No Clue at the Inn (Pennyfoot Hotel Mystery Book 13) (10 page)

Stepping inside, she looked cautiously around. The bedroom was quite large, with a huge window overlooking
the fields at the back of the house. She could see nothing in there but a rolled-up blanket against one wall and a tattered magazine lying next to it. The musty smell wrinkled her nose, and she could see her breath form in front of her face as she moved cautiously across the room.

The magazine bearing the previous month's date had a picture of the very latest fashion in outerwear on the cover. As she bent closer to peer at it, the floor popped loudly beneath her feet, making her jump. Her heart, galvanized by the unexpected sound, pounded with an urgency that made her uncomfortable.

Taking a last look around, she was about to leave when she spied something outside the window. An enterprising robin had built a nest on the broad windowsill. She smiled, imagining the tiny eggs hatching and each fledgling balanced precariously on the very edge of the carefully constructed nest, awaiting its first fluttering leap into the air.

She turned away from the window and was about to retreat from the room when she spied a tiny glint of light in front of the rolled-up blanket. She hurried toward it and crouched down, tilting her head this way and that to catch the sparkle again. Then she saw it. Half-hidden beneath the woolen blanket, a long pin lay caught between the floorboards.

In her attempt to pry it loose, Cecily thrust the blanket aside. As she did so, something fell out and rolled noisily across the floor, scaring her half to death. A long-necked bottle smacked against the opposite wall and lay still.

Leaving it for the moment, Cecily returned to her task.
At last she pulled the pin from its resting place and examined it. No wonder it had sparkled in the light. It was a gold hat pin, adorned with a large diamond at one end. A very expensive hat pin. Certainly not the kind one would expect a farmer's wife to possess.

Her excitement rising, Cecily shook out the blanket. The quality of the material was excellent, and it appeared to have had little use. Hardly any dust rose from it, suggesting that it had recently been left there. Clearly not a year ago, when presumably the owners had left, according to Kevin.

Finding nothing more in the folds of the blanket, Cecily rolled it up again and left it where she had found it. The label on the bottle declared its contents to have been an excellent cognac. Again, not something one would normally find in a farmer's house.

Unless this particular farmer had been unusually wealthy, and that seemed unlikely judging by the general state of the house and the broken-down wagon outside, then it would seem that Emily Wrotham's suspicions could very well be right.

Her husband might well have been indulging in an illicit liaison when he visited the farm that day. If so, it was quite possible that a rival for the lady's affections had rid himself of his opponent. A just end, perhaps, but an illegal one, nevertheless.

Cecily rose to her feet. She had promised the grieving widow to find out the truth. She wasn't at all certain that Emily Wrotham would welcome evidence that bore out her suspicions.

After placing the bottle back behind the blanket,
Cecily pinned the hat pin onto her bodice and covered it with her stole. Then she made her way down the creaking staircase to the hallway below.

Raymond emerged from the parlor as she reached the foot of the stairs. "Find anything, m'm?"

"Nothing of interest." She nodded at the rooms down the hall. "I'll just take a hasty peek down here."

"Very well, m'm. I'll wait on the doorstep if you don't mind. The smell in here is getting up me nose."

She could sympathize with him. The unpleasant odor of damp and mildew was much stronger downstairs. "Of course. I shan't be more than a minute or two." She hurried down the hallway and into each room, not really surprised to find nothing but more dust and cobwebs. Barry Wrotham had chosen well . . . a large, fairly comfortable room, certainly less damp, at the back of the house, hidden from prying eyes of anyone who might wander into the courtyard.

That's if it
were
Barry Wrotham, she reminded herself. It could have been anyone dallying with some dolly in an abandoned house. But then, why else would a man lie to his wife and visit a deserted farm, with seemingly no interest in buying it? It would seem that the Pennyfoot's ex-manager was hiding something, and another woman would appear to be the most likely answer.

Nevertheless, past experience had taught her never to jump to conclusions, and until she had absolute proof, she would have to keep her deductions to herself for the time being.

