Cecily hurried across the courtyard, just in time to see Baxter and Kevin load the dead body into the back of a carriage. “Wait!” she called out, as Samuel, seated on the driver’s side, lifted the reins.
In the act of climbing aboard, Kevin turned to look at her, while Baxter strode toward her, his lamp held aloft.
“What is it?” he demanded, as he reached her.
Cecily paused for breath. “I’m quite sure now that it was Jeremy Westhaven who killed Sid Porter and Ned Barlow. Roland, too, I imagine.”
Baxter raised his eyebrows. “What in the blazes happened to convince you of this?”
“Well, this, for one thing. I found it in Jeremy’s room.” She held out her palm and he swung the lantern to take a good look.
“What is it?”
“I think it’s one of the bells from the clown suit. I need to look at it to be certain.”
She took a step toward the carriage, but Baxter halted her with his hand on her arm. “Wait. Give it to me. I’ll take a look.”
She waited while the two men bent over the carriage seat, then straightened.
Baxter walked back to her, his face grim. “You’re right. One of the buttons is missing. It looks as if it had been torn off—probably in a struggle. This one matches the rest of them.”
Cecily nodded in satisfaction. “I thought so. I couldn’t imagine how Ned Barlow could have found out Jeremy Westhaven was the killer. But now I know. He must have been there when it happened.”
Baxter stared at her for a moment then turned to Kevin and lifted his hand. “Go on, Prestwick. Take the body to the morgue. I’ll handle things here.”
Kevin called out a soft “Goodnight,” then climbed into the carriage. “I trust you will explain things to Madeline?” He waited for Cecily’s nod, then with a flick of the reins, the horses moved forward, their hooves clattering on the cold, uneven ground of the courtyard.
“Let us go back inside,” Baxter said, taking his wife’s arm. “You’re shaking. You can tell me the rest when you are warm again.”
A few moments later he closed the kitchen door, while Cecily huddled close to the boiler, where the embers of a dying fire still glowed.
“You need something warm inside you,” Baxter said, walking toward her. “Can I get you some brandy, perhaps?”
“Maybe later.” Cecily glanced at the clock. “The carol singing will be over very shortly. We have to find Jeremy Westhaven.”
“No,” Baxter said firmly. “If you’re sure about this, we have to ring for the inspector.”
“I am sure.” Cecily sat down at the table and leaned her elbows on it. “I remembered Ned Barlow saying something when I spoke to him. He said the gent had done him a favor.” She looked up at Baxter. “How many gents do you think Ned Barlow knows?”
Baxter looked skeptical. “How do we know he knew Jeremy Westhaven?”
“Why else would he be knocking on his door in the early morning hours? What was he doing in the hotel anyway? He must have intended to pay Jeremy a visit.”
“So it looks as if your theory about blackmail could be right.” Baxter still seemed unconvinced. “But how do you know Barlow was here when Sid was murdered?”
“Pansy first saw the ghost the day of the children’s Christmas party. Since Sid Porter was presumably dressed as Father Christmas, it had to be Ned Barlow who wore the clown suit. Remember we couldn’t find it in Mr. Porter’s room. I think Mr. Barlow went to confront Mr. Porter, and finding the room empty, stole the clown suit.”
“Why would he do that?”
Cecily thought for a moment. “I don’t know. All we do know is that he was wearing it when he died. He could have stolen it to use as a disguise, if he actually planned to kill him. I think it’s too much of a coincidence for there to be more than one clown suit, don’t you?”
“Very well.” Baxter sat down opposite her. “So Ned Barlow steals the clown suit from Sid Porter. Then he comes here? Why?”
“I think that Ned Barlow heard about Mr. Porter’s intent to play Father Christmas, probably when he boasted about it in the public bar of the George and Dragon. If he intended to dispose of the man, what better opportunity than when he’s inside a chimney? I believe that in the disguise of a clown, Ned followed Sid Porter up onto the roof. Jeremy Westhaven, however, was already lying in wait, also having heard that Mr. Porter would be on the roof.”
“Also having heard about it in the public bar?”
Cecily smiled. “Mr. Milligan told me that more than one gent had been asking about Mr. Porter. I assume Jeremy was one of them.”
“Ah.” Baxter nodded. “So Westhaven finds out about the Father Christmas position and decides to get rid of Porter.”
“Precisely. Ned Barlow arrives up on the roof just in time to see Jeremy kill Mr. Porter and presumably push Roland off the roof.”
