The Clue is in the Pudding (16 page)

“Like what?” Mrs. Tucker sounded impatient and Gertie turned her glare onto the housekeeper.

“How the bloody hell do I know? I’m going to tell Mr. Baxter that nobody’s seen madam and he’ll know what to do.” Without waiting for an answer, she turned tail and flew out of the kitchen and back up the stairs.

Just as she reached the foyer, she saw Baxter hurrying down the stairs, followed closely by Dr. Prestwick. She ran to meet them, her stomach turning at the look on Baxter’s face. “I’ve asked everyone,” she said, as he paused at the foot of the stairs. “No one’s seen madam since midday, when she left to go into town with Samuel.”

Baxter nodded, his mouth a thin, grim line.

Dr. Prestwick stepped down beside him. “Thank you, Gertie. You can run along now. We’ll take care of this.”

“Yes, sir.” Not sure if that was at all reassuring, she turned to leave.

“Oh, and Gertie?”

She turned back.

Dr. Prestwick gave her an encouraging smile. “Try not to worry. I’m sure there’s a simple explanation. Most likely a breakdown of the carriage or something. There’s no need to alarm anyone.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Feeling only slightly better, Gertie lifted her skirts and made a mad dash once more to the dining room.

Pansy frowned at her when she got back. “What was all that about? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Madam’s a bit late coming home, that’s all.” Gertie grabbed the last two bowls of the soup. “I’ll get these. The main course is probably on the dumbwaiter by now.”

“Crumbs. We’ll never get all this done in time for the pageant.”

“Course we will. Go and get the next dishes. I’ll be there in a minute.” Carefully she carried the soup to the last table, aware of her hands trembling enough to spill the soup. After safely placing the bowls in front of the hungry guests, she tore off to the door and out into the hallway.

Pansy was already lining up plates along her arms and Gertie helped her place the last one on her wrist, then started lining up plates along her own arm. Telling herself to calm down, she carried the plates back to the dining room. Everything was happening at once. She was facing a possible change of her life tonight, Pansy was now engaged to be married and madam was missing.

She didn’t want to think about the murder, because that brought up the possibility that somehow the killer had done away with madam, and that was unthinkable. She hoped that Dr. Prestwick was right and that something had gone wrong with the carriage.

One thing kept hammering in her head. Nobody had mentioned seeing Samuel. He had left with madam, which meant he was missing, too. If something bad had happened to them, she couldn’t bear to think how Pansy would feel. All she could do was hope and pray they both came home safely. For if not, it would be a terrible Christmas for them all.

*   *   *

Alone in the darkness, Cecily did her best not to panic. Rickling had given her a brief respite, and she had to make the most of it. Thoughts of what might have happened to Samuel held her frozen for several moments, then she deliberately shut the awful visions out of her head.

She couldn’t think about Samuel right now. She had to concentrate on getting out of there. Survival first. Unless she escaped, she was powerless to help her stable manager, always supposing he was still alive to save.

The idea that he might be alive and suffering spurred her on. She ran her fingers down the wardrobe door until she found the lock. It seemed like a simple one, fastened by a key on the other side.

Had Rickling left the key in the door or taken it with him? She peered down at her feet, hoping to see a thread of light at the bottom of the door. She could see nothing but blackness. Squatting down, she ran her fingers along the bottom edge, but the gap was far too narrow to bring a key through.

She stood up again, and raised her hand to her hair. In her favorite books about Sherlock Holmes, she’d read that it was possible to open a lock with a hairpin. She wasn’t exactly sure how to do it, but she’d always been a firm believer in providence and it had served her well in the past. Praying that it would do so this time, she stuck the prongs of the hairpin into the lock.

What seemed like hours later, she flexed her sore fingers and stretched her aching back. The lock remained stubbornly closed and no matter how she wiggled the hairpin, nothing happened except that now the prongs were twisted and bent.

