about that.”
She felt an uneasy thump of her heart. “I hope it’s not bad news?”
“That depends on how you look at it.”
“Look at what?”
“Well, my dear, I think you should know that-” He broke off as a loud rapping on the door interrupted him. “Blast it! Are we ever going to have any peace in this place?”
“I’m sorry, dear. I won’t be a moment.” Feeling flustered, Cecily crossed the room and opened the door. Pansy stood outside, her forehead scrunched up in a worried frown. “I’m sorry to disturb you, m’m, but I’m worried about the gentleman in room nine.”
Cecily thought hard for a moment, then nodded. “Oh, yes, Mr. Mortimer. Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know, m’m. He’s not answering his door. I went to fetch his tray that I took up two hours ago and it’s not outside in the hallway like he usually puts it, and I knocked and knocked on his door but he’s not answering.” She swallowed. “Not even to tell me to go away.”
“He’s probably gone out for a walk.”
“Then why didn’t he leave his tray outside like he always does?”
“Perhaps he forgot.”
Pansy looked unconvinced. “I don’t know, m’m. He’s mentioned before that he wasn’t feeling well. I just got a feeling that something’s wrong. I would ask Mrs. Chubb, but she’s resting in her room and gets really cross if I disturb her. Perhaps if you could come and knock on his door…?”
Cecily sighed, and glanced back at her husband. “I won’t be a moment, dear. I have to go downstairs to enquire after Mr. Mortimer.”
“Quite all right, my love. I have to take care of some business myself. We’ll talk later.” He got up from his chair, crossed the room, and followed her out the door.
Reluctant to see him go, Cecily led Pansy down the hallway to the stairs. She would not rest now until she’d heard what Baxter had to say about what had been troubling him so. He had aroused her curiosity, and not without a certain amount of alarm. She knew him well enough to know that this was no frivolous matter he wished to discuss.
She couldn’t imagine what it was, but she had a nasty feeling that it concerned her, and could possibly affect her life in some way. But there was one thing she would not do, no matter what it was he had to tell her. She would not give up her position at the Pennyfoot Country Club. Somehow he would have to understand and accept that. Deeply troubled, she walked down the stairs and along the landing to room nine.
After smacking the door with her knuckles several times and receiving no answer, Cecily told her maid to fetch the master keys. Fitting one into the lock, she turned it and carefully opened the door.
Pansy stood shivering outside while Cecily edged into the room. It was in total darkness, the curtains drawn against the fading daylight. She could see nothing except the faint outline of the window.
Wishing she’d bought a lamp with her, Cecily coughed. “Mr. Mortimer? Are you there?”
She jumped violently when a harsh voice answered her from the direction of the bed. “What the blazes…? Who are you? What the hell do you want?”
Cecily backed away, bumping into the door and sending it closed shut. Frantically seeking the door handle in the dark, she muttered, “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Mortimer. My maid could get no answer and we thought you might be indisposed.”
“For heaven’s sake, woman, I’m taking a blasted nap! Why on earth do you give me a room with a lock if you’re just going to barge in here whenever you feel like it? Surely I’m entitled to a little privacy?”
Cecily went on fumbling for the door handle. “Of course, sir. Please accept my sincere apologies. It’s just that you didn’t answer your door and your tray is not outside in the hallway and-”
The irate voice interrupted her. “I didn’t hear anyone at the door. I was asleep. My tray is still here because there’s still food on it. Now, is there anything else you’d like to know?”
At long last her fingers closed around the handle. Pulling open the door, she backed outside, still muttering apologies, then closed the door with a loud snap.
Pansy stood with her head down, her hands clasped in front of her. “I’m sorry, m’m. Really I am. I was worried about him, that’s all.”
Cecily let out her breath on a puff of exasperation. “It’s quite all right, Pansy. You were showing concern for a guest and that’s commendable. Mr. Mortimer is a rather unpleasant man who could use a lesson in manners. Just do your best with him and try not to let him upset you.”
She had raised her voice deliberately in the hopes that the man inside would hear her. There was no doubt in her mind that Mr. Mortimer had deliberately refused to answer their frantic assault on his door. Drat the man. As if she didn’t have enough problems.
Pansy dropped a curtsey, and sent an apprehensive glance at the door of room nine. “Yes, m’m. Thank you, m’m. I’ll be getting back to the kitchen now.”
“Please do. Oh, and tell Mrs. Chubb we need all those coal scuttles filled to the brim. It looks as if we’ll have a cold night.”
“Yes, m’m.” Pansy turned and ran for the stairs, disappearing down them at a speed that Cecily envied. Once she’d been able to run that fast. It seemed a century ago. Things had seemed so much simpler then.
Now she had so much more to contend with-rude, disgruntled guests, a husband with a troubling secret, not to mention a missing maid and a murder to solve. To echo Baxter’s sentiments, were they ever going to have any real peace again?
CHAPTER 7
“Gertie!” Mrs. Chubb’s voice rang out across the kitchen.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m bloody putting the dishes away,” Gertie yelled back. “What do you think I’m doing?” She smacked the last dish down on the shelf and slammed the cupboard door.
“What’s got your hackles up?” The housekeeper sounded cross as she marched out of the pantry, closing the door behind her.
“Nothing.” Gertie seized the tray of silverware and started sorting out knives, forks, and spoons, slotting them into their compartments in the dresser.
“Well, something’s up. You’re not usually this disagreeable to me.”
“Sorry.” Gertie scowled as a knife slipped from her hand and fell to the floor. “Bloody hell. Now I’ll have to wash the flipping thing all over again.”
Mrs. Chubb walked over to her and took the knife from her fingers. “I’ll wash it. The coal buckets need filling. Why don’t you go and fill them. The fresh air will do you good.”
Gertie thought about arguing, then shut her mouth. Anything she said right now was going to come out wrong anyway.
Grumbling to herself, she picked up the coal scuttles and slammed out of the kitchen into the dark, chilly yard. This was the crowning insult on a horrible day.
She’d had a terrible row with Dan, bad enough that she didn’t know if she’d ever see him again. He’d accused her of tormenting him, when all she’d done was go with him to his cottage and let him kiss her.
It wasn’t enough for him, though, was it? Oh, no. He had to go and spoil everything by trying to get more and got really nasty when she’d shoved him away.
Tromping across the yard, she swung both coal scuttles so hard they almost came off their handles. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t get all upset again remembering all the nasty things he’d said. He was upset, and didn’t mean them. She knew that.
He’d come around tomorrow and tell her how sorry he was and promise it wouldn’t happen again. He’d done it before.
Only he’d broken his promise, and how did she know he wouldn’t break it again? How could she trust him when he couldn’t keep his hands to himself?
