Kate Kingsbury - Mistletoe and Mayhem

Still, she knew how far she could go with the housekeeper, and she wasn’t about to let a grumpy old grouch get the better of her. After making up the cheese and fruit plate, she grabbed the tray, muttering, “If I’m not back in ten minutes send Clive up to look for me.”

Mrs. Chubb laughed. “You sound like Pansy. What on earth has that poor Mr. Mortimer done to frighten you so?”

“Frightened?” Gertie made a guttural sound of disgust in her throat. “Who said anything about being frightened? We just can’t be too careful with strangers, that’s all. We never know who they are, do we. Could be that serial killer what’s running around London murdering young girls. You just never know these days.”

Mrs. Chubb’s grin vanished. “Hush, Gertie. Don’t say such things. You’ll be frightening the maids, and I have enough trouble with them as it is.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Gertie marched across to the door. Just as she reached it, it flew open, and a skinny young man burst into the kitchen, narrowly missing the loaded tray in Gertie’s hands.

Shaken, Gertie glared at him. “Blimey, Samuel! What’s your bleeding hurry?”

Ignoring her, Samuel looked at Mrs. Chubb. “I just came from Ellie’s house,” he said, sounding out of breath.

Mrs. Chubb hurried toward him. “Is she all right? She’s not ill, is she?”

Samuel shook his head. “We don’t know. She never came home last night. Her mum says she hasn’t seen Ellie since yesterday morning. Her brother’s out looking for her now.”

The housekeeper gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh, my, I wonder where she went.”

Remembering Clive’s stricken face when he told her Charlie had died, Gertie felt her stomach start to churn. The tray felt heavy in her hands and she set it down on a chair by the door. “Oh, gawd,” she whispered, “you don’t think something bad has happened to her as well, do you?”

“Of course not.” Mrs. Chubb sounded cross, though her face was creased in worry. “She’s probably just gone somewhere and didn’t tell her mother. These young girls nowadays can be so thoughtless.”

Gertie felt sick. “Where would she go without telling someone?”

“I don’t know. But it’s not for us to say, anyway.” Mrs. Chubb turned to Samuel. “Have you told madam yet?”

“No, I couldn’t find her. She’s nowhere in the club, and Mr. Baxter is in her office. He doesn’t know where she is, either.” Samuel pulled his cap from his pocket. “She must be outside. I’ll go and look for her.”

“Just try not to alarm her,” Mrs. Chubb said, as he crossed to the door. “She’s upset enough about Charlie. We don’t want her thinking the worst.”

Samuel nodded, but he didn’t look too convinced when he left.

Gertie didn’t feel all that reassured either as she picked up the tray again. “I’d better get this up to Mr. Mortimer,” she said, and followed Samuel out the door.

The stable manager had already disappeared up the stairs when she stepped out into the hallway. Too bad, Gertie thought, as she followed him up to the lobby. She would have liked to ask him how things were with Pansy. He might have said something she could pass on to her friend to cheer her up a bit.

Not that Pansy was the only one who needed cheering up. Gertie had her own problems with Dan, and now there was this awful business with Charlie dying and Ellie missing. What a blinking Christmas this was turning out to be.

Reaching the top of the stairs, she glanced up to look at the kissing bough. To her dismay, it had disappeared. Someone must have taken it down. Maybe because of Charlie.

More depressed than ever, she crossed the lobby to the stairs. The kissing bough had looked so cheery hanging up there.

It was the first thing people saw when they walked in the door. Not that anyone would feel like celebrating once word got around about Charlie. It was bound to get around, like it always did, no matter how hard they tried to keep such bad news under their hats.

She reached the first landing and stomped around the railing to the second flight of stairs. Two small bodies barred her way and she came to an abrupt halt. Just her luck to bump into the Millshire brats.

“Excuse me,” she muttered. “I have to go upstairs.”

Wilfred, a freckle-faced lad with orange hair, stood on his toes to look at the tray. “What’s that?”

Gertie resisted the temptation to tell him to mind his own business. “It’s somebody’s meal, that’s what. Now please move aside so I can take it upstairs.”

Adelaide was a smaller version of her brother, except that her hair, a much darker shade of red, hung almost to her waist. “Who’s it for?”

“A gentleman.”

“Can Harriet have some?” She held up a china doll, beautifully dressed in pink satin and white lace. A pink hat sat on the yellow woolen curls, decorated with flowers, ribbons, and a tiny white dove.

The doll reminded Gertie of Phoebe Fortescue, and she hid a smile. Mrs. Fortescue would not be flattered by the comparison.

“I don’t think your dolly would like roast beef sandwiches.”

“Harriet likes anything to eat. I give her some of my food all the time.”

“She doesn’t eat it,” Wilfred said, his tone thick with disgust. He looked up at Gertie. “She thinks her doll is really alive. She gives it stuff to eat and drink and sings it to sleep every night.”

Adelaide snatched the doll to her chest and stamped her foot. “She is real, so there.” She rocked the doll, murmuring, “There, there. Don’t let the nasty boy upset you, then.”

Wilfred laughed. “I can’t hear it crying. Where are its tears?”

“You just can’t tell, because you’re a stupid boy and boys don’t know anything.”

Sensing a squabble coming on, Gertie raised the tray above the children’s heads. “I have to take this upstairs now, so kindly get out of my way.”

Adelaide shifted sideways, but Wilfred held his ground. “Why doesn’t the gentleman eat his meals in the dining room, then?”

Gertie gritted her teeth. “Because he doesn’t want to be bothered with naughty little children who won’t do what they’re told.” Shoving her hip forward, she nudged Wilfred aside and charged up the stairs.

The last thing she heard as she reached the landing was Adelaide declaring, “Harriet is alive, I tell you. She wets her drawers and everything.”

Gertie didn’t hear Wilfred’s answer, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t polite.

Reaching room nine, she balanced the tray on her hip and rapped on the door with her knuckles. After waiting for longer than her patience would allow, she rapped again. Louder this time.

The door swung open, but all she could see was hairy fingers clutching the edge. “What is it?”

The harsh tone seemed to grate right inside her head. “Your tray, sir.” Her own voice had sounded higher than usual and she cleared her throat.

“Leave it there. I’m indisposed at the moment. I’ll pick it up in a while.”

Concerned, she edged closer to the door. “Are you ill, sir? I can bring some powders up for you, if you like?”

“I am not ailing, woman! Just leave the tray and go away.” The door snapped shut again.

Offended, Gertie bent her knees and dropped the tray none too lightly on the floor. Serve him bloody well right if the ants got to it before he did. Straightening, she thumbed her nose at the door and turned her back on it. That was the last time she was taking up a tray to that old bugger. He could starve inside that bloody room for all she cared. Having settled that in her mind, she tramped back down the stairs to the kitchen.

Cecily shivered as she rounded the corner of the building.