“How the devil did that get up there?” Mrs. Chubb stared in amazement as Michel finally grasped the carving knife and dislodged it from the ceiling.
“You ask me?” Michel jumped to the floor. “Sacre bleu! How the ’ell do I know how it got there? Someone must have thrown it up…so.” He jabbed his closed fist up at the ceiling.
“Oh my goodness.” Mrs. Chubb clutched her throat. “It’s a jolly good job it didn’t fall down on one of us. Could have killed us, it could.”
“It is I who shall kill whoever did this.” Michel ran his long fingers up the blade. “It is ruined. Look at that.” He thrust the knife at Mrs. Chubb, who jumped back in alarm.
“Can’t you sharpen it?”
“Of course I can sharpen it. But half ze edge is gone, non?”
“Well then, we’ll have to ask Madam for a new one.”
“It is not a new one I want. It is the head of whoever did this.” Michel started prancing around, brandishing the knife like a sword.
Two of the maids, who had been silently watching his performance, squealed and rushed from the kitchen.
Mrs. Chubb clicked her tongue. “Now see what you’ve gone and done. Frightened the tweenies, you have.”
“It does not take much to frighten those nincompoops.” Michel stopped prancing and gazed mournfully at his knife. “I would like to get my hands on ze bastard who did this. I will show him what it feels like to be pinned to the ceiling by a knife.”
Mrs. Chubb was about to answer when the door swung open and Gertie tumbled in. Her cap had slipped sideways again and strands of hair hung over her eyes, which were wide open and staring.
“It’s happened again!” The pile of soiled serviettes she carried slipped through her arms and fell to the floor. Paying no attention to them, she flapped a hand at Mrs. Chubb. “It’s bleeding happened again!”
“What’s happened?” Still unsettled by Michel’s wayward knife in the ceiling incident, Mrs. Chubb’ s question was no more than a whisper.
“You was right about a curse. It’s struck again.”
Mrs. Chubb had trouble finding any voice at all. “Not somebody else dead?”
Gertie looked at Michel, who still brandished the knife aloft as he stared back at her. “What the flipping heck is he doing?”
“Never mind him. Tell me what’s happened. Who is it this time?”
“It’s Father Christmas. Got himself stuck in the chimney, didn’t he.”
Mrs. Chubb sagged in relief. “Gertie! That’s not funny. I thought you was serious. Gave me quite a turn, you did.”
Michel burst out laughing. “That’s a good one,” he said between chuckles. “Father Christmas stuck in the chimney. Zat I would like to see.”
Gertie sat down on the nearest chair and thrust out her feet. “Well go on up to the library then, if you don’t believe me. It’s that Sid Porter bloke, what Phoebe hired to play Father Christmas. Mind you, all you can see is his feet, but he’s stuck up there all right and he ain’t bloody moving, neither.”
Mrs. Chubb felt quite faint. “You telling us he’s dead?”
“They don’t know for sure, but Samuel lit a fire under him and he didn’t squeal or nothing, so he’s probably not feeling too chipper.”
Mrs. Chubb patted her ample bosom. “Oh, Lord. It’s happening again.”
“That’s what I said.” Gertie shook her head. “Two in one day. Getting bleeding scary, it is.”
“Did you see these feet?” Michel demanded.
“Nope, I didn’t. But Samuel did. He told me all about it. He gave the poor bugger a tug, but he couldn’t move him. He’s gone after Dr. Prestwick to bring him back.”
“Does Madam know?”
“Yeah, she was there when Samuel lit the fire. That’s how they knew something was stuck up the chimney. Samuel said with all the smoke the library smells like bad eggs. He said to tell you that Madam wants the room aired out.”
“Well, in that case, my girl, it looks like you’ve got yourself a job.”
Gertie groaned and got to her feet. “How did I know you were going to say that? I suppose I’d better get to it.” She stepped over the pile of linen and walked slowly to the door, then paused, looking back over her shoulder at Mrs. Chubb. “I’m not looking forward to cleaning that room, I can tell you. Being in there with a Father Christmas what might be dead in the chimney.”
