soon as she is free.”
Mabel ducked a curtsey. “Yes, m’m.” She turned to go, then paused as Cecily asked, “How are you settling in here, Mabel? Are Gertie and Mrs. Chubb taking care of you? I know this is a busy time, but I hope they are finding time to show you what you need to know.”
Mabel avoided her gaze, staring at the carpet instead. She was a rather plump young lady, with pale cheeks and gray eyes that for the most part seemed devoid of expression. Her fair hair was scraped back from her face, and her short stature made her look like a young schoolchild.
There was an air of deep sadness about her that for some reason made Cecily feel protective. Mabel had told her that her mother had died when she was a baby and she’d been brought up in London by her grandmother. Judging from her demeanor when she’d divulged this piece of information, Cecily gathered that the relationship was not a happy one.
Since Mabel seemed disinclined to answer, Cecily tried again. “Is anything wrong, Mabel? Is there something we can do for you?”
Mabel shook her head and muttered, “No thank you, m’m. Mrs. McBride is being really helpful and so is Mrs. Chubb.”
“Well, that’s good to hear.” Cecily smiled back. “Run along then, and don’t forget to tell Gertie I need a word with her.”
“Yes, m’m. I mean no, m’m. I won’t forget.” Looking as if she were desperate to escape, Mabel slipped from the room.
Cecily frowned, disturbed by the young woman’s obvious melancholy. She would have to talk to Mrs. Chubb about her, and see if there was something they could do to cheer up the new maid. She didn’t like to think that a member of her staff was unhappy with her job.
A few minutes later a thump on the door warned Cecily that Clive was about to enter. The big man seemed to fill the doorway as he stood waiting for her to speak.
“Come in, Clive, and close the door behind you.” She smiled, but her words must have struck a warning note, as he seemed wary when he sat down opposite her.
She wasted no time in coming to the point. “Michel tells me he bumped into you the night before last. I understand it was quite late.”
“Yes, m’m.” Clive looked down at the cap he held in his hands. “I was late leaving.”
“Very late. After nine o’clock, Michel said.”
“Yes, m’m.”
“Would you mind telling me what you were doing in the yard at that hour?”
“I was on my way home, m’m.”
Cecily frowned. “But your day ended at six. I don’t remember asking you to stay after that.”
“No, m’m. You didn’t. I… had a job to do and it took a lot longer than I thought it would.”
“I see.” She rested her hands in her lap. “What kind of job?”
He glanced up at her, then back down at his feet. “I… ah… was down in the wine cellar working on the water pipes.”
Worried now, she leaned forward. “Do we have a problem with the pipes?”
“Not anymore, m’m.”
She pressed her lips together. He gave her the distinct impression that he was avoiding the truth. She had to ask herself why, and she didn’t like any of the answers that presented themselves. “Gertie tells me you came to her aid that night, when Ian was pestering her.”
“Yes, m’m.”
“What happened exactly?”
Clive took his time thinking about that. After a long pause, he said slowly, “I was walking past the door and he was in the kitchen and I heard her yelling at him. I opened the door and she had a knife in his face. She was quite angry, and I was worried she might use the knife on him, so I hustled him out of there and out of the gate.”
“Just like that?”
Clive shuffled his feet. “He took a bit of persuading, m’m.”
“I imagine he did.”
“He came back later, though.”
Cecily straightened her back. “Ian came back after you threw him out?”
“Yes, m’m.” Clive hunched his shoulders and twisted his cap in his hands. After a significant pause, he blurted out “Gertie told me later that night that he’d come back. He wanted to see the twins, she said.”
“Did you escort him off the premises again?”
Again the odd pause before he muttered, “No, m’m. He wasn’t there when she told me that so he must have gone home.”
“I see.” Cecily leaned back in her chair. It seemed that Gertie had left out quite a lot of what had happened that evening. “Did Gertie happen to mention what time Ian left the second time?”
Clive thought about it. “Must have been about nine o’clock, or thereabouts.”
Nine o’clock. So Sam Northcott could have been right. Gertie might well have been the last person to see Ian alive. But then, how did the constable know that? Who was giving him all this information?
She gave Clive a stern look. “Have you been talking to P.C. Northcott about this?”
The maintenance man looked offended. “I have not, m’m. I haven’t spoken to the constable in quite some time.”
Remembering Northcott’s cryptic comment the day before, Cecily was tempted to ask Clive about his former association with the constable. Before she could do so, however, he supplied the answer.
“I haven’t spoken to him since he tried to arrest me for trespassing.”
“Trespassing?”
“Yes, m’m.” Clive shifted his feet. “It happened before I came to work here. I was doing odd jobs around town and I’d been hired to repair the roof of one of the cottages down by the harbor. The owners were visiting relatives while I worked on it and the constable came by to call on them. He saw me in the backyard and arrested me for trespassing.” He pursed his lips. “It took quite a while to sort everything out. He never did apologize for arresting me and hauling me off to the station. I haven’t spoken to him since. Except for when I bumped into him yesterday, that is.”
Cecily really hadn’t believed Clive to be the informant, but had felt compelled to ask. Someone had been very forthcoming with the constable, however, and she was becoming convinced that finding that person would lead her to the killer. “Thank you, Clive. That will be all.”
“Yes, m’m.” He stood, hesitating in front of her desk until she looked up at him. “Gertie didn’t kill Mr. Rossiter, m’m. I’d stake my life on it.”
With a heavy sigh, she nodded. “I hope you’re right, Clive. Right now, I don’t know what to think.”
“We’ll soon find out who did it, m’m. I can promise you that.”
She looked at him in alarm, worried that he’d start investigating on his own. She knew from experience how much trouble that could cause. “We should leave that to the police. Apart from the fact that it’s dangerous to meddle with murder, the constabulary won’t thank us for interfering in their business. Let them handle it, Clive.”
His expression portrayed clearly what he thought of the constabulary, and considering his false arrest, she could hardly blame him. She was relieved, however, when he gave her a brief nod. “I’ll get back to my work then, m’m.”
She watched him leave, feeling a deep sense of sympathy. Clive was an educated man, once a respected teacher in a London school. Unfortunately he’d taken to drinking and it had eventually cost him his career and his marriage. He’d taken steps to control his addiction, but he would never again be trusted to teach children.
Maintenance work was the only occupation he could find, and when she’d interviewed him, Cecily had sensed how very much he missed his vocation. She had appreciated the fact that he’d been honest about his past and had never regretted giving him the job. Though she often wondered how he could be happy doing menial work when he was capable of so much more.
Sighing, she opened her ledger again. She was no closer to finding out who killed Ian, or who had given the constable so much information. Time was ticking away, and unless she found out something soon, Sam Northcott
