Cecily had barely reached the bottom of the steps before Baxter rushed toward her. “Where the devil have you been?” he barked, completely ignoring Phoebe’s plaintive attempts to ask him if he’d seen the colonel. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
“I was upstairs.” Feeling decidedly cool toward him, Cecily had no intention of enlightening him further.
“On her knees in the broom cupboard,” Phoebe muttered, obviously piqued at being so rudely dismissed.
Baxter’s eyebrows shot up. “What…?”
“I’ll explain later.” Cecily released her friend’s arm. “Phoebe, I suggest you take a look in the lounge. Knowing the colonel, he is no doubt soothing his shattered nerves with a jigger of scotch.”
“You are probably right.” Phoebe tugged her gloves over her elbows. “I shall look for him there.” She flounced off, the wisps of lilac chiffon on her hat drifting after her.
“Who else saw the clown?” Cecily asked, avoiding her husband’s shrewd gaze.
“I have no idea. The first I heard of it was when a flock of screaming women ran past the library. All I could get out of them was a garbled string of words that made absolutely no sense at all.”
“What about the staff? Did any of them happen to see the ghost?”
“I understand Gertie was there. I don’t know how much she saw.”
Cecily nodded and started for the kitchen.
“I say, Cecily?”
She paused, and turned back to him.
“Have I done something to distress you?”
She tightened her lips. “I do not have time to discuss the issue at this moment. It can wait until later.”
His brow darkened. “If you don’t mind, I prefer that we discuss it now.”
“I do mind. I need to talk to Gertie first.”
“I’m afraid I must insist.”
She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again when she realized that two of the maids were close by, supposedly intent on straightening cushions on the chairs. Inwardly fuming, she allowed her husband to take her arm and march her down to her office.
Once inside, however, she snatched her elbow from his grip. “How dare you lead me here like some disobedient child! In front of the staff, no less.”
His expression remained annoyingly calm. “I demand to know what has driven you into such a huff. If it’s some offense of which I am unwittingly guilty I deserve to know what it is. How else can I apologize or explain myself?”
Faced with such a rational plea, Cecily’s anger deflated. Now she’d been placed in an awkward position. She needed, quite desperately, to know why her husband had been whispering in the corridors with an attractive young singer, and why he’d engineered a meeting with her in London.
He could, of course, simply deny everything. On the other hand, if she voiced her concerns and they were unfounded, he would most likely chide her for her imaginative suspicions, and she’d be rendered the guilty party. Either way, knowing her husband, she would not win this dispute. She had to find another way to learn the truth.
“You have done nothing, Bax.” She managed a sweet smile. “My bad humor is due entirely to the adverse events taking place in this hotel. I’m concerned that with the murder of Sid Porter and rumors of a ghost, we may very well lose our customers to the Bayview Hotel.”
She met his gaze and held it. She knew quite well that he was not convinced, but for the moment she hoped to win a reprieve. She would tackle him on the subject when the time was right. Until then, he would simply have to have patience and trust in her judgment.
“I saw Gertie on her way to the kitchen a short while ago,” he said, his tone warning her he was still displeased. “Perhaps you should have a word with her.”
“I shall.”
She was almost at the door when he stopped her again. “By the way, you never did explain what you were doing in the broom cupboard.”
“Looking for something.” She left, disturbed to be at odds with her husband, and even more concerned for the reasons behind it.
She found Gertie in the midst of an argument with Mrs. Chubb. Their raised voices had reached her even before she’d opened the door.
“He was poking me in the back, he was.” Gertie flung out her hand, narrowly missing a jug of milk on the table beside her. “He twisted my wrist and all. I tell you, those two are nothing but flipping trouble. I don’t know why Madam hired them, I really—” She broke off as Cecily entered the kitchen.
Gertie and the housekeeper were alone in there, Cecily saw at once. Michel was nowhere to be seen. The maids were most likely in the dining room, preparing the tables for the evening meal. Cecily wasted no time taking advantage of that. “To whom were you referring?” she asked Gertie, who immediately assumed a look of innocence.
“Who, me, m’m? No one. I was just telling Mrs. Chubb about the ghost, that’s all.”
The housekeeper seemed apprehensive. She glanced at Cecily muttering, “I don’t know what to think, m’m. I really don’t. Gertie says she saw a clown floating in the balcony, but I find that hard to believe.”
