Room With a Clue (Pennyfoot Hotel Mystery) (3 page)

She had locked the door when she’d left an hour earlier, since the maids would not need clean laundry until the morning. Someone must have been there, however. The door now stood ajar.

With a dreadful sinking feeling in her stomach, Phoebe clutched her lace-bound throat and crept closer. Holding her breath, she peered in.

The lid of Henry’s basket lay several feet away, as if someone had flung it aside. The basket, with its red satin cushion still bearing the indentation of the snake, was quite empty. Henry had disappeared.

CHAPTER

3

“I really don’t know why you defend the wretched child. It’s obvious that she stole the brooch.” Lady Eleanor peered into the dressing-table mirror and patted her luxuriant brown hair into place.

“It’s possible you could have mislaid the brooch somewhere, milady.”

“We have already discussed this, Daphne. You yourself searched for the brooch, did you not?”

“Yes, milady. But—”

“Really, Daphne, I fail to see why you are persisting in this argument.” Eleanor glanced at the reflection of her companion in the mirror.

Daphne Morris stood near the fireplace, framed by the maroon-and-white-flocked wallpaper behind her. The white frock she wore accentuated her tall frame, giving her almost an air of elegance. She was ten years Eleanor’s junior and quietly
attractive, in spite of her large mouth and rather pointed nose.

Eleanor looked back at her own perfect features. The salmon-pink tea gown she wore had cost a small fortune. She’d found it in the Rue de la Paix in Paris that spring, together with that exquisite Worth gown that she’d worn to the Palace ball. The cream silk satin embroidered with golden butterflies had done wonders for her bared shoulders.

Eleanor leaned forward for a closer look. Even so, she’d take Daphne’s nose and the big mouth just to have those ten years back. Fast approaching forty, she was only too aware that her looks were beginning to show signs of dreaded old age.

“If the clasp was insecure, the brooch could have fallen anywhere without you noticing it,” Daphne said stubbornly.

Eleanor’s irritation intensified, and she turned, scowling at her companion. “There was nothing wrong with the clasp. I tell you, that little gutter urchin stole it.”

“You can’t be certain of that.” Daphne seemed determined to stand her ground, furthering Eleanor’s annoyance. “To accuse an innocent person without proof is a terrible thing. It could ruin her entire life.”

“And you forget your place, Daphne. It is not up to you to tell me whether I am right or wrong. I suggest you keep your opinions to yourself if you want to remain in my employ.”

To Eleanor’s satisfaction, Daphne pinched her lips together. The threat worked like a charm every time. The woman knew full well it would be near impossible for her to find such lucrative employment elsewhere. At her age and without references, her choices would be limited. That’s what kept Daphne in line, plus the fact that she was well paid for her services.

“Isn’t it time you took Chan Ying for his walk? The poor little thing is getting restless.” Eleanor crouched to scoop up the Pekingese at her slippered feet. “It’s those hotel cats. Nasty, vicious things. Always spitting and scratching at him. Upsets his sensitive nature, doesn’t it, my little poochy-woochy?”

She buried her face in the soft fur, while the ungrateful little beast wriggled frantically in her arms. No matter what she did, she couldn’t seem to associate with this dog. Not like Caesar,
poor thing. Sad day when they buried him. He simply adored her. Followed her everywhere.

“I thought I’d go down and collect the costumes for the ball first, milady,” Daphne said, reaching for her shawl. “By the time I get back with Chan Ying, it will be time to dress your hair.”

“Very well. But please hurry. A storm is brewing out there.” Eleanor dropped the Pekingese onto the carpet. Twitching the lace train of her tea gown behind her, she spun around and headed for the window. “I’d hate for the little darling to get wet and catch cold.”

“I’ll be as quick as I can.”

Eleanor pulled back the heavy gold damask curtain and looked out at the heaving sea. The deserted, windswept Esplanade looked quite dismal now that the sun had disappeared. “Look at that,” she exclaimed, expecting Daphne to do no such thing. “White horses. And the sky as black as coal. There’s always something so ominous about a threatening storm.”

“Yes, milady. I’ll leave right now.”

Eleanor turned as the door opened. Robert hurried in, narrowly avoiding a collision with Daphne on her way out. She ducked her head and scurried past him as if she expected a scolding.

Eleanor had no idea why her husband should intimidate the woman that way. Daphne had no such problem when contradicting her employer. But then she seemed to have a problem where all men were concerned. That’s what came of being a spinster, no doubt.

