Room With a Clue (Pennyfoot Hotel Mystery) (7 page)

“Yes, Mr. Danbury. Of course. And what about Miss Morris? Shall I inform her?”

He hesitated for a long moment, then said quietly, “No. I’ll take care of it.”

“Very well Mr. Danbury. As you like.”

Cecily let out her breath as the door closed behind him. “Poor man. I’m glad that’s over.” She sank onto the chair and looked at Baxter, who had remained at a discreet distance throughout.

He moved forward now, to stand at the foot of the table. “Are you all right, madam?”

“What? Oh, yes. Thank you.” She rubbed a hand across her brow. “I wonder if he’ll bring charges against the hotel.”

“I certainly would hope not, madam.”

He’d sounded shocked, and she gave him a rueful smile. “You didn’t see the look in his eyes just before he left. I’m afraid he might very well be vindictive.” She sighed heavily, seeking comfort from the delicate colors of the roses. “Not that I would blame him, of course. If the wall had been sound, Lady Eleanor would still be alive.”

“If milady had heeded the sign, she would not have fallen.”

Cecily shrugged. “I fear it is a little late to play with ifs and if nots.” She paused for a moment or two, then decided she could stand it no longer. “Bax, do you happen to have one of those wonderful little cigars you always carry around with you?”

Baxter switched his disapproving gaze to a point above her head. “Yes, madam.”

“May I have one, please?”

“Madam, I don’t think—”

“I know what you don’t think. That doesn’t alter the fact that I very much need one right now.”

“This is most improper, and I object very strongly to encouraging you—”

“Baxter, if I were a man, would you not be happy to give me a cigar?”

He shifted from one foot to the other. “I need hardly point out that you are not a man, therefore the argument does not stand.”

“Piffle. That is indeed what this argument is about. There is nothing to prevent me from going to my suite and smoking one of my own cigars.”

“Yes, madam. Master Sinclair would be appalled if he were to see you.”

“No doubt. But since he is the reason I indulged in this habit in the first place, if he were still here I would not be smoking. So can we now end this dispute?”

With wry amusement she watched the struggle go on inside
him. Finally he slipped two fingers into the pocket of his waistcoat and drew out a narrow, slim package. Without a word, he opened the end of it and handed it to her.

Cecily took it and withdrew one of the slender cigars, then handed the package back to him. “You have my permission to smoke, too, Baxter.”

His face registered his discomfort. “Thank you, madam, but I prefer to wait until I am in my quarters.”

Cecily sighed. How sad it was that convention disallowed them to be true friends. She genuinely respected his loyalty to the old regime, but at times it could be extremely tiresome.

She stuck the cigar in her mouth, leaned forward, and mumbled, “Then be so kind as to put a light to mine.”

With a look of extreme distaste, he did so.

“This will not look good for us, Baxter,” Cecily said gloomily, watching the smoke curl lazily up to the ceiling. “The hotel will have a smear against its name. You know how people love to gossip.”

“Not the staff, madam.”

“Of course not the staff. I have complete faith in their loyalty. I meant the guests. Once word of this dreadful accident travels around Mayfair, the Pennyfoot’s name will be sullied.”

Baxter opened the door of the sideboard and pulled out a silver ashtray. “Perhaps it was not an accident.”

Cecily looked up sharply. Something in his voice had given her a quivery feeling in her stomach. “What do you mean?” she demanded, dreadfully afraid she already knew.

CHAPTER

7

Baxter crossed the room and laid the ashtray in front of Cecily. “Milady could have jumped.”

“Jumped?”

“Thrown herself off the roof, madam.”

Uneasily she tapped cigar ash into the ashtray. “Well, I know what you meant, but …” She resisted the urge to look at the body. “I don’t really think Lady Eleanor is the kind of person to do that, do you?”

“Who knows which of us could be desperate enough to take our own life?”

“I would certainly hope she did no such thing. I find that unforgivable. Too many good people have lost their lives far too early because of disease or accident. Some people never fully recover from the loss of someone they love.”