Raymond stood waiting for when she stepped out onto the porch, his face pinched with cold. She could actually
hear his teeth chattering as he handed her back into the carriage. "Straight home," she told him, "and when you get back, you may tell Michel I ordered a glass of brandy for you. It will help warm your insides."

Raymond touched the peak of his cap. "Thank you, m'm. Much obliged." He clambered up onto his seat and gave the impatient horses their reins. The carriage bumped and swayed across the rutted ground, crunched down the gravel path, and then they were off down the coast road to the Pennyfoot.

The midday meal had already been served when Cecily arrived back at the club. Miss Bunkle was in the foyer and gave Cecily a disapproving frown as she hurried through the front door.

"Mr. Baxter has been asking for you, madam," she said. "He sounded quite concerned. I told him Raymond had gone to fetch you from the teashop more than an hour ago. I've been expecting him back long before this."

"Thank you, Miss Bunkle," Cecily said brightly. "Please don't blame Raymond. It was my fault. I detained him. I'll have a word with Mr. Baxter right away."

"Thank you, madam." Miss Bunkle bowed her head, then glided away across the floor, her back as stiff as a ship's mast.

Cecily pulled a face. The woman performed her duties admirably, by all accounts, but Cecily much preferred the sometimes muddled, befuddled, but always well-meaning methods of Altheda Chubb. Life had been so much more fun in the old days at the Pennyfoot.

Aware that her disgruntled mood was due more to her imminent confrontation with her husband than
any discord with Miss Bunkle, Cecily headed for Baxter's office.

He rose immediately as she entered after the briefest of taps on the door. Rounding the desk with an alacrity that surprised her, he grasped her by the arms and looked keenly into her face.

"Cecily, are you all right? Where the devil have you been? I've been half out of my mind with worry, imagining all sorts of dire calamities. What happened to you? Miss Bunkle said Raymond had left over an hour ago to fetch you back. What took you so long?"

She laughed up at him. "Dearest, if you would just stop firing questions at me, I'll do my best to explain."

He pulled her close and gave her a brief hug before letting her go. "Sit down, and tell me where you have spent the better part of this day."

She sat, wondering how she would find the words to explain why she had broken her word to him. "I don't suppose you have anything to eat in here?" She gave him her most appealing smile. "I'm quite cold and extremely hungry."

"I'm not surprised. You missed the midday meal." He reached for the bell rope and tugged on it. "I'll have the kitchen bring something for you."

"Thank you, darling. You are so incredibly thoughtful. I really don't know what I would do without you. I am such a fortunate woman."

His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "That sounds ominous."

She gave him an innocent stare. "What does, dearest?"

"All those expansive compliments. I fear you are leading up to something."

"Well, really." She managed a light laugh. "Can't a woman compliment her husband without risk of being accused of insincerity?"

"Oh, I don't doubt that you are sincere. It's your choice of time to compliment me that gives me reason to question your motive."

A sharp tap on the door saved her from answering. She waited while Baxter gave Jeannette his order, and tried not to notice the girl's curious glance directed at her as she turned to leave.

The door closed behind her, and Cecily braced herself for Baxter's inevitable inquisition.

"All right," he said. "While we are waiting for your meal to arrive, perhaps you can enlighten me as to why you have been missing for the last several hours."

"I did tell you I was meeting Phoebe and Madeline for elevenses, did I not?"

"You did." Baxter returned to his chair and sat down, his hands folded across his chest. "But upon inquiring as to your whereabouts, I was informed that you had left here shortly after ten o'clock. Which meant you would have arrived in the town at twenty past ten. It is now—" He pulled his watch from his waistcoat pocket and examined it, then snapped it shut and replaced it in his pocket. "—a quarter past two. I hardly think it took you four hours to consume one or two of Dolly's buns and a cup of tea."

"Banbury cakes, actually."

His eyes narrowed. "Cecily, please tell me what are you keeping from me."

Although his attitude irked her, she could hardly ignore the warning in his voice. "Oh, very well. I took the
opportunity to call on Dr. Prestwick before I went to the teashop. I wanted to ask him a few questions, that's all."

