The Clue is in the Pudding (10 page)

Turning, she saw Lady Bottingham sweeping toward her from the staircase, magnificent in a cream brocade gown sparkling with beads and sequins. A diamond tiara twinkled in her hair and a wide band of diamonds circled each gloved wrist. Cecily greeted her guest with a polite, “Good evening, Lady Bottingham. How glamorous you look this evening.”

“Why, thank you, Mrs. Baxter. I’d like to return the compliment. Quite an exquisite gown.”

Since her gown could hardly compare with that of her esteemed guest, Cecily thought that most generous of the woman. She thanked her, and asked, “Will you be joining us in the library for the carol-singing ceremony this evening?”

“Most assuredly. I’ve been looking forward to it all day.” Lady Bottingham glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “I just heard the news about Archibald Armitage. That must have been quite a shock for you.”

Unsure how much the woman knew, Cecily trod warily. “Yes, it was. Quite unpleasant.”

“I must admit, I can’t say I’m altogether devastated. He was not a nice man at all, you know. Quite horrible, in fact, and not much of an actor, either. I never could understand how he came to be so well-known.”

Cecily raised her eyebrows. “I wasn’t aware you were so closely acquainted with Mr. Armitage.”

“Oh, I wasn’t! I mean, I—” She fanned her face with her hand. “He was quite famous on the stage and everyone . . . well, most people, I suppose . . .” She laughed—a nervous sound that seemed just a little too loud. “Well, I’m sure you know what I mean.” She glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner by the stairs. “Goodness, I had better get along. I thought I’d stop by the bar on my way to the library. A drop of Christmas cheer will be good for me, don’t you think?”

She rushed off without waiting for an answer, one hand holding up the hem of her skirt. Cecily shook her head, wondering why everyone she spoke to that evening seemed in such a great hurry.

She had to rather admire Lady Bottingham, however. It wasn’t considered protocol for a lady to enter the bar unescorted. She had often done so herself, but as manager of the country club, she felt the position gave her special privileges and released her from some of the binds of etiquette. After all, as a working woman in charge of a large establishment, she was already breaking a barrier.

Lady Bottingham, on the other hand, was a socialite, and as such, was held in much higher esteem. Cecily rather liked the fact that the woman was not afraid to thumb her nose at propriety and go where she pleased. Women these days were beginning to make strides in their quest for equality, and she, for one, couldn’t be happier about it all.

She was about to make her way to the library when yet another voice hailed her from the front doorway. “Cecily, old bean! Jolly good to see you, what? What?”

Sighing, Cecily turned to greet the newcomer. “Colonel Fortescue! Good evening. I’m so glad you could come.” She looked beyond him. “Is Phoebe not with you?”

Colonel Frederick Fortescue jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Ran into Dr. Prestwick and his wife. Phoebe’s out there nattering on the steps. Too blasted cold out there if you ask me, what?”

“It is, indeed, Colonel.”

A chorus of voices from behind him turned his head. “Ah, there you are. I was just telling Cecily it’s too blasted cold to be standing around on the steps.”

Phoebe bustled in, followed by Madeline Prestwick and her husband.

Phoebe, as always, was the first to speak, rushing forward with both hands outstretched and a rustling of silk. Her face was almost hidden by the wide brim of her hat, which bore the weight of two white doves nestled in a bed of white feathers and surrounded by a cascade of silver fronds. The white fur collar of her navy blue coat hid her nose and chin and all Cecily could see was a pair of eyes staring earnestly into her face.

“Dear Cecily,” Phoebe said in hushed tones, “how are you holding up? Did you find out anything more about that dreadful actor’s death?”

Cecily gave a warning shake of her head. “Not now, Phoebe. Let us just enjoy the ceremony.”

“Good idea.” Madeline floated up to them, her wispy cotton gown swirling around her ankles beneath a heavy blue wool coat. “This is not a night to be talking about the dead.”

“Well, you should know.” Phoebe stared down at Madeline’s gold sandals. “Where on earth did you get those things? Your feet must be frozen.”

“Not at all.” Madeline lifted a foot and wiggled her bare toes. “They are most comfortable, and they allow my feet to breathe.”

“It seems to me your feet will breathe their last if you don’t start wearing stockings.” Phoebe looked back at Cecily for help. “Tell her, Cecily dear. She simply won’t listen to me.”

Madeline laughed, a melodious sound that seemed to echo throughout the foyer. “If I listened to you, Phoebe, I’d be bundled up to the chin like an aging Eskimo.”

Phoebe sniffed. “Are you calling me aged?”

