No Clue at the Inn (Pennyfoot Hotel Mystery Book 13) (25 page)

"I suppose we should thank our lucky stars that it wasn't a total disaster," Baxter commented as they made their way back to the still crowded ballroom.

Several of the staff were hurriedly moving the chairs closer to the walls, so that the orchestra could take the stage and the room would be clear for an hour or two of dancing.

Cecily caught sight of Fitzhammer and his wife taking to the floor for a lively waltz, just as Baxter exclaimed, "Isn't that the Gilroys over there? His wife appears to be hurt."

Cecily followed his gaze. It was, indeed, the Gilroys, and they were almost at the door, proceeding slowly as Lady Lucille leaned on a cane while her husband supported her with an arm beneath her elbow.

"I heard that she sprained her ankle," Cecily said, quickening her pace. "I really should have a word with her." She caught up with the couple, followed closely by Baxter, who seemed reluctant to converse with the pair.

Lady Lucille appeared ill at ease, her fingers plucking at her husband's sleeve as if urging him to cut short the conversation.

As usual she wore no hat, and her hair, draped in a rather unique style covering most of her forehead and down her cheeks, was adorned with tiny silk violets.

She looked utterly divine in an exquisite pale violet ball gown, artfully tucked at the bodice in figured net over silk. Even the gold-topped cane could not deter from her sophisticated elegance.

"Lady Lucille," Cecily said breathlessly, having sped a little faster than she was accustomed. "I heard that you had injured your ankle. I do hope it isn't giving you too much trouble. I happen to have a doctor visiting us tonight. Would you like him to examine it for you? I'm quite sure he won't mind a bit."

Lucille glanced at Sir John, whose attention seemed to be caught by someone in the crowd of dancers. "Thank you,
madame,"
she murmured, "but there is no cause to disturb the good doctor. It is merely a sprain and will soon mend."

"Very well." Cecily sought for a way to continue the conversation. "I must compliment you on your hair," she said, a little desperately. "It is such a charming style."

"Merci, madame."
Lucille tugged on her husband's sleeve. "It is the very latest fashion from Paris."

"Ah, I thought it must be." Cecily paused for a second, then added, "We are all deeply saddened by the death of
Mr. Peebles. It must have been such a dreadful shock for all of you."

This time it was Sir John who answered. "Please excuse us, Mrs. Baxter. My wife is tired and needs to rest." Without giving Lucille a chance to say more, he hurried her through the door and down the hallway, apparently oblivious to the way she hobbled painfully to keep up.

"Well, that was a bit abrupt," Baxter said, staring after the couple. "I wonder what's biting him?"

"I don't know," Cecily said thoughtfully, "but I have the impression that he didn't want to talk about Peebles."

"Probably still in shock," Baxter observed as he held the door open for his wife to pass through. "After all, by all accounts they were pretty close friends."

"Unless," Cecily murmured, "something happened to destroy that friendship. Now wouldn't
that
be interesting."

CHAPTER

18

The following morning Cecily waited until the morning rush was over, then went in search of Moira. Mrs. Chubb greeted her as she entered the kitchen, which was surprisingly quiet, thanks in part to the absence of Michel, who was taking a short respite from his busy schedule.

"I hear the pantomime went very well, madam," Mrs. Chubb said, her hands wrist deep in a large slab of bread dough. "Everyone said that Doris did a wonderful job. I wish we could have been part of it, but then again, I'd just as soon be right back here in my kitchen again. I'd quite forgotten how good it feels."

Cecily smiled. "I can't tell you how good it feels to have you here." She looked around. "Is Moira here?"

"Oh, she's taking a tray up to Lady Lucille. The lady
didn't come down for breakfast. Coming down with a nasty cold by all accounts. Seems to be doing the rounds, it does. Hope we don't all get it or this will be a poor Christmas, that's for sure."

"How are things working out with Gertie and the twins?" Cecily sat down on the nearest chair. "Is Daisy managing them? I imagine taking care of them can be hard work."

"Daisy is used to hard work." The housekeeper pounded the dough with her fist. "She loves those little scamps, that she does. She's so good with children, she should get a real job as a nanny. Be right up her alley, it would."

