CHAPTER 6
Following her husband down the stairs, Cecily tried to regain her composure. She’d very much wanted to speak to Gertie before the constable arrived, but her argument with Baxter after Kevin left had taken up far too much time. Now it was too late to question her chief housemaid. It would have to wait until after her meeting with the constable-which no doubt would be unproductive.
She was not in the best of moods to deal with his illogical rambling. Her argument with Baxter had been intense and familiar. Her husband, perhaps rightly so, had expressed his supreme displeasure at her becoming involved in yet another murder.
He’d even gone so far as to forbid her to take any part in the investigation, which did not sit well with her at all. Had it not been for the fact that Ian was known to them, they might well have come to an impasse, resulting in a very unfortunate atmosphere for the Christmas season. Baxter, however, had finally conceded that having known Ian intimately, at least in his younger years, Cecily was better equipped to find out who would have wanted him dead and why.
Cecily was also fairly certain that Baxter harbored the same fears she did, about Gertie being somehow involved, which was perhaps another reason why he had agreed not to stand in her way. Yet he did issue a host of dire warnings and extracted a promise that she would keep him informed of her every move. That was something she had found almost impossible to do in the past and no doubt it would prove equally difficult in this case.
Deep in her dark thoughts, she almost passed by the constable, who hovered at the foot of the stairs, clutching his helmet under his arm.
“I knew it!” he exclaimed, as she greeted him. “I knew it would turn up as a murder, the minute I heard he’d drowned in two feet of water.”
“Hush!” Cecily glanced around the lobby in alarm. “We don’t want to upset the guests.”
“Oh, of course not. Sorry, Mrs. Baxter. Wasn’t thinking, was I.”
Baxter rolled his eyes, his face clearly expressing his displeasure.
“Let us go to my office,” Cecily said hurriedly, sensing her husband’s imminent explosion of wrath. “We can talk freely there.”
She led the way, keeping up a cheerful conversation about the holly wreaths on the walls, and how Madeline had woven them herself. “It’s really a shame you don’t spend your Christmas in Badgers End,” she said, as she opened the door. “You could have attended our Christmas pantomime. Phoebe Carter-Holmes Fortescue has worked very hard on this year’s presentation. It promises to be quite lovely.”
She couldn’t blame the skeptical look on the constable’s face as he murmured an answer. Phoebe’s presentations, largely consisting of ill-conceived performances by her unwieldy dance group, were more often than not a total disaster.
The fact that Cecily’s audiences enjoyed them, at least those who did not sit close enough to be wounded by flying objects, was based more on their anticipation of a fiasco than on appreciating the nonexistent artistic talent.
Having closed the door, Baxter ushered Northcott to a chair while Cecily took her seat behind the desk. The lack of space in the tiny room, which held little more than her desk, four chairs, and a filing cabinet, always made her feel somewhat constricted when there was more than one person in there with her.
Never was that feeling more pronounced than when Sam Northcott was present. She assumed it was because more often than not he was either the bearer of bad news, or she was in the unfortunate position of having to impart unpleasant news herself.
Sitting back in her chair, she tried to calm her thoughts by clasping her hands together. “Well, Sam, I’m afraid we are dealing with yet another troublesome problem.”
“We are, indeed, m’m.” Northcott stole a glance at Baxter. “Please accept my condolences. I know you were fond of the deceased.”
“He was once one of my favorite servants,” Cecily agreed carefully.
Baxter cleared his throat and she sent him a warning glance. He had agreed not to interfere with her discussion with the constable, and she knew he had set himself an almost impossible task.
“Yes, indeed.” Northcott withdrew his notebook, then took out a pencil and licked it with disgusting relish. “Now then, I think it is safe to say that this h’is an open-and-shut case, so to speak.”
Cecily raised her eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”
Northcott scribbled something down then raised his head. “Well, I think it’s obvious who done Ian in.” He coughed. “I mean who perpetrated the crime. It had to be his ex-wife what murdered him-Gertie McBride.”
Baxter made a strangled sound in his throat, while Cecily could only stare at the constable’s round, flushed face, searching for words that would not come.
Northcott nodded. “I have it on good authority from an h’eyewitness what ’eard the suspect say she was going to kill him. In fact, according to my source, Gertie McBride took a knife to the deceased on the very night he died and threatened to slit his throat.”
Cecily felt as if all the air had rushed out of her lungs. She gripped the edge of the desk and struggled to sound calm as she forced out the words. “Who told you that?”
Northcott shook his head. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say, m’m.”
“Good Lord, man!” Apparently unable to keep his promise, Baxter rose from his chair and loomed over the wary constable. “You can’t possibly believe that Gertie McBride would do such a thing?”
“Besides,” Cecily said quickly, “Ian didn’t die from a knife wound. We believe he was hit over the head with one of my candlesticks. I told you that when I rang you.”
“A candlestick, which, I believe, was standing on your ’allstand in the hall.”
“And could have been picked up by anyone in this hotel,” Baxter put in.
“Have you heard anyone else threaten to slit the victim’s throat with a knife?” Northcott preened when neither one of them answered. “H’I rest my case.”
Actually, Cecily thought, she had heard more than one person threaten Ian in the past. Clive for one, when he had come to the rescue when Ian had tried to abduct little Lillian. And Gertie’s boyfriend, Dan, when he’d heard what Ian had tried to do. Why, even Baxter had threatened to thrash the man within an inch of his life for terrifying his precious goddaughter.
For that matter, Madeline had once threatened to turn Ian into something quite nasty, which might or might not have been an empty threat. But it was a measure of how many people wished Ian Rossiter ill will.
She could hardly relate all that to the constable, however. Not in detail, anyway. “I have heard several people make various threats at times,” she said firmly. “None of which, I haven’t the slightest doubt, were meant to be taken seriously. Gertie’s included. You can’t accuse someone of murder based on such flimsy evidence.”
“From what I understand,” Northcott said, still scribbling in his notebook, “there have been many an occasion when your housemaid has made similar threats. What’s more, she was the last one to see the victim alive last night. Right here on these premises. I think that’s quite enough reason to take her down to the station for questioning.”
Cecily swallowed, while Baxter seemed at a loss for words. His eyes held a desperate look, signaling her to do something. The problem was, right then and there, she had no idea what to do. All she could think of was Gertie’s voice, low and full of bitter venom.
The constable was right. Gertie had threatened Ian on more than one occasion. Had she finally endured more than she could bear and struck back? If so, Cecily thought with a pang of desperation, there was little she could do to save her. Gertie would be doomed to spend the rest of her life in prison, and two children would have to grow up without a mother or a father. It just didn’t bear thinking about.
Cecily took a deep breath. No. She could not, would not believe Gertie McBride was a killer. “Sam,” she said, silently cursing the tremor in her voice, “I know you are in a great hurry to begin your Christmas holiday. Arresting Gertie and questioning her will take time. All the paperwork, for instance. What’s more, Gertie has the afternoon off. I believe she has taken the twins out for a walk. She won’t be back for at least another hour or two.”
She leaned forward, giving him her warmest smile. “Can’t this wait until you get back? That way you can start off your holiday without upsetting your wife, whom I know must be anxiously waiting for you right now.”