“Tell me exactly what you saw, Gertie.” Cecily settled herself on a chair and crossed her ankles.
Gertie exchanged a worried look with Mrs. Chubb. “All I know is that it were a clown, only it didn’t look very funny, if you know what I mean. It looked…” She shuddered. “It looked evil, m’m. Honest it did.”
“And it floated?”
“Yes, m’m. Above the seats it were.”
“It must have been dark up there. Are you quite sure it wasn’t just a simple trick of light that made it appear to be floating?”
“No, m’m. I’m as sure as you’re sitting there. It were floating. Just like a great ugly balloon.”
“I see.” Cecily reflected on the image for a moment. “I heard you say someone poked you in the back. Tell me, who was that?”
“Oh, it were just one of the lads horsing around.” Gertie fidgeted with the skirt of her apron.
“She means Reggie, m’m,” Mrs. Chubb said. “He’s been tormenting her. Calling her names and poking her, he has. I’m afraid those two are turning out to be a lot more trouble than they’re worth.”
“Well, it turned out all right,” Gertie said, her cheeks turning pink. “Mr. Westhaven came to my rescue. Proper gentleman he was. Told off Reggie, he did. Said for him to stay away from me.”
Mrs. Chubb beamed at the housemaid. “Mr. Westhaven is a very nice gentleman, indeed. How nice of him to step up for you.”
“I thought it was very nice of him.” Gertie looked at Cecily. “I don’t want to get nobody in trouble, m’m. Now that Mr. Westhaven took care of it, I don’t think Reggie will bother me no more.”
“I’ll have a word with both of them,” Cecily promised. “I’ll make sure they behave in the future, or they can find work elsewhere.”
“Thank you, m’m.” Gertie glanced at the clock. “I’d better get off to the dining room and see if them maids have got the tables ready. If I don’t keep an eye on them, they forget half of what they’re supposed to be doing.”
“Perhaps you should do something special for Mr. Westhaven’s table tonight,” Mrs. Chubb said. “To thank him, I mean. Maybe some flowers.”
Gertie snorted. “Blokes don’t like flowers. That’s women’s stuff.”
“Well, then, tie a couple of balloons or something to his chair. Just to show your appreciation.”
Gertie headed for the door. “Nah, he doesn’t like balloons.”
Mrs. Chubb raised her eyebrows. “Now how would you know that?”
“He told me.” Gertie shot a guilty look at Cecily. “Thank you, m’m.” She disappeared in a flurry of skirts.
“Well!” Mrs. Chubb crossed her arms, her gaze still on the door. “Did you hear that? Looks as if our Gertie has had more than one conversation with Mr. Westhaven. She’s moving up in the world.”
“I wouldn’t put too much importance into that little exchange.” Cecily got up and went to the door. “In my experience, gentlemen such as Jeremy Westhaven seldom waste their time on lowly servants. He’s simply passing a pleasant moment or two, that’s all.”
“I hope Gertie knows that.” Mrs. Chubb sounded worried. “I wouldn’t want her hurt again. She’s barely got over losing Ross.”
“If she is over it,” Cecily said quietly. “I think Gertie is looking for something to help her forget. I just hope she keeps a clear head on her shoulders.”
Mrs. Chubb nodded, though she still wore a frown. “I don’t think we need to worry about Gertie, m’m. She knows better than to barge in where she’s not wanted. She knows her place.”
“I expect you’re right.” Cecily glanced at the clock ticking away on the shelf above the stove. “I’ll be in the library for a spell if anyone needs me.”
“Very well, madam.”
Cecily left the kitchen, her brow furrowed. With all the problems she faced right now, worrying about Gertie only complicated matters. She had to trust her chief housemaid wouldn’t lose her head over someone who was so obviously out of reach.
A few minutes later she entered the library to find a group of guests standing about in front of the fireplace. For an uncomfortable moment she thought there might be something there to disturb them. Perhaps something else incriminating had fallen from the chimney.
She hurried forward, but her anxious glance discovered nothing out of place on the hearth. She greeted the guests with a nervous smile. “Dinner will be served shortly. I hope you all enjoy your meal.”
One woman flicked her feather boa across her shoulder. “The food here is excellent,” she said. “Please convey my compliments to the chef.”