“Jolly good people, the Eskimos,” the colonel boomed. “I remember when I was in the Arctic . . .”

“You were never in the Arctic, dear,” Phoebe muttered, still sounding miffed.

“I wasn’t?” The colonel looked confused for a moment or two, then his brow cleared. “Dashed if I wasn’t. I was thinking about Africa, and the Pigmies. Jolly good people, the Pigmies. A bit on the short side, but dashed helpful fellows. I remember—”

Cecily hurriedly cut in. “Colonel, I do believe the ceremony will begin in a little while—”

“One night when I was on guard duty,” the colonel said, blithely ignoring all attempts to shut him up, “I heard a rustling in the bushes. Thought it was a lion and picked up my rifle to shoot when this little fellow comes walking out into the moonlight.”

“Freddie, dear . . .” Phoebe began, but her husband was in full stride and a herd of raging bulls couldn’t stop him now.

“Half-naked, he was. Thought he was a child lost in the jungle. I rushed over to the little chap, picked him up and threw him over my shoulder. Imagine my surprise when I set him down in my tent and saw he had a gray beard down to his knees. He must have thought I was capturing him or something, as he screamed and came at me with a knife. If there hadn’t been a couple of other chaps in there to stop him, I might not be standing here today. I always say—”

“Freddie, my precious,” Phoebe said again, more loudly this time.

“Know your enemy before you invite him to supper.” The colonel paused, his brow furrowed in a ferocious frown. “Dashed if I know what that means.”

Phoebe raised her voice once more. “If you want to visit the bar before the ceremony begins, Freddie, I suggest you trot along now, or you won’t have time to consume an entire glass of brandy.”

The colonel looked startled. “By Jove, old girl, you’re right. I’d better toddle along.” Smiling at Cecily, he raised his hand in a salute. “Be right there, old bean. Looking forward to the show.” He rushed off, leaving his wife to gaze after him with a sour expression.

“Really,” she muttered. “That man couldn’t exist without his war stories and his brandy. I don’t think he lives for anything else.”

“Not even you?” Madeline purred. “How very disheartening for you.”

“Oh, you know very well I didn’t mean—” Phoebe broke off and turned back to Cecily. “I promised myself I wouldn’t argue with her tonight. I shall go along to the library and wait for you there.”

Aware of Kevin Prestwick standing a little apart from them, Cecily nodded. No doubt the doctor wanted a word with her, and without the busy ears of Phoebe listening in. She waited until her friend had disappeared into the hallway before turning to Madeline. “You didn’t bring Angelina with you?”

“She’s at home with her nanny.” Madeline smiled. “I wanted to enjoy a nice evening with my husband tonight without worrying if Angelina was going to disrupt everything with her efforts to sing.”

Cecily laughed. “She sings?”

“She tries to sing. Her nanny is always humming to herself and Angelina does her best to sing louder. The contest invariably ends with our daughter screaming at the top of her lungs.”

“Take my word for it,” Kevin said, moving closer, “if you value your sanity you do not want to hear our child’s version of ‘Silent Night.’ It’s anything but silent.”

Madeline rolled her eyes. “He’s right. I’m going to find a seat in the library before they’re all taken. Are you coming, Kevin?”

“I’ll be there in just a moment.” He smiled at his wife. “Save me a seat. I just a need a quick word with Cecily first.”

“Of course.” With a wave and a smile, Madeline drifted off down the hallway, leaving a faint flowery scent in her wake.

“My wife spoils our daughter,” Kevin said, shaking his head.

“I’m sure you do as well.” Cecily took his arm and drew him into the corner behind the staircase. “Do you have any more news for me?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing.” Kevin looked around to make sure they were not overheard. “P.C. Watkins paid me a visit this afternoon. He’s most anxious to complete his report by the end of Christmas Day. If the case is not solved by then, he says he will hand it over to Inspector Cranshaw.”

Cecily sighed. “I’m sorry, Kevin. I seem to be getting nowhere.”

“What about the suspect you had in mind?”

“I’m still investigating him. I’m planning to talk to him this evening in the hopes he’ll let something slip that will help me pin him down. Otherwise, I’m afraid I shall have to let P.C. Watkins and the inspector do their worst.”

“I’m sorry, Cecily. I know how badly you want to avoid that. If there’s anything I can do . . .”

“Thank you, Kevin. I’ll let you know. Now go and join your wife in the library and enjoy the evening. I’ll be along a little later.”

She watched him leave, her spirits sinking. After all these years of staying one step ahead of the inspector, she found it hard to accept defeat. Hoping to find a little cheer, she wandered over to the Christmas tree. Madeline had hung white porcelain bells on the branches. Every time someone opened the front door, the bells tinkled in the draft. Cecily loved the sound they made and touched the bells lightly with her finger so she could hear them.

