“Where have you been?” Michel slapped a large roasting pan down hard on the stove. “I’ve been waiting and waiting for someone to peel the potatoes, but of course, no one is here to do it. I ’ave to do it myself. Moi, Michel, the famous French gourmet chef, peeling potatoes. It is an outrage!”
“All right, keep your bleeding hair on.” Gertie picked up a knife and reached for a potato. “Pansy and me have been helping decorate the ballroom. The other maids are still cleaning rooms upstairs, and Gawd knows where those lazy sods Lawrence and Reggie have gone. Wouldn’t surprise me if they haven’t snuck into the card rooms.”
“Lawrence and Reggie, they are waiters.” Michel pointed a wooden spoon at Gertie. “You and Pansy, you are the kitchen staff. I trust you to help me prepare the meals. That is a sacred trust and you do nothing but abuse it.”
“Sacred blooming trust.” Gertie snorted. “That’s a good one. You just like to have someone do your flipping dirty work for you.”
“That is a lie—” He broke off with a curse as the door slammed open.
Pansy stood in the doorway, her apron bunched in her hands. Gertie noticed with alarm that the young girl’s face had turned as white as bleached muslin. “Someone stabbed him!” she blurted out.
Gertie’s stomach seemed to dive right down to her shoes. “Stabbed who?”
“Father Christmas!”
Michel groaned. “Here we go again.”
Pansy came into the kitchen, her hands shaking as she twisted her apron around in knots. “I mean Sid Porter, the bloke what was supposed to play Father Christmas. Someone stabbed him before he fell down the chimney. That’s what killed him.”
“How’d you know that?” Gertie demanded.
“Samuel told me. He’s going up on the roof to look for the knife.”
“Sacre bleu!” Michel stared at his block of knives on the counter.
Gertie swallowed. She could see in her mind, plain as day, Michel’s carving knife buried in the ceiling. She knew he was thinking the same thing she was: Could that knife have been used in a murder? Before she could voice her frightening theory, the door opened again.
This time Mrs. Chubb rushed into the kitchen, her eyes flashing fire. “All right, who did it?” she yelled. “Who put it there? If this is someone’s idea of a joke—I can tell you, it’s jolly well not funny.”
Gertie stared at her, while Pansy collapsed onto a chair as if she’d suddenly had more than she could take.
Michel spoke first. “Per’aps if you tell us what the dickens you happen to be talking about, we can tell you who did what.”
“The aspidistra.” Mrs. Chubb waved an arm at the door. “Someone moved it.”
“Oh, yeah.” Gertie glanced at Pansy. “I meant to tell you about that.”
Mrs. Chubb turned on her. “What do you know about it, then?”
“I don’t know nothing. Pansy noticed it were missing and told me. That’s all we know, ain’t it, Pansy?”
Pansy answered with a nervous nod of her head.
“Well, I’m going to find out who put it there and when I do, I’ll give her or him a hefty piece of mind, I will.”
Gertie felt sorry for the culprit, whoever he might be. “Where’d he put it, then?”
The housekeeper gave her a suspicious glare. “How’d you know it was a he?”
“I’d like to see a woman lift the bloody thing. Anyhow, how did someone move it without anyone seeing him?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.” Mrs. Chubb marched over to the kitchen table and picked up her rolling pin. “I just popped back to my room to get a clean hanky and there it was.”
Intrigued now, Gertie left the sink and moved to the housekeeper’s side. “There it was where?”
“Right in the middle of my bed, wasn’t it.”
Gertie nearly dropped the potato in her hand. “Flipping heck!”
Even Michel seemed caught up in the drama. “In the middle of your bed? How can that be?”
“Search me. All I know is that one of the biggest aspidistras I’ve ever seen is sitting smack dab in the middle of my bed, and I can’t even shift it. It’ll take at least two footmen and a hand cart to get it off there and back where it belongs.”
For a moment an uneasy silence greeted her words. Then everyone jumped as Pansy let out a loud wail. “It’s the ghost!” She covered her mouth with a quivering hand. “I told you it were moving things. It’s the clown ghost! I know it is!”
“Don’t be daft,” Gertie muttered, though she had to admit, things were getting really, really strange around the hotel. What with people getting stabbed, falling down chimneys and off the roof, not to mention things being moved around and ending up in weird places, it looked very much as if the Pennyfoot had landed in deep, dark trouble once again.
Cecily looked up as Kevin tapped on the library door and angled his head around it. “I have to get back to my surgery,” he announced. “I have patients waiting.”
No doubt, she thought, rather uncharitably. And mostly women, at that. “Did you know that Madeline is in the ballroom?” She gave him a faint smile. “I’m quite sure she’d like to see you.”