“Then Barlow leaves without being seen….”
“And later decides to blackmail Jeremy.”
“And ends up in the laundry chute.”
“With one button less on his clown suit.” She held up the bell and shook it.
“So now the question is, where is Westhaven now?”
“I think you’re right, darling.” She got up from the chair. “I think we should allow the inspector to find him and apprehend him.” She turned as the door burst open.
Mrs. Chubb stood in the doorway, one hand pressed against her heaving chest. “Oh, there you are, madam. Mr. Baxter. I’ve been looking all over for you. I’m going to need the key back for the laundry chute. The maids are waiting to finish the washing.”
“Oh, yes.” Cecily dug in her skirt for the key. “Here you are.”
“Thank you, m’m.” Mrs. Chubb clipped the key back on her key ring. “Well, that’s one returned. Now I have to get the wine cellar key back from Gertie.” She glanced at the clock. “Can’t think where that girl has got to. I gave her that key ages ago. She was supposed to get a bottle of wine for that nice Mr. Westhaven and take it to his room.” She shook her head. “She should have been back a long time ago. She missed the whole ceremony in the library. It’s not like her to miss that, I must say.”
Cecily exchanged an uneasy look with Baxter. “Did you say Gertie was supposed to take the wine up to Jeremy Westhaven’s room?”
“Yes, m’m.”
“But he’s not in his room.” Cecily frowned. “Why would he ask her to take it there if he’s…” She started for the door. “Come on, Baxter. We need to go to the wine cellar. Mrs. Chubb, please ring for Inspector Cranshaw. Tell him it’s a matter of murder and we need him here at once.”
Baxter followed her down the hallway as she almost ran for the lobby. Once outside he called after her. “You don’t really think Westhaven means to hurt Gertie?”
“I’m very much afraid she may be in danger.” She spared him a quick look over her shoulder. “I only hope we’re not too late.”
Gertie stared into Jeremy Westhaven’s eyes and wondered why on earth she had ever thought him handsome. Struggling to appear unconcerned, only a faint quiver betrayed her fear when she spoke. “I was just about to bring you your bottle of wine, sir. I’m sorry if I kept you waiting.”
Jeremy smiled. The most evil smile she’d ever seen. “Never mind the wine. I don’t think I’ll be needing it now.”
“Oh, very well, sir. I’ll put it back.” She made herself smile at him, making no effort to return the bottle to its rack. To do so meant turning her back on him, and she wasn’t about to do something that stupid. In any case, the bottle would make a good weapon, should she need one. And something told her she was going to need one.
“You worked it all out, my pretty, didn’t you.” Jeremy took a step toward her and she backed away.
“Worked what out, sir?”
“Three poor souls on a dead man’s chest.” He shook his head. “Stupid of me. It was the wine loosening my tongue. The minute I said it I knew it was a mistake.”
Gertie took a firm hold on the neck of the bottle. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir. Honest I don’t.”
“Oh, I think you do. In any case, I can’t take any chances. No loose ends. That’s what makes a perfect crime. Leave no loose ends.” He took another step forward. “And you, my dear, are unfortunately another loose end.”
Again she backed away. “You must not be feeling well, sir. Why don’t you go and lie down and I’ll fetch you a pot of hot tea. You’ll feel better in no time.”
“No, I won’t.” He’d raised his voice, making her jump. “I’m never going to feel better. You don’t understand, do you. No one understands. I was going to be married. Yesterday was my wedding day.”
“Your…your wedding day, sir?” The flame in Gertie’s gas lamp flickered with the shaking of her hand. Shadows stretched and danced along the wall, making her think of the ghost in the balcony. She could use a ghost right now.
“Yes,” Jeremy said firmly. “My wedding day. A month ago the beautiful young woman who was supposed to become my wife walked into the ocean and drowned herself.”
Gertie swallowed. He’d slurred his words, but his gaze was steady on her face. Still, he had to be a bit unsteady on his feet. Maybe she could dodge by him and run up the steps. “I’m sorry, sir.” Memory stirred, and she added, “I remember someone talking about that. That’s so sad.” She shifted a little to her left.
“That balloon bastard had to die. You understand?” He was shouting now, his face contorting into an ugly mask of hatred. “He deserved to die for what he did.”
“Yes, sir. I’m sure he did.” One more step to her left and she might have enough space to get by him.
