A moment later Cecily heard the one thing she least expected: a familiar voice calling her name.
“Cecily? Where are you, Cecily?”
In disbelief she stood, while at her feet Samuel whispered, “Thank the Lord.”
The voice came closer, and then there he was, leaning on crutches with a face like thunder.
“Baxter!” She hadn’t realized she’d said his name until he turned his head in her direction. Then she was running, heedless of the nettles that dragged at her skirt, mindless of the hat that flew from her head.
At last she threw herself at him, putting them both in danger of toppling over. He dropped one of the crutches and wrapped his arm around her. Her head on his shoulder, she said tearfully, “I thought I would never see you again.”
“Are they all right?” Kevin Prestwick appeared at Baxter’s shoulder, his face taut with dread.
“Samuel is over there.” Cecily gestured behind her. “I’m afraid his head has opened up again.”
Kevin sent an anxious look in Samuel’s direction. “What about you?”
“I’m all right.” Her lips felt stiff when she smiled. “Apart from a nasty bump on the head and a really sore back, that is.”
“I’ll take a look at you in a moment.” Kevin glanced at Baxter, who nodded his approval, then strode over to where Samuel was struggling to get to his feet.
“What happened?” Baxter held her away from him to get a better look at her face. “What in blazes are you doing out here?”
His voice betrayed the anxiety he’d suffered, and she felt guilty for causing him so much pain after all he’d been through. Avoiding a direct answer to his last question, she said hesitantly, “We were attacked by a horseman, and the horses bolted. I’m afraid the carriage is in ruins.”
He pulled her closer. “I shall be in ruins if you continue to disregard my wishes. I begged you not to expose yourself to danger. Did you not tell me you intended to shop in the High Street?”
“I did.” She gulped, and kept her face averted from his angry gaze. “I’m sorry, Bax, but I simply had to find out who this brooch belonged to and—” She broke off as her probing fingers encountered an empty pocket. “It’s gone!”
“What brooch? What are you talking about?”
Quickly she told him about the colonel finding the brooch at the spot where Gavin had hung from the tree. “I couldn’t imagine why the killer returned for the body, but then I realized he came back for something that could incriminate him.”
“But what would he be doing with a woman’s brooch?”
“That’s something we have to find out. My assumption is that either the killer is a woman or he had an accomplice. I really must find that brooch, Bax.” She attempted to pull away from him. “It could be the only clue we have to the killer’s identity.”
“Then let Northcott find it,” Baxter said, his hold on her arm preventing her from leaving. “I think you’ve done more than enough sleuthing for one day.”
“Please, Bax. This is important. I promise I will ring Sam Northcott and tell him everything I know just as soon as I get back to the Pennyfoot. But I must find that brooch.” She gave him her most earnest smile. “It could well be a matter of life or death.”
His jaw jutted at an uncompromising angle, but after a moment of staring into her eyes, he relented. “Oh, very well. I’ll help you look.”
“No, you really shouldn’t be out here on that ankle. Go back to the trap and wait for me there.” She glanced over to where Kevin was bandaging Samuel’s head again. Assuring herself her stable manager was in good hands, she turned back to Baxter. “Please?”
“I am not leaving you again until we are safely home.” He started swinging himself toward the wrecked carriage. “I’ve spent enough hours today worrying about you.”
Knowing how useless it would be to argue further, she followed him.
Upon reaching the carriage she knelt down to peer inside. After patting the seats and searching the floor, she had to accept that the brooch was not in the carriage.
“It must have fallen out,” she said, as she got carefully to her feet.
A few yards away, Baxter moved slowly on his crutches, peering at the ground around him. “I can’t see it anywhere around here.”
“I shall have to retrace the path the horses took from the road—” She broke off, as a sharp memory returned. Rough hands on her, turning her over…She gasped.
Immediately Baxter turned his head. “What is it?”
“I remember now.” She lifted her hands in a hopeless gesture and let them fall. “The man who attacked us. That’s what he wanted. He knew it would lead me to his identity. I remember his hands on me. He must have taken the brooch right out of my pocket.” She stared at Baxter in horror. “Dear God, he could have killed us both.”
“Damn the bastard!” Baxter swung toward her. “If he hurt you, I’ll—”
She shook her head at him. “It’s all right, Bax. Really. He just took the brooch. Nothing else. I would know.”
He stared at her for a long moment, his face mirroring the doubts that plagued him. Then he nodded. “Very well. Let’s get home so we can ring that fool Northcott and be done with this business.”
Right at that moment, with her head aching and her back breaking, Cecily was only too happy to agree. She’d had enough excitement for one day. As for Gavin Hargrove’s killer, apparently his attacks were meant merely to scare them off, not finish them off, or he would have surely done so while he had the chance. He must feel confident that his crime would remain unresolved.
