Could she have misjudged her maintenance man? Was he, after all, capable of striking a man in anger, hard enough to kill him? If she questioned him would he perhaps lose control of his temper and attack her?
Wishing she had the answers to those worrisome questions, Cecily folded her hands on her desk and took a deep breath. If she was to get to the bottom of Ian’s murder and determine who was responsible, then she would have to take some chances. She could only hope she hadn’t underestimated the enemy.
CHAPTER 17
“I wanted to talk to you again about the night Ian was killed,” Cecily began, having decided that straight to the point was the best strategy.
Clive nodded. “I thought as much.”
“You told me that you spent the evening down in the wine cellar.”
“Yes, I did.”
She wasn’t sure if that meant he was saying he did spend the evening in the wine cellar, or that he did tell her he had. She tried again. “Gertie went down there that evening to bring up some wine.”
His gaze was steady on her face. “I see.”
“You weren’t in the wine cellar that night, were you, Clive.”
“No, m’m. I wasn’t.”
She could feel her heart beginning to pound even harder. “I have to ask you where you were, Clive.”
He stared at her for a long moment, then dropped his gaze. “I’d rather not tell you, m’m.”
“There are a lot of things you haven’t told me about that night.”
“Yes, m’m.”
“Gertie told me about locking Ian in the coal shed.”
He looked up again, and once more his gaze was steady on her face. “Yes, m’m.”
“Would you like to tell me your own version of what happened?”
He thought for a moment, then in a slow, deliberate voice, started talking. “Well, as I said before, I showed Ian the door-or to be more accurate, the gate, earlier that night. I was about to leave to go home later on when I heard voices raised in anger.”
She leaned forward. “Where were you exactly when you heard these voices?”
He dropped his gaze again. “I was walking across the bowling greens, m’m.”
“That late at night? In the rain?” She narrowed her gaze. “What were you doing out there?”
He sat staring at the floor for a long, tense moment, then muttered, “I’d rather not say.”
Cecily clasped her hands in front of her. “Clive, I want very much to help you. I can’t do that if you insist on keeping things from me.”
He looked up, his eyes pleading with her. “It’s a secret, m’m. A Christmas present. I want it to be a surprise.”
For a moment Cecily could only stare back at him. His answer had been so utterly unexpected and mundane she would have burst out laughing if the situation hadn’t been so grave.
“It’s got nothing to do with Ian’s death,” Clive added, and placed a hand over his heart. “I swear on my honor.”
At a loss for words, Cecily leaned back in her chair. Could she believe him? He’d sounded so sincere, yet she knew enough not to trust a seemingly innocent voice.
On the other hand, if he was telling the truth, and she very much wanted to believe he was, she would lose his respect by doubting him now. “Very well, Clive.” She managed a faint smile. “Please go on with what you were saying. You heard someone arguing?”
Clive nodded. “I guessed it was Gertie in trouble again so I ran to the kitchen. By the time I got there, she was alone, but she told me Ian had come back and that he was drunk and she’d locked him in the coal shed.”
“Yes, that’s what she told me.”
“Well, she gave me the key and asked me to let him out and make sure that he left. I went back to the shed, but the window was open. He must have climbed up somehow, opened the window, and got out, because he was gone when I opened the door.”
“So you took the key back to the kitchen.”
“Yes, m’m. Gertie wasn’t there, and I waited a while but she didn’t come back, so I left. I saw Michel as I was crossing the yard. I knew he was coming back to take out his plum puddings. I could smell them when I was in the kitchen.”
Cecily was silent for a moment, turning over his words in her mind. He’d more or less repeated what Gertie had told her, yet his secrecy about what he was doing bothered her. A Christmas present. It was an easy enough excuse to think up, and covered a lot of ground.
There didn’t seem to be anything else she could ask him that would be useful. Still troubled, she got to her feet. “Well, thank you, Clive. That will be all for now.”
“Yes, m’m.” He leapt to his feet, anxiety written all over his face. “I didn’t kill Ian Rossiter, m’m. I swear it.”
“All right, Clive.” She watched him leave, still wondering how much she could trust him. He hadn’t worked for her as long as most of her staff, but she had come to rely on him a great deal, to help keep the Pennyfoot running smoothly. Not only that, she had grown fond of him. She considered all of her permanent staff a surrogate family, and Clive was no exception.
She hoped, with all her heart, that he hadn’t lost his temper that night and dealt Ian Rossiter a death blow.
Gertie hovered in the doorway of the dining room, disgusted to see that most of the tables were still occupied. She had been in a fever of impatience all through the midday meal, wondering if the guests were ever going to stop talking and get on with the eating.
Pansy and Mabel stood over by the dumbwaiter, whispering together about something. Gertie paid little attention to them. Her stomach was tied up in knots just thinking about the questions she needed to ask Dan, and what his answers might be.
She’d know if he wasn’t telling her the truth this time. What she didn’t know was what she’d do if she did catch him lying. How could she believe that her Dan, the man she loved with all her heart, had tried to make her look as if she was a murderer?
One thing she did know, if he’d been the one to kill Ian, she wasn’t going to take the blame for it. Her babies needed her, and she wasn’t going to prison for something she didn’t do. She’d turn him in herself if she had to, no matter how much it hurt.
That would be the hard part, turning him in to the bobbies. She didn’t know if she could do that, neither. Swamped in misery, she dug her hands into the pockets of her apron. It was so hard for her to believe that Dan was capable of hurting anyone.
Her Dan-the bloke who crept into the orphanage on Christmas Eve to leave presents for the children, and never let on to anyone he was the one what done it. Dan, who played with James and Lillian and gave them rides on his back.
Gertie cleared her throat. The twins would be shattered if Dan had to go to prison. They’d miss him something terrible, and so would she. Closing her eyes, she sent up a brief prayer.
Someone brushed past her, and she snapped her eyes open again. The guests were leaving the dining room at last. Now she could get on with clearing the tables, and then get down to the kitchen. The sooner she got done with her chores, the sooner she could get things settled with Dan. One way or another.
It seemed to take forever to get the tables cleared. Gertie could hardly control her temper as Mabel dawdled about, and even Pansy, usually so quick and light on her feet, trudged back and forth as if she was carrying a sack of coal on her shoulders.
“What’s the blinking matter with you?” Gertie demanded, when Pansy, after loading an armful of dishes into the