Murmurs of “Here, here,” from the rest of the group followed her comment.
“Thank you.” Cecily beamed in relief. “I shall be happy to pass your kind words along to Michel. He…is…” Her voice trailed off as she stared across the room.
Small wonder everyone stood about like little lost lambs. Something was missing. No, not something. Several things. All of the armchairs in fact. All five of them had completely disappeared.
Cecily shook her head, convinced her eyes played tricks on her. The armchairs failed to materialize. Aware that the guests watched her with great interest, she uttered a light laugh.
“Good heavens. The maids must have forgotten to bring back the chairs. I…er…thought we might need them for the variety show tonight, but as it turns out, we won’t be needing them after all.”
She began backing toward the door, nodding and smiling. “I can assure you they will be replaced right away. Meanwhile, perhaps you would all care to sit in the lounge until dinner is served?”
“Quite all right,” one of the gentleman assured her. “We’ll be sitting all evening watching the concert. It won’t hurt us to stretch our legs for a bit.”
“Thank you for being so understanding.” Cecily felt the door frame against her back and fumbled for the doorknob. “Enjoy the concert. And your meal.” She almost fell out the door and had to steady herself out in the hallway with a hand against the wall. Enough was enough. Ghosts didn’t move things. Certainly not five heavy armchairs.
Her temper rising, she pushed her hand into her pocket to find her handkerchief, and yelped when something stabbed her finger. She’d forgotten all about the items she’d picked up in the broom cupboard.
She started toward the kitchen, intending to hand everything over to a maid to drop into the dustbins outside. As she emerged into the lobby, she glanced down at the objects in her hand. Seeing the clump of hairpins, she realized one of them must have stabbed her.
The shiny red snooker ball nestled in the middle of her palm. She turned it over in her hand, and realized at once it could not be a snooker ball after all. It weighed far less and had a large hole in one side of it.
Curious now, she held it up to the light, turning it this way and that. Then it came to her, and she lowered her hand quickly. She knew now what she held in her fingers. Not a snooker ball at all, but a ball that would fit perfectly over the end of a nose. The clown must have dropped it when he hid in the broom cupboard.
So her assumptions had been correct. Not a ghost, but a flesh-and-blood killer. Why did he linger in the hotel instead of making good his escape? She could think of only one reason. His evil work had not been fully accomplished. He intended to kill again.
Gertie sent a nervous glance up at the balcony as she entered the ballroom. To her intense relief, she could see no sign of a ghost. Her knees still shook whenever she thought about that ugly face grinning down at her.
The concert was supposed to begin in less than an hour, and she still had to get the chairs lined up. At the moment they were stacked along the wall, and more behind the stage. Muttering to herself, she pulled out two of the chairs and dragged them across the floor.
Being alone in the ballroom at night gave her the creeps. Especially since she knew a ghost might still be floating around. Any minute now the performers would start arriving, and she’d feel a lot better. She just hoped they’d hurry up.
On her third trek back to get some chairs she paused, aware she’d heard something. Tiny trickles of ice slid down her back when she heard the light tapping, somewhere at the back of the ballroom.
She shot another nervous glance at the balcony. The tapping came from that direction. Nothing in the world could lure her over there to have a look. Nothing.
Heart racing, she stared at the main doors. Please, please let someone come through them now. Anyone. Even fussy Phoebe would be better than her being all alone in a haunted ballroom. Please.
The door remained stubbornly closed. And the tapping continued. Louder, and more urgent.
Gertie lifted a chair and held it in front of her like a shield. She had no idea if it would give her protection against a ghost, but it was better than nothing. She called out, her voice quivering as if she had fallen into an icy pond. “Who’s there? What do you want?”
The tapping continued.
Gertie frowned. Maybe the sound didn’t come from the balcony, after all. It seemed to be coming from the side of the room, near the windows. She squinted into the shadows, but could only see chairs lined up along the wall.
It dawned on her then. She could hear tapping on the window, all right. Only outside the window. For a moment courage failed her again. If it was the ghost, it could tap all night as far as she cared. As long as it bloody well stayed outside.
Wait a minute. She put the chair down. Why would a ghost bother to tap on a window, when all it had to do was pass through it? There had to be someone out there.