The door swung open and Moira rushed in with an empty tray. "Lady Lucille said to thank you for your kindness and—" She stopped short when she saw Cecily and dropped an awkward curtsey. "Good morning, m'm."

Cecily rose to her feet. "Moira, just the person I wanted to see. I'd like a quick word with you if you can spare the time?"

Moira glanced at Mrs. Chubb who, without looking up, answered for her. "She's got time."

"I won't keep her long," Cecily promised. She looked at Moira, whose face was creased with apprehension. "Perhaps we should step out into the hallway for a moment."

"Yes, m'm." Moira followed her out into the corridor, her fingers twisting the folds of her apron.

Cecily led her a few feet away, out of earshot of the kitchen. "I know you want to protect your friend," she said quietly, "but in order to know what happened to Jeanette, I need to know the truth. Everyone thinks she stole Miss Bunkle's pearls, especially since one was found hidden in Jeanette's clothing."

Moira gasped, her eyes wide above the hand she pressed to her mouth.

"You wouldn't want her to go to her grave with everyone believing she's a thief, now would you?"

Moira shook her head.

"I need to know, Moira," Cecily said gently. "Did Jeanette steal those pearls or not? If she did, then we'll say no more about it. After all, the girl is dead and can't be in any more trouble now. On the other hand, if she didn't steal them, I'm quite sure Jeanette would want everyone to know that. I know I would."

Moira lowered her hand, gulped, and looked down at her shoes. "I think I'd better show you something, m'm. It's down here in me room."

Cecily followed her down the hall to the tiny room Moira had shared with the dead girl. She watched the young girl dig her hand under the mattress on Jeanette's bed and withdraw a package, which she handed to Cecily with downcast eyes.

Carefully Cecily unwrapped the package and poured the contents into her hand. The lamplight glinted on the perfectly matched pearls, and Cecily caught her breath. "So she did steal them."

"No, m'm." Moira's voice rose a notch. "She didn't really steal them, m'm. She was only going to borrow them. She was going into Wellercombe with her boyfriend, Wally, and she wanted to dress up for him. Only they had a big row over that Mr. Peebles, like I told you, and somehow the string got broke."

"I see," Cecily said slowly. "And she was afraid to tell Miss Bunkle what she'd done."

"Yes, m'm. She picked up all the pearls and hid 'em.
She didn't have enough money to get them mended right away, so she was keeping them until she could get enough money. She was hoping to put them back before Miss Bunkle noticed they was missing, but then Miss Bunkle said they was stolen and Jeanette had to find the money in a hurry."

"I see." Cecily smoothed out the paper to wrap the pearls up again. As she did so, she noticed the printed heading at the top of the paper. It was a strange, yet familiar word.
Cureagambler
. The page had obviously been torn from the same notepad as Roger Peebles's IOU.

Baxter stared at the crinkled paper lying in front of him on his desk, his brows drawn together in a frown. "What
is
this?" he demanded. "Cureagambler? I've never heard of it."

"Neither had I until yesterday." Quickly Cecily explained about the IOU while Baxter's frown grew darker by the second. After delivering his usual lecture on the risk of invading the privacy of their guests, and the ramifications if she had been discovered, he calmed down enough to ask, "So what does it mean, this Cureagambler?"

"I'm not sure." She reached for a sheet of embossed notepaper, dipped Baxter's pen into the inkwell, shook the excess drops from it, then scrawled the name out on the paper. "Look, does this make more sense?"

"Cure a gambler," Baxter read out loud. "No, not really."

"I have a theory, if you'd like to hear it."

He gave her a look of pure irony. "Do I have a choice?"

She grinned. "Not really."

With a sigh he leaned back in his chair. "Oh, very well. Let's have it."

She paused for a moment to get her thoughts in order, then said, "Suppose that Cureagambler is an organization that helps cure people of a gambling habit. Suppose that Roger Peebles had a serious gambling habit, which judging by the IOU seems feasible. Now, Peebles was an important and respected Master of the Bench. If word got out that he had gambling problems, that surely wouldn't bode well for his career."

"I suppose not," Baxter said slowly, "but I don't see—"

"Wait." Cecily held up her hand. "I'm not finished yet."

"Pardon. One always lives in hope."

