Room With a Clue (Pennyfoot Hotel Mystery) (20 page)

Not of the memories—she would always have those to keep close to her heart—but the pain, the longing, the senseless wising that things could be as they once were. They would never be that way again. She had to go on. James would want her to go on.

A tear slid down her cheek and fell onto the white petals. It glistened there for a moment, and was then absorbed. It was time.

Taking the rosebud she wore from her buttonhole, she held the two together and knelt in front of the bush. Gently she lay the delicate flowers side by side and scooped a handful of earth over them to cover them up. “Good-bye, James,” she whispered. “Good-bye, my love.”

She was still kneeling there when Baxter came upon her several minutes later. “A weed,” she explained when she saw
him looking down at her, his face full of concern. “John must have missed it. So unlike him.”

She scrambled to her feet and gave Baxter a bright smile. “Now, how is that young man doing with my wall?”

To her relief, Baxter chose to ignore any signs of her heartache that might still be visible.

“He seems confident enough. We can only hope his competence matches his enthusiasm. I left him up there to take measurements and calculate his supplies.”

“When will he be able to make the repairs?”

“He has promised first thing Monday morning.”

“Ah, that will be wonderful. I will feel so much better when that has been taken care of.”

“Yes, madam.” He hesitated, apparently unsure of what was expected of him. “You mentioned wanting to speak to me about something.”

“Ah, yes, Baxter, come and sit down here, and I’ll explain.” It amused her that he put as much space between them as the bench allowed. “But before I get into that, there’s a little matter I’m very anxious to clear up.”

Baxter looked wary. “Yes, madam?”

“The gentleman in suite three. I would very much like to know who he is.”

As far as she could tell, his puzzlement was quite genuine when he said, “Mr. Shuttlewick. I believe I already told you that.”

Cecily nodded. “Well, yes, you did, Baxter. But I have heard comments from several people that lead me to believe that Mr. Shuttlewick is not his real name.”

Bewilderment settled over his features. “It is not? Then what is his name?”

Cecily repeated what she had heard.

“I hardly think so, madam,” Baxter said sharply. “I took the booking myself.”

“And have you seen the gentleman in question?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Then how do you know it isn’t him?”

“I think I would certainly have been informed if it were.”

“Not necessarily. Not if he booked under an assumed name.”

Baxter stared at her for several seconds, then shook his head impatiently. “This is ridiculous. It is most likely someone who resembles him, that is all.”

That was Cecily’s theory, too, though she had to admit to a certain disappointment to hear it confirmed. “Ah, well,” she said, “I have something more important to discuss in any case. I have worked out a little plan, and I need your assistance.”

It took her what must have been a full half hour to persuade him to agree. He gave her every argument against her plan that he could think of, but she was adamant. “Once we have the proof, the inspector will have to listen to us,” she insisted when Baxter pleaded with her to talk to the police first.

Finally he held up his hands in despair. “I can see you are determined,” he said, “and I will not allow you to do this alone. But I feel very strongly that we are wasting our time. You are acting on supposition, and a frail one at that. On the other hand, there is always the possibility that you could very well be putting yourself in danger.”

She leaned over and patted his arm. “That’s why I need you there, Bax. I have every confidence in you. I shall feel perfectly safe knowing you are at my back, waiting to protect me.”

“Yes, madam,” he said gloomily.

Satisfied, she stood up. “Now, I have to go and get ready for dinner. You have it all straight?”

“Yes, madam.”

“Good. Then I shall see you later.”

As she turned away, she smiled when she heard him say under his breath, “And who in the world, may I ask, is going to protect me?”

CHAPTER

20

“I’m so glad you could join me,” Cecily said, smiling at Daphne Morris across the table. The companion looked ill at ease, she thought, and wondered what was going through the woman’s mind.

“It was most gracious of you to invite me,” Miss Morris answered, picking at her lobster salad with her fish fork.

“Not at all. I enjoy having someone to talk to when I dine.”

Daphne Morris looked up, and the candlelight accentuated the dark circles under her eyes. “You must miss your late husband a great deal.”