Mrs. Chubb glared at Michel when he uttered what sounded suspiciously like a smothered laugh. “There’s a lot of strange things going on around here,” she said darkly. “I’d think twice before I laughed about it if I was you.”
“If I do not laugh, then I cry instead.” He slotted the knife back into its stand.
Sighing, she bent to pick up the serviettes. “This is not a good start to the Christmas season. I just hope and pray the guests don’t hear about this. We can’t afford to have them walking out of here and going to that new hotel across Putney Downs. Madam’s already worried about them taking away all our business.”
Michel snorted. “The Pennyfoot Hotel will never lose any business to that monstrosity. It is too ugly, too big, too modern. It has none of the charm of the Pennyfoot.” He threw back his head and raised his voice. “And it does not ’ave the greatest, most creative French chef in the world!” He punctuated his words by beating his chest with both hands.
Mrs. Chubb turned away. “French chef, my ass,” she muttered, though she was careful to keep her voice too low for Michel to hear. Two disasters in one night was quite enough.
“Is he dead?” Cecily looked anxiously at Kevin Prestwick as he reached up inside the fireplace.
“Can’t say for certain.” The doctor straightened, stepped off the hearth, and brushed his hands together. “But if we don’t get him out soon he surely will be.”
“Oh, Lord.” Cecily glanced at the door. “I sent one of the maids to tell Baxter to join me here. I can’t imagine what’s keeping him.”
As if in answer to her words, the door opened and her husband strolled in. He’d changed into a burgundy smoking jacket and wore a faint smile, which quickly vanished as he came to an abrupt halt. “Good Lord! What the devil is that smell? Is something burning?”
“Not anymore. Samuel put it out.” Cecily was about to explain, but just then Baxter caught sight of Kevin. His face changed, and his clipped words seemed to cut across the room.
“I had assumed you’d left long ago.”
“I did,” Kevin said, keeping his tone reasonable. “I came back.”
“May I ask for what reason?”
Kevin nodded at Cecily. “Perhaps your wife should tell you.”
Baxter crossed the room to stand next to her. “You’re not ill?”
“Of course not.” She gave him a worried smile. “But I’m afraid our Father Christmas might well be.”
Baxter looked mystified. “I beg your pardon?”
“His name is Sid Porter.” Cecily gestured at the fireplace. “He’s stuck up there. We can’t get him down.”
Baxter’s eyes widened in disbelief. With a suspicious glance at Kevin, he stepped onto the hearth and peered up the chimney. “Good Lord. What’s he doing up there?”
“Phoebe hired him to play Father Christmas.”
Baxter grunted. “Well that explains a lot. How long has he been up there?” He cupped his hands to his mouth and his voice echoed up the chimney. “I say, old chap, are you all right?”
“I don’t think he’s going to answer you,” Kevin said helpfully.
“He must have been there since early this afternoon,” Cecily said. “We had no idea he was in the chimney until Samuel lit a fire and it smoked.”
“So that’s what that abominable smell is.” Baxter pulled back from the chimney and addressed Kevin. “Has he said anything?”
Kevin shook his head. “I’m pretty sure he’s dead. He’s cold to the touch.” He looked hopefully at Baxter. “I could use some help getting him out.”
To Cecily’s relief, Baxter stepped forward. “I’ll give you a hand.”
She watched anxiously as the two men tugged and pulled, grunting and puffing with the effort. When it became apparent that nothing they did was going to dislodge the man, they both stepped back.
Baxter looked rather red in the face when he muttered, “Now what?”
“I’d like to feel for a pulse.” The doctor peered up the chimney once more. Reaching up, he muttered, “If…I…can…just…pull…damn!” This last word erupted in a shout as he fell back and sat down quite hard. In his hand he held a black, scuffed boot. “I beg your pardon, Cecily,” he said, scrambling to his feet. “At least now I can feel his ankle pulse.”
She held her breath as he pushed his hand into the chimney one more time.