The thought that he might well get away with murder depressed her. She could only hope that either P.C. Northcott or Scotland Yard would be able to solve the puzzle, since it seemed to be beyond her capabilities to do so.
After much heaving and grunting, both Baxter and Samuel finally got settled beside Cecily in the trap. Kevin took up the reins and soon they were bowling along the Esplanade, where the clouds were once more receding to leave a clear sky.
Cecily shivered as the cold wind whipped her face. She was more than ready to take up her duties once more as manager of the Pennyfoot, and leave the murder investigation to those who were more experienced pursuers of criminals.
It irked her to no end, however, that she had been unable to solve this particular puzzle. If it hadn’t been the Christmas season, with a full house at the country club, she told herself, she might have pursued the chase a little longer.
Having such a valid excuse for accepting defeat made it a little easier to swallow. But only a little. She would have to work hard to put it all out of her mind. Concentrating on the job at hand and ensuring that the guests of the Pennyfoot Country Club had a Christmas they would remember with pleasure for many years to come would help.
Back in her boudoir, she shrieked aloud at her appearance. Baxter, who had sunk onto a chair the moment they entered, looked up in alarm.
“What is it now? Not your head? I thought you told Prestwick it didn’t hurt that badly.”
“It’s not my head.” She held out both hands to him. “Look at me.” She made a dismal picture for him to observe, she thought, doing her best to smooth back the stray wisps of hair that hung about her face. Her coat was torn, as was the hem of her skirt. Mud streaked her face, and her gloves looked as if they had been fished out of Deep Willow Pond.
Baxter didn’t help matters when he ran a critical gaze over her from head to toe. She relaxed, however, when she saw the gleam in his eyes.
“After spending most of the day thinking I might not see you again,” he murmured, “I can assure you, I have never seen you look more appetizing.”
His words warmed her as no fire could. She pulled off her gloves, then walked over to him to touch his dear face. “Now you can understand how devastated I felt when you were missing for two days.”
“I can.” He reached for her and pulled her down beside him. “I sincerely hope that neither of us have to go through that again.”
She sealed her agreement with a kiss. It was good to be safe at home with her love by her side. Though she did wish she knew who had killed Gavin Hargrove. And why.
Cecily rang P.C. Northcott early that evening, only to be told by the operator that the constabulary was closed until after Boxing Day, and that if it was an emergency she was to call Inspector Cranshaw.
Since she had no wish to talk to that gentleman, she called Sam Northcott at home. He sounded irritated at being disturbed, though he did his best to hide it.
Cecily recounted everything that had happened, and when she was finished the constable waited some time before answering her. Finally he said gruffly, “Well, Mrs. Baxter, it do seem as how you’ve ’ad your share of h’adventures lately. I have warned you in the past about interfering in police business. Not at all a suitable place for a lady, as I’ve said many times.”
“Yes, yes.” Cecily grasped the telephone a little more tightly. “Never mind all that now. What I want to know is what you are going to do about it.”
“Do about what?”
Cecily gritted her teeth. “About Gavin Hargrove’s murder, of course. Now that we have all this new evidence, it’s clearly not a gambling syndicate who’s responsible, since it wasn’t Mr. Hargrove who owed them money. That means it’s most likely someone at Whitfield Manor who killed him. Isn’t it your job to hunt down the killer and put him in prison where he can’t hurt anyone else?”
“Well, that’s exactly what I am doing.” Northcott indulged in an infuriating pause before continuing. “The truth is, Mrs. Baxter, Scotland Yard decided there wasn’t enough evidence for them to investigate the case, so they put it back into my lap, so to speak.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so. It’s my firm belief that one of the occupants of Whitfield Manor is responsible, and might well kill again if he finds himself in danger of being identified.”
“Well, I can’t really say as how anything you’ve told me points to the murderer.” Northcott smacked his lips, as if he were enjoying a tasty snack. “All this talk about a man with his face covered up and driving a trap. All that could be is someone driving too fast. That trail through the woods is dark. Makes it hard to see anyone until you’re on top of him and then it’s too late to stop.”
“Driving too fast?” Cecily was almost speechless with disbelief at the man’s stupidity. “Was he driving too fast when he hit Baxter over the head? Or when he was throwing rocks at Madeline and me in the woods? I can assure you—”
She broke off as a clear picture popped into her mind. She and Madeline running from a shower of rocks. White rocks. She saw again Silas Gower brandishing shears above his head while he stood with one foot on the rockery—a rockery filled with white rocks. And later, Silas’s bony hand stretching out to her through the door of the carriage.
“That were probably the gypsies,” Northcott said brusquely. “Unruly lot, they are. Never know what they’ll be up to next. Throwing rocks and hitting people is right up their alley. They should be run right out of the country, that’s what I say.”