Cecily nodded cheerfully. “I do, of course, but one can’t go on pining away forever.” She glanced around the crowded dining room, where ladies in elegant hats and frocks chattered and laughed with their immaculately dressed escorts. “After all, one can hardly be lonely, living in a hotel.”

“Even in a crowded room, one can be terribly lonely if the right person is absent.”

“True enough.” She could almost feel sorry for the woman, Cecily thought, if it were not for her suspicions. “I imagine you will have to deal with loneliness as well, until you find a new position that is.”

“Yes. I suppose I shall.”

“Of course,” Cecily said carefully, having led the conversation to where she needed it, “in view of the new developments, you might well have Mr. Danbury’s help in finding new employment.”

She felt a small leap of triumph when Daphne Morris sharply lifted her head. “Mr. Danbury? What developments?” Apparently aware that she had spoken too harshly, the companion added more quietly, “I am sorry, Mrs. Sinclair. But as you can understand, I am sure, I am naturally concerned in this matter.”

“Of course, Miss Morris.” Cecily lifted her serviette and dabbed at her lips. “I apologize for startling you, I assumed you had heard the news.”

Daphne Morris laid down her fork with exaggerated care. “I am afraid I am unaware of any news of Mr. Danbury since he was taken away by the police this morning.”

“Ah,” Cecily said reaching for her wine. “Then let me enlighten you. Apparently there has been a new discovery at the scene of the murder.”

“In the roof garden?”

Most clever, Cecily thought. It was obvious Daphne Morris had a very quick mind. “Oh, no, that is part of the news. The murder wasn’t committed in the roof garden. Lady Eleanor was killed in the courtyard below. The fallen bricks from the roof were merely a decoy, in the hopes of making the death appear to be an accident.”

Daphne Morris coughed and covered her mouth with her serviette.

“Are you all right, my dear?” Cecily inquired innocently.

The companion nodded, her eyes growing wary. “Thank you, I am fine. I find it so difficult to think of Mr. Danbury as
being capable of such violence. I have always admired him as a gentleman.”

“Ah, yes. Well, that is the other thing.” Cecily sipped her wine slowly. She was beginning to enjoy herself immensely. “There appears to be some doubt of Mr. Danbury’s involvement in this affair after all. You see, the police uncovered a white shoe button at the scene. Considering the place where it was found, it seems most likely that the button was lost during the attack on Lady Eleanor.”

All color seemed to have drained from Daphne Morris’s face. She took a hasty sip of her wine, choked, and set the glass down again so hurriedly the liquid spilt on the white lace tablecloth.

Dabbing at the stain with her serviette, Miss Morris muttered, “I am so sorry, how clumsy of me.”

“Not at all. A discussion of murder can be most unnerving, can it not?”

“Very.” The younger woman appeared to recover herself in record time. “So do the police have any notion of who might be the owner of the button?”

Cecily shook her head. “Not for the time being. The inspector informed me, however, that he would arrive very early tomorrow morning, before the guests are due to leave, so that they can inspect any white shoes the women might have.”

“White shoes?” Daphne Morris whispered.

“Yes. It’s a dreadful nuisance, of course. I’m afraid it will be most awkward explaining to my guests why they have to submit to this inspection, but I have no say in the matter. Of course, since most of my staff wear white shoes …”

Cecily paused, as if she’d just thought of it. “Oh, dear, I’m afraid that will include you, Miss Morris. If I remember, you were wearing white shoes with that charming white dress yesterday, were you not? I remember admiring them when we visited in my suite. That network of straps was most novel, I haven’t seen a pair like that before.”

A red spot appeared in each of Miss Morris’s cheeks. “Oh, thank you. They were a gift from Lady Eleanor. Well, of course I shall be happy to offer them for inspection in the morning.”

“Wonderful,” Cecily said, picking up her knife and fork. “I shall be sure to mention you to the inspector the moment he arrives. Perhaps he can see you first then you won’t be delayed in leaving.” With great enthusiasm, she attacked her ptarmigan pie.

“It went very well,” Cecily quietly informed Baxter later. “Daphne Morris believed every word of it. I am quite sure that she is at this very moment racking her brains to find a solution to her dilemma.”