“Too bad about the boy.” Jeremy swayed, then righted himself. “Too bad. He saw, you see. He had to go.” He shook his head, as if trying to clear it. “Then that damn blackmailer. He thought he could bleed me dry. Well, I made him bleed instead.”
Gertie eased sideways again. “Yes, sir.”
“Such a shame.” Jeremy peered at her, his eyes now looking glazed in the light from her lamp. “A shame you found out. Now you have to go, too. Can’t have the police finding out. The family name and all that. You have to understand.”
“Oh, I do, sir. Yes, indeed I do.” Gertie took a deep breath, then deliberately dropped the lamp. It crashed to the floor, and the flame went out, plunging the cellar into darkness.
She leapt forward, hope and fear giving her strength. She’d taken two steps when a hand grabbed her arm, then closed over her wrist. With a cry of despair, she whirled around and struck out as hard as she could with the bottle. She hit nothing but air, yet her grip remained fast.
Fighting for her life, Gertie swung the bottle left and right like a sword, putting all her weight into each swing. Twice, three times she swung, and finally, the bottle found its mark. It smacked against bone with a loud crack and a splintering of glass. The fragrant wine poured all over her arm and shoes as the cruel fingers fell away from her wrist, and she heard him thud to the floor.
She didn’t wait to see if her assailant got up again. She tore toward the steps and bounded up them. The door stood open and she hurtled through it, taking in deep gulps of the cold night air. Heart pounding, she slammed the door shut, and leaned against it while she clicked the padlock closed. Then she sank onto the ground and burst into tears.
Later that evening, after Gertie had washed the last of the wine from her arms and changed into a clean skirt and blouse, she joined Mrs. Chubb and Pansy in the kitchen for a nice, comforting cup of cocoa.
“I never did like wine,” she declared, as she sipped the steaming liquid, “but now I swear I’ll never touch another drop of it for as long as I live.”
“I don’t blame you.” Pansy dropped onto a chair next to her and leaned her elbows on the table. “I wouldn’t want wine either, after all you went through. Though I just can’t believe a nice gentleman like Mr. Westhaven could turn out to be a murderer.”
“Well, I hope he’s safely locked up by now. When they carried him out of the cellar I thought I’d killed him with that bottle. Lucky for me he were only out cold. Mr. Baxter said they were taking him to the hospital but that he’d be well enough to stand trial for the murders.”
“As he jolly well deserves,” Mrs. Chubb declared.
Gertie sighed. “If it weren’t for Roland, I’d be feeling a bit sorry for Mr. Westhaven. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love, and he didn’t even have a chance to be married, poor bloke.”
“That doesn’t give him the right to go around killing all those people.” Mrs. Chubb placed a cup of cocoa in front of Pansy.
The maid smiled her thanks. “Well, you’re not the only one who had a lucky escape, Gertie. That Miss Boulanger was trying her best to get Mr. Westhaven’s attention. Good job he didn’t notice, or she might have been the next one to be murdered.”
Gertie nearly spit out a mouthful of cocoa.
Mrs. Chubb stared at Pansy. “What on earth are you talking about, child?”
“It’s true!” Pansy folded her hands around her cup to warm her fingers. “I saw Miss Boulanger waiting in the hallway for him to come out of his room, then she dropped a glove. He went right by without even noticing it. She had to pick it up again herself.” Pansy giggled. “And every mealtime she stopped at his table to speak to him, and when we were at the concert, she was going around asking everyone if they’d seen him.”
“So that’s who she was secretly admiring,” Gertie murmured. “I wasn’t the only one daft enough to be taken in by him.”
Mrs. Chubb shook her head. “I don’t know what you young people are coming to nowadays, really I don’t.”
“I’m just happy there’s no ghost in the hotel,” Pansy declared. “Scared me to death, that did. I still haven’t taken the carpet sweeper back upstairs.”
Mrs. Chubb looked annoyed. “So where did you leave it, then?”
Pansy gave her a sheepish grin. “I hid it behind the aspidistra in the lobby.”
Mrs. Chubb clicked her tongue, but before she could say anything, Gertie jumped in.
“I’ll go with you when you take it back tonight.” She glanced up at the housekeeper. “Don’t yell at her, Chubby. It’s Christmas, and we’ve all been in enough trouble as it is. Let’s just be glad it’s all over and done with now.”
Pansy sent her a grateful look. “I keep shuddering when I think of Ned lying dead in that laundry chute. I’ll remember that every time I go there now.”