Refusing to give up, she patted her hair to find another hairpin while she tugged the damaged one out of the lock. It refused to budge and, muttering under her breath a word of which her husband would most certainly disapprove, she wrestled with it, wriggling it back and forth to get it out.

Suddenly she heard a click, and to her utter joy and amazement, the wardrobe door swung open. Momentarily blinded by the light, she stumbled out into the room, mindless of who might be waiting for her.

Fortunately the office was empty, and she paused for several seconds, straining her ears. No sound penetrated the silence, and she crept toward the door. Rickling had to be around somewhere, perhaps waiting for her around the corner, ready to pounce on her.

The thought unnerved her, and she clutched her skirt with nervous fingers as she opened the door and slipped out into the hallway. The flickering gas lamps sent shadows dancing along the wall, causing her heart to leap in alarm as she stepped carefully toward one of the doors she’d passed earlier. A loud creak under her feet almost gave her a heart attack, and she waited, heart pumping frantically, until she was sure Rickling hadn’t heard her and come running.

Samuel had to be somewhere in one of the rooms. She wouldn’t consider the possibility that he was already dead. Samuel had to be alive. She could never live with herself if he wasn’t. As for Rickling, he could be with Samuel right now. The thought spurred her on.

She reached the door and twisted the handle. It opened to reveal a closet crammed with brooms, mops, buckets, and cleaning supplies. Quietly she closed the door and advanced on the next one. She paused for a moment, her ear close to the panels, but could hear nothing from the other side. There was a key sticking out of the lock and she turned it, slowly, making as little sound as possible.

The door swung open. The room beyond was in darkness, but light from the gas lamp behind her spilled into the room. There in front of her was a huddled shape lying on the floor.

“Samuel!” Though she’d whispered his name it sounded as loud as an alarm bell, and she quickly slipped inside the room and closed the door behind her. She couldn’t see a thing in the darkness, but she dropped to all fours and crawled toward the still figure.

Her hand bumped against a body and heart still thumping; she shook Samuel’s shoulder. A soft moan answered her. Almost crying in relief, she whispered urgently, “Samuel? Are you hurt?” The second the words were out of her mouth she knew how stupid that sounded. Of course he was hurt. Why else would he be lying there?

She tried again. “Can you get up?”

This time he didn’t answer and she felt along his back to his head. Her fingers came away sticky and her stomach flipped over. “Hold on, Samuel. I’m going for help.” She started to get up, then sat down again. She couldn’t leave him there.

No one would come to the church from now until midnight Mass. That was several hours away. If she left to find help, by the time she got back Rickling might well have killed Samuel. On the other hand, if she stayed there, they could both be killed.

She needed a weapon of some sort. She’d noticed earlier that right across from the room she was in was a built-in shelf in the wall containing a pair of heavy vases. Maybe one of those would be heavy enough to use as a club.

Quickly she got to her feet and carefully opened the door. The hallway was empty and she rushed over to the shelf and lifted one of the vases from its perch. Weighing it in her hands she decided it was heavy enough to do some damage if she brought it down hard enough on Rickling’s head. The trick was to reach high enough to hit him.

Deciding she’d worry about that when she came to it, she carried the vase back into the room and closed the door. No sooner had she done so, she heard footsteps creaking along the ancient floorboards in the hallway.

Rickling was coming back.

CHAPTER

15

The pageant had already started by the time Gertie joined Daisy and the twins at the back of the ballroom. Pansy sat farther along in the back row of chairs, anxiously staring at the doors. Gertie knew what that meant. Samuel hadn’t returned with madam yet. She could see no sign of Baxter or Dr. Prestwick. They had to be out looking for them.

She crossed her fingers tightly in her lap and closed her eyes. Talking to God wasn’t one of her strong points, but right now it seemed like a good idea. She had barely started praying when Lillian nudged her.

“What’s the matter, Mama? Are you not feeling well?”

“I’m feeling just fine.” Gertie smiled at her daughter. “The pageant will be starting any minute, and then we have to be quiet, don’t we.”