“I am not happy with this situation at all, madam. There are several options Miss Morris can employ.”

Cecily peered cautiously around the side of the laundry room. From there she had a clear view across the yard to the larder window. The sky had cleared, leaving only a few white clouds scudding across the moon. Pale white light flooded the ground, rendering anything that moved perfectly visible.

“Name one,” she demanded without raising her voice.

“She could merely discard the shoes in a dustbin.”

“I don’t think so. I told her I remembered seeing her in them yesterday, and that I would ask the inspector to see her first.”

“Most ingenious, madam. Perhaps Miss Morris has more than one pair of white shoes, however. In which case she would need only to present one pair to the inspector.”

“I think not, since she was so anxious to replace the button yesterday. In any case, Baxter, these shoes were most distinctive. I’m quite sure I should recognize them again. Miss Morris knows that. No, I do believe that she will act precisely as I’ve predicted.”

“And may I point out, madam, that if she does not, we could stand out here all night waiting for her?”

“Granted, that’s entirely possible. But it’s certainly worth the chance, is it not?”

Baxter cleared his throat several times and ran his finger under his collar.

Cecily looked at him suspiciously. “Is something distressing you, Baxter?”

“Madam, I have to remind you of the improprieties of being alone with a member of the … staff for the entire night.”

Cecily grinned. “Don’t you mean a member of the opposite sex, Bax? Isn’t that what you were about to say?”

He shifted awkwardly on his feet. “Madam, I—”

“Oh, piffle. If we catch Miss Morris in the act, then our motives will be properly explained. If not, then no one but ourselves need know of this escapade. Agreed?”

“If you say so, madam.”

“That’s settled then. Now we had better keep quiet and hope that Daphne Morris is as predictable as I think she is.”

Gertie was looking forward to putting her feet up. She’d been running all day and couldn’t wait to get back to her room with a nice pot of tea and some of Mrs. Chubb’s shortbread. She’d raided the kitchen after everyone had left and was scurrying along the hall to her room when she saw Daphne Morris standing in front of the housekeeper’s sitting-room door.

Surprised, Gertie almost dropped her tea tray. “Blimey, miss, you gave me a right fright, you did. Is there something you wanted?”

The companion looked up and down the hall as if afraid a ghost were about to appear. “I was … er … just wondering if Mrs. Chubb was here? I wished to ask a favor of her.”

Gertie shook her head. “Sorry, miss. It’s her morning off tomorrow. She’s gone to visit her daughter and the baby. She usually stays the night and comes back the next afternoon.” It struck Gertie that Miss Morris looked right pasty, like she was ill.

“’Ere,” Gertie said, peering at the wan face, “you feeling bad? I’ve got some powders in me room if you want one.”

“Oh, no, thank you. I wanted to borrow a needle and cotton, but perhaps I’ll wait until tomorrow.”

“Sorry I can’t help you with that one,” Gertie said, shifting her grip on the tray. “Mrs. Chubb’s the one who has all that. I can bring you some in the morning if you like.”

Daphne Morris held up her hand. “No, no, thank you. It doesn’t matter. Forget I mentioned it. Er … good night.”

Gertie watched the tall, slender woman hurrying up the stairs to the lobby. Seemed odd that did, that she wouldn’t have a
needle and cotton. What kind of lady’s companion came away without a needle and cotton? Shaking her head, Gertie carried the tray to her room.

“Madam, it is getting most chilly out here. I beg you—”

“Sshhsh!” Cecily pressed a finger to her lips. “I heard something.” She edged her head forward until she could see around the corner.

For a moment nothing moved in the yard, then a dustbin lid rattled as a cat sprang to the ground and began prowling along the wall, tail held high in the air.

“Only a cat,” Cecily whispered, withdrawing her head. “I thought—”

She stopped as another sound caught her ear. The faint creak of wood. Pushing her head forward again, Cecily peered around the corner. Her heart skipped when she saw the dark-clad figure crouching below the larder window.