Every year Madeline managed to find something different and unique to hang on the tree. She would search high and low, refusing to give up until she found just the right thing.

Cecily stared at the bells. Was she growing old? When had she started giving up before she’d hardly begun to fight? Where was that indomitable spirit that had seen her through so many difficult and dangerous times?

Angry at herself, she swung around. She still had a day or so left, however, and she would make the most of it. Even if it meant questioning every guest in the house.

With renewed purpose, she headed for the ballroom. First she would make sure that Cuthbert Rickling kept his word and had done away with the candles. Then she would stop by the bar and ask Barry for a list of everyone who had bought whiskey bottles in the days prior to Archibald Armitage’s death and concentrate on those guests first.

One way or another, she would find the fiend who had poisoned Archibald Armitage and see that he paid for his crime. To blazes with Inspector Cranshaw. Cecily Sinclair Baxter was hot on the trail once more.

CHAPTER

9

“Well, look who’s here,” Samuel said, as Pansy walked into the stables.

“I didn’t come to see you.” She tossed her head. “I came to see Gilbert.” The stink that always greeted her in the stables seemed even worse than usual, and she wrinkled her nose as she walked over to where the mechanic was washing down a motorcar. “Madam said to tell you to take Sir Percy Rochester’s motorcar around to the front. He wants to take it out today.”

Gilbert looked up with a smile. “Right you are, gorgeous. I’ll have it there right away.”

“Here,” Samuel said, sounding cross. “I usually take care of Sir Percy’s car.”

Pansy sent him a look loaded with contempt. “Too bad. I’m asking Gilbert to drive it.”

She looked back at the assistant. “Thank you, Gilbert.”

Gilbert nodded and turned away.

Without looking at Samuel, Pansy marched out of the stables, her nose in the air. She’d gone only a few feet when Samuel caught up with her.

“Here, what’s your hurry?” He caught hold of her arm. “I want to talk to you.”

“Well, I don’t want to talk to you.” She tugged her arm free, her heart pumping so fast she thought she might faint. “You don’t love me so why should I bother with you?”

“I never said I don’t love you.” He dug his hands in his pockets, his face a mask of misery. “Why can’t you understand, Pansy? I want to be able to start our life off right, with all the things a wife should have, like a nice home and a motorcar to ride about in, and good clothes and—”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” She brushed her skirt with an angry slap. “I wear uniforms most of the time, but I have nice clothes for my time off.”

Samuel rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. Stop being such a ninny and try to see things my way. I only want what’s best for you.”

“I know what’s best for me, and that’s to get married and have babies. If you don’t want that, then I’ll have to look elsewhere.”

A flash of anger crossed Samuel’s face. “Well, stay away from Gilbert. He and I have got plans, and I won’t have you messing things up for us.”

Pansy dug her hands into her hips. “That’s all you think about, Samuel. Your flipping plans. Well, if they mean that much to you, you don’t need me, and you’ve got no right to tell me who I can talk to, so there. If I want to talk to Gilbert I will, and not you or nobody else is going to stop me.” Afraid she’d make a fool of herself and burst into tears right in front of him, she turned and ran as fast as she could toward the kitchen door.

*   *   *

Arriving in the ballroom, Cecily found the choirboys mingling about, admiring the lavish decorations Madeline had used to adorn the vast room. Red and green twisted banners hung from pillar to pillar, and huge wreaths of holly and mistletoe clung to the walls. Enormous white paper bells dangled from the high ceiling beside strands of tinsel wafting in the draft.

Cecily shuddered to think of her friend perched high enough on a ladder to reach the ceiling. Madeline seemed to have no fear, always serenely confident in her strange powers to see her through the most difficult of tasks.

Cecily was not quite so convinced of her friend’s immunity from danger. Even Madeline was not invincible, and believing that she was only made her more vulnerable. Cecily’s thoughts were shattered when a group of young and enthusiastic choirboys started chasing each other across the polished floor.

Before Cecily could call out a reprimand, however, Cuthbert sprang into action. Wading into the fray, he cuffed the ringleaders behind the ear and ordered all of the boys to line up in front of the stage. “You will stay there,” he told them, “until it is time to go to the library. If anyone even twitches his nose, he will be sent home in disgrace.”

Until that moment Cecily had always thought of the choirmaster as a rather timid person. Pleased to discover he had a backbone after all, she walked over to him and waited for the boys to shuffle into a line before saying, “Most of the guests should be in the library by now. I would give them another ten minutes or so, then you can make your grand entrance.”

