To Cecily’s relief, and no doubt that of the audience that evening, the show went quite well. Since King George had now made the music hall acceptable entertainment for everyone, Phoebe had followed the successful format.
Tasteful skits were intermingled with modern-day songs, and the audience was invited to join in the singing, which they did with great gusto, though they were lacking somewhat in musical talent. Both Doris and Elise, however, performed with a flair that delighted everyone.
Except Cecily. She would have vastly preferred that Elise Boulanger had never set foot in the hotel. Had she not done so, however, Cecily might never have known that her husband had more than a passing acquaintance with the flamboyant entertainer. To be aware of such things, she assured herself, was halfway to solving the problem.
The knowledge tempered her enjoyment of the proceedings, and she vowed to tackle her husband on the subject once they were alone.
As the guests filed out of the ballroom, Baxter accompanied her backstage to congratulate the performers. She kept one eye on him while she talked to Phoebe, and noted sourly that he paused to exchange a few words with a glowing Elise.
“I can’t imagine what possessed him,” Phoebe said, forcing Cecily’s attention back to the conversation at hand. “Sitting out there in the middle of the lawn in the dark, and all this talk about armchairs. I’m really quite concerned about him these days.”
Cecily started. “Did you say armchairs? What exactly did the colonel say?”
Phoebe tutted as two of her dance troupe jostled her in passing. “When will these girls ever learn to behave like young ladies. As for that Isabelle, she can’t even remember her left from her right. Did you notice her make a wrong turn in the middle of the Fire Dance? Thank heavens the others covered up her mistake. I was mortally embarrassed.”
Cecily had noticed the disturbance in the routine, but refrained from saying so. Considering past mishaps, such as the time one of the girls kicked a sword during the sword dance and nearly stabbed a matron in the heart, a misstep here and there hardly caused a ripple.
“You were saying something about armchairs,” she reminded Phoebe.
Her friend seemed confused. “Was I? Oh, yes. Of course I was. It was Frederick who kept rambling on about the armchairs. He actually said he’d sat down on one in the middle of the bowling green and had fallen asleep. Can you imagine that? Now I ask you, what in the world would armchairs be doing in the middle of the bowling green?”
Cecily stared at her for a moment, then said abruptly, “Please excuse me, Phoebe. I have something that needs my immediate attention.” Darting across to where Baxter stood talking to Samuel, she placed a hand on her husband’s arm. Keeping her voice low, she murmured, “I need both of you to follow me.”
The ballroom had emptied out, except for two gentlemen deep in conversation by the main doors. Cecily led Baxter and Samuel to the French windows, which she opened and then stepped outside.
“May I ask where we are going?” Baxter inquired, as he joined her in the frosty night air.
Samuel stepped out, too, and closed the doors behind him. Looking at Cecily, he said with an air of someone about to commit a crime, “Madam?”
“We are going over to the bowling green,” Cecily said. “Come.”
Baxter sounded a little impatient when he answered her. “Isn’t it a trifle cold to be playing bowls? In any case, I was under the impression the equipment had been put away for the winter.”
Samuel said nothing as he followed the two of them through the rose garden and out onto the lawn.
Cecily took several steps onto the smooth turf, then stopped. “There,” she said, pointing with a triumphant hand. “Over there.”
Both men followed her direction and peered into the darkness.
Although thick clouds hid the moon, the shadows couldn’t quite obscure the unusual sight. There they sat in all their glory, placed in a ring on the damp dark grass like ghostly thrones in some strange ceremony.
“Good Lord,” Baxter muttered. “Aren’t they the library armchairs?”
It took Baxter and Samuel more than half an hour to return all the chairs to the library. By that time Cecily had made herself ready for bed and had retired to the boudoir.
Pulling a brush through her long tresses, she peered at her reflection in the mirror. The dull ache under her ribs refused to go away, and she laid down the brush. She had to know the meaning of her husband’s interest in Elise Boulanger, and she had to know tonight.
Until now she’d avoided the issue, afraid of what she might learn, but she could no longer continue with suspicions and assumptions. If Baxter had transferred his affections to another woman, she would have to face the fact and try to find a way to resolve the problem.
She leaned forward, examining her face with a critical eye. Despondent, she tried to see herself as her husband would see her. There were crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes, but then Baxter had them as well. He was the younger by two years, but he had gray threads in his hair, especially at the temples, while she had none.
Could it be true that a man grew more handsome with age, while a woman simply aged, as the saying went? She’d never thought of Baxter as growing old. He would always remain young and undeniably handsome in her mind, no matter how many decades passed by.
Perhaps he felt neglected. Her duties in the hotel kept her busy, and perhaps she didn’t have enough time to spend with him. She would have to remedy that.