Kevin nodded. “I poked my head in the door. She was busy hanging balloons, so I didn’t stop.”
Too busy to talk to the handsome doctor? That worried her. “Well, I’m sure she’ll have more time to spare for you later today.”
“I’ll try to take advantage of that.” Kevin turned to Baxter. “I’ll make sure the bodies are on the way to the morgue before I leave.”
“We’d greatly appreciate it.” Baxter moved over to Cecily’s chair.
“Oh, by the way, Kevin.” Cecily ignored the tightening of Baxter’s hand on her shoulder. “The stab wounds. Could they have been caused by a carving knife?”
Kevin looked surprised. “A carving knife? Not at all. The knife was far too narrow. More like a letter opener. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, it was just that a carving knife appears to be missing from the kitchen. Though I’m sure it will be found sooner or later.”
“Well, I’m reasonably certain it wasn’t a carving knife that did the damage, so you can rest assured of that. Anyway, I must depart. I shall see you on Christmas Eve. Madeline has invited me to the variety show.” He raised his hand in farewell and disappeared.
“Well, that should put your troubled mind at rest,” Baxter said.
“I don’t know. They don’t seem to be as enamored of each other as they once were.”
He made an impatient sound in his throat. “Not Prestwick and Madeline. I’m talking about the carving knife. If it wasn’t the murder weapon, it could have been anyone up there with a knife. That means the killer isn’t necessarily connected to the Pennyfoot.”
“Then why were two people killed on our roof?”
“You’re forgetting that the man who was murdered was a drunk hired by Phoebe. No doubt he was connected to all sorts of shady characters, any one of whom might have had reason to do away with him. I suggest you put the entire matter out of your mind until after the New Year, when our esteemed professional will have returned from Northampton and can do his best to pursue the investigation.”
“And you, my dear husband, are forgetting that one of our staff has also died, which puts the responsibility to find out how and why squarely on my shoulders.”
“I most emphatically disagree. This is a case for the constabulary. I strongly suggest you allow them to follow the proper procedures.”
This was an argument that Cecily had been faced with so many times she knew better than to indulge in it now. “By the way,” she said, smiling sweetly at her husband, “I’ve been wondering about something. Why did you neglect to tell me you met Doris and her charming friend last night in London?”
Baxter’s expression changed so swiftly her uneasiness grew. “I…er…it must have slipped my mind.” Avoiding her gaze, he stepped over to the fireplace. “Surely you remember I arrived home to the news that a footman had died? It’s a small wonder I forgot to mention it.”
She could have accepted that, had it not been for the odd look on his face, and the way his gaze shifted away from her. This was not the time to engage him in an argument, however. She needed his cooperation if she were to find out exactly what happened up there on the roof. The questions about his supposedly chance meeting with Doris and Miss Boulanger would have to wait until later.
Having been instructed to make a thorough search of the roof and the areas below, the midday meal had already been served before Samuel returned to find Cecily.
She had been called to the front desk, where she found Philip once more facing the wrath of Desmond Atkins. Apparently the hot-tempered guest had lost his room key, and had loudly demanded that Philip give him another.
Philip had then informed the gentleman that he would have to have another key cut, since the only spare hung with the others in Cecily’s office and had to remain there.
“This is ridiculous,” Atkins roared, as Cecily tried to reason with the visibly irate man. “My wife and I are locked out of our room. I insist that you give me another key at once. This is supposed to be a reputable hotel, yet it is run by common incompetents who don’t have the slightest idea what they are doing.”
Highly offended by the despicable man’s inference that she was inept, Cecily had trouble holding her own temper. Turning her back on him, she instructed a passing footman to take the Atkinses up to their room and open the door for them with the spare key from her office.
“After that,” she told the young man, “take the key to the village and have a copy of it cut. Then deliver the copy to Mr. Atkins and replace the spare in my office.”
All the time she issued the orders, Desmond Atkins stood grumbling and muttering beneath his breath. He didn’t even have the decency to thank her as he tramped off after the footman. Deciding she thoroughly disliked the man, Cecily turned her attention back to her flustered desk clerk.
She had barely finished soothing Philip’s ruffled feathers when Samuel appeared, beckoning to her from across the lobby.
Hurrying toward him, she clung to the hope that the knife had been found and somehow proved it could belong to no one in the hotel.
Mindful of ever-curious ears, she steered Samuel into her office before asking, “Well, did you find a knife?”
“No, m’m.” Samuel seemed worried. “I looked everywhere. All over the roof, and all around the grounds. There weren’t no knife anywhere to be seen.”
“Drat. Now we’ll never know what happened to Michel’s carving knife.”