Lillian nodded and pressed her lips together.

Daisy got up from her chair and edged toward Gertie. “Do you mind if I leave now? I still have some things to do tonight.”

“No, course not.” Gertie put a hand on the nanny’s arm. “Thank you for taking such good care of the twins.”

Daisy smiled. “My pleasure, I’m sure. Happy Christmas, everyone.” She waved good-bye to the children and disappeared down the aisle.

Just then the lights dimmed, and the curtains swept open to reveal two of Phoebe Fortescue’s dancers dressed as Mary and Joseph. It was the first time in many years that Phoebe had put on a nativity play. Gertie had to wonder if it was a sign, and if so, was it a good one or bad?

She made herself concentrate on the play, and kept her fingers crossed—this time in the hopes that Phoebe’s presentation wouldn’t end in the usual disaster. So engrossed was she in the performance, she didn’t notice Clive entering the ballroom until he came and sat down beside her.

He leaned toward her and whispered, “Happy Christmas, Gertie.”

From that moment on she entirely lost the rest of the play. All she could think about was the book she was going to give him and how he would react to it. She had just about made up her mind not to give it to him when all pandemonium broke out onstage.

The angel was delivering the proclamation of Jesus’s birth when a live sheep wandered onto the stage. The Three Wise Men shrieked, and stumbled over each other to get out of the startled animal’s way. In doing so they barged into the structure representing the stable and set the whole thing toppling to the ground.

The confused sheep darted this way and that, while Phoebe stood at the edge of the stage screaming, “What idiot numbskull brought that wretched beast in here?”

Colonel Fortescue then appeared on the opposite side of the stage, waving his arms and shouting, “Tally ho, old bean! How do you like my surprise?”

Polite titters and louder guffaws erupted throughout the audience as Phoebe advanced on her husband, her hat bobbing up and down as she yelled, “
You
did this? Whatever gave you such a harebrained idea? Get this animal off my stage.
This minute!
”

The curtains hastily drew together, amid a burst of applause from the appreciative audience. Gertie could feel Clive shaking with laughter, and in spite of her worries, giggled along with him.

Lillian tugged at her sleeve, wailing, “What will happen to the sheep, Mama?”

“He’ll be all right, kitten,” Clive said, leaning across Gertie to pat Lillian’s head. “I’ll go and see that he gets home safely. Happy Christmas, to both you and James.”

James leaned forward, his gaze anxiously searching Clive’s face. “Will we be seeing you tomorrow?”

Clive turned to look into Gertie’s eyes. His face was inches from hers, making her squirm. “Will they be seeing me tomorrow?”

“Well, if you come by, they will.” She grinned at him. “I don’t have to be on duty until eleven.”

Clive nodded and turned back to James. “Then I’ll see you in the morning. I hope you’ll let me play with the toys that Father Christmas brings.”

Lillian jumped up and down on her chair. “I hope he brings us lots of toys!”

“You can play with every one of them,” James promised.

“Then I’ll definitely be there in the morning.” Clive got up, leaning over to whisper in Gertie’s ear, “I’ll call on you in about an hour.”

“Perfect.” She watched him leave, and for a brief moment felt so warm and happy she forgot about the book. Until James asked, “Is Father Christmas coming to see Mr. Clive, too?”

With a jolt of anxiety she answered, “Of course. He’ll be bringing Mr. Clive a very big surprise.”

Lillian’s eyes opened wide. “Do you know what it is? Will he like it?”

“I bloody hope so,” Gertie murmured, “or I’m going to be really disappointed.”

James frowned. “Why’s that?”

“Never you mind.” She got up, pulling Lillian up with her. “You two have got to get to bed. You have to be asleep by the time Father Christmas gets here, or he won’t leave you any toys.”

Lillian yawned and rubbed her eyes. “I’m sleepy now.”

“Good.” She grabbed James’s hand and led the two of them to the door. Up onstage, a confused group of Phoebe’s dancers were taking awkward bows, while most of the audience was filing out of the room.

