of her hand.

“I said no sound. Or would you like someone else to play the prince?” She glanced across the room. “Martha, for instance. She knows the part.”

Isabelle clamped her lips shut.

“We should have a man play the part of the prince, anyhow,” Dora said.

“Yeah,” someone else said. “Like Sid Barrett.”

Laughter rippled around the room. “He’d make a handsome prince,” Dora murmured.

“The prince is always a woman in a pantomime,” Phoebe said stiffly. “You all know that very well.” She paused, one hand to her ear. “Listen! That’s the orchestra playing the introduction. We have five minutes to take our places. Ladies—
move
!”

To her immense satisfaction, the girls jumped into action. For a frantic moment or two they scrambled here and there tugging and pulling on their costumes, and then, at last, they were ready and dashing out the door.

Phoebe waited until the last one left, then followed at a slower pace. She felt exhausted, and the show had yet to begin. This was her last pantomime. There was no doubt in her mind.

Out in the audience, Cecily sat in the first row, her husband on her left and Madeline on her right. Peering around her friend to where Kevin sat next to her, Cecily said quietly, “I have something of importance to discuss with you later.”

Kevin nodded, and Madeline gave her a curious look. “Something’s happened?”

“Yes, but I promised Baxter I wouldn’t talk about it until after the show.” Cecily studied the program. “I think this is the first time Phoebe has done Cinderella.”

“Well, that should give her plenty of opportunities for mistakes, then.” Madeline settled herself more comfortably on her chair. She wore a pale blue gown with simple lines and without any adornment. On anyone else it would have looked plain and uninteresting. On Madeline it looked elegant and sophisticated. Silver sandals peeked out from under her skirt, and she had bound her hair with silver tinsel—a decidedly Christmas touch that no one else would have dared to try.

Cecily did her best to enjoy the pantomime, in spite of the tension that kept her shoulders rigid throughout. She wasn’t quite sure if it was worry about the murder or the anticipation of disaster on the stage that kept her so on edge.

For the most part, the show went quite smoothly by Phoebe’s standards. Cinderella had trouble remembering her lines, and had to be prompted from the wings by the obviously irate and painfully audible director, and both Cinderella and the prince dissolved into giggles during what was supposed to be a romantic scene at the end, once more incurring the wrath of the long-suffering Phoebe.

The appearance of acrobats leaping across the stage during the finale drew surprised murmurs from the audience, however, especially since it was obvious they came as a surprise to the rest of the cast, who had to scramble to get out of their way.

As the five lithe young men balanced on each other’s shoulders, Baxter leaned toward her and whispered loudly, “What the devil are they supposed to be?”

At a loss, Cecily raised her shoulders in a gesture of bewilderment. She vaguely remembered Phoebe mentioning something about acrobats, but had assumed they would be part of the show, not simply added on at the end.

“Probably had them there to take over when those worthless dancers of hers messed everything up,” Baxter observed, as the curtains drew to a close amidst polite applause.

The curtains drew back again to allow the cast to take a bow, just in time to see Cinderella slap one of the acrobats across his face.

The audience rocked with laughter, and this time thunderous applause shook the rafters. Phoebe appeared on stage, red-faced and murmuring apologies, but by then her audience was scrambling to get out of their chairs and back to the dining room, where late-night snacks were being served.

“It was too much to hope that Phoebe would manage to get through an entire presentation without some kind of disaster,” Madeline murmured as she accompanied Cecily to the door.

Following behind her, Baxter grunted. “That woman should be locked up. She’s a menace to society.”

“Well, at least they haven’t hurt anyone.” Cecily looked back at her husband and smiled. “That’s the main concern.”

“Only by a miracle.” Baxter stepped in front of her and held the door open for her.

Madeline laughed. “Like the time one of her dancers in the Scottish sword dance sent a sword flying off the stage.”

Baxter rolled his eyes. “Or when she lost the performing python.”

“Or when the magician couldn’t bring his assistant back into the magic box.”

“Oh, be quiet, you two.” Cecily stepped out into the hall, where small groups of people wandered toward the dining room. “You know quite well that our guests love to see Phoebe’s fiascos. I think they would be quite disappointed if she managed a perfect performance.”

Kevin joined them at that moment, looking anxious. “What is it you wanted to tell me? Has it got anything to do with the murder?”

Cecily sent a quick glance over her shoulder, but now they were alone in the corridor. “We have found the murder weapon,” she said quietly. “It’s in my suite.”

Kevin’s eyes opened wide. “Where was it found?”

Cecily hesitated, hating to implicate Gertie if it wasn’t necessary. Before she could speak, however, Baxter answered for her.

“Gertie McBride’s twins found it under her bed. She believes that someone put it there to make it appear that she killed Ian Rossiter.”

Madeline drew a sharp breath, while Kevin looked worried. “If that is so, that means the killer is still here in the Pennyfoot.”

“Precisely.” Cecily glanced at her husband. “We have to find him before something else awful happens.”

Baxter raised an eyebrow. “How, may I ask, do you intend to do that?”

“I don’t know.” Cecily raised her hands in a helpless gesture. “I have suspicions, but nothing tangible. It’s all circumstantial.” She looked at Madeline. “I don’t suppose you could help?”