She waited until Daphne had closed the door behind her before eyeing Robert’s handsome features with suspicion. “Where have you been all afternoon? Gambling, I suppose. You absolutely reek of cigar smoke.”

“Now, now, my precious, you know I don’t waste my money on such sinful recreation.” Smiling sheepishly, Robert advanced toward her.

Avoiding his outstretched hand, she moved over to a peacock-blue brocade sofa. “My money, you mean. Don’t think I don’t know where you sneak off to while I’m napping.
You men are all alike. I saw your friend Keith today. Utterly disgusting, that’s all I can say for him.”

Robert looked surprised. “Keith? Here in the Pennyfoot? I wasn’t aware he was coming down here.”

Eleanor uttered a brittle laugh. “Neither was Luella, I wager. Little does she know the man to whom she’s betrothed and about to marry is dallying in a seaside hotel with a fallen woman.” She’d delivered the last two words with great relish, enjoying the startled look on her husband’s face.

“You saw her—this woman?”

Smoothing out her skirt, Eleanor lowered herself gracefully onto the sofa. “No, of course not. He had her hidden somewhere, of course. Most likely in that ghastly motor car of his.”

Draping her arm along the back of the sofa, she gave him a smug smile. “But I saw him signing in. I waited until he left, then went up to ask that dim-witted fool at the desk about the theme for tonight’s fancy dress ball. He never even noticed me staring at the guest register, he was too busy fawning over me. Silly man.”

“And you love it,” Robert murmured.

Eleanor narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing my precious, nothing at all.” Robert sank down next to her and took hold of her hand. “Why wouldn’t any number of men covet my beautiful, desirable wife? How they must envy my good fortune, my dearest.” He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to her fingers.

Eleanor withdrew her hand and stood up. “Don’t you want to know what I saw in the register?”

“Tell me what you saw, my sweet.”

“Keith actually had the nerve to sign the register as Mr. and Mrs. Torrington. Can you believe that? I can hardly wait to get back to town and inform Luella what a dreadful cad she’s planning to wed.”

Robert rose smartly from the sofa. “Now wait a minute, my precious. You’re not going to tell Luella about this, are you? I mean, the wedding is all set for next month. It will be the biggest society bash in months. Everyone who is anyone will be there.”

Eleanor bared her teeth in a triumphant grin. “If there
is
a wedding. I imagine once Luella gets wind of this, she will send Mr. Keith Torrington packing. And good riddance, I say!”

“But, my dear—”

Eleanor held up her hand. “Not another word, Robert. I will not change my mind about this. It’s my duty to warn my very best friend before she makes an utter fool of herself.” She stepped back, starting as a loud squeal erupted behind her.

“Oh, Channy, precious, I’m so sorry.” She picked up the Pekingese and stroked his back. “Incidentally, Robert, I’m afraid I have more bad news. One of the maids has stolen my emerald brooch. The one with the diamonds around it? I know I left it right there on the dresser, and now it’s gone.”

With a look of anxiety creasing his brow, Robert crossed the room to the dresser. “Are you sure, my dearest? You haven’t simply misplaced it?”

“Of course I’m sure. I had a word with the girl. Guilt was written all over her face. You know how well I read people. Besides, she was the only one in this room, except for Daphne, and that one would never steal from me. She doesn’t have the gumption for one thing, and she well knows on what side her bread is buttered.”

She frowned at Robert, who stood aimlessly moving objects around on the dresser. “It’s no good looking for it, Robert. Daphne and I searched this room from top to bottom. It’s gone, I tell you, and I know where it’s gone. Stolen by that wretched little servant. I told her I was reporting it to the constable at the very first opportunity.”

“If you must, my sweet. And while you’re about it, perhaps you would mention my letter opener to him? It seems to have disappeared as well.”

Eleanor gasped. “Not the pretty silver one? But, darling, the jewels in that handle are priceless. Perhaps we should go through everything. Heaven knows what that nasty little thief might have taken.” She hurried over to the dresser. “What on earth is the Pennyfoot coming to, hiring such riffraff? It never used to be like this when James was alive. Just goes to prove that women have no business trying to do men’s work.” Furiously she began sorting through her jewelry.

*     *     *

Phoebe stared at the empty basket, willing herself not to faint. It couldn’t be. Surely not. Henry was eighteen feet long. How could he have slithered across the yard without someone seeing him? Who had left the door open? Most important of all, where was Henry now?