Cursing under her breath at whoever was playing this stupid joke on her, Gertie marched over to the nearest window. Not there. Further along.
She moved to the next window. Then the next. The black night made it impossible to see outside. She reached the end window, and still the tapping sounded further along.
Either the bugger moved along with her, or else…She stared at the French windows that led to the rose garden. Could there be someone out there trying to get in?
The thought raised goosebumps along her arms. Two people had died already, she didn’t want to be the third. Obeying the desperate urge to turn her back on the doors and run like mad, she twisted around. At the same instant the tapping intensified into a pounding.
Shocked, she turned back to the doors. A man’s face pressed against the glass, the light from the gas lamps spilling on his white whiskers. Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened to let out a terrified yell.
Then he raised his hand, and Gertie’s scream collapsed into a groan. “Silly old bugger,” she muttered, as she pulled back the bolts. “What the flipping ’eck is he bleeding doing out there?”
She pulled the doors open and Colonel Fortescue stumbled in. “Thank God,” he said, running a hand through his hair, which already stood on end. “I thought I would have to spend the whole blasted night out there.”
“Why didn’t you come around to the front doors,” Gertie said crossly, remembering belatedly to add, “sir.”
“What? What?” The colonel shook his head. “Couldn’t see a blasted thing, old bean. Reminds me of the time I was stuck in the jungle all night. There I was—”
“If you’ll excuse me, sir, I have to finish lining these chairs up or no one will have nowhere to sit tonight to watch the concert.”
Colonel Fortescue shook his head in disappointment. “Well, I suppose I could tell you the story later. Dashed funny, actually. At least it is now. Wasn’t at the time, of course. I remember—”
“Colonel, your wife is looking for you. I think she’s in the bar.” Gertie smiled hopefully at him.
“The bar?” The colonel looked around as if hunting for something. “Where is it? Have they moved it again?”
“No, sir. It’s out those doors and down the hall.” Gertie pointed at the doorway.
Just then, the door flew open. A group of chattering young women surged in, followed by Phoebe. Layers of lace covered her pearl pink gown, making her look like a badly iced wedding cake. Her hat perched on the side of her head in the latest Paris fashion and seemed about to fall off as she rushed toward Gertie and the colonel.
“Frederick! Where in the world have you been? I’ve been out of my head with worry. The show is about to begin and I have enough on my mind without you wandering off and causing me all this distress. Really, Frederick. This is most inconsiderate.” She jerked her head for emphasis, and the wide brim of the hat dipped up and down, sending wisps of pink ostrich feathers floating to the ground.
The colonel seemed unaffected by this display of wrath. “I have been sitting on the bowling green, my dear.” He waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the French windows. “Very comfortable for lawn chairs, I must say.”
“What on earth do you mean?” Phoebe looked at Gertie for help.
“He were outside, Mrs. Fortescue,” Gertie said, doing her best to hide a grin. “He were tapping on the doors to come in. I think he got lost out there.”
“I most certainly did not get lost!” The colonel twirled the end of his mustache with a gesture of annoyance. “I have led an entire regiment through a blasted jungle, by Jove. I do not get lost.”
“Yes, sir,” Gertie said demurely.
“Then pray tell us what you were doing on the bowling green in the dark.” Phoebe thrust her hand at the windows. “It’s freezing out there.”
The colonel followed the gesture with a puzzled gaze. “Oh, that! Well, I saw the armchairs and thought I’d enjoy a quiet moment or two. Must have nodded off.”
“In the middle of the lawn? What are you talking about, Frederick? There are no armchairs on the lawn.”
“I beg your pardon, my dear. There were quite a few of them.” He pulled a watch from his pocket and stared at it. “Good Lord. Is that the time? I’m dashed well missing my brandy.”
“You’ve actually missed your whole dinner,” Phoebe said, rolling her eyes. “Come along, I’ll take you to the dining room. There might be time for you to eat something, though now you’ll be late for the concert.” She led her husband by the arm and headed for the doors, still quietly nagging him.
Gertie shook her head, then turned to Phoebe’s dance troupe, who stood about as if waiting for instructions on what to do next.
Gertie knew exactly what to tell them. “Here,” she called out, “if you want a bleeding audience watching your concert tonight, you’d better bloody help me get these flipping chairs lined up!”