Ignoring his sarcasm, she went on, "Now, Jeanette also had a sheet of paper with the heading of this organization. Let us suppose that she discovered Peebles had a gambling problem. She could have found the sheet of paper earlier while cleaning his suite and reached the same conclusion we did. Then, when the string of pearls is broken, she needs money to have them restrung . . . "

"So she blackmails Peebles for the money."

She beamed, delighted that he had followed her train of thought so well. "Peebles already owes two thousand pounds that he can't afford to pay, since he has to issue an IOU. He certainly can't afford to pay a blackmailer."

"So he has to get rid of her instead."

"Precisely." She watched anxiously as Baxter thought it over.

"Well," he said at last. "If Peebles killed Jeanette, then his death must have been an accident. Just like Wrotham's."

Cecily sighed. "None of this really makes sense, does it. I still feel certain that someone tampered with Peebles's car, and I can't convince myself that Barry Wrotham fell
into that well all by himself. It's all too close to be a coincidence. Yet there's absolutely nothing to connect them. So where do we go from here?"

"Nowhere," Baxter said firmly. "All of this is pure conjecture. Except for the theft of the pearls. Whether or not Jeanette planned to return them, she did steal them. In the eyes of the law, anyway. We shall have to report this to Northcott and see that these are returned to Miss Bunkle."

Cecily frowned. "I suppose we must. I just can't accept the fact that we'll never know what really happened."

"You might as well. The best thing we can do now is put this all behind us." Baxter replaced the pearls in their package, opened the drawer of his desk, and tucked them inside. "After all, if your theory is right and Peebles did kill Jeanette, he got his just reward."

Cecily scrawled aimlessly on the notepad, doodling circles around the words she'd scribbled earlier. "I wish I knew what this name really means." She looked up at him. "You have some influential associates in the city. I don't suppose you could ask some of them if they've ever heard of a company named Cureagambler?"

He narrowed his gaze. "I don't suppose you'll let it rest until I do."

She shrugged. "Just out of curiosity, that's all."

He sighed. "All right. I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, I'll give Northcott a ring and tell him to send someone for the pearls."

"Very well." Cecily rose from her chair.

"By the way," Baxter said casually, "I heard that you entertained a guest for lunch yesterday."

"Oh, you mean Dr. Prestwick." She headed for the
door, saying lightly over her shoulder, "I asked him here to look at Ross McBride. Gertie seemed most concerned about his health and I thought the doctor should take a look at him."

"Is that the only reason you invited him without telling me?"

She looked back at him. "No, actually I invited him here in the hopes that he would make up his quarrel with Madeline."

Baxter sighed, though his frown relaxed. "Cecily, when will you cease interfering in people's lives?"

"When everyone is as happy as I am, dear Bax."

To her relief, a smile warmed his face. "Amen."

With that, she left him to his work. There was much to be done before Christmas Eve, and she had neglected her work enough. Even so, the questions surrounding the three deaths still haunted her, and she knew she would not be able to rest until she had all the answers.

It was much later in the afternoon when Baxter caught up with her again. She was in the laundry room with Mrs. Chubb, trying to decide whether or not to invest in some new tablecloths for the dining room.

"Gertie told me you were here," Baxter said when Mrs. Chubb discreetly withdrew to leave them alone. "I thought you'd like to know that I have some news about Cureagambler."

Cecily dropped the pile of tablecloths onto the counter. "You found out what it is?"

"I did indeed." Baxter looked pleased with himself. "And it's not an organization to cure gambling, as we
thought. Quite the opposite, in fact. It's a company, or rather a partnership, that owns two rather notorious gambling houses on the southeast coast. One is in Brighton, the other is in Southampton. Apparently both houses are quite well known among the more affluent citizens of London."

"Oh, my, how very intriguing." Cecily studied his face with interest. "Did you find out anything about them?"

"Only that there have been several brawls and incidents of . . ." He cleared his throat.

Cecily waited for a moment, then asked impatiently, "Incidents of what?"

"Well, it's a rather delicate matter, but the rumors have it that certain young ladies in the establishments are offering their . . . ah . . . services for payment."

Cecily opened her eyes wide. "A brothel?"

"Hush!" Baxter looked wildly around, though they were quite alone in the room. "A lady shouldn't even know the word, much less utter it."