Mr. Rossiter’s drowning was an accident. The constable will be taking care of any necessary details when he returns, and until then, I suggest we all put the unfortunate matter out of our minds and concentrate on enjoying the Christmas season. Now, if you will excuse me, I have urgent matters to attend to and I’m running late.”
Brushing past him, she reached out for the door handle of her office.
“Very well,” Archie said quietly behind her. “I take it the matter’s closed then.”
She looked back at him. “Most definitely.”
Without another word, he turned and ambled away.
Staring after him, Cecily waited until he had disappeared around the corner before opening her door. There was something unsavory about that man. He’d be the last person she’d go to for a medicinal remedy, she was quite sure of that.
She had the distinct impression that his cures might well do more harm than good, and it was not a comfortable feeling to have what Madeline referred to as a charlatan mingling with her guests. All she could hope was that he didn’t attempt to offer his wares to any of them, or she might have a case of poisoning on her hands. On top of everything else, that would be a disaster indeed.
“All right, you two.” Gertie folded her arms and glared at the twins, who sat on the bed with stubborn looks on their faces. “I want to know what you got up to while I was gone last night. Lillian, did you play dress up last night with my clothes again?”
Lillian’s eyes grew wide. “No, mama. You told me not to touch your clothes.”
“She didn’t,” James put in earnestly. “She really didn’t, mama. I was watching her the whole time.”
Gertie frowned. She usually knew when the twins were lying. For one thing, they could never look her in the eye if they were telling fibs, but both of them sat there staring at her with all the innocence of newborn lambs.
Daisy was due any minute, and Gertie decided to give her offspring the benefit of the doubt until she could question the nanny. “Well, all right, then. You know what will happen if I catch you touching my things. One word from me and Father Christmas will fly his reindeer right over this roof without stopping.”
Lillian’s face filled with wonder. “How do all the reindeer fit on the roof?”
Gertie coughed. “They land in the roof rose garden, don’t they.” She wished Daisy would hurry up and get there. She never felt comfortable making up stories to her kids about Father Christmas. In her opinion it came perilously close to lying, and if there was one thing Gertie couldn’t abide, it was a liar.
“How does Father Christmas get all those toys for all the kids on his sleigh?” James demanded. “It would have to be a jolly big sleigh. It couldn’t fit in the roof garden with all the reindeer, could it?”
Gertie fidgeted with her hairpins, pretending to pin her hair under her cap. “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Father Christmas.”
“How can we ask Father Christmas when he won’t come until after we’re asleep?”
“Write a letter and send it to him.”
James’s doubtful expression changed to one of delight. “We can send him a letter?”
“Yes, you can.” Gertie smiled at them both. “Both of you. It might help to keep you out of mischief. Write them and I’ll post them for you.”
James looked suspicious. “Do you know his address?”
“Course I do, silly. Everyone knows Father Christmas lives at the North Pole.”
“P’raps the elf can take them to him,” Lillian said.
James gave her a hefty nudge. “You’ve been dreaming again, silly Lilly.”
Lillian pouted. “Don’t call me that.”
James jumped off the bed and started marching around the room chanting, “Silly Lilly, silly Lilly.”
Gertie reached out and cuffed his ear. “Stop that. Go and write your letter.”
James rubbed his ear. “We don’t have any paper.”
“I’ll get you some.”
The welcome tap on the door came at last and Gertie hurried to open it. Daisy seemed half asleep as she wandered into the room. She mumbled something Gertie couldn’t hear and flopped down on the bed.
“What’s the matter with you? Not ill are you?” Gertie peered at her nanny in dismay. That’s all she needed was for her twins to be ill over Christmas.
Daisy shook her head. “Just tired. I didn’t get to sleep until late.”
Guilt washed over Gertie. “Sorry, that was my fault. I’ll be here tonight so you can go to bed early.”
Daisy nodded, and yawned.
“By the way, before I go, there’s something I need to ask you.” Gertie glanced at the twins, but they were already arguing over who was going to write what to Father Christmas and weren’t paying attention to anyone else.
Daisy looked up with heavy-lidded eyes. “What is it?”
“Did Lillian get into my wardrobe last night?”
Daisy stared at the wardrobe as if she expected it to answer for her.
“Get into it?”
Gertie sighed. “Was she dressing up in my clothes?”
“Oh! No, she wasn’t. She never went anywhere near the wardrobe.”
“What about my dresser?”
Daisy shook her head. “I didn’t see her touch any of your things. She was playing with James and then I read them a story and then they went to bed.”
Gertie was beginning to get a nasty feeling in the pit of her stomach. “You were here the whole time I was gone?”
Daisy tossed her head. “Of course I was. That’s what you pay me for, isn’t it. I wouldn’t leave them alone, anyway. You know that.”
Yes, she did know that. That’s what worried her. If Lillian hadn’t been in her wardrobe shoving her clothes around, then who had? And why?
While she waited at her desk for Mrs. Chubb to answer her summons, Cecily mulled over the information Gertie had given her the day before. Someone must have overheard the housemaid threatening Ian, and reported it to the constable.
Who would do that? Surely not one of the staff? Gertie was blunt and spoke her mind, but everyone liked her as far as Cecily knew. So who would deliberately throw suspicion on her for murder?
Only one person came to mind. The real killer. Making Gertie look guilty would certainly help to keep the constable’s attention away from anyone else. Cecily leaned back in her chair. If she could find out who told Sam Northcott about Gertie’s argument, she just might have found the person responsible for Ian’s death.
Mrs. Chubb seemed out of breath when she entered the room a few minutes later. “Sorry it took me so long, m’m,” she said, as she plopped down on a chair. “I had to get me scones out of the oven before I could come up.”
“I’m sorry, Altheda.” Cecily leaned forward, her hands folded on her desk. “I know this is a busy time for you and I wouldn’t have brought you up here if it wasn’t vitally important.”
Mrs. Chubb looked unhappy. “Is this about Ian dying?”
“Yes, I’m afraid it is.”
Mrs. Chubb nodded. “I thought so. Gertie’s really worried about it. She says she’s going to be arrested for murdering Ian.” A shudder went through her body. “She doesn’t really mean that, does she, m’m?”
“Not if I can help it.” Cecily paused, measuring her words. “Mrs. Chubb, did you know Gertie had an argument with Ian the night he died?”
“Yes, m’m. I did.” The housekeeper’s forehead was creased with worry. “Gertie told me about it yesterday morning. That was before we heard that Ian had died.”
Cecily nodded. “You didn’t know about the argument until Gertie told you, then?”
“No, m’m. I didn’t. I was in the laundry room counting the sheets and pillowcases when all that was going on. By the time I got back to the kitchen, Ian was gone and Gertie was shaking like a lost lamb. I asked her what the matter was and she told me Ian was drunk and tried to come in, and then Clive came along and chased him off.”