Baxter said nothing, but she knew he was aware she was thinking of James. After a pause she added, “Being a military
wife, I understand there are times when it is unavoidable to take the life of another. Even so, in my heart I cannot condone it. And to deliberately end a life needlessly, whether your own or that of someone else, is beyond my comprehension. The very thought of it fills me with rage.”

She thought about the aggressive, sharp-tongued woman she’d encountered on more than one occasion. “No, I don’t believe Lady Eleanor would do such a thing. Though it would certainly present the misfortune in a more favorable light if it were so.”

“There is another possibility, madam.”

“And that is?” She drew on the cigar, enjoying the sharp, acrid smell of the smoke. As a child she had often wondered what enjoyment could possibly be derived from such an odd habit that seemed reserved solely for the men. Now that she had taken up the habit herself, she had to admit the whole effect was undoubtedly soothing.

“It has been my contention, madam, that when one falls from a great height, it could be attributed to three possibilities. One either accidentally falls, or deliberately throws oneself off, or …” He paused, obviously for effect. “Or one is pushed.”

Cecily coughed, choked, then coughed again, until tears ran down her cheeks.

Baxter tutted loudly. “Forgive my impertinence, madam, but smoking is not a habit a well-bred lady should acquire. It is likely to be the death of you.”

“Piffle.” Cecily dropped the cigar into the ashtray and groped in her skirt pocket for her handkerchief. “Are you suggesting …” The words came out in a hoarse croak. She took several deep breaths, while Baxter watched anxiously.

“Can I get you some water, madam?”

She shook her head fiercely, cleared her throat, and tried again. “Are you suggesting that someone murdered Lady Eleanor?”

“No, madam. I merely presented it as a possibility.”

Cecily stared at him. “Now that I think about it, it does seem peculiar. Why would she go up to the roof garden alone, and fully dressed for the ball? It must have been quite difficult to
mount those narrow stairs, given the width of her padded skirts.”

“Precisely, madam.”

A chill crept down her back as she thought about it. “Baxter, I’m not certain that a murder at the Pennyfoot would be any better than an accidental fall.”

“No, madam. One cannot be charged with negligence in the case of a murder, however.”

“True. But who would want to murder Lady Eleanor?”

“That I couldn’t say.”

Cecily frowned. “I do wonder where Mr. Danbury was while his wife was on the roof.”

“I believe he was in the gardens. I saw him leave the foyer a little after the grandfather clock chimed a quarter to seven.”

“That’s right. Now that you mention it, I remember seeing him make for the stairs about ten minutes before John and Phoebe came to tell me about the accident. I didn’t take too much notice as my attention was on Colonel Fortescue.”

She looked up at Baxter. “What do you suppose Robert Danbury was doing out there in the rain?”

Baxter ran a finger around his stiff white collar. “It’s possible he had a rendezvous, madam.”

She pretended to be shocked. “With a woman?”

“It is possible.” Baxter gave her a look that said he knew perfectly well she was aware of the goings-on among her guests.

Cecily preferred to keep up the pretense, however. It eliminated the temptation to gossip, though it was difficult to ignore the rampant grapevine below stairs. “I wonder what P.C. Northcott will make of all this?” she murmured.

Baxter made a sound that sounded like “Pshaw!”

Cecily had long been aware that Baxter and Stanley Northcott did not see eye to eye, though she had never known the reason for it. She’d once heard Baxter refer to the policeman as a bumbling fool with a lump of hog fat for a brain.

True, P.C. Northcott always took the path of least resistance, but then nothing much happened in Badgers End to get him excited. Cecily had the distinct impression that the constable was not the fool he appeared to be.

Although he lived in Wellercombe, seventeen miles away, that town was under the jurisdiction of Inspector William Cranshaw, who was much too involved with taking care of his busy borough to bother with the petty problems of Badgers End.

Which was why P.C. Northcott had been given the job of policing the village. This accident, happening as it did to a prominent member of Society, was most likely the biggest thing to happen to Stan Northcott in his brief career.

