No Clue at the Inn (Pennyfoot Hotel Mystery Book 13) (9 page)

"It took a great deal of time before I was used to it." Cecily wiggled her gloved fingers at Phoebe and Madeline and sat down on the empty chair. "I do hope you still make those sublime Banbury cakes, Dolly. I've had the taste in my mouth for them ever since I arose this morning."

"That I do, Mrs. Sinclair. Oops!" Dolly's double chin wobbled as her hearty laugh rang out again. "There I go again. Mrs. Baxter, it is. I'll remember eventually. I'll send Letty in with the cakes right away. These ladies wanted to wait until you arrived." She wagged a thick finger at Madeline. "Shame on you for not telling me it was Mrs. Sinclair you were waiting for."

Madeline shrugged. "We thought you would enjoy the surprise."

"You mean Mrs. Baxter." Phoebe snickered behind her hand. "You should have seen your face, Dolly. You looked as if you'd seen a ghost."

"I thought I had for a moment." Dolly clamped her pudgy fingers down on Cecily's unsuspecting shoulder. "Come back here to live, have you?"

"Oh, no." Cecily smiled with genuine regret. "We're just here for the Christmas Season. Baxter and I are helping out at the Pennyfoot until Edward finds another manager."

"Ah, yes, after that poor bugger fell down the well. Serves him right, that's what I say. Never had a good word to say to anybody. That's what you get for drinking on an empty belly. Should have been looking where he was going. Pity, that it is." She shifted her huge body around and pointed it in the direction of the kitchen. "Hope you enjoy your tea and buns, ladies. Come and see me again, Mrs. Sin . . . Baxter, before you leave. And bring that nice-looking husband of yours with you the next time."

Phoebe simpered as Dolly strode off, bumping chairs with her hips as she went. "Can you imagine Baxter in here sipping tea and nibbling on Dolly's pastries?"

"He'd far rather be at the George and Dragon enjoying a pint of ale." Cecily glanced at Madeline. "I've just had a nice visit with Dr. Kevin Prestwick. He asked to be remembered to you."

A faint pink hue crept over Madeline's alabaster cheeks. "Thank you," she murmured.

Phoebe pounced immediately. "You haven't seen him lately? Didn't you tell us that he spent every moment of his spare time with you?"

Wishing she hadn't mentioned it, Cecily hurried to change the subject. "What is the colonel doing with his time while you are enjoying Dolly's delectable baking?"

Ignoring her, Phoebe leaned toward Madeline, her eyes probing the other woman's face. "He's seeing that hussy, Winifred Chesterton, isn't he."

Madeline's expression froze. "I haven't the slightest idea whom Dr. Prestwick is seeing, nor do I care."

"I knew it!" Phoebe sat back with a look of triumph. "I saw them together just the other day."

Giving Phoebe a reproachful frown, Cecily laid her
hand on Madeline's arm. "I'm so sorry, Madeline. I had no idea."

Madeline lifted her shoulders. "I just didn't want to talk about it. That's why I didn't tell you. The doctor and I had a disagreement. I haven't seen him in quite some time."

"I'm so sorry to hear that. He didn't say anything . . ." Cecily let her voice trail off, not knowing quite what to say.

Even Phoebe had the grace to look contrite. "I'm sorry, too, Madeline. If I'd known this was serious, I would never—"

"It's quite all right," Madeline said, interrupting her. "Kevin has never made me any promises and I didn't expect anything from him."

"But you wanted to marry him," Phoebe said with her usual lack of tact.

"Phoebe—" Cecily began in protest, but Madeline raised her hand.

"No, she's quite right. I was rather hoping. It just didn't happen, that's all."

"What happened?" Cecily asked, abandoning all efforts to mind her own business. "When I left Badgers End, I was so sure you and Kevin were becoming close."

Madeline gave her a brave smile. "It wasn't meant to be, that's all. We have such differing views. He won't accept my methods of curing ills, and I can't accept his rigid beliefs."

"You argued about medicine?"

"Yes, we did. There are so many kinds of herbal medicine, some of which have been successfully used for centuries.
Kevin dismisses anything that hasn't been invented in a laboratory, and won't even consider that nature has its own powers of healing. Even though he is fully aware that a great deal of modern medicine is synthetic re-creations of plants. After a while, the arguments became tiresome. One day I attempted to treat his headache with a potion of herbs and he was quite insulting. I just couldn't fight him anymore."

