Apparently realizing they had gone far enough, the girls fell silent once more, and dutifully began pulling on costumes and wigs.
Trembling with suppressed fury, Phoebe fought for composure. “Dora, where are your ballet shoes?”
Dora looked down at her feet as if amazed to see they were bare. “I can’t find them, Mrs. Fortescue.”
“Then you will have to dance in bare feet.” Phoebe stalked over to another of her dancers and began tugging at her costume. “For heaven’s sake, Martha, pull this bodice up higher before you’re arrested for indecent behavior.”
Behind her, she heard Isabelle’s low voice. “He asked me out, you know.”
Dora answered in the same low tones. “Who did?”
“That Sid Barrett. He’s going to take me to the George for a gin and tonic after the show.”
“Oh, that one. He’s nothing but a saucy rake.” Dora tossed her curls so they bounced on top of her head. “He asks all the girls to go out with him. I wouldn’t trust that one for the life of me.”
Isabelle sounded sulky. “I didn’t say as I was going, did I.”
Phoebe whirled around. “I thought I said no sound.”
Both girls gave her mutinous stares. “We were just-” Isabelle began, but Phoebe stopped her with a sharp raise of her hand.
“I said no sound. Or would you like someone else to play the prince?” She glanced across the room. “Martha, for instance. She knows the part.”
Isabelle clamped her lips shut.
“We should have a man play the part of the prince, anyhow,” Dora said.
“Yeah,” someone else said. “Like Sid Barrett.”
Laughter rippled around the room. “He’d make a handsome prince,” Dora murmured.
“The prince is always a woman in a pantomime,” Phoebe said stiffly. “You all know that very well.” She paused, one hand to her ear. “Listen! That’s the orchestra playing the introduction. We have five minutes to take our places. Ladies-
To her immense satisfaction, the girls jumped into action. For a frantic moment or two they scrambled here and there tugging and pulling on their costumes, and then, at last, they were ready and dashing out the door.
Phoebe waited until the last one left, then followed at a slower pace. She felt exhausted, and the show had yet to begin. This was her last pantomime. There was no doubt in her mind.
Out in the audience, Cecily sat in the first row, her husband on her left and Madeline on her right. Peering around her friend to where Kevin sat next to her, Cecily said quietly, “I have something of importance to discuss with you later.”
Kevin nodded, and Madeline gave her a curious look. “Something’s happened?”
“Yes, but I promised Baxter I wouldn’t talk about it until after the show.” Cecily studied the program. “I think this is the first time Phoebe has done Cinderella.”
“Well, that should give her plenty of opportunities for mistakes, then.” Madeline settled herself more comfortably on her chair. She wore a pale blue gown with simple lines and without any adornment. On anyone else it would have looked plain and uninteresting. On Madeline it looked elegant and sophisticated. Silver sandals peeked out from under her skirt, and she had bound her hair with silver tinsel-a decidedly Christmas touch that no one else would have dared to try.
Cecily did her best to enjoy the pantomime, in spite of the tension that kept her shoulders rigid throughout. She wasn’t quite sure if it was worry about the murder or the anticipation of disaster on the stage that kept her so on edge.
For the most part, the show went quite smoothly by Phoebe’s standards. Cinderella had trouble remembering her lines, and had to be prompted from the wings by the obviously irate and painfully audible director, and both Cinderella and the prince dissolved into giggles during what was supposed to be a romantic scene at the end, once more incurring the wrath of the long-suffering Phoebe.
The appearance of acrobats leaping across the stage during the finale drew surprised murmurs from the audience, however, especially since it was obvious they came as a surprise to the rest of the cast, who had to scramble to get out of their way.
As the five lithe young men balanced on each other’s shoulders, Baxter leaned toward her and whispered loudly, “What the devil are they supposed to be?”
At a loss, Cecily raised her shoulders in a gesture of bewilderment. She vaguely remembered Phoebe mentioning something about acrobats, but had assumed they would be part of the show, not simply added on at the end.
“Probably had them there to take over when those worthless dancers of hers messed everything up,” Baxter observed, as the curtains drew to a close amidst polite applause.
The curtains drew back again to allow the cast to take a bow, just in time to see Cinderella slap one of the acrobats across his face.
The audience rocked with laughter, and this time thunderous applause shook the rafters. Phoebe appeared on stage, red-faced and murmuring apologies, but by then her audience was scrambling to get out of their chairs and back to the dining room, where late-night snacks were being served.
“It was too much to hope that Phoebe would manage to get through an entire presentation without some kind of disaster,” Madeline murmured as she accompanied Cecily to the door.
Following behind her, Baxter grunted. “That woman should be locked up. She’s a menace to society.”
“Well, at least they haven’t hurt anyone.” Cecily looked back at her husband and smiled. “That’s the main concern.”
“Only by a miracle.” Baxter stepped in front of her and held the door open for her.
Madeline laughed. “Like the time one of her dancers in the Scottish sword dance sent a sword flying off the stage.”
Baxter rolled his eyes. “Or when she lost the performing python.”
“Or when the magician couldn’t bring his assistant back into the magic box.”
“Oh, be quiet, you two.” Cecily stepped out into the hall, where small groups of people wandered toward the dining room. “You know quite well that our guests love to see Phoebe’s fiascos. I think they would be quite disappointed if she managed a perfect performance.”
Kevin joined them at that moment, looking anxious. “What is it you wanted to tell me? Has it got anything to do with the murder?”
Cecily sent a quick glance over her shoulder, but now they were alone in the corridor. “We have found the murder weapon,” she said quietly. “It’s in my suite.”
Kevin’s eyes opened wide. “Where was it found?”
Cecily hesitated, hating to implicate Gertie if it wasn’t necessary. Before she could speak, however, Baxter answered for her.
“Gertie McBride’s twins found it under her bed. She believes that someone put it there to make it appear that she killed Ian Rossiter.”
Madeline drew a sharp breath, while Kevin looked worried. “If that is so, that means the killer is still here in the Pennyfoot.”
“Precisely.” Cecily glanced at her husband. “We have to find him before something else awful happens.”
Baxter raised an eyebrow. “How, may I ask, do you intend to do that?”
“I don’t know.” Cecily raised her hands in a helpless gesture. “I have suspicions, but nothing tangible. It’s all circumstantial.” She looked at Madeline. “I don’t suppose you could help?”
Madeline shot a guilty look at Kevin. “Well, I-”
“If you’re suggesting,” Kevin said coldly, “that my wife use her so-called psychic powers to help you solve this unfortunate murder, then I must strenuously object. We have an agreement, which I must ask her to uphold, and, which I sincerely trust she will honor.”
A flash of rebellion crossed Madeline’s face, then vanished. “Of course,” she murmured, but her eyes sought Cecily’s with a significant message. “I’m so sorry, Cecily.”
“Not at all. I completely understand.” Cecily smiled up at Kevin. “We shall simply have to use the tried-and-true methods of investigation.”
