Fortunately Samuel had not yet unharnessed the bay, and by the time Cecily had left instructions with Philip on what to tell Baxter, the carriage was waiting for her at the door.
Samuel seemed upset when she told him to take her to the police station. “We’ll never be back in time for supper,” he said, as once more she scrambled into the carriage. “Mr. Baxter will have my hide for this.”
“Piffle.” Cecily tied her scarf more securely under her chin. “We’ll be there and back before he even knows I’m gone.”
“I wouldn’t take a wager on it,” Samuel muttered. He closed the door and the carriage swayed as he climbed up on his seat.
Staring out the window, Cecily was relieved to see that the snow had stopped falling at last. With any luck, Baxter’s prediction would be realized, and the snow would have gone by the time the guests were due to arrive.
Except for Doris. She and Nigel would be arriving tomorrow, bringing little Essie with them. Cecily could hardly wait. She had yet to see Doris’s daughter. It hardly seemed any time at all had passed since the young woman was just a child herself.
Cecily smiled to herself as she remembered the frail little girl who had first arrived at the Pennyfoot.
Everyone had thought Doris was a little strange, since one day she would be struggling to lift things and jumping at every word spoken to her and the next day she would be belligerent and hauling heavy pans of water off the stove without any effort at all.
It was weeks before anyone realized there were actually two little girls sharing the same job-Doris and her twin sister, Daisy. Now Doris was married and living in London, and Daisy was still living at the Pennyfoot, taking care of Gertie’s twins. It would be good to see them together again.
Perhaps by then this nasty business would be over with, and Cecily would be free to enjoy her beloved guest.
P.C. Northcott was waiting for Cecily when she arrived at the constabulary, impatiently hovering on the doorstep when she stepped out of the carriage. He ushered her into the inner office, leaving Samuel to wait outside at the main desk.
Cecily could sense the constable’s agitation, which intensified her own anxiety. “For heaven’s sake, Sam. What is it? What has happened?”
Northcott picked up a sheet of paper from the desk and fanned himself with it before answering. “There’s been another murder. Out on Mackerbee’s pig farm. His wife found him in the barn.” Northcott swallowed. “He was stabbed to death with his own knife.”
Cecily sat down hard on the nearest chair. “Was he…? Did he…?”
“Yes, m’m.” Northcott ran a finger around his collar as if it were strangling him. “He’d lost a clump of his hair, and stuck to his forehead was a golden angel. It seems we have an honest-to-goodness real live serial killer in Badgers End.” She could see the fear in his eyes when he looked at her. “The Lord only knows where all this is going to end.”
“It will end with us capturing this fiend,” Cecily declared, with a lot more confidence than she felt. “Have you uncovered anything about this case that might be helpful?”
Northcott shook his head. “We searched the barn from top to bottom and found nothing at all. I’m completely baffled, Mrs. B. I don’t even know where to start looking.” He buried his face in his hands. “The missus is going to kill me if I have to stay here over Christmas because of all this.”
Cecily thought he had a lot more to worry about than missing a trip to visit relatives he didn’t like in the first place, but she held her tongue.
She had quite enough to worry about herself without fretting over Sam Northcott’s woes. She had another murder on her hands, and if word of it got back to London, there could well be a whole list of guests canceling for Christmas.
“Have you reported this to the inspector yet?” she asked, as the constable continued to mumble to himself.
Northcott shot up his chin. “No, I haven’t. I was sort of hoping we could solve this case without bothering the inspector. He’s got a lot on his plate right now.”
Cecily knew quite well that Northcott was worried the inspector would come down hard on him for not solving the case sooner. “Well, perhaps we could keep this latest murder quiet for a little while? It might give us a little more time to sort all this out, don’t you think?”
Northcott’s frown cleared. “I do, indeed, Mrs. Baxter, and I have the utmost faith in your deductive talents. I feel quite sure that given enough time, so to speak, you will unravel this puzzle and find the monster that’s doing this. Just one thing.” He wagged a finger at her. “I trust that when the time comes, you will not take matters into your own hands and attempt to apprehend the criminal.”
Cecily smiled. “Rest assured, Sam, I shall call upon your assistance, should I identify our killer.”
“Good. Then I shall continue to investigate as usual, and I hope between us we can come up with some answers. And soon.”
Cecily rose, gathering up her scarf. “I certainly hope so.”
Northcott scrambled to open the door for her. “One last thing. If word got back to the inspector that I had asked you to… ah… assist in this case-”
Cecily silenced him with a raised hand. “As I said, Sam, I try to avoid the inspector as much as possible. He will never know.”
“Thank you, m’m. Much obliged, I’m sure.”
“You can thank me when we have the killer safely locked up in prison.” She left him standing there and hurried across the lobby to the door.
Samuel was already waiting for her, one hand on the handle ready to open it.
The cold wind took her breath away as she stepped outside. Twilight had crept in while she was talking to the constable, and the lamplighter was making his way down the High Street, his long pole reaching up to set the lamps aglow.
Housewives hurried along the pavements, their bulging shopping bags swinging at their sides. It was almost closing time, and Baxter would most likely be chomping at the bit by now, wondering where she had gone.
“Tomorrow,” she told Samuel, “we will visit the Mackerbee farm, and on the way back we will call on Caroline Blanchard again.”
Samuel’s face split into a grin. “Yes, m’m. I’ll be more than happy to take you there.”
Cecily had no doubt of that, and once more her thoughts flew to Pansy. For the sake of the young girl, she hoped that Samuel’s interest in the seamstress was just a passing fancy. For if not, her young housemaid was in for a disappointing Christmas.
Doris arrived late the next morning, having caught the early train from London. Gertie happened to be passing through the foyer when Doris walked through the door, followed by a tall, thin-faced man sporting a luxuriant mustache and a young woman who carried a wiggling child in her arms.
The minute she spotted her friend, Gertie rushed over to welcome her. “Doris! You look bleeding gorgeous. Is that real fur?” She touched the fluffy collar with her fingers. “I’ve always wanted a coat with a fur collar.”
Doris laughed. “It’s so good to see you, Gertie.” She turned to the nanny and held out her arms. “Give her to me, Adelaide. She needs to meet her Auntie Gertie.” Taking the child from her, she added, “This is my husband, Nigel, Gertie. Nigel, meet Gertie Brown McBride. The most efficient chief housemaid in England.”
“Go on with you.” Gertie felt her cheeks growing red as she dropped a quick curtsey to Doris’s husband.
He smiled at her, and Gertie could see why Doris had fallen for him. He was a handsome devil, with kind eyes and a gentle mouth.
“This is Essie.” Doris turned the little girl to face Gertie, but the child ducked her head and refused to look at her. “She’s going through a shy stage,” Doris said, hugging her daughter.
“She’s beautiful.” Gertie glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner of the lobby. “I have to scram right now, but I’ll see you later.” She turned to Philip, who was watching them with a somewhat jaded expression on his craggy face. “Take care of the Lansfields, Philip. They’re very special guests.”
“My pleasure,” Philip murmured as he opened the register.
Gertie was almost at the bottom of the stairs when the front doors opened and Phoebe Fortescue swept in,