"I find that most distressing," Phoebe said, dabbing at actual tears in her eyes with her lace-edged handkerchief. "How sad that two people with the same magnificent purpose, to heal the poorly, can be so contrary in their ways to go about it. It's a great shame that you cannot find some kind of compromise, so that the ill can benefit from both means of treatment."

Once in a while, Cecily thought, smiling at her friend, Phoebe had a way of putting her finger right to the heart of the problem. "Phoebe's right," she said, laying her fingers on Madeline's arm. "Both you and Kevin have a wealth of knowledge and experience that could be a tremendous benefit to everyone if only you could find a way
to
share and accept each other's beliefs."

Madeline's lovely face creased in a frown. "Perhaps you should talk to Kevin. He's the one who's being stubborn. He just won't listen to reason and I am tired of talking to deaf ears. As far as I'm concerned, we will do better apart." She gazed out of the window, saying brightly, "I wonder if we shall have a white Christmas this year."

Cecily heard the slight break in her voice, and her heart ached for Madeline. Sensing that she had said more
than enough at the risk of upsetting her friend, however, she accepted the change of subject and glanced in the direction of the kitchen. "Now where on earth is that girl with my Banbury cakes?" she murmured. "I'm positively starving."

CHAPTER

7

An hour or so later Cecily bade her two friends farewell and once more approached the carriage that Raymond had brought back shortly before the appointed time.

Instead of returning directly to the Pennyfoot, however, on an impulse she asked Raymond to drive her out to the abandoned farm where Barry Wrotham had met his untimely end. It had occurred to her, while listening to Madeline and Phoebe bicker about the arrangements for the pantomime, that as long as there had been no investigation into the accident, it was quite unlikely that a thorough search had been conducted.

"Tell me," she asked Raymond as he helped her into the carriage, "has anyone bothered to look around the abandoned farmhouse?"

"You mean the one where Wrotham died? Not as far as I know, m'm." Raymond waited while she settled herself on the creaking leather seat. "Don't s'pose the bobbies saw any need to muck about out there, seeing as how they all swear it were an accident."

"No, I don't suppose so." Cecily looked him straight in the eye. "I wonder if the house is securely locked."

Raymond's eyes brightened with the light of adventure. He pretended to consider the matter, stroking his chin in a purely theatrical gesture. "Hmmm. Well, I reckon there's only one way to find out, m'm."

Cecily beamed. "Exactly what I was thinking, Raymond. If we are to do a little snooping, however, there's one thing I must ask of you."

Raymond grinned. "I won't say nuffing to nobody, m'm. Though I daresay nobody would be surprised. After all, everyone's heard plenty of tales in the village about how you chased after murderers and whatnot when you was owner of the Pennyfoot. Almost got done in yourself now and then, so the stories go."

"Really." Cecily tucked her hands in her muff. "Well, don't believe everything you hear, Raymond. Village tales have a way of growing out of proportion when passed from one eager tongue to another."

"Yes, m'm. But don't you worry. Me lips are sealed." He tightened his lips and drew his thumb across them. "On me honor."

"Thank you, Raymond. I'm sure I can trust you to keep your word." She settled back to enjoy the ride.

The road they took wound up the cliffs to cross Putney Downs, giving Cecily a wonderful view of the bay.
Though the heavy clouds had turned the sea a dull gray and a thin mist hung over the water, the entire sweep of the Esplanade as well as the tiny cottages lining the cove were plainly visible. Not at all like the dense fog of London that obscured anything farther than ten yards away.

She didn't miss the city at all, Cecily realized as she watched the warm walls of the George and Dragon appear through the haze at the foot of the hill. She was perfectly content to be back in her beloved Badgers End, where the peace and quiet of the countryside was undisturbed by the infuriating honking of horns and the constant explosions and ugly black smoke of the motor cars.

About a mile and a half from the pub, Raymond steered the horses onto a gravel road, where they jogged for a few more yards before coming to a halt in front of wide wooden gates. Raymond hopped down and pushed open the gates, then climbed back to urge the horses through before climbing back down to close the gates behind them.