“Well, what about the brooch the colonel found? Surely you want to know to whom it belongs?”
“Could belong to anyone, m’m, couldn’t it. Probably a gypsy what dropped it. Now that I think about it, from what you’ve told me, it seems clear to me that the gypsies had a hand in the murder. I intend to suggest as much to Inspector Cranshaw. I’m sure he’ll want a thorough investigation, and we’ll find the perpetrators of this crime, never you fear.”
Cecily made one last effort to convince the stubborn constable. “What about the driver with a scarf wrapped around his face? Doesn’t that seem as if he had a strong desire to disguise himself for fear of being recognized?”
“Probably covered his face up against the cold wind. I do it meself sometimes.”
Suppressing a strong urge to scream, Cecily let out her breath. “I just hope you find the killer before he kills again. If not, Sam Northcott, you will surely have a death on your conscience.”
He sounded put out when he answered. “Now, now, Mrs. B., no need to get worked up about it. I’m sure Inspector Cranshaw will soon find out what really happened, and then we can all forget about it. It’s Christmas—and you should be enjoying yourself now that you have your husband back safe and sound.”
And letting him enjoy his Christmas in peace, his tone implied.
Giving up, Cecily hung the telephone back on its hook. There wasn’t much she could do about it now, but the minute she could get away she would pay one more visit to Whitfield Manor. To ask Emily Gower if she owned a silver fox brooch.
“I don’t think I shall attend the ball tonight,” Baxter announced. He sat in his rocking chair in the boudoir, watching Cecily sift through her wardrobe in search of a gown to wear. “I won’t be able to dance and I shall only get in the way.”
“Piffle.” Cecily drew a shell pink gown from the rail and held it up in front of her. Turning to the dressing table mirror to see her reflection, she murmured, “What do you think?”
“Enchanting.” Baxter leaned forward. “That gown is one of my favorites.”
“I know. Which is why you must escort me to the ball. I wouldn’t dream of wearing this anywhere without you.”
“I won’t be able to dance.”
“You won’t need to dance.”
“You’ll spend all evening fussing over me instead of conversing with our guests. I can’t deprive them of your charming company.”
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “But you would deprive me of yours.”
“I shall make it up to you when you return.”
“I will not leave you here all alone on Christmas Eve.” She carried the gown over to the bed and laid it down. “I would not enjoy a single second I am away from you. In fact, I should be so consumed with misery I would not be pleasant company for any of our guests.”
Baxter sighed. “You give a good argument.”
“Of course. I learned from a master.” She leaned down and dropped a kiss on his forehead. “Now stop being such a bear and get dressed. Our guests would be sorely disappointed were you not there to joke with them. The ladies, especially, enjoy your sense of humor.”
“I’m not sure my sense of humor will be all that evident since I’m restricted by this dratted ankle.”
“Then just do your best, Bax, darling. After all, your worst is better than most people’s best.”
“Flattery becomes you.” He grinned at her. “Very well, but don’t expect me to enjoy being trapped in a chair all night long, forced to watch you glide around the floor in another man’s arms.”
“Trust me, my love, I will not be gliding anywhere.”
“In that gown no man will be able to resist you.”
“Then I shall do the resisting.” She walked over to the wardrobe and removed his dinner suit. “Now put this on and stop trying to get out of it with all this sweet talk.”
“I suppose Prestwick will be there.”
She almost laughed at the disgust in his voice. “Of course. Have no fear, he’ll have eyes only for Madeline.” She clasped her hands at her bosom in a little thrill of excitement. “I really do think he’s going to propose to her tonight.”
Baxter grunted. “Those two deserve each other.”
Cecily smiled serenely at her reflection in the mirror. “They do indeed,” she said softly.
She remembered Baxter’s words later that evening as she watched Madeline float across the floor in the arms of her beloved doctor. Their courtship had not been a smooth one. Madeline’s sorcery with plants and herbs had clashed horribly with Kevin’s scientific approach to medicine.
Many times Cecily had sat in Dolly’s tea shop listening to her friend’s account of her latest row with the good doctor. It was a miracle they still kept company, much less considered taking marriage vows.
Madeline had insisted over and over that a union between the two of them was impossible, yet there she was, radiant in a white lawn frock sprinkled with yellow and orange marigolds, gazing up into her partner’s eyes with all the adoration of a woman madly in love.
It would be interesting indeed to see if Kevin could sum up the courage to ask for her hand, and even more fascinating to know just what Madeline’s answer would be.
Sighing, Cecily turned away. She would know soon enough. All she could do was wait, and hope that things worked out the way she would like. A wedding to look forward to would be a marvelous way to start the new year.