Samuel raised his eyebrows. “Oh, it’s that knife you’re looking for? I should have told you. Michel found his knife. It were stuck in the ceiling.”
Cecily sank onto her chair behind her desk, while Samuel still hovered by the door. “In the ceiling? What on earth was it doing there?”
“Nobody knows. Pansy thinks a ghost put it there.”
“A ghost?”
“Yes, m’m. Pansy swears she saw the ghost of a clown wandering around the hotel. She says it’s Sid’s ghost, ’cos he used to be a clown. He moved the aspidistra, too.” Samuel’s mouth twitched in a grin. “Mrs. Chubb found it in the middle of her bed.”
“Good heavens!” Cecily tried to picture the huge plant sitting on Mrs. Chubb’s bed and wondered if her housekeeper had been sampling the brandy. “Well, I hope someone has put the plant back where it belongs?”
“Yes, m’m. I got a couple of the lads to move it back. It were quite a struggle for them, too.”
“I imagine it was. Though I seriously doubt a ghost could have put it in Mrs. Chubb’s room. They can’t move things, you know.”
Samuel seemed unsure how to take that statement as he eyed her warily. “They can’t?”
“No, Samuel, they can’t. I rather think someone is playing a practical joke on Mrs. Chubb.”
“They went to a lot of trouble, m’m, if that’s what it was. That plant is as heavy as a house.”
A faint stirring of uneasiness took her by surprise. “Yes, well, I wouldn’t worry too much about it. I’m just so relieved Michel found his knife.” And that it wasn’t lying up on the roof somewhere, she added silently. It would seem Baxter could be right about an unknown assailant following Sid Porter. Though it seemed an odd place to pick a fight with him.
She was about to dismiss Samuel when he held out his hand. “I did find this on the roof, though. It were lying in the gutter.”
Cecily peered at his hand. “What is it?”
“I don’t know if it means anything or not, but I thought you might want to see it.” He laid a small white card on her desk. It had a narrow red ribbon threaded through it.
She picked it up and read the words printed on it. Happy Christmas! Welcome to the annual Pennyfoot festivities. She stared at it for several seconds, then said quietly, “Thank you Samuel. I appreciate you going up on the roof.”
“Weren’t no trouble, m’m. All the snow’s melted off it so it weren’t slippery or anything.”
When she didn’t answer, he hesitated, then added, “I’m sorry I didn’t find the knife what stabbed that Porter bloke.”
She looked up then, and managed a smile. “That’s all right, Samuel. No doubt the constable will want to take a look after the New Year. Maybe they’ll find something that will help them figure out who killed Mr. Porter.”
“Yes, m’m.” He started for the door then turned back. “You don’t think it were Roland, do you, m’m? I mean, he was a good lad. Really helpful and nice to the guests. I never once seen him lose his temper. Not once. I just can’t think of him killing someone, honest I can’t.”
“Don’t worry, Samuel.” Cecily laid the card down. “I’m quite sure Roland wasn’t responsible for what happened to Mr. Porter.”
Samuel gave her a satisfied nod and left the room.
Staring at the card lying so innocently on her desk, Cecily wished she hadn’t insisted that Baxter return to his office. Now that she had something urgent they needed to discuss, he was on his way to the city.
Sighing, she tucked the card into the pocket of her skirt. It would just have to wait until he came home again. Though something told her she’d have a great deal of trouble twiddling her thumbs until that moment.
Midafternoons were normally quiet in the Pennyfoot kitchen. After the delicate china dishes had been washed and stacked away in the cupboards, and the dining room tables laid with fresh white tablecloths, sparkling crystal, and heavy silverware, everyone had an hour or so respite before the mad rush to serve the evening meal.
This afternoon, however, Doris had caused quite a stir by bringing Elise Boulanger to meet the kitchen staff. Gertie’s amusement knew no bounds as she watched the celebrated singer charm everyone.
Especially when Doris introduced her friend to Michel, who did his best to impress the young woman with his French. Gertie had to laugh at his shocked expression when Elise answered with a torrent of French phrases. Gertie knew he had no idea what any of them meant, and she really enjoyed his attempts to hide it from the vivacious singer.
Even Reggie and Lawrence seemed enamored of the glamorous visitor, though Reggie paid just as much attention to Doris, much to Gertie’s delight.
“You’ve got an admirer,” she told Doris later, when she saw her in the hallway. “That Reggie’s face really glowed when he was talking to you.”
Doris laughed. “I didn’t think anyone would notice me with Elise in the room. She always attracts attention wherever she goes.”
