Kate Kingsbury - Decked With Folly

The constable’s eyes narrowed. “There’s no need to take that tone with me. Kindly go to her at once and tell her I need to speak with her. I’ll wait in the lobby.” He twisted around so fast he almost lost his balance.

Gertie waited until he was out of earshot then poked out her tongue. “Bloomin’ ninny he is,” she muttered. “Thinks he’s so clever. I wonder what he’d say if he knew everyone laughs at him behind his back.”

“Well, I hope you’re not the one to tell him that,” Pansy said, looking nervous. “It doesn’t do to upset the bobbies. You never know what they might do.”

Gertie uttered a short laugh. “That silly fool don’t know how to keep his helmet on straight. I’m not afraid of him.” She picked up the sweeper and tucked it under her arm. “I’d better go and tell madam he’s here, before he eats all the tarts Mrs. Chubb made for supper. I never seen a man with a sweet tooth like that one.”

“Give me the sweeper.” Pansy held out her hand. “I’ll finish in here for you.”

Pleasantly surprised, Gertie beamed at her. “That’s blinking good of you, Pansy. Ta ever so!”

Pansy gave her a weak smile and took the sweeper from her. “I ain’t got nothing else to do until we get ready for supper, so I might as well do the carpets.”

Gertie felt another twinge of sympathy. “You’re not seeing Samuel, then?”

“Nah.” Pansy’s shoulders sagged. “He said he was going to be busy this afternoon.”

“Well, look. Wait until I get back and then we’ll go for a walk with the twins. It’s their nanny’s day off so I promised to take them and I’ll be glad of the company.”

Pansy brightened. “Really? I’d love to go for a walk. I haven’t been out walking in ages.”

“Good. I’ll be back in half a mo.” Hurrying off, Gertie cursed Samuel under her breath. What was the matter with men that they couldn’t make up their minds what they wanted?

Samuel should do the right thing and tell Pansy he was never going to marry her, instead of stringing the poor girl along with hopes and dreams that weren’t ever going to come true. Men. The world would be a lot happier place without them. Even Dan. She never knew where she was with him.

One day she’d be thinking he really did love her and want to be with her, then he’d go and say something that would make her think he regretted ever coming back to Badgers End.

Maybe he should have stayed in London. Then he wouldn’t have raised her hopes again, just when she was starting to get over him. He’d been back a year, and never a word about his plans for the future. Their future. Or maybe there was no future for either of them. At least not together.

Thoroughly disgruntled, she stomped up the stairs to madam’s suite and rapped on the door. Mr. Baxter answered, and he didn’t look too happy, neither.

“Yes, what is it?”

Gertie pinched her lips together. Usually when he spoke like that he was arguing with madam. Which meant she’d better be bloody careful what she said to him.

“Excuse me, sir,” she said, bobbing a curtsey, “I’m sorry to disturb you but P.C. Northcott is here and he says he has urgent business with madam. He’s waiting in the lobby.”

Mr. Baxter gave her a curt nod. “Thank you, Gertie. I’ll inform Mrs. Baxter. Please tell the constable she’ll be down in a moment or two.”

“Yes, sir.” Relieved to have escaped without incurring the master’s wrath, Gertie fled down the hall to the stairs. Next time she came back, she vowed silently, she’d come back as a man. So help her, she would.

Following her husband down the stairs, Cecily tried to regain her composure. She’d very much wanted to speak to Gertie before the constable arrived, but her argument with Baxter after Kevin left had taken up far too much time. Now it was too late to question her chief housemaid. It would have to wait until after her meeting with the constable-which no doubt would be unproductive.

She was not in the best of moods to deal with his illogical rambling. Her argument with Baxter had been intense and familiar. Her husband, perhaps rightly so, had expressed his supreme displeasure at her becoming involved in yet another murder.

He’d even gone so far as to forbid her to take any part in the investigation, which did not sit well with her at all. Had it not been for the fact that Ian was known to them, they might well have come to an impasse, resulting in a very unfortunate atmosphere for the Christmas season. Baxter, however, had finally conceded that having known Ian intimately, at least in his younger years, Cecily was better equipped to find out who would have wanted him dead and why.

Cecily was also fairly certain that Baxter harbored the same fears she did, about Gertie being somehow involved, which was perhaps another reason why he had agreed not to stand in her way. Yet he did issue a host of dire warnings and extracted a promise that she would keep him informed of her every move. That was something she had found almost impossible to do in the past and no doubt it would prove equally difficult in this case.

Deep in her dark thoughts, she almost passed by the constable, who hovered at the foot of the stairs, clutching his helmet under his arm.

“I knew it!” he exclaimed, as she greeted him. “I knew it would turn up as a murder, the minute I heard he’d drowned in two feet of water.”

“Hush!” Cecily glanced around the lobby in alarm. “We don’t want to upset the guests.”

“Oh, of course not. Sorry, Mrs. Baxter. Wasn’t thinking, was I.”

Baxter rolled his eyes, his face clearly expressing his displeasure.

“Let us go to my office,” Cecily said hurriedly, sensing her husband’s imminent explosion of wrath. “We can talk freely there.”

She led the way, keeping up a cheerful conversation about the holly wreaths on the walls, and how Madeline had woven them herself. “It’s really a shame you don’t spend your Christmas in Badgers End,” she said, as she opened the door. “You could have attended our Christmas pantomime. Phoebe Carter-Holmes Fortescue has worked very hard on this year’s presentation. It promises to be quite lovely.”

She couldn’t blame the skeptical look on the constable’s face as he murmured an answer. Phoebe’s presentations, largely consisting of ill-conceived performances by her unwieldy dance group, were more often than not a total disaster.

The fact that Cecily’s audiences enjoyed them, at least those who did not sit close enough to be wounded by flying objects, was based more on their anticipation of a fiasco than on appreciating the nonexistent artistic talent.

Having closed the door, Baxter ushered Northcott to a chair while Cecily took her seat behind the desk. The lack of space in the tiny room, which held little more than her desk, four chairs, and a filing cabinet, always made her feel somewhat constricted when there was more than one person in there with her.

Never was that feeling more pronounced than when Sam Northcott was present. She assumed it was because more often than not he was either the bearer of bad news, or she was in the unfortunate position of having to impart unpleasant news herself.

Sitting back in her chair, she tried to calm her thoughts by clasping her hands together. “Well, Sam, I’m afraid we are dealing with yet another troublesome problem.”

“We are, indeed, m’m.” Northcott stole a glance at Baxter. “Please accept my condolences. I know you were fond of the deceased.”

“He was once one of my favorite servants,” Cecily agreed carefully.

Baxter cleared his throat and she sent him a warning glance. He had agreed not to interfere with her discussion with the constable, and she knew he had set himself an almost impossible task.