Another of Phoebe Fortescue’s infamous presentations gone wrong. Gertie would have felt sorry for her, except she knew that the reason Phoebe’s audience was so large every year was because they anticipated a fiasco and couldn’t wait to see what would happen next.

If she didn’t know the fussy little woman better, Gertie would have suspected Phoebe of deliberately staging the disasters, just to keep the spectators coming.

Just as she reached the door Pansy came rushing up to her, her eyes wide with anxiety. “Samuel didn’t come to the pageant,” she said, her voice choking on the words. “He promised he would. Do you think he’s changed his mind about asking me to marry him?”

Gertie hesitated for a long moment, wondering if it would be worse for Pansy to think Samuel had changed his mind or for her to know he was missing. She decided the former would be worse. Looking down at James she said sternly, “I want both of you to go straight to the room and wait there for me. Straight there, do you understand?”

James nodded.

“You know what will happen if you don’t go straight there, don’t you?”

James nodded again.

“We’ll go there,” Lillian piped up, “or Father Christmas won’t come.”

“Right. Off you go.” Gertie watched them leave and turned to Pansy. “That’s one of the reasons I love Christmas. I have something I can use to threaten them. Once Christmas is over I’m on my own again.”

Pansy couldn’t even conjure up the vestige of a smile. “I don’t know what to do. Should I go looking for him? Maybe he had to work late in the stables.” She looked around the room. “I didn’t see madam or Mr. Baxter, either.”

Gertie drew a deep breath. “That’s because madam is missing. She didn’t come back from town this afternoon.”

Pansy’s eyes widened even more. “What? Where is she, then?”

“Nobody knows.” Gertie waited for the rest of it to sink in, her heart aching in sympathy as she watched the realization dawn in Pansy’s eyes.

“Samuel was with her?”

“Yes, but I’m sure they’re all right. You know madam, she always takes care of herself.”

Pansy’s face hardened. “Not before she gets Samuel into lots of trouble. She went after whoever killed Mr. Armitage, didn’t she?”

“I don’t know.” Gertie laid a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, luv. Mr. Baxter and Dr. Prestwick are out there looking for them and I know they’ll be all right.”

“They’d better be.” Looking close to tears, Pansy turned to the door. “I’m going to wait up for them. All night if I have to.” She disappeared through the door and down the hallway, leaving Gertie to stare after her.

Poor Pansy. Gertie shook her head. What a Christmas Eve. Madam and Samuel missing, and she about to wreck a friendship she’d come to depend on and cherish.

Wandering down the hallway to her room, she tried not to give in to the panic rising in her chest. In an hour she’d have to give the book to Clive. She was certain now that the gift would change everything. He would take it as encouragement and expect things to be different between them. Was she ready for that? If she wasn’t, and let him know that, would he finally give up on her?

The thought of that devastated her. Opening the door, she saw the twins sitting on their beds, waiting for her. They would be affected by what happened tonight, as well. What would they do if things went bad between her and Clive? They’d never forgive her, that’s what.

Why did life have to be so bloody complicated? Just when she’d decided that she would never let herself get involved with another man, she had to go and fall in love with one.

Was she doomed to be disappointed and hurt again, as she had been so often in the past? Or was this time the magic one—the one that would last and make her happy for the rest of her life? Was it too much to hope that it would happen for her and the twins? They had only known one father, and for such a short time. Something told her that Clive would be a wonderful father to them.

She closed her eyes and once more talked to God. First she prayed for madam and Samuel’s safety, and then she prayed that whatever happened between her and Clive tonight it would all come out right. Then she put the twins to bed and settled down to wait for his visit.

*   *   *

Feeling around in the darkness, Cecily’s fingers collided painfully with the back of a chair. She had to shuffle her feet along the floor as she blindly carried the chair over to the door, in an attempt to avoid stepping on Samuel as she passed.