She eyed the ragged line of boys and smiled. They looked quite festive in their white surplices and red sashes. She would make haste to talk to the barman so that she could be in the library when the choir made their entrance.

“I trust there will be no candles,” she said, just to make sure, although she could see no sight of them anywhere.

“No candles, as I promised,” Cuthbert assured her. “We will each be carrying a silver star instead. Mrs. Prestwick was kind enough to provide them for us.” He pointed at a table by the stage, upon which sat a large basket brimming with over-sized white cardboard stars, studded with silver sequins. “They will represent the Star of Bethlehem. I think they will be most effective.”

Pleased by the idea, Cecily beamed at him. “Lovely. I shall be looking forward to your entrance.”

One of the boys sneezed, which earned a scowl from Cuthbert. Cecily left him to his task and hurried down the hallway to the bar. Lady Bottingham sat at a table in the far corner and lifted a half-empty glass at her as Cecily approached the counter.

There were several gentlemen seated at the bar, and every one of them leapt to their feet at the sight of Cecily. She felt awkward disturbing them, but her mission was too important to worry about such trivialities. “If you gentlemen would like to go to the library now, the choir will be making an entrance in just a few minutes.”

There followed a general mumbling and muttering among the men as they quaffed down the remains in their glasses. All but one of them gave Cecily a nod and obediently filed out of the room. Lady Bottingham tripped out after them, waving at Cecily as she passed.

As Cecily might expect, the sole customer left standing at the bar flapped a hand at her. “Come and sit down, old bean. Take the weight off your feet, what? What?”

Cecily gave Colonel Fortescue a stern look. “Your wife is waiting for you in the library, Colonel. I really think you should join her.”

The colonel picked up his glass and swallowed a mouthful of brandy. “I will, old girl. Just as soon as I’ve finished one more glass.” He held up his hand and beckoned to Barry. “One more of these, old man, if you please.”

Barry raised an eyebrow at Cecily and she shook her head. “I’m sorry, Colonel, but we are closing the bar now until the carol-singing ceremony is over.”

“Oh, that’s a blasted shame.” He tilted his head on one side and gave her a sheepish smile. “I don’t suppose you could slip me one more tiny sip, old bean?”

Cecily wagged a finger at him. “Now, now, Colonel, you know very well, rules are rules. I can’t go making exceptions, not even for a good friend like you.”

The colonel sighed, gave his empty glass a long look of regret, then wandered out of the bar.

“Are you really closing down the bar, m’m?” Barry asked, picking up the colonel’s glass.

“Yes, I am. I thought it would be nice if you could join the rest of the staff in the library for the carol singing.”

Barry’s expression suggested he’d rather be behind the bar, but he gamely nodded. “Thank you, m’m. I appreciate it.”

“Before you go, however, I’d like you to write a list of everyone you can think of who has bought a bottle of our special whiskey in the last few days. “

Barry frowned. “I’ll try, m’m. Though I can’t promise to remember everyone.”

“Just do your best, Barry. Bring it to me in the library when you’ve finished.” She left him staring after her and hurried back down the hallway to the library. The first strains of “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen”
floated down to her,
alerting her that the choir had already made their entrance into the library.

Disappointed at having missed it, she reached the doorway just as Cuthbert Rickling rushed out of it. Stepping backward, she stared at his flushed face. “Goodness, Mr. Rickling, are you not well?”

Cuthbert appeared to have trouble swallowing. He tugged at his starched collar, and said hoarsely, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Baxter, I am not feeling at all well. I must be catching a cold or something. I feel I must go home and lie down.”

Seriously worried now, Cecily’s first thought was the poisoned whiskey. “Dr. Prestwick is in the library. Would you like me to fetch him?”

“No, no, that won’t be necessary.” Cuthbert edged past her. “I’m quite sure if I just go and lie down, I shall be quite all right by the morning.”

He sped away and she called out after him. “What about the choir?”

“I’ve left Malcolm in charge. He can manage quite well without me. Good evening, Mrs. Baxter.” He had disappeared around the corner before the words were out of his mouth.

Cecily sighed. Malcolm, a veteran member of the choir, was quite capable of course, but he wasn’t the professional that she had hoped would lead the choirboys. Frowning, she pushed open the library door. The soaring voices of the choir filled the room and she relaxed her shoulders. Even without the choirmaster, the singers sounded magnificent. She paused for a moment to take in the sight.

