Gertie leaned toward her. “It was Ian.”
Pansy’s eyes widened. “Your Ian?”
“Yeah. They found him in the duck pond. Drowned.”
“How can he drown in the duck pond? It’s not deep enough.”
“I dunno. He just did. Hit his head or something.”
Pansy stared at her. “You don’t seem very upset.”
“I’m not.” Gertie turned her back on her and tugged the rope of the waiter to send a signal below. “And I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” She watched the dishes sink out of sight, trying not to envision Ian lying dead in the duck pond. She was done with him, once and for all. That was enough.
Cecily regarded the two men in front of her with a grave face. “I want to thank you both for your efforts this morning. I must ask you not to mention anything about this accident to anyone. The fewer people who know about this awful tragedy the better.”
Clive rolled his hat around in his big hands. “What about Gertie, m’m? Who’s going to tell her?”
“I’ve already told her, Clive. She took it…” Cecily paused, then added quietly, “… rather well, under the circumstances.”
“Yes, m’m. I should imagine she would.”
Samuel gave him a sharp look but said nothing.
“Very well, you can both return to your duties. Samuel, when Dr. Prestwick arrives, please show him where you… ah… laid the body. I’ll try to keep the constable occupied until the doctor has finished his examination.”
“Yes, m’m.” Samuel touched his forehead with his fingers and turned to leave.
“And please see that no one else goes near it.”
Samuel nodded and glanced once more at Clive with an odd expression Cecily couldn’t interpret. Then, without another word, he left.
Clive turned to leave as well, and Cecily spoke quickly. “Clive, I trust you won’t bother Gertie with this. She’s had a nasty shock and won’t want to discuss it anytime soon.”
“Don’t worry, m’m.” Clive paused at the door and looked back at her. “I wouldn’t want to upset her any more than she is already.”
Cecily smiled. “Thank you, Clive. I knew I could count on you.”
Looking sheepish, Clive dragged the door open and charged out into the hallway. Seconds later a loud bump followed by a muttered curse brought Baxter’s brows together.
“What the-?” He strode to the door and flung it open.
“You blithering idiot! Why don’t you look where you’re going!”
“Sorry, sir. Didn’t see you.” Clive’s voice echoed down the corridor outside, fading into the distance as he added, “I’ll watch out for you next time.”
“Blasted clumsy clod,” Northcott muttered, as he appeared in the doorway. “Knocked me ’elmet clean off, he did.”
Considering he should have removed his helmet the minute he entered the club, Cecily could find little reason to sympathize. “Do come in, Sam.” She nodded at Baxter, hoping he would interpret her meaningful look. “The doctor should have arrived by now, Baxter. Do be a dear and see if you can find him for me.”
Baxter glanced from her to the constable, who was busily brushing imaginary dust from his helmet. “Right you are,” he said, and gave her a slight nod that assured her he understood. Northcott had to be kept from interfering with the doctor until he had completed his examination.
He left the room, and Cecily waved a hand, indicating that the constable should sit.
He did so, still rubbing the narrow brim of his helmet. “Good job he didn’t put a dent in it,” he muttered. “Or he’d have to cough up for a new one.”
“Yes, quite.” Cecily leaned back in her chair and linked her fingers in her lap. “Thank you for coming so promptly, Sam. This is all very distressing.”
“Yes, it certainly is that.” The constable pulled a tattered notebook from one chest pocket, then a stubby pencil from the other. Opening the notebook, he put on his officious tone. “Now then, Mrs. Baxter. Let h’us start at the beginning. When was the deceased found and by whom?”
“Earlier this morning, by Mr. Russell.”
“Ah yes, the big baboon that barged into me just now.” He licked the point of his pencil, then started scribbling. “Never did like that man. Too secretive if you ask me.”
Cecily looked at him in surprise. “I didn’t know you had many dealings with Clive.”
The constable’s expression took on a mysterious air. “I’ve ’ad reason to discuss a certain matter with ’im in the past. Before he came to work for you, that is.”
Cecily’s natural curiosity begged to know what sort of matter, but good manners kept her from asking. “I see. Well, in any case, Clive is of the opinion that Ian had been drinking and wandered into the duck pond.”
“Where he decided to take a swim,” Northcott said, chuckling at his own humor.
Cecily raised her chin. “I fail to see any amusement in the situation, Constable. A man is dead. A man, I might add, who once worked for me and for whom I still hold fond memories.”
Northcott gave her a sly glance. “Quite right, Mrs. Baxter. My apologies. Though I have reason to believe he wasn’t quite so welcome the last time he came around here.”
Cecily sat up straight. As far as she knew, no one had mentioned to the police the incident that had taken place a year earlier, when Ian had insisted that since he was the twins’ father, Gertie should relinquish one of them to him.
When Gertie had adamantly refused, Ian had tried to take Lillian by force, and only Clive’s intervention had stopped him. Afer much discussion, and despite the urging of both Cecily and Mrs. Chubb, Gertie had decided not to involve the constabulary. She was afraid that Ian would wriggle out of it somehow, and become even more hostile toward her, making him even more dangerous. Or worse, that he might somehow prove that he had a right to be involved in the children’s lives-something she would not tolerate.
Staring at Sam Northcott, Cecily wondered how he’d found out about the situation. Avoiding answering the comment, she said instead, “I have no idea why he was here this time. We didn’t even know he was in Badgers End. The last we’d heard he had gone back to London, where, I believe, he still lives.”
“I would imagine he came to see his babies.” Northcott licked the point of his pencil and scribbled some more words in his notebook. “Been drinking, you say?”
“Clive smelled spirits on the body. We assume he had been heavily imbibing.”
The constable nodded. “Well, h’I suppose I’d better go and see for meself. Where is the body then? Still in the pond, I hope?”
Cecily felt a stab of guilt. “Actually no, it’s not. I didn’t want any of the guests wandering by and seeing such a distressing sight. I had Samuel and Clive move the body. Since it was an accident-”
“Yes, well, we don’t know that for certain, do we.” Northcott heaved himself out of the chair and tucked his notebook back in his pocket. “I wish you hadn’t moved the body, Mrs. Baxter. Deaths around here do ’ave a habit of turning out to be a matter for police investigation. I shall have to h’ascertain for myself that the death is accidental. For the record, you understand.”
“I’m sure that won’t be necessary.” Cecily rose from her chair. “Dr. Prestwick will fill out a report. Besides, aren’t you planning to leave for London shortly, for your annual Christmas visit to relatives there?”
Northcott beamed and nodded. “I am that, Mrs. Baxter. Nice that you remembered. I shall be leaving on the noon train tomorrow with my wife, so I shall have to close up this case right away.”
Cecily smiled. “Well, then, why don’t we let Dr. Prestwick take care of the details and you can attend to your records when you return in the New Year. I’m quite sure Mrs. Chubb will have some lovely mince pies and sausage rolls waiting for you in the kitchen.”
She waited while the constable pitted his lust for Mrs. Chubb’s baking against the need to follow proper procedure. After a moment or two he tucked his helmet under his arm and sighed. “You are quite right, Mrs. Baxter. It is Christmas, after all. I see no reason to h’attend immediately to the details. Wouldn’t do to go rushing to the wrong conclusions, now would it.”
His laughter sounded a little forced, but Cecily happily joined in. The last thing she needed was the constable poking around, asking questions, upsetting the guests, and generally disrupting everyone and everything, as he was
