A slight sound from across the yard brought her to a halt. The maids had been talking in the kitchen about the serial killer, making her sick with all the gory details of what he’d done to them poor girls.
Not that she thought a killer like that would bother to come all the way down to Badgers End, when he had so many girls to pick from in London. Still, you never know.
The sound came again. Shuffling feet, and some sort of swishing sound, as if someone was dragging something across the cold ground.
Gertie’s teeth started chattering, and she bit down hard to make them stop. If only she could see. Heavy clouds obscured the moon, however, and obliterated everything except the faint outline of buildings.
Gertie could barely see the coal shed. She never bothered to bring a lamp with her, because there was one hanging on a nail in the shed. With her hands holding two heavy coal scuttles, it was impossible to carry a lamp anyway.
The skin on the back of her neck tingled as the shuffling sound came closer. It was just around the side of the building now, and any second whoever it was would turn the corner and be right in front of her. Very slowly and quietly, Gertie began to back up.
She had gone no more than a few steps when her heel came down hard on a stone. Her shoe twisted sideways, wrenching her ankle. In an effort to prevent the sharp cry of pain, she slapped a hand over her mouth. Unfortunately, she had to let go of a scuttle to do so. It rolled away from her with a clattering and banging that would have awoken the dead.
At the same time, a male voice uttered a startled oath. “What the hell was that?”
Sheer relief gave Gertie the giggles as the coal scuttle finally came to rest against the wall with a resounding whack. “Sorry, Clive,” she said, between hiccups of laughter. “I thought you was the serial killer.”
Clive muttered something, but her giggles smothered his words. She didn’t know why she was laughing, considering what a miserable day she’d had. She just couldn’t seem to stop. Then she wasn’t laughing at all, but crying real tears that ran down her cheeks and onto her shawl.
Embarrassed, she turned away. She never cried. Not even when her mother died, or when she found out the father of her twins had somehow forgotten to mention he was married. She didn’t know why she was crying now. Angrily she dashed the unfamiliar tears away with the back of her hand.
“Here.”
Clive’s voice had softened. She squinted at him in the dark, seeing only his outline and unable to see his expression. She felt like a fool, furious with herself for acting like a baby in front of him.
Something cold touched her hand and she realized he was handing her the coal scuttle she’d dropped. She hadn’t even seen him pick it up. “Thank you, Clive.” She took it from him, holding it awkwardly by the edge instead of the handle.
“Are you all right?”
She nodded, then realizing he couldn’t see her, she said quickly, “I think I’m coming down with a cold.”
He didn’t answer right away. She was about to speak again when someone put a lamp in the kitchen window. The flickering light spread across the yard, and now she could see his face. He was smiling.
“Here,” he said again, and held up a white handkerchief. “You’ll need this.”
She managed a shaky grin. “Thanks. I generally use my sleeve.”
He took one of the scuttles from her and pushed the handkerchief into her hand. “This is better.”
He turned away and started walking toward the coal shed, and while his back was turned she quickly dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose. She thought about giving him back the handkerchief, then decided it would be better if she washed it first. Tucking it into her sleeve, she followed him over to the coal shed.
“I’ll light the lamp for you,” he said, as she unlocked the door.
She waited while he struck a match, the flame flaring up in his face. Funny, she never really noticed before, but he had a really nice face. Not good looking, like Dan, but a kind face, sort of square and dependable. The kind of man who would take care of his family.
She wondered why he didn’t have a wife. Or perhaps he did somewhere. A wife and children, waiting for him to come home to them. No, Clive wasn’t the kind of man who would just go off and leave them. Either he wasn’t married, or something must have happened to them.
She realized then how little she knew about the big man. He’d been a good friend to her, protecting her when she’d needed it, always looking out for her and the twins, yet she knew nothing about him. Nothing at all. She made up her mind there and then that when she had more time, she’d make it her business to talk to him and find out more about his life.
The light from the oil lamp swung across her face and she jumped. A shovel leaned against the wall nearby and she snatched it up. “Thanks. I can manage now.”
“Give me that.” He took the shovel from her and started piling the gleaming black lumps of coal into the scuttle.
She appreciated his help, yet felt awkward just standing there. Moving deeper into the shed, she looked around for another shovel.
That’s when she saw it. A black shoe, lying in the middle of the coal pile.
Her strangled gasp brought Clive’s head up. “What’s the matter? Spider? Rat?”
“No, a shoe.” Her finger trembled when she pointed at it. “Look. Over there.”
Clive straightened his back. “What the heck is it doing there?”
He started to move forward, but Gertie thrust out a hand to grab his arm. “Don’t! Don’t touch it!” Her stomach heaved, and she slapped the other hand over her mouth.
Clive frowned. “It’s just a shoe, Gertie.”
Her throat felt so tight she had to force the words out. “The last time I saw a shoe like that,” she said, her voice so hoarse she hardly recognized it herself, “there was a bloody foot in it.”
Clive’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”
Gertie swallowed. “It’s true. One of our maids had been murdered and the killer flung her body into the shed out by the tennis courts. I was the one what found her, and that’s how I saw her first. Just one shoe.”
Clive reached for the lamp and swung it high above his head. The patent leather gleamed in the light. “Looks like one of your shoes.”
Gertie looked down at her feet. The toes of both her shoes poked out from under her skirt. “It’s not mine.”
“Then it must belong to one of the other maids.”
“If it does, we’ll soon find out. Mrs. Chubb makes us write our names in our shoes so we won’t get them mixed up.”
“Well, then, let’s find out who it belongs to.”
He started forward again, but Gertie grimly hung on to his arm. “It could be Ellie.”
For a moment she saw a flash of alarm in his eyes, then he quickly masked it. “It’s not Ellie, Gertie. It’s just a shoe. Not a dead body.”
She watched him hang the lamp on a hook on the wall. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to get the shoe so you can see for yourself there’s no foot inside it. Or anything else, unless a rat or a spider has decided to make it its home.”
Gertie shuddered. “I can’t look.” She closed her eyes, wincing as she heard Clive scrabbling up the coal pile, sending chunks of it sliding down to the floor.
He grunted, then more scrabbling, and his voice speaking almost in her ear. “Well, it’s not Ellie, that’s for sure. It is, however, her shoe.”
Feeling only slightly reassured, Gertie took the shoe from him and held it up to the lamp. “Oh, gawd. This is Ellie’s shoe all right.” She lowered it and stared at Clive. “So then, why would she leave it in here and walk out without it? Where the bloody hell is she?”
“Look at that. Disgusting behavior, I call it.” Baxter nudged his head at a spot across the ballroom by the doors.
Seated at the table opposite him, Cecily followed his gaze, and caught sight of Geoffrey and Caroline Danville sharing a chaste kiss under the kissing bough. “I’d hardly call it disgusting, dear. After all, they are newly married, and it was quite an inoffensive embrace.”
Baxter rolled his eyes. “Public displays of affection in an exclusive hotel ballroom? Where will all this lead, I’d