She felt a cold wave of panic sweep over her, and she swayed to and fro. No, she couldn’t faint. She had to find Henry before he found someone to feed on. Great merciful heavens, what was she going to do?

Turning, Phoebe grabbed hold of the doorjamb to steady herself. She should tell someone. She couldn’t do this all alone. Cecily. No, Cecily would kill her. Mr. Baxter? No. She was terrified of Mr. Baxter. Besides, he’d insist on telling Cecily. Oh, God, Cecily would never trust her again.

She began trotting across the yard, looking left and right, not really knowing where she was going. To make matters worse, a drop of rain plopped on her nose. Her best silk gown would be ruined, not to mention her hat. But that was the least of her worries for now.

What if Henry actually ate someone? Would Phoebe be arrested? How would that look? The vicar’s mother, in prison for allowing a dangerous animal to escape. Oh, good Lord, she had to find that snake. And she needed help. Urgently.

She needed to go to the lavatory. She didn’t have time to go to the lavatory. She’d have to hold it. She just hoped the rain would hold off.

She reached the rose garden and let out a sigh of relief. There, crouched under a bright yellow rosebush, knelt the one man who could help her, the one man she could trust to keep her secret.

With one whisper that a full-sized python was on the loose in the hotel grounds, pandemonium was assured. She had to find the dratted thing before anyone discovered her mishap.

A low growl of thunder prodded her into action. She hurried forward, calling out the groundskeeper’s name in an urgent, fierce whisper. “John.
John!
You have to help me. Oh, please, you must help me.”

He lifted his head as she approached, regarding her with an
expression of wary dismay. John Thimble tended to be reticent around people. He’d spent the better part of his sixty years avoiding women entirely.

“John!” Phoebe gasped, clutching the sleeve of his shirt, “I really don’t know what I’m going to do. Oh, my. This is so bad for my heart. I hope I don’t faint.”

John jumped to his feet so fast he nearly lost his balance. His look of alarm suggested he, too, passionately hoped she wouldn’t faint.

Phoebe summoned her strength and held out pleading hands. “You simply must help me find him. I have no one else I can turn to.”

He focused his eyes in the region of her large, flower-bedecked hat. “Now hold on, missus, hold on. What be the trouble, then?”

“It’s Henry. He’s escaped!” The last word came out as a shriek, and Phoebe made a desperate attempt to calm herself. “We must find him. Heaven knows what he’ll do if someone treads on him. Mr. Sims assured me he was sluggish, but I mean, how docile can you expect him to be with a foot on his stomach?”

John blinked. “Henry? I don’t think I be acquainted with him, missus.”

Phoebe tilted her upper body forward and peered up at him from beneath the wide brim of her hat. “Henry is a snake,” she hissed. “A very big snake.”

That got his attention. “A snake?”

“Yes.” For heaven’s sake, did he have to repeat everything? “If we don’t find him right away, he could bite someone.”

“What kind of snake be it, then?”

Phoebe felt quite sure she was going to scream. What difference did it make, for pity’s sake? “Henry’s a python.” She spread her arms out at her sides as far as they would reach. “His head is this big.”

John pulled off his cap and scratched his thick white hair. “I reckon he won’t bite, missus. Pythons are more partial to squeezing, so’s I’ve heard.”

With a howl of frustration, Phoebe grabbed John’s arm.
“They eat goats, John. Goats! He’s out here somewhere in the gardens—”

John’s lined and weathered face registered real concern, and his gaze finally bumped into hers. “The gardens? Why didn’t you say so before, then? Come, we best find him right away before he do some damage.”

They started their search in the rose gardens, peering and prodding under every bush. At least, John did the prodding. Phoebe kept well back in case Henry should take offense at a poke from the garden rake. A sleeping snake presented a very different threat than a cornered python on the rampage.

Henry was not in the rose garden, nor was he lying in the rock pool. Neither the croquet lawn nor the grass tennis court revealed any sign of the python’s huge body, and Phoebe felt genuinely light-headed with all the anxiety.

When John suggested the courtyard with its sun-warmed bricks, her hopes rose. Just the place for a snake to seek refuge, though the rain pattering down could have disturbed Henry’s sanctuary by now.

Thick laurel hedges, eight feet tall, bordered the courtyard on all four sides. The narrow entrance barely gave one person passage, and Phoebe allowed John to pass through before shuffling her sodden shoes anxiously behind him. Once inside, she waited as John began poking under the hedge.