Gertie sighed. “It must be exciting, singing on the stage and having lots of admirers lining up to meet you. Who’d have thought when you first came to the Pennyfoot you’d end up a famous singer. Though you always did have a lovely voice for singing.”
“Thank you, Gertie.” Doris’s shy smile lit up her face. “It is exciting, I suppose, but it can be really lonely, too. Sometimes I remember the days I worked here and wish I were back. Life was so much more simple then.”
“Go on.” Gertie shoved her with her shoulder. “You know you wouldn’t change places with any of us. I bet your friend Elise wouldn’t want to leave the stage. Was she born in Paris, then?”
Doris looked up and down the dimly lit hallway, then leaned toward Gertie. “She’s not really French. Though don’t let on I told you. I mentioned it once to Madam and although Elise laughed she told me off afterward.”
“I won’t say nothing.” Gertie glanced over her shoulder. “So where does she come from then?”
“She’s a Cockney, born in the East End of London. Her name isn’t really Elise Boulanger. It’s Elsie Baker. She changed the letters around in her first name, and Boulanger is French for baker.”
Gertie chuckled. “Well, don’t tell Michel that. He thinks she’s French, and he felt really silly when he didn’t understand what she said. She knows a lot more French than he does.”
“She’s had a lot more practice.”
“I think Michel’s got a crush on her. I’ve never heard him stutter like that before.”
Doris moved a little closer. “Well, if Michel is hoping to capture Elise’s attention, he’s bound for a disappointment. She has her eye on someone else in this hotel, and what she wants, she usually gets. Though she may be aiming her sights a little high this time.”
Sensing an intriguing scandal, Gertie was all ears. “Go on with you! Who is it then?”
Doris shook her head. “I can’t say. She’d be furious if I said anything. Besides, it could cause a lot of trouble if anyone knew about it. I wouldn’t want to cause embarrassment for the gentleman. Some people would be shocked if they knew he was interested in a common music hall singer.”
Several feet away, Cecily stood back in the shadows, one hand grasping her throat. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but in the quiet of the afternoon the women’s voices had carried down the hallway. She has her eye on someone else in this hotel, and what she wants, she usually gets.
Ridiculous, of course, but she couldn’t help remembering Baxter’s expression when he’d come face-to-face with Elise Boulanger in the lobby.
He never had explained what he was doing so far out of his way the night he’d met her in London. Nor had he satisfactorily explained why he’d told Cecily he was working late that night, when obviously he’d left earlier than usual to keep the mysterious appointment.
Feeling dispirited, Cecily made her way back to her office. She trusted her husband implicitly, of course. Still, men would be men, and Elise Boulanger was an extremely attractive young woman.
Impatient with her troublesome thoughts, she sat at her desk and withdrew the card from her pocket. She needed something to occupy her thoughts until Baxter returned home and she had at least two hours to kill until her duties once more claimed her time.
Without giving herself a chance to change her mind, she reached for the bell pull. Baxter might well be displeased with her, but if her suspicions were correct then the matter couldn’t wait. Her husband would just have to accept that she had no choice but to pursue the issue at the earliest opportunity.
A few minutes later Samuel knocked on her door. “I need you to get a trap ready for me,” she told him. “I need to pay a visit to the George and Dragon.”
Samuel’s face would have been comical if she’d been in a lighter mood. “The George, m’m? In the middle of the afternoon?”
“I find the middle of the afternoon to be most convenient when I need a private conversation with a publican.”
He still seemed mystified. “You want to talk to Bernie Milligan?”
Cecily decided she had no choice but to take him into her confidence. “The card you found on the roof this morning.” She held it up to him. “It was attached to a room key. Every room key for our Christmas guests has one attached. It was Madeline’s idea, welcoming guests to the Christmas festivities.”
Samuel shook his head. “How did it get up there on the roof?”
“That is exactly what I want to know. The only people, besides Philip, of course, who would have these cards in their possession would be guests of this hotel.”
Samuel’s eyes widened. “You think maybe the killer dropped it?”
“I think it’s entirely possible, yes. I can’t imagine how else it got up there.”
“But then that means…”
Cecily finished the sentence for him. “That means the killer is very likely one of our guests. I think it’s time we found out a little more about Sid Porter, and just who might want him dead.”
Now Samuel looked worried. “Mr. Baxter is not going to like you going off by yourself, m’m. He won’t like that at all.”
Cecily rose. “Unfortunately, Mr. Baxter isn’t here to accompany me. Besides, I won’t be by myself, Samuel. I’ll have you with me. Mr. Baxter will just have to understand that I had no time to waste.”
She could tell by her manager’s expression that he wasn’t convinced. Nevertheless, she’d made up her mind. She’d just have to deal with her husband later.