"I thought as much." His voice was perfectly calm, but a pink patch on each side of his face made Cecily uneasy. "Why didn't you mention to me that you intended to see him?"

"I meant to, but you charged off to the office with no more than a faint peck on my cheek, and didn't give me time to tell you anything."

"So you thought you'd punish me by sneaking off to see an ex-suitor of yours."

She stared at him, her resentment fading. "Why, Hugh darling, I do believe you are jealous."

He drummed his fingers on the table. "Do I have reason to be?"

She burst out laughing. "Of course not. You know very well how much I adore you. No man could ever live up to you. I simply wanted to ask Kevin some questions about Barry Wrotham's accident. I swear."

To her immense relief, his stern features relaxed. "I see. So you do agree Wrotham's death was an accident, then."

"I didn't say that."

"No, you didn't." He sighed. "I don't know why I live in such hopes."

She laughed. "Come now, darling. We agreed that I should look into this, did we not?"

"We also agreed that you would not conduct an investigation without informing me about it first."

"You are quite right. I'm sorry. But you really were in rather a hurry this morning."

"Very well. I'll accept that."

"Good." She took a deep breath. "Then I hope you'll
also accept the fact that I acted purely on impulse when I left the teashop and went to search the farmhouse where Barry Wrotham died."

His expression worried her. Perhaps this time she had gone too far. She closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable explosion.

CHAPTER

8

A deep flush consumed Baxter's cheeks. He half rose from his chair, then sat down again. "You did
what?"

"I just thought I'd have a quick look around," Cecily said hurriedly. "No one was there and Raymond accompanied me so I was perfectly safe."

"That's not the point, is it." His disapproving gaze seemed to pierce her heart. "We specifically agreed—"

"You're right, darling. I'm most terribly sorry. But I really didn't see any danger in it."

"You never do. What about the time you visited a certain dentist without telling me why you were going? You didn't see any danger in that, either. I almost lost you that time."

"Well, yes, I do admit, that was rather a mistake."

Baxter muttered an oath under his breath and buried his forehead in his hands. "Cecily, what is the point of promising me something if you don't intend to keep it? I thought I could trust you."

"And you can, darling. Really. You know how I am. I get an idea in my head, and before I know it, I've popped off to take care of it."

"You will very likely pop right off this earth if you cannot control your wickedly impulsive streak." He lifted his head. "What do I have to do to make you understand that I am responsible for your welfare, and by breaking your promise to me, you are making my task terribly difficult, if not downright impossible?"

Cecily bent her head and tried to sound suitably contrite. "I do understand, Hugh, really I do. I swear it won't happen again." She laid a hand against her breast. "Upon my heart, I swear."

He was prevented from answering by the arrival of Jeanette bearing a tray loaded with cold chicken and ham, wedges of cheddar cheese, slices of apples and pears, pickled onions, and crusty bread. The meal was accompanied by a jug of cider and two glasses. The maid waited for Baxter to clear a space on his desk before laying down the tray.

Baxter sat in silence until she'd left the room, then filled both glasses with cider, one of which he offered Cecily. "This should help warm you. You still look pinched with cold."

"I am." She took the glass and sipped the golden liquid. "I told poor Raymond to ask Michel for a brandy. He was chilled to the bone."

"No wonder Michel has ordered such a large supply of
brandy. It's bad enough he drinks the stuff all day long, but if he's giving it to the staff as well, we shall soon see our profits disappearing in a haze of alcohol."

Cecily wrinkled her nose at him. "He had to order extra brandy for the Christmas puddings. He told me he would begin steaming them this week. Besides, Raymond had to wait quite some time in the cold air for me. I thought he well deserved a brandy."

"Raymond is young. His body can adapt much more efficiently than yours."

"Are you suggesting I am old?"

"I wouldn't dare."

"Good. I would hope that you are far too much of a gentleman to remind me that I am older than you."

"Are you? I'd quite forgotten that."

She beamed at him. "Darling Hugh. You always know exactly the right thing to say. No wonder Miss Bunkle gazes at you with such adoration in her eyes."