Mrs. Chubb swung around, her mouth dropping open as Pansy burst through the door, while Michel smacked a saucepan down with a muttered, “Sacre bleu!”
“It’s him,” Pansy said, panting. “Here, look!” She held out the note in shaking fingers. “Look at this. I told you that horrible man in room nine is the Mayfair Murderer! Look! I was right!”
“I think I should have Mr. Docker and his men come back to inspect the rest of the roof,” Cecily announced.
Baxter, seated on his favorite chair in their suite, looked up from his newspaper. “I thought they had finished the repairs.”
“On that section, yes.” Cecily took a dainty sip from her glass of sherry and put down the glass. “But I thought I saw a stain on the ceiling above the attic stairs, and I would like the roofers to look at it before it gets to be a bigger problem. Then it would cost twice as much for repairs.”
“Whatever you say, dear.”
“I’ll ring for them first thing in the morning.” She picked up the book lying next to her and opened it at her bookmark.
“Wouldn’t it be better to wait until after Christmas?”
She looked up again to find Baxter staring at her over the top of his newspaper. “I beg your pardon, dear?”
“I said, it might be better to wait until after the guests go home. We have so much going on, what with the pantomime tomorrow, and the carol singing in the library Christmas Eve, not to mention Christmas Day and the hunt on Boxing Day.”
“Yes, we do.” She smiled at him. “But a leaky roof can cause all sorts of problems, and I’d like to be sure that we won’t have to worry about rain-soaked beds while our guests are sleeping in them.”
“And this wouldn’t have anything to do with the unfortunate deaths of our servants, I suppose?”
Cecily opened her eyes wide. “Goodness! Whatever gave you that idea?”
Baxter grunted, but just then a light tap on the door turned his head. “Good Lord, what now?”
“Probably someone come to collect our trays.” She raised her voice to call out, “Come in!”
The door opened, and much to Cecily’s surprise, Mrs. Chubb poked her head around the door.
“Sorry to disturb you, m’m. May I have a quick word with you?”
“Oh, do come in,” Baxter said, rattling his newspaper. “There’s a dreadful draft coming through the door.”
The housekeeper hastily stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Moving forward, she fished a stained and creased sheet of paper out of her apron pocket. “I thought you might want to see this, m’m.”
Cecily took it from her and peered at it. Holding it farther away from her eyes, she read the words out loud. “Hide dagger in drawer by bed and wait until victim is asleep. Stab in neck, then leave by window.”
“Good Lord!” Baxter put down his newspaper and stared at the housekeeper. Leaning forward, he took the note from his wife’s fingers. “Where did you get this?”
“Pansy found it, sir. In the mashed potatoes. That’s why it’s a bit messy.”
Cecily raised her eyebrows, while Baxter frowned. “In the mashed potatoes? What the devil does that mean?”
“It was on Mr. Mortimer’s dinner plate, sir.”
Cecily caught her breath. “In room nine?”
“Yes, m’m.” Mrs. Chubb wiped her brow with the back of her sleeve. “Pansy went up to fetch his tray and this was on it. I thought you should see it right away.”
“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Chubb. We will take care of this. Try not to worry and please don’t alarm the staff. It could mean nothing at all.”
“Yes, m’m.” The housekeeper moved to the door, then paused. “Pansy thinks he’s the Mayfair Murderer, m’m.”
Cecily tried to ignore the little thump of fear under her ribs. “I doubt that very much, Mrs. Chubb. Please tell Pansy not to mention this to another soul.”
“I will, m’m, though Gertie overheard her, as did two of the maids. And Michel.”
“Oh, dear. Well, do try to keep it among yourselves.” Cecily waited until the door closed behind her housekeeper before turning to Baxter. “What do you think?”
Baxter stared at the note, turning it this way and that as if hoping to see something different in the menacing words. “I don’t know what to think. Mortimer is a strange old chap, but he doesn’t strike me as particularly dangerous.”
“Me, neither.” Cecily gazed uneasily at the note in her husband’s hands. “Then again, I have been acquainted with enough murderers to know that appearances can be deceiving.”
“Indubitably.” Baxter shook his head. “I suppose we should pass this along to the inspector.”
“Not yet.” Cecily pulled the note from his hands and folded it up. “It could all be quite innocent, and if so, Mr. Mortimer could be embarrassed by some unwarranted attention from the constabulary. I should hate to put one of our esteemed guests through that, only to find out he is perfectly innocent. It would not look well for our reputation.”
Baxter sighed. “How did I know you were going to say that? Now, I suppose, you are going to place yourself in dire peril in order to find out if Mortimer is indeed a serial killer. After all, who goes around scribbling reminders of how to do away with someone without being caught?”
“I admit, it does look rather troubling.” Cecily leaned forward and patted her husband’s hand. “I shall take great care not to confront Mr. Mortimer unless I’m certain he can do me no harm.”
“I don’t know how you can be certain of that,” Baxter muttered, as he picked up his newspaper again. “I can only hope that you know what you are doing and that Mortimer is harmless.”
Cecily couldn’t agree more.
CHAPTER 12
Cecily awoke early the next morning from a restless sleep, and climbed out of bed leaving Baxter snoring under the covers.
The coals in the fireplace were down to their last embers, and she used the tongs to transfer several small lumps from the coal scuttle to the fire, then gently stoked them until flames began to lick around them.
Drawing her dressing gown closer around her, she walked over to the window. Tiny flakes of snow were blowing about in the wind, but the ground was wet and the lawns still green, relieving her mind. The last thing she needed right now was a snowfall to hamper her efforts.
She dressed quickly, and Baxter had just begun to stir by the time she was ready to go down to her office. “I’ll meet you for breakfast in the dining room,” she told him, and hurried from the room before he could enquire about her haste.
Reaching her office she rang the operator and asked to be put through to Mick Docker. He seemed surprised to be hearing from her so early in the morning. When she told him she needed his services again, however, he seemed only too happy to oblige her.
She had barely finished entering invoices in her ledger when she heard the breakfast bell. Baxter was waiting for her when she entered the dining room. Seated at their customary corner table, he hid behind the daily newspaper as usual.
He lowered it when she greeted him, and rose to pull out her chair for her. Having seated her, he sat down again, his face a mask of apprehension.
Cecily removed her serviette from its silver ring and spread it on her lap. “Bad news?”
He didn’t answer her right away, and she felt a shiver of uneasiness. “Bax? What’s wrong?”
He tried to smile, but she could see his features were tight with tension. “I was just reading about that dratted Mayfair Murderer.”
“Oh? Have they caught him?” She felt a wave of reassurance. Until that moment she hadn’t realized she had actually considered the idea that Mr. Mortimer might be the villain for whom all of Scotland Yard was hunting.