Picking up the brush, she once more stroked her hair. She had already decided to pay a visit to Sid Porter’s home the next day. P.C. Northcott hadn’t had time to search it yet, and she hoped to find some clue as to who might have wanted Mr. Porter’s life to end so abruptly.
She planned to ask Baxter to accompany her. Perhaps they could enjoy lunch at the George and Dragon. The Pennyfoot could do without her for a short while. Pleased at the prospect, she had almost forgotten about her intention to talk to him about Elise.
His sudden entrance into the boudoir gave her memory a nasty nudge. “I’d like to get my hands on the pesky blighter who took all those armchairs outside,” he said, as he flung his coat onto the bed. “I’d give him a good thrashing. The legs were covered in mud. We had to take every one of them into the kitchen to be cleaned before we could carry them back to the library. My back will never feel the same again.”
“How annoying for you,” Cecily murmured. “Obviously someone is having an enormous laugh at our expense.”
“The maids think it’s the work of a ghost.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at his wife. “What do you make of all this?”
She laid down her brush and swung around on her stool to face him. “I must confess, I’m baffled. I felt quite sure the clown that Pansy saw had killed Sid Porter and pushed Roland from the roof.” She picked up the clown nose from her dressing table. “Look, I found this in the broom cupboard upstairs, where Pansy said she saw him.”
Baxter shook his head as he reached for the nose. “So that’s what you were doing in the broom cupboard.”
“I thought I might find something that would help me find out what happened. At least this tells us the clown is real, and not a ghost.”
Baxter handed her back the nose. “But he was seen again today, in the ballroom.”
“Exactly. That’s what I don’t understand. Why is he drawing attention to himself, and more importantly, why is he still here in the hotel?”
Baxter pulled at his bottom lip. “He’s planning another murder?”
Cecily sighed. “I must confess, the idea occurred to me. That is what worries me the most.”
“Then we have to hunt him down and hand him over to the constabulary.”
“Precisely.” She looked hopefully at him. “Perhaps you’d like to accompany me tomorrow, when I go to search Sid Porter’s room? I’m hoping to find something that might help the investigation.”
A frown appeared on his face, drawing his brows together. “I don’t like this, Cecily,” he muttered. “I don’t like this one little bit.”
“Neither do I, Bax. But I really don’t know what else we can do.”
“I suppose we could contact the inspector and ask for his help.”
“No!” Aware she’d spoken too sharply, she softened her tone. “You know very well that the inspector has been looking for an excuse to shut us down for years. He hates the card rooms, and the fact that we have gambling in the hotel. Any investigation on his part could unearth a reason for him to do so. I would prefer to leave him out of this situation until we know exactly what happened and who was responsible.”
“And if someone else dies in the meantime?”
Cecily shuddered. “We shall just have to hope that won’t happen.”
“What does all this business with the clown have to do with objects being moved to odd places?”
“That’s what baffles me. I can’t imagine a killer going to all that trouble, and what would be his purpose? It doesn’t make any sense at all.”
“Murder seldom does.”
She held out her hands to him. “Will you come with me tomorrow to Sid Porter’s house?”
“Of course.” He rose, reached for her hands and pulled her to her feet. “Where did this fellow live?”
“I don’t know. We’ll have to ask at the George and Dragon. I’m sure someone there will be able to tell us. I thought we might have a bite to eat while we’re there.”
“A good idea.” He drew her to him and kissed her soundly on the mouth. “Now, enough of this talk of murder and mayhem. I need a sound night’s sleep if I am to guard you against unknown villains.”
She waited until they lay side by side in bed before broaching the delicate subject. “Bax?”
His mumbled reply told her he was already on the brink of sleep.
“Bax, I happened to see you talking to Elise Boulanger this morning.”
She felt his tension when he answered. “Yes, I did exchange some words with her.”
“I couldn’t help wondering why you didn’t want to tell me you met her in London.”
She held her breath, feeling her heart pound in her ears, while she waited for his reply.
Sighing, he turned on his side to face her. “I wondered how long it would take you to question me about that.”
“Well, I hesitated to mention it. I didn’t want you to think you had a prying wife.” She couldn’t see his face in the dark, and wished now that she had brought up the subject while the lamps were still alight.
“Would your burning curiosity be satisfied if I told you that if you knew the reason it would spoil a surprise?”
“Oh!” Intrigued, and faintly relieved, she murmured, “Well, in that case, I suppose I can contain myself. What sort of surprise?”
“I refuse to say any more. You will simply have to wait until I tell you.”
“Is it a Christmas present?”
“Not a word, Cecily. Now go to sleep. We both need our rest.”
As an elderly woman needs a rest, perhaps? She pinched her lips together. She had to stop indulging in this petty jealousy. Much as she disliked the idea of her husband sharing secrets with a glamorous young singer, she must trust him and believe that he meant only to surprise her in some way. She could only hope the revelation would be a pleasant one.