Kate Kingsbury - Herald Of Death

Joining Baxter in the sitting room, she accepted the steaming cup of cocoa he handed her and sniffed it to make sure the kitchen staff had added the brandy.

The welcoming warmth sliding down to her stomach was most satisfying, and she sat down with a sigh of pleasure in front of the fire. Baxter had stoked it, and flames licked the shiny black lumps of coal, creating a smoldering red glow of heat.

“Now,” Baxter said, as he sat opposite her, “tell me what happened.”

She told him, leaving out the moment when Madeline called forth her powers to create the lightning bolt that saved them. “It was a miracle,” she said instead. “Madeline called it divine intervention.”

“I’m inclined to agree.” He tilted his head on one side. “Are you telling me everything?”

“Everything I know.” Cecily stared into the fire. “I was so certain Lester Salt was the killer at first. I don’t know how I could have been so misled.”

Baxter finished off his mince pie and leaned back. “So when did you realize it wasn’t Lester Salt?”

“When I learned that his book on mysticism wasn’t what I thought. Until then I was convinced he was practicing black magic. Then he told me that Caroline Blanchard had told him that Thomas Willow’s dog refused to leave his side when he died. He’d already told me that he rang the constabulary when the dog returned without Thomas, so how would Caroline have known that about the dog unless she’d been there?”

“Good point.” Baxter laced his fingers together. “Still, she could have seen someone else kill Thomas and been too afraid to say anything.”

“She could have, but she didn’t. I should have known when I was thinking about Henry Farnsworth shooting pheasants. Everyone said that Jimmy Taylor had a nasty temper. I’m guessing that Caroline saw him beating his horse and perhaps threw the rock at him to make him stop.”

“So you think she didn’t mean to kill him?”

Cecily shrugged. “I don’t know. Whether she did or not, she must have realized he was dead, and took a lock of his hair to send his soul to the devil for tormenting his horse.”

Baxter nodded. “That makes sense. But what about the others?”

“Lester Salt told me that Thomas kicked his dog. Colin Mackerbee slaughtered pigs. Henry Farnsworth shot pheasants. The foxhunters killed foxes. I think that with Jimmy’s death, Caroline went on a rampage of revenge-cutting off locks of hair and sending the souls to hell.”

“So how in blazes did you end up on the Putney Downs?”

Cecily told him about the plan she’d devised, knowing that if Caroline Blanchard was the killer, she’d have to silence Madeline before she could tell everyone the true identity of the Christmas Angel.

“She called herself the angel of mercy,” Cecily said, staring into the flames. “That must have been why she left the angel stamps on her victims’ heads.”

Baxter’s expression was one of alarm. “Good Lord, Cecily! You could all have been killed.”

Cecily leaned forward and patted his hand. “Yes, well, we weren’t, darling, so all’s well. Sometimes one has to take extraordinary measures to catch a killer as devious as the Christmas Angel. Madeline assured me she could defend herself. I had complete faith in her abilities.”

Baxter groaned. “I hate to think what you will get into next.”

“I hope there won’t be a next.” Cecily stretched her toes closer to the fire. “Of course, if Sam Northcott hadn’t fallen off his bicycle again, he would have been there to protect Madeline.”

Baxter made a sound of disgust in his throat. “That idiot needs to find better transportation. I’ve lost count of the number of times he loses his bicycle.”

“Well, perhaps after this he’ll get one of those newfangled motorcars you’re always complaining about.”

Baxter grunted. “Heaven preserve us. Knowing Northcott, he’d drive the dratted thing right into the lobby. He has to be the most incompetent constable on the force. His clumsiness could have cost you all your lives.”

“Well, fortunately for us, that bolt of lightning took care of things. I don’t think Kevin was very happy with Sam. Or me, for that fact. Madeline was nice enough to tell him the whole thing was her idea.”

Baxter shuddered. “When I think what could have happened to-” He broke off as a light tap on the door interrupted him. “Now what?” Grumbling to himself, he walked across the room to open the door.

Cecily heard one of the maids announce, “P.C. Northcott is in the library. He wants to speak with madam.”

“Tell him we will be there shortly.” Baxter closed the door and strode back to her. “Northcott,” he said, his tone thick with disgust. “I’ll speak with him. You stay here and rest.”

“No.” She put down her cup and rose. “I want a word with him. There are questions yet to be answered.”

She thought about the questions as she led the way down the stairs to the lobby. She had spent so much time looking for a link between the victims, instead of searching for a motive.

It had been there right under her nose. She had just been too blind to see. Was she losing her powers of deduction? Was she taking far too much for granted, instead of digging beneath the surface of lies to find the truth?

If so, then she would be well to heed Baxter’s wishes, after all. For without the sharp edge that had always served her so well in the past, she would be a danger not only to herself, but to everyone else around her.

She put her depressing thoughts aside as they entered the library. Sam Northcott was in his usual spot in front of the fire, rocking back and forth on his heels.

He saluted her when he saw her. “Very commendable, Mrs. B. We would not have caught her without your help.”

“Well, don’t get too reliant on my wife,” Baxter said, wagging a finger for emphasis. “I don’t relish the idea of her putting herself in danger for your benefit.”

Northcott puffed out his chest. “For the benefit of mankind, sir. A dangerous killer was h’apprehended because of your wife’s commitment to the law.” He coughed. “Though I was a little surprised it were Caroline Blanchard.”

Cecily sighed. “Yes, it took me a while to see her as a killer. Am I right in thinking that she threw the rock that killed Jimmy Taylor?”

“Yes, you are, m’m. Right as rain. She admitted as much when I talked to her a while ago. Said she saw him beating his horse. She said she was filled with a terrible anger and threw the rock to stop him. He fell off the wagon and hit his head going down on the wheel. That’s what killed him.”

Cecily felt a stab of sympathy for the seamstress. “And the locks of hair?”

Northcott smoothed a hand over his bald head. “I don’t rightly understand all that mumbo jumbo, m’m. Miss Blanchard said something about throwing them on the fire and speaking to the devil, but by then she was talking a lot of nonsense.” He touched his forehead with his fingers. “Not quite right in the head, m’m, as I see it.”

“Did she say why she left the stamps on their heads?”

Northcott looked uncomfortable. “She said as how she had some in her pocket, and when she bent over Jimmy Taylor, they fell out and one stuck on his forehead. She thought it were some sort of sign, so she left it there and that’s when she decided to take his hair.”

“Ah, that explains it. She must have decided to leave the same sign on all her victims. What will happen to her?”

Northcott shrugged. “That’s up to the courts. If she’s as daffy as I think she is she’ll probably be sent to an institution.” He shivered. “I don’t envy her that, m’m. I’ve seen some of them places. Horrible, they are.”