She wasn’t quite as far over as she’d thought, and her foot stabbed him. He grunted, and the sound both alarmed and relieved her. At least he was still alive. “Sorry, Samuel,” she whispered, then continued on until her foot came in contact with the door.

The footsteps were close, and she hurriedly placed the chair against the wall and felt around on the floor for the vase. This time her sense of direction was more accurate, and her hand closed over the neck of the vase almost right away.

She heard the rattle of the key in the lock and hurriedly climbed onto the chair. On the other side of the door she heard Rickling’s exclamation. No doubt he was wondering why it wasn’t locked.

Raising the vase above her head, she waited, praying that he wouldn’t notice it was missing from its place on the shelf and realize she was holding it as a weapon.

The door slowly opened, and Rickling stuck his head inside the room. “I know you’re pretending to be unconscious,” he said, as the light fell on Samuel’s still figure. “I don’t know how you unlocked the door, or why you’re still here, but it doesn’t matter. You won’t escape me now. You and that dratted nosy parker you brought with you are both destined for the churchyard. I’ve got two empty graves waiting for you, and no one will ever think of looking for you there. You needn’t worry about your horse. I chased him off. He’s probably taken the carriage home by now.” He chuckled at his own cleverness, then took a step inside the room. In one hand he carried a rope, in the other a knife.

Cecily waited no longer. She raised her hands, then brought the vase down as hard as she could on Rickling’s head.

The vessel shattered in a dozen pieces, scattering across the floor. The sound brought a groan from Samuel, and his eyes flickered open.

To Cecily’s horror, Rickling just stood there as if paralyzed, then slowly turned to look up at her. A trickle of blood crept down his face as he stared at her, his eyes burning with rage. He raised a hand as if to strike and she cringed, waiting for the blow. Then his eyes glazed over and he fell to his knees. He started to speak, but before he could finish the word, he toppled over and was still.

Shaking so hard her teeth chattered, Cecily climbed down from the chair and rushed over to Samuel. “We have to get out of here,” she said, shaking his arm. “I don’t know how long we have until he wakes up again. Can you get up?”

Samuel nodded. He tried to sit up, groaned and laid back, holding his head.

Cecily felt dreadfully sorry for him but her sense of urgency compelled her to be firm. “Try, Samuel. I’ll help.” She hooked her arm under his and hauled him into a sitting position. “Come on, you’re nearly there.” She hauled on him again and he held up his hand.

“I’ll get there. Just give me a minute.”

“We don’t have a minute.” She glanced at Rickling, who lay on his side, eyes closed. “I’m afraid he’ll wake up and attack us again.”

“Let him,” Samuel said grimly. “I’ll be ready for him this time.”

“You’re in no shape to be heroic.” She hooked both hands under his arms and tugged. “If I have to drag you out of here, you’re going now.”

Samuel shook his head, groaned once more, then dug his heels into the floor. With an almighty heave Cecily got him to his feet, where he stood for a moment, swaying back and forth.

“Just a few steps,” she urged him, holding onto his arm. “So we can lock the door on this dreadful man.”

Samuel looked down at Rickling and snarled, “I hope his head hurts worse than mine.”

“I’m sure it does.” She dragged him to the door and out into the hall. Leaving him propped up against a wall, she quickly slammed the door and turned the key in the lock.

“I have to ring for the constable. I think there’s a telephone in the office. Will you be all right until I get back?”

Samuel nodded, then winced, once more holding his head. “I’ll be fine.”

Still worrying about him, Cecily hurried down the hallway to the office. Spotting the telephone on the wall, she rushed over to it and lifted the receiver. The operator answered right away.

“This is Mrs. Baxter, from the Pennyfoot Country Club. Please put me through to the constabulary,” Cecily said, doing her best to calm her voice.

“The station is closed,” the operator answered. “Unless this is an emergency your business will have to wait until after Christmas.”

“This
is
an emergency.” Cecily’s fingers tightened on the receiver. “Please put me through to the constable on duty.”

“He asked me not to disturb him unless it was a matter of life or death.”