Cecily glanced at the clock gracing the mantelpiece. “Well, it will be a while yet before the P.C. arrives. I’m sure our conjectures are nothing more than flights of fancy, but perhaps I could ask a few questions before he gets here, just on the off chance I can find something a little more convincing than a mere possibility.”

“I think that would be an excellent idea, madam.”

She nodded, then pushed her chair back to rise. “I can’t afford a scandal, Baxter. I can’t afford to lose my customers. As I’m sure you’re aware, it took every penny James had to finance the renovations for this hotel, and it will be years before the loans will be paid back. If it’s at all possible that I can find something to help our case, I have to try.”

Baxter leaned his hands on the table and fixed her with his dark brown gaze. “Madam?”

“Yes, Baxter?”

“You will take care?”

She smiled. “I would say I have more to worry about from Henry than I do a possible murderer, but I’ll be on my guard. Now I want you to do something for me. That wretched snake has to be somewhere around, unless it has decided to go for a swim in the ocean. If so, we are likely to have another problem on our hands. In the meantime, I’d appreciate it if you would conduct a thorough search of the premises, as unobtrusively as possible, of course.”

“Of course, madam.”

She left him diligently cleaning the ashtray, and climbed the stairs to the third floor, wondering how she could be tactful about the questions she needed to ask.

*     *     *

Mrs. Chubb found Madeline in the conservatory, watering the tropical plants before she left for the day. Quickly she explained the dilemma. “Poor Phoebe will be most horribly mortified,” she added, after filling Madeline in on the events of the past hour or two. “You know how much she puts into them tablets—”

“Tableaux,” Madeline murmured, her mind obviously on another plane.

“Whatever you call ’em. Anyway, I said I’d ask you to help me look for him.”

“I absolutely knew this was going to happen.”

Mrs. Chubb looked at her suspiciously. “How’d you know?”

“I saw it quite clearly in the stars last night. I told Cecily this morning. A ring around the full moon, I said. I tried to warn her.”

“Well, I don’t know how the moon knew Henry was going to go missing, but ask it where the blue blazes he’s hiding, will you?”

Madeline focused her gaze on Mrs. Chubb. “I’m not referring to the snake. I’m talking about Lady Eleanor.”

“Oh, that.” Mrs. Chubb nodded her head. “Yes, very sad that. But first things first, I say. The lady is dead, poor thing, but Henry is still very much alive, as far as we know, and if we don’t find him soon he’s going to get hungry.” She paused, folding her arms across her chest. “And you know what that means.”

“I do hope he doesn’t attack the cats. I’m quite sure one of them is a reincarnation of Sir Francis Drake. He has such a fascination with water, you know. So unusual for cats.”

Mrs. Chubb huffed her disapproval. “Are you going to help me look for him or not?”

Madeline sighed. “Oh, very well. I suppose my dinner can wait. But I insist on a snack first, or I shall positively faint from hunger.” She floated off, followed by Mrs. Chubb, who couldn’t help thinking that Madeline could do with a good meal to fatten her up.

*     *     *

Sounds of laughter, accompanied by the sprightly strains of a polka drifted up behind Cecily as she mounted the stairs. She thought uneasily how out of place the music seemed, given the circumstances.

Her light tap on the Danburys’ door went unanswered, and she rapped her knuckles a little harder. After a long pause a voice asked curtly, “Who’s there?”

“It’s Mrs. Sinclair, Mr. Danbury. I wonder if you would do me the courtesy of answering a question or two?”

Another long wait, then the door opened abruptly. Robert Danbury looked displeased and somewhat disheveled. He’d changed out of his uniform, his dark hair was mussed, and he’d apparently donned his jacket in a great hurry, as one button remained unfastened.

Stepping out into the hall, he closed the door behind him. “What is it you want to know, Mrs. Sinclair?”

“I was wondering if you’ve spoken to Miss Morris, and if there’s anything I can do?”