Madeline shot a guilty look at Kevin. “Well, I—”

“If you’re suggesting,” Kevin said coldly, “that my wife use her so-called psychic powers to help you solve this unfortunate murder, then I must strenuously object. We have an agreement, which I must ask her to uphold, and, which I sincerely trust she will honor.”

A flash of rebellion crossed Madeline’s face, then vanished. “Of course,” she murmured, but her eyes sought Cecily’s with a significant message. “I’m so sorry, Cecily.”

“Not at all. I completely understand.” Cecily smiled up at Kevin. “We shall simply have to use the tried-and-true methods of investigation.”

Baxter sighed. “I sympathize, old chap. It seems as if both our wives have a problem avoiding trouble.”

“Piffle.” Cecily took her husband’s arm to soften her words. “You are just jealous of our abilities, that is all. You men like to think of women as helpless little creatures who cannot make an intelligent decision without the guidance and wisdom of their husbands.”

“If that were so, my dear Cecily, you and I would have parted company a long time ago.” Patting her hand, he led her down the hallway to the dining room.

CHAPTER 16

It was the following morning before Cecily could arrange a meeting with Madeline alone. She had suggested they meet for tea and scones at Dolly’s tea shop, and her friend had readily agreed.

Waiting for her to arrive, Cecily exchanged a few words with the owner of the tea shop. Dolly, a massive woman with three chins and a sharp tongue, expressed her shock and sorrow at the news that Ian Rossiter had died.

“I still remember him working for you at the Pennyfoot,” she said, leaning one hand on Cecily’s table to rest her back. “Bright young lad, he was. Bit of a joker but he had a good heart. I remember his wedding to Gertie, poor luv. She was so heartbroken when it turned out he was already married.”

“Yes, she was.” Cecily kept her voice low, aware of other customers in the cramped restaurant. “It’s all very sad the way things turned out.”

“I don’t suppose they know who did it.” Dolly pulled a face. “Not that our brilliant constabulary could find a pick-pocket in a prison yard. Still, there can’t be that many people around here who would want to kill someone like Ian. He might have made his mistakes, like we all do, but he wasn’t a bad person.”

Cecily wasn’t so sure about that. She couldn’t help remembering what his wife had to say about Ian’s companions. Then again, Gloria didn’t seem to have much good to say about her late husband.

“Don’t you think, dearie?”

Cecily looked up with a start, aware she’d completely missed what Dolly had been saying. “I do beg your pardon, Dolly. I wasn’t—”

“There you are.” Madeline’s voice from behind her cut off Cecily’s next words. “Sorry I’m late. I had to wait for Kevin to leave.” She plopped down on the empty chair, her long dark hair flying all over her shoulders. Seemingly oblivious to the nervous glances sent her way from three women seated nearby, she waved a hand at Dolly. “Bring on the scones, Dolly dear. I’m utterly starving.”

“They’re on their way.” Dolly beamed at her. “You’re looking very sprightly this morning, Mrs. Prestwick.”

Madeline shuddered. “I still can’t get used to being called that.” She gave Dolly an accusing stare. “You used to call me Madeline.”

Dolly nodded, sending her chins wobbling. “That I did, but that was before you were married.”

“Whatever difference does that make?”

Dolly answered by rolling her eyes, then squeezed her way through the tables in the direction of the kitchen.

Cecily shook her head. “Madeline, you are utterly incorrigible.”

“I fail to see why I should be treated any differently as a married woman.” Madeline flipped her hair away from her face with a careless hand. “I’m still the same person.”

Cecily studied her friend. “Are you?”

Madeline gave her a rueful smile. “Well, no, I’m not. I’m not as free to do what I like when I like. I have someone else to think about now, and in several more months, there’ll be a third someone else to worry about.” She laid a gentle hand on her stomach.

It took Cecily a moment or two to realize what she meant.

“Madeline! Are you . . . ?”

“With child, as they say.” Madeline’s tinkling laugh rang out. “Don’t look so stunned, Cecily. Even witches can bear babies, you know.”

Shocked gasps from across the room greeted this statement, confirming that Dolly’s customers had been avidly following the conversation. Not that it had been all that difficult for them, since Madeline had deliberately raised her voice in order to titillate her audience.

Cecily was far too delighted at her friend’s news to scold her, however. “Madeline . . . how utterly delightful. Kevin must be over the moon.”

“Kevin doesn’t know yet, though no doubt he will by tonight.” Madeline sent a sly glance over to the other table. “I suppose I’d better tell him before then.”

“How long have you known?” Speaking in a near whisper, Cecily leaned forward. “How could Kevin not know? He’s a doctor, for heaven’s sake.”

“Kevin doesn’t know everything, even if he thinks he does.” Madeline shrugged. “Besides, I only realized it myself a few days ago. I wanted to be sure before I told you.”

“Well, I couldn’t be happier for you.” Cecily touched her friend’s hand, knowing that wasn’t quite the truth. It worried her that Madeline had told her before she’d broken the news to her husband. She couldn’t help wondering if all was not well in the Prestwick household.

That wasn’t something she felt comfortable inquiring about, however. That was Madeline’s problem, and she couldn’t interfere. All she could do was hope and pray that she was wrong.

“Anyway, enough of that.” Madeline reached for her serviette and laid it in her lap. “What did you want to talk to me about?”