Pulling back, she held out her hand. “It’s her,” she breathed. “Give me the helmet.”

Baxter’s eyes looked like silver in the moonlight. She thought he would argue and she stopped breathing, terrified that his voice would carry across the yard. But after a pause, he handed it to her.

Cecily waited a moment longer, then prepared herself and stepped out into the open.

Daphne Morris had her arm through the window, reaching inside.

Holding her breath, Cecily began walking toward her, her footsteps ringing out loudly in the still night air.

With a small cry, Miss Morris withdrew her arm and swung around.

Cecily stopped dead.

There was a small, shocked silence, then the companion clutched her throat. “Robert! What are you doing here? No, no, don’t come any closer. Please, I didn’t want to kill her. I thought it was what you wanted. I did it for you, Robert—”

Her voice broke and she sank to her knees, murmuring between sobs, “I … did … it … for … you.”

Cecily removed her pith helmet. “I’m sorry, Miss Morris.
Mr. Danbury is not here. I just borrowed his uniform to wear, which is what you did last night, was it not?”

The sobs stopped abruptly as Daphne Morris peered across the yard. “Mrs. Sinclair?”

“Yes.” Cecily stepped out from the shadow of the wall into the moonlight. Her disguise had worked better than she could have hoped. “I apologize for the deception,” she added, “but I needed confirmation that my suspicions were correct. I assume you were trying to reach the button tin, as you attempted to do last night, am I right? It was you who broke the pickle jar in your attempt to reach the button tin, I believe?”

Miss Morris stood very still. “Button tin? I am sorry, I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“The button tin, Miss Morris. After you killed Lady Eleanor you realized the button was missing from your shoe. I saw those shoes myself this very afternoon, in your wardrobe. You must have considered the possibility of the button being found at the scene of the crime.”

She took a step forward. “You knew about the button tin, of course. I’m sure you’ve had occasion to use it before. But you couldn’t ask for it, could you? So you reached for it through the window. I imagine the noise of the falling jar must have been quite startling. Enough to cause you to leave at once, before you were discovered.”

For a long moment the silence stretched between them. Then, from the bushes nearby came the mournful yowl of a cat. Daphne Morris’s eyes flickered in the pale light from the moon.

“You are too clever, Mrs. Sinclair,” she said, her voice strident in the darkness. “You would never have known, would you, if it hadn’t been for that button? How very careless of me.”

Cecily stepped closer. “You were in love with him, weren’t you?”

The other woman stared at her, and Cecily could plainly see the fury in her eyes. “Robert? Yes, I was in love with him. He swore he loved me, too. But he wouldn’t divorce milady.”

“So you killed her.”

“I had to get rid of her so that he could be free.” Her laugh
rang out wildly. “Free! Can you imagine? I freed him all right, to walk into the arms of another woman. It was all for nothing.”

“So you wrote the note, asking Lady Eleanor to meet you?”

Daphne Morris sighed. “Everything went wrong from the start. I intended to push her over the roof wall. I noticed the bricks were wearing, so I loosened them with Robert’s paper knife. Then I shut Chan Ying in my wardrobe and sent Robert to look for him. I needed him out of the way. Then I suggested to Lady Eleanor that we should go to the roof to see if we could spy Chan Ying from up there.”

Cecily stepped closer, intent on catching every soft-spoken word.

“Milady refused to go,” Miss Morris continued, her hands writhing together like two battling snakes. “She said the staircase was too narrow. I had to think of something else. It was when I collected Robert’s uniform that the idea came to me. It was a simple matter to pick up a mask from the reception desk and then I saw a helmet hanging on the hallstand. I changed into the clothes and scribbled the note and gave it to the maid.”

“And then you met Lady Eleanor in the courtyard?”

Miss Morris looked confused. “Pardon? Oh, no. I waited in the roof garden and pushed the bricks down on her. I thought they would kill her. I hid the sign, so that people would think it was an accident, that perhaps someone had gone too close at the precise moment Lady Eleanor was taking a walk below.”

It was Cecily’s turn to be confused. “But I don’t understand. Lady Eleanor wasn’t killed by the falling bricks.”