His eyes narrowed. “I have informed Miss Morris of her mistress’s death. She has taken it well, under the circumstances, and is resting at the moment.”

“Yes, well, perhaps I should look in on her, just to be sure.”

He gave a clipped nod of his head. “As you wish.” He moved his hand toward the door, and Cecily spoke quickly.

“Mr. Danbury, I was wondering why Lady Eleanor would have been in the roof garden by herself at such an hour. Especially since she was dressed for the ball.”

Robert Danbury’s hand hovered for a moment, then dropped to his side. “I’m afraid I can’t help you with that, Mrs. Sinclair. Miss Morris was helping my wife prepare for the ball when I left to search for the dog. Miss Morris had taken it for a walk earlier, and it had slipped its lead. When I returned to the room, my wife had already left. I assumed she had become tired of waiting and had decided to accompany one of our acquaintances to the ball.”

“You found the dog?” Cecily asked, trying to remember if he had it with him when she saw him earlier.

“Not at that time. Miss Morris brought the dog to my room
a little while later. She had managed to find him in the gardens. After she left I changed into my uniform for the ball. I was about to leave myself when I received your message.”

“I see.” Cecily frowned. “Did Miss Morris not say why your wife had left?”

“She told me only that she had left Lady Eleanor here in the room while she resumed the search for the dog.” He raised his hand again to the door. “If you will excuse me, this has all been rather a shock.”

“Of course. I’m sorry to have bothered you, Mr. Danbury. If there’s anything I can do?”

“Nothing, thank you.” He opened the door, and she turned to go.

Then, on an afterthought, she asked, “Was Lady Eleanor, by chance, depressed about something?”

Robert Danbury’s dark eyebrows arched. “Depressed? My wife had absolutely no reason to be depressed. She had everything she wanted—money, friends, a loving husband—no, Mrs. Sinclair, my wife was not depressed. She did not throw herself from the roof of this hotel, if that is what you inferred. Rest assured of that. It was an accident, pure and simple, and I would hope you will not raise a question about that.”

Cecily nodded dutifully. “Of course, Mr. Danbury. I apologize if I have caused you added distress.”

He stared at her for a moment longer, as if trying to guage whatever lurked in her mind, then he closed the door with a sharp snap.

Wincing, Cecily headed back down the hall, intending to talk to Daphne Morris. She met Phoebe at the head of the stairs, who puffed and panted, holding her sides to regain her breath.

She’d changed her clothes and now wore an elegant evening dress in sky-blue. The material had an attractive cut pile of dark blue and white chrysanthemums, and her matching hat swept low across her face. The crown was hidden under layers of blue and white silk roses, with yards of white chiffon veiling.

In her usual daytime dress of a crisp white shirt and black skirt, Cecily felt quite dowdy in comparison.

Phoebe’s fortunes had changed considerably for the worst since her husband’s accident had left her widowed. The family of the Honorable Sedgeley Carter-Holmes had disowned the unfortunate woman and her son, having always regarded her as beneath Sedgeley’s station, and Phoebe had been left with little more than her personal belongings.

She had kept the beautiful gowns and jewels, however, refusing to sell them no matter how impoverished she might become. Phoebe had never forgotten her brief period as an aristocrat and had taken great pains to maintain her figure in order to keep up appearances.

Eyeing Phoebe’s wasplike waist, which appeared to cut her in half between her bulging bosom and padded hips, Cecily knew just how tight the older woman had pulled the laces of her corset.

Cecily was often tempted to throw out the detestable things. If she had her way, no woman would have to force her body into the uncomfortable contraptions. As it was, she could hardly wait to be in the privacy of her room where she could slip out of her own corset and breathe easily again.

Phoebe held up her hand in a plea as she struggled for breath. “Wait … Cecily. Something … must tell you.”

Cecily waited, hoping Phoebe wanted to tell her she’d found Henry.

Phoebe waved her hand at the end of the hall. “Henry,” she gasped.

“You found him?”

The other woman shook her head. “I think he’s in the hotel somewhere. Overturned plant pot.”