“What you need to remember,” Mrs. Chubb said, “is to stay away from the likes of him. You could have ended up dead like him.”
Pansy’s shoulders quivered, and she drank some of her cocoa. Putting down the cup she said quietly, “I think the next time Samuel asks me out, I’ll go.”
Gertie grinned. “You’ll be surprised how much fun Samuel can be.” She got up from the table. “Anyway, I can tell you, I’m bloody glad to be alive. Now let’s get the washing up done so we can get to bed. My twins will be up at the crack of flipping dawn tomorrow.”
Throwing her arms around Mrs. Chubb, she gave her a hug. “Thank you for worrying about me.”
Mrs. Chubb gave her a gentle push. “You won’t get the washing up done standing there, now will you.” She turned away, but not before Gertie saw the gleam of tears in her eyes.
Made her feel good, it did, to know that someone cared that much about her. Helped to make up for Ross not being there. Smiling, she made her way to the stove and reached for the cauldron of hot water. “It’s going to be a good Christmas after all,” she said.
“As usual, my dear, you were right about everything.” Baxter yawned, and stretched his arms above his head. “I must say, that was a brilliant piece of deduction. Even the inspector seemed impressed.”
Seated at her dressing table in the boudoir, Cecily snorted. “Piffle. Anyone with an ounce of sense could have worked it all out. I’m just surprised it took me so long. I must be losing my powers of reasoning. A sign of age creeping up on me, I’m afraid.”
Baxter walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “You lose your powers? Never. That is like saying Madeline is losing her peculiar abilities.”
Cecily smiled at the mirror image of their two heads together. “Madeline will never lose her powers. Nor her youth. She continues to look younger every time I see her.”
“Yes, well, I suppose if you’re a witch you can arrange these things.”
Looking at his face, she could tell he was only half joking. “Madeline knew Ned Barlow would be killed before we found the body. She told me as much when we were in Dolly’s tea shop. Of course, she simply said the clown would be gone forever. I didn’t know she meant Ned Barlow at the time.”
Baxter shook his head. “Sometimes that woman gives me the shivers.”
Cecily laughed. “She’s quite harmless, you know. I’ve never known her to hurt anyone, despite her sometimes gruesome threats.”
“Speaking of threats, poor Gertie had quite a fright tonight.” Baxter straightened and crossed to the wardrobe. “She was extremely fortunate she wasn’t hurt, or even killed.” He slipped out of his coat and reached for a coat hanger.
“Yes, she was.” Cecily picked up a brush and began drawing it through her hair. “Thank heavens she had the presence of mind to drop the lamp. Goodness knows what might have happened to her if that dreadful man had managed to get his hands on her.”
“Seemed such a nice fellow, too. It just goes to show, you can never tell by looking at someone just how evil they are inside.”
“I don’t think Jeremy Westhaven is evil.” She paused in her brushing. “I think he was driven to distraction by grief. After all, he intended only to avenge the violation of his young, innocent bride.”
“Yes, well, there are better ways to handle the situation. Still, I can understand him wanting revenge. I should feel the same should something like that happen to you.”
She smiled at him. “Thank you, darling. Knowing you, however, I’m quite sure you’d have more control over your emotions, and would deal with the matter in a far less violent manner.”
“Indubitably. I sincerely hope, however, that my level of malevolence is not tested in that way.”
“Actually, Mr. Porter was the evil man. What he did to that young girl was despicable. As for the other two victims, they were unfortunate enough to be witnesses to the deed and had to be eliminated.” She began brushing again. “That’s the problem with committing a crime. Very often it leads to more and more crimes in the effort to avoid being apprehended for the first one.”
“It does, indeed.” Baxter pulled on his smoking jacket and returned to his wife’s side. “Look at all the skullduggery I had to go through in order to keep those dratted tickets a secret from you.”
“And how foolish I was to think you were pursuing Miss Boulanger.”
“Rather flattering, though.” He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. “I’m so thankful everything has been sorted out and the inspector has our villain safely under lock and key. Now we can enjoy our Christmas Day.”
“So we can.” She lay down the brush and smiled up at her husband. “Happy Christmas, darling. Let us wish for a peaceful end to the year.”
“And a peaceful New Year to follow. No more ghosts or dead bodies to contend with, I hope.”
Cecily was inclined to agree, though she had to admit to a tiny hope that there might still be just a little more excitement in her future.