“As I thought.” He shook his head. “No pulse, I’m afraid. It appears we have another dead body to deal with.”
“Oh, my.” Cecily stared at him in dismay. “What do you think happened?”
“Hard to say. I’m assuming Roland was supposed to lower Porter on a rope. Is that right?”
“I imagine so. Phoebe took care of all the arrangements. All I know is that Roland was to help Mr. Porter down the chimney.”
“It would seem to me that Roland must have slipped while holding the rope. He let go, fell off the roof, and Porter descended a great deal faster than he’d intended. Most likely broke his neck in the fall. I’ll know more once we get him out of there.”
“A double tragedy,” Cecily murmured. “Could anything be worse for our Christmas season?”
Baxter quickly crossed to her side. “Let me handle this, Cecily. You go up to the boudoir.”
“No.” She took a deep breath. “We must send for Sam Northcott again. We have to get that poor man out of there somehow.”
Baxter exchanged glances with Kevin. “I’m afraid it’s going to require more than we can handle on our own. We shall have to wait until tomorrow, and hire the services of someone with equipment to pull his body out from up on the roof.”
“Drat.” Cecily spun away from the two men and paced across the carpet. “There’s no point in calling the constable back here until we get him out.”
“Quite.” Baxter paused, then added to Kevin, “I suggest you go home, old chap. I’ll make arrangements in the morning to remove the body from the chimney, and I’ll let you know when that’s been accomplished.”
Cecily managed to hold her smile in place until Kevin had left, then collapsed against her husband’s broad chest. “This could ruin our business. Now that they’ve built that new hotel across the downs, people have somewhere else to go if they decide to leave. I hear the Bayview is charging far less than we are for their rooms.”
Baxter folded his arms around her shoulders. “You worry too much, my dear. The Pennyfoot has always had a loyal clientele and will continue to do so. After all, since we are a country club, we can offer gambling rooms, which the Bayview cannot. It’s one of the reasons so many of our customers return each year.”
“I hope you’re right.” Cecily took a moment to enjoy the comfort of her husband’s arms, then drew back. “You haven’t eaten your dinner yet. I shall order something brought up to our sitting room, where you can enjoy a meal in peace. We’ll worry about this tomorrow.” She sent a nervous glance at the fireplace. “Though I must confess, it makes me uneasy to think of that wretched man imprisoned in such a cold, dark place all night.”
“Don’t worry, dearest.” Baxter led his wife to the door. “I rather doubt he’ll notice.”
Breakfast was Gertie’s least favorite meal to serve in the dining room. Unlike the other two meals, which were served one course at a time, the breakfast items were served all at once. Steaming bowls of porridge had to be placed before each guest, and while they devoured them, the maids brought to the table an array of smoked haddock, bacon, sausage, poached eggs, salmon roe, fried tomatoes, mushrooms, fried potatoes, and thick, greasy slices of fried bread.
It was a rush to get everything on the table before the last scrap of porridge had been swallowed, and invariably Gertie was kept hopping from table to table to make sure the maids did just that.
This morning seemed particularly chaotic, with maids bumping into each other and food spilling onto the floor. Everyone was jittery now that the news of the deaths had spread among the staff, and Gertie was no exception. Reggie and Lawrence seemed determined to upset her. Normally she would have told them both to sod off, but what with the deaths on her mind and having to watch the maids she just couldn’t find the gumption to yell at them.
If it hadn’t been for that nice Jeremy Westhaven, her favorite toff, she’d have been really miserable. The young gentleman’s attentions helped to make her forget her troubles.
She’d made sure to be the one to wait on him, and had given him extra helpings of everything. It was worth the nagging she’d got from Mrs. Chubb when the gentleman winked at her.
“That was an excellent breakfast,” he said, with a smile that warmed her all the way through.
Her cheeks growing hot, she leaned over to gather up the empty dishes. “Thank you, sir,” she murmured, cheerfully accepting the credit for having cooked it all.