Now they were on a rutted track than ran alongside a harvested cornfield. The cold weather had hardened the earth, and the wheels bumped and bounced as they made their way to another pair of gates, where Raymond went through the procedure of opening and shutting them once more. At last they arrived at a courtyard in front of what appeared to be stables, and the horses clattered to a halt.

Cecily climbed down from the carriage, shivering in the cutting breeze that chilled her bones. She followed Raymond around the side of the stables, picking her way
carefully between the deep ruts dug by centuries of wagon wheels.

Raymond led her through another gate and up a winding garden path, lined with straggly weeds and long, unmown grass. The windows of the rambling farmhouse blinked ominously through their shrouds of dust, and a loose drainpipe rattled in the wind.

The heavy front door refused to budge when Raymond tried the handle. "Looks like it's locked tight, m'm," he said, his expression taut with anticipation.

"Well then, I suppose we shall just have to find another way in," Cecily said calmly.

Raymond's eyes lit up with delight. "Yes, m'm. That we shall." He stood back and studied the front of the house. "Can't see no broken windows or nothing. You just hang on here, m'm, and I'll take a quick gander around the back."

He disappeared, and Cecily huddled in the doorway in a vain attempt to escape the cold bite of the wind. The entire place appeared to be utterly deserted. A dilapidated broken-down wagon with one wheel missing sat in the courtyard, and several broken barrels lay on their side nearby. One of the doors to the stable must have lost its latch, since it swung dismally back and forth in the wind, its hinges groaning in protest.

Overhead, seagulls wheeled in search of food, their endless cries echoing across the rooftop of the decaying farmhouse. It was a mournful sound and tugged at Cecily's heart. A family had lived and thrived here once, until the encroaching industrial revolution had taken its toll on the farmers, robbing so many of their livelihoods.

She was a staunch advocate of modern technology and the benefits it could bring. As she had argued with Baxter many times, sacrifices had to be made in the pursuit of progress. But there were times when it saddened her to think how much a modern society had cost in traditions and customs that had been an essential part of life for centuries. How unfortunate that in the interests of improving one way of life, another was forced to disappear.

A faint tinkle of glass somewhere in the distance interrupted her thoughts. She stepped out from the doorway, looking anxiously from right to left. It wouldn't do for her to be caught intruding on someone's property uninvited.

It only occurred to her at that moment that in her anxiety to search the farmhouse, she had broken her promise to Baxter. He would be most displeased with her if he knew she had ventured into forbidden territory without notifying him first.

To her relief, nothing moved but the leaves and a stray piece of paper tossed along the ground by the wind. Her curiosity aroused, she was about to go after it when the handle on the door rattled and the hinges squealed as it slowly opened inward.

Raymond's face peered out at her, one cheek smeared with dirt. "Funny thing, m'm," he murmured as he stepped back to let her in. "I was leaning me elbow against one of the windows and it sort of caved in."

"Goodness." Cecily peered at his elbow. "You didn't hurt yourself, I hope."

"No, m'm. You see, I was holding me coat over me elbow at the time."

"Yes, I do see." She straightened. "You must have leaned rather hard, Raymond."

He grinned with pride. "Yes, m'm. Reckon I did."

"Well, it can't be helped." She nodded her approval. "Thank you, Raymond."

"My pleasure, m'm." He turned and waved his hand at the darkened hallway. "Don't seem to be much in here, though. No furniture or nothing."

"Well, I suppose it won't cost us anything to look." Cecily moved down the hallway and peered into what once must have been the parlor. The room was quite empty, with just a small stove standing forlorn on one corner. Trying not to imagine a family huddled around its warmth, she turned her back on the desolate room.

"I think I'll take a look in the upstairs rooms, Raymond. Perhaps you should stay down here and keep an eye on the courtyard, just in case we should have a surprise visitor."

Raymond pulled his cap from his head and touched his forehead with it. "Right you are, m'm. I'll whistle if I see anybody."

"A good idea. Please do." She started up the narrow staircase, each one squeaking as she stepped on it. The dark clouds outside allowed little light to filter through the grimy windows, and she made her way carefully down the upstairs hallway, wary of stepping on a loose board in the gloom and turning her ankle.

She reached the door of the first room and peered inside. It was completely bare, and abandoning it, she moved on to the next room.