Flames leapt in the fireplace, where the mantel was almost hidden beneath an abundance of holly, cedar, and fir. The choirboys stood close to the Christmas tree, upon which swirling glass balls and silver angels glinted in the glow from the gaslights. A year earlier Madeline had visited a curiosity shop in Wellercombe and found some bright red velvet birds. She’d used them again this year, scattering them in abundance among the branches. They added a splash of color to the tree that was most pleasing to the eye.

Looking resplendent in elegant gowns, the ladies sat in rapt attention as the young voices rose in chorus. Lady Bottingham sat closest to the choir, a full glass of sherry in her hand and a rather fixed smile on her face.

The gentlemen remained standing, perhaps less enthused by the singing, but nevertheless respectful of the choir’s efforts. Even Colonel Fortescue, looking a little like Father Christmas with his red nose and bushy white beard, stood silently watching the proceedings.

Cecily was pleased to see that most of her staff was in attendance, the women dressed in their evening black frocks and lace-trimmed aprons, their hair covered by white lace caps. Cecily couldn’t help noticing that Samuel, looking quite distinguished in his uniform, stood on the opposite side of the room to Pansy. Apparently they were at odds with each other. Not a good way to start the festivities. She hoped they would resolve their differences before the big day. Christmas was no time to be quarreling with a loved one.

The thought lingering in her mind, she caught sight of her husband standing by the fireplace. His face bore a look of displeasure, and she felt a stab of guilt. No doubt he had expected her to be in the library when he arrived. She hurried over to him, and slipped her hand under his arm.

“I’m sorry, dearest,” she said softly, so as not to disturb the enjoyment of the guests nearby. “I had to make sure the choirboys didn’t carry candles, and then I stopped by the bar for a moment.”

Baxter grunted. “You know how I despise these things if you’re not here.”

“I know, dear, but I’m here now.” She pulled him closer. “I’m rather worried about Mr. Cuthbert. It seems he has taken ill.”

Alarm flashed across her husband’s face. “You don’t think . . . ?”

To her relief, he left the rest of the sentence unspoken. She shrugged, murmuring, “I really don’t know what to think. Perhaps I should ask Kevin to take a look at him.” She glanced across the room to where Kevin stood at his wife’s side. He seemed to be enjoying the music, a slight smile playing across his face.

Cecily switched her gaze to Madeline and felt a cold stab of shock. Her friend stood quite still, her eyes wide and staring, her features frozen into a mask. Cecily knew quite well what that meant. Madeline had slipped into one of her trances, and heaven only knew what she would do next.

*   *   *

As chief housemaid, Gertie wasn’t required to serve the refreshments with the rest of the maids after the choir had finished their recital. Therefore it was her choice whether or not to attend the ceremony.

She’d fully intended to be there. The carol singing was one of her favorite parts of the Christmas festivities. She’d even ventured to join in the singing now and then, though quietly, afraid of sounding a sour note.

Just as she was about to leave her room for the library, however, Daisy had informed her that Lillian was not feeling well. Upon closer inspection, Gertie had to agree with her. Her daughter was listless, lying on her bed with her favorite doll in her arms, instead of bouncing all over the place with excitement.

Worried, Gertie urged Daisy to take her place in the library. “I’d rather be here with Lillian,” she said, when Daisy emphatically shook her head. “Besides, you’ve missed so many of the ceremonies taking care of the twins. It’s time you had a turn. You’ll love the singing—honest. It’s so blinking beautiful with all the voices and everyone singing the carols and all the decorations.”

“But I don’t feel comfortable in there with all the toffs.” Daisy laid a hand on Lillian’s forehead. “She doesn’t have a temperature. It’s probably just a cold.”

Lillian moaned. “My tummy hurts, Mummy.”

Gertie gave Daisy a little push. “That settles it. You go. I’ll stay here with the twins. You can tell me all about it when you come back.”

Backing away toward the door, Daisy looked worried. “I didn’t get an invitation.”

Gertie grinned. “All the staff’s invited, silly. You don’t need an invitation.”

Still looking worried, Daisy disappeared through the door.

Alone with her son and daughter, Gertie turned her attention to Lillian. “Now, where does your tummy hurt?”

Lillian put a hand on her belly. “Right here.”

“You probably ate too many sweets today. I told you not to eat them all at once.” Gertie tried not to panic. Being the mother of twins had taught her that children were inclined to exaggerate ailments if it meant getting extra attention.

Still, thoughts of seeing Archibald Armitage lying dead from poisoning were still fresh in her mind, and her daughter’s pale face made her all the more uneasy. “I’m going to get some water from the kitchen,” she said, picking up the jug from the washbowl on the nightstand. “You two lie still and don’t move until I get back.”