With the ease of long practice, she stacked the dishes on her arm and stepped back. At the same moment, she felt a violent nudge in the small of her back, sending her forward again. The dishes shot from her arm across the table and landed with a crash on the other side.
The noise was deafening enough to silence everyone in the room. Except for the smarmy voice that spoke in her ear.
“So sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you. Then again, it’s your own fault for stepping in front of me.”
Furious, Gertie forgot everything Mrs. Chubb had drummed into her about being a lady in front of the guests. She turned on Lawrence, spitting curses at him while he just stood there with a sickly grin on his face.
“And you can bloody well help me pick up the pieces,” she finished, after she’d used up her entire repertoire of swear words. “And I’m going to tell Mrs. Chubb it was all your fault, so she’ll dock your wages for the damage. So there!”
Lawrence’s smile vanished, to be replaced by an evil glare. “Pick up the pieces yourself, you bloated shrew.”
“Here, I say.” Jeremy leapt to his feet, one hand darting to gather the waiter’s shirt at his throat. “Apologize this instant, you miserable cad, or I’ll make you pay.”
Lawrence’s eyes seemed to bulge in his head. “Let go of me, sir,” he muttered. “You’re making a scene.”
Jeremy leaned closer, until his face was inches from the startled waiter’s. “Apologize,” he said softly, “or I’ll snap your scrawny neck.”
Gertie gazed in awe as Lawrence turned purple, muttered a fierce, “Sorry,” and slunk away.
Fighting the urge to throw her arms around the handsome gent’s neck, she dropped a curtsey instead. “Thank you, sir. I’m much obliged, I’m sure.”
Jeremy sat down again. “No one should speak to a lady in that disgusting manner.” He glanced down at the pieces of shattered china. “What a mess. Do you need any help with all that?”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly trouble you, sir.” She rushed around the table and dropped to her knees. Lifting her apron she began piling the jagged pieces into it.
“Oh, do be careful.” He leaned so close to her she could swear she felt his hot breath on her neck. “You might cut yourself.”
She was going to cut herself, Gertie thought frantically, if he didn’t stop hovering over her like that. “It’s quite all right, sir. Really. I can manage.”
To her huge relief, Pansy appeared at her side, offering her help. Gertie scrambled to her feet, directed Pansy to pick up the rest of the shattered china and fled for the kitchen.
Even Mrs. Chubb’s ruthless scolding couldn’t banish the glow she felt when she remembered Jeremy Westhaven’s smiling face. He was a charmer, all right. In fact, she thought about him so much that afternoon a twinge of guilt prompted her to whisper to the heavens, “Don’t worry, Ross, love. He’d never pay attention to the likes of me.”
Having eaten an early breakfast with Baxter in their sitting room, Cecily was anxious to get Sid Porter removed from the chimney as soon as possible. Reluctant to allow guests to share a room with a dead body, Baxter had locked the door the night before. There were bound to be complaints, and Cecily hoped to avoid having to explain to everyone why they couldn’t use the library.
It wasn’t until the workmen had arrived and had been dispatched to the roof that she remembered Doris was due to arrive that morning.
The once shy and nervous maid was now an accomplished vocalist, and had actually sung in front of King George V at the very first Royal Command Performance. Cecily was so proud of the young lady’s achievement, and couldn’t wait to tell her so. It was a shame there had to be such turmoil going on, but Cecily hoped fervently that the body would be safely removed and off the premises by the time Doris arrived.
Unfortunately, she came in on the early train, and Samuel was dispatched to fetch her from the station. Meanwhile, Baxter had stationed himself by the fireplace in the library in case his assistance was needed, while Cecily dashed in and out as her duties allowed in order to keep abreast of events.
She was on her way back to the kitchen when Doris arrived in the foyer, resplendent in a mauve gown that absolutely shrieked Paris. The brim of her white hat, tastefully decorated with violets and tiny white roses, almost hid her delicate features, though nothing could obscure the sparkle in her eyes when she caught sight of Cecily.
“It’s so good to be back here, m’m!” she cried out as she swept across the floor, attracting the attention of a group of new arrivals at the desk.
Cecily grasped both gloved hands and held them tight. “Doris, for heaven’s sake. You are a celebrity now. Call me Cecily.”
“Oh, I couldn’t, m’m.” Doris shook her head, making the curls on her forehead dance. “You’ll always be Madam to me.” She turned as another woman approached. “Oh, there you are. Come here and meet Madam. I mean Mrs. Baxter.” She turned back to Cecily. “This is Elise Boulanger. She’s a singer, too. We met at the Command Performance and we’re appearing at the Strand together next month. At least, it used to be the Strand. They’ve changed the name to the Whitney Theater now.”
Cecily smiled at the woman who towered over her ex-maid. Doris was pretty, but this woman had the kind of grace and beauty that could turn the heads of royalty. Her champagne lace-trimmed gown was exquisite and clung to her rounded figure. Her flame red hair framed a peaches-and-cream complexion, and her green eyes twinkled with amusement as she bowed her head. “Enchanté,” she murmured.
Doris laughed. “She’s not really French,” she said, giving the woman a nudge with her elbow. “She just likes to pretend. I told her she and Michel should get along really well.” Both women erupted into peals of laughter.
“I’m sure he’ll be captivated,” Cecily said, joining in their mirth.
“How nice that some people are enjoying so much merriment,” Baxter said from behind her.
At the sound of his dry tone, Cecily swung around. His meaningful stare reminded her of the tragedy unfolding in the library. Feeling guilty, she said quickly, “I’ve been greeting Doris. She has brought a friend with her. May I present Miss Elise Boulanger. My husband, Hugh Baxter. He—” She stopped short, startled by her husband’s expression. He looked as if he’d just stepped off a very high cliff.
Elise’s tinkling laugh rang out. “Ah, Mr. Baxter! You look surprised. Did you not tell me to visit your charming hotel one day?”
“Well…er…yes, I did….” Baxter ran a finger around the inside of his stiff white collar as if it were choking him. “I didn’t think…I mean…I didn’t know…”
Cecily stared at him. Rarely had she seen her husband at a loss for words. “I wasn’t aware you were acquainted with Miss Boulanger,” she said pleasantly.
Baxter gave her a hunted look. “Er…yes. We…ah…met in London. I had no idea…”
“I persuaded her to come down with me for Christmas,” Doris put in. She linked arms with her friend and looked up at Cecily. “We bumped into Mr. Baxter last night, just as we were leaving the theater after rehearsal. We talked about the Pennyfoot and after Mr. Baxter left Elise said she’d like to see it so I talked her into coming down with me. She can share my room, if that’s all right?”
“Quite all right,” Cecily murmured, her gaze still intent on her husband.
Baxter appeared to be having trouble meeting her eyes. In fact, he seemed quite agitated. He grew even more so when she said sweetly, “I wasn’t aware that the Strand Theater was on your way to the station.”
“It isn’t.” He avoided her gaze, staring instead at Doris and apparently attempting to signal a message to her with his eyes.
Beginning to feel disquieted by his behavior, Cecily gestured toward the desk. “Philip will see that your luggage is taken up to your room,” she said to Doris. “I have to ask you both to sign the register, since this is a licensed club.”
“Yes. Of course, m’m.” Doris gave Elise’s arm a little tug. “We’ll get ourselves settled in, won’t we Elise.”
“But of course.” Elise gave Baxter a wicked little smile that brought fresh color to his already burning cheeks. “I will see you later, oui?”
“Oui,” Baxter echoed, then cleared his throat. “I mean…perhaps.” He sent Cecily a desperate glance that did nothing to settle her mind. “I must return to the library.” Without waiting for her reply he spun around and hastened down the hallway.
Cecily gazed after him, questions burning in her mind. Why would her husband tell her he had to work late at the office, when he’d obviously left early for a destination that would take him at least a mile or two out of his way? And why hadn’t he mentioned he’d met Doris and the delectable Miss Boulanger?