rarely called her husband by his first name, and usually did so when she was annoyed with him.
Apparently acknowledging this, Baxter was immediately contrite. “I’m sorry, dearest. I shall make no more comments, I promise, until I’m in a better frame of mind.”
“That would be wise.” She pulled open a dresser drawer to retrieve a white lace-edged handkerchief. Tucking it into her sleeve, she murmured, “Perhaps we should join our guests for dinner. Maybe they can improve your disposition.”
She led him from the room, feeling a deep sense of foreboding. Something had greatly upset her husband. If it were indeed the picture of the slain girl that had generated such concern, then she shuddered to think what the poor woman had suffered at the hands of such a beast. In light of that, it was difficult to hold forbidding thoughts at bay.
Descending the gaily decorated staircase, she sent up a silent prayer that the Christmas curse be forever banished from the Pennyfoot Country Club. May this be the first year they could escape such tragedy and simply enjoy the happiest season of all.
Mrs. Chubb, the Pennyfoot’s industrious housekeeper, was in a particularly good mood. She had received news that her daughter was expecting an addition to the family, and she was already planning her summer visit.
Much as she loved living in the tiny village on England’s southeast coast, there were times when she missed her daughter dreadfully, and lived for the excuse to make the long journey north.
So it was that when Ellie, the new maid hired for the busy holidays, had alerted her that one of the ceilings on the top floor had sprouted a leak, soaking the bed beneath it, Mrs. Chubb had viewed the calamity with less concern than she might have done normally. After all, what was a wet bed compared to a new life on the way? She had simply rung the roofing company and demanded they start work that very afternoon.
Even when her chief housemaid, Gertie, charged into the kitchen with her usual lack of grace and decorum, cap askew and strands of dark hair flying, Mrs. Chubb resisted the temptation to scold her and made do with a loud sigh instead. “One of these days, Gertie, my girl, you’ll rush in here like that and do some real damage. Then you’ll be sorry, mark my words.”
Gertie grinned. “Sorry, Chubby. I was in a hurry. Pansy forgot to bring the shakers up to the dining room.” She rushed over to the dresser and grabbed up the tray of silver salt and pepper shakers. “She’ll forget her bloody head one day, that girl.”
“How many times do I have to tell you? Don’t call me Chubby.” The housekeeper wagged a finger at her unrepentant maid. “I don’t know what you and Pansy get up to in that dining room, but you were both supposed to be back here half an hour ago. Michel will be in any minute and you know he throws a fit if his potatoes aren’t peeled.”
Gertie wrinkled her nose. “Michel throws a bleeding fit over nothing. All that crashing and banging around gives me a headache. You’d think he was the king of England instead of a blinking chef. I don’t know why madam ever hired him. He’s nothing but a big baby with a bad temper.”
“Gertie Brown McBride!” Mrs. Chubb dug her fists into her ample hips. “Hold your tongue! Calling people such names, indeed.”
“All right, all right. Keep your bloomin’ hair on.” Gertie stomped over to the door with the tray. “I’ve got to get back to the dining room with the shakers, or we’ll never have the tables ready for the welcome banquet.”
Mrs. Chubb held up her hand. “Just a minute! As soon as you’ve finished up there, tell Pansy she’s to boil up some water for hot water bottles.”
Gertie raised her eyebrows. “We already aired all the beds.”
“Yes, well, one of them’s soaking wet, so we’re going to need hot water bottles and warming pans to get it dry.”
“Someone wet the bed? How could they? We haven’t had any guests until this afternoon.” Gertie widened her eyes. “It weren’t Mr. Baxter, was it?”
All of Mrs. Chubb’s patience evaporated. It was one thing to insult the chef, but to cast aspersions on madam’s husband was something she simply would not tolerate. Raising her voice, she barked, “No, it wasn’t Mr. Baxter! It was a leak in the roof. Get up there right now so you can both get back here and get that water boiled and the warming pans filled with coals.”
“All right, all right. I’m going.” Gertie bashed the door open with her knee and disappeared, though she could be heard muttering to herself all the way down the corridor.
Letting out her breath, Mrs. Chubb turned to Ellie, who had been cowering in the pantry throughout the exchange. “What are you doing in there? Come on out here. I need you to get the hot water bottles and warming pans from the laundry cupboard. Right this minute.”
Ellie scurried to the door and pushed it open. “Yes, Mrs. Chubb. Right away, Mrs. Chubb.”
The housekeeper watched the door swing to, behind her. If only Gertie and Pansy were half as obedient and respectful. This new maid was such a polite little thing. Maybe a bit too jumpy and nervous at times, but always willing to please. With that flaxen hair and blue eyes, at times she looked like a little angel.
Mrs. Chubb’s lips twitched. There was no possible way Gertie could ever look like an angel. Not only was she as dark haired and dark eyed as the devil, she had the build and constitution of a bull. And every bit as stubborn.
Still, she had to admit, the Pennyfoot would be a dull place without Gertie McBride and her runaway tongue. Not that working in the club was ever dull. Especially at Christmastime. Her stomach gave a little flip. No, not this year. This year there would be no nasty business. This year was going to be different. She’d bet her best bonnet on it.
CHAPTER 2
Upstairs in the dining room, Gertie dumped the tray of condiment sets onto a white-clothed table. Madeline Prestwick had decorated the walls with colorful paper chains and fluffy white cotton balls that made it look like it was snowing.
Hanging from the ceiling were green and red paper balls that twirled every time someone walked beneath them. Gertie thought the balls were a bit gaudy, but who was she to say. Mrs. Prestwick had been decorating the Pennyfoot for Christmas ever since Gertie had worked there, and every year people would praise her handiwork. As far as madam was concerned, Mrs. Prestwick could do no wrong.
On the other side of the room, a young girl stood by the tall, narrow windows, gazing out onto the bowling greens. At the sound of the shakers rattling, she spun around.
“You made me jump! I didn’t hear you come in.”
Gertie frowned. No matter how little she ate, she’d never be as skinny as Pansy. She tried not to let it bother her, but she couldn’t help a little twinge of envy every time she looked at the slender maid. “What the blinking heck are you doing, standing there in a trance? You were supposed to have all the serviettes in their rings by now.” Gertie snatched up a silver embossed ring and waved it at her. “Does this look like it’s got a bloody serviette in it?”
Pansy shrugged and wandered back to the tables. “Sorry. I was thinking about something.”
“Not still mooning over that Samuel, are you?” Gertie placed a salt and pepper shaker in the middle of the lace tablecloth, then moved on to the next table. When Pansy didn’t answer right away, Gertie looked up, searching her friend’s face. “What’s he gone and done now?”
Pansy’s face puckered up, as if she was about to cry. “I think he fancies Ellie.”
Gertie laughed. “What, that little twerp? Our Samuel wouldn’t look at her twice. You know him, he’d rather be doing his job looking after the horses and motorcars than chasing after a bit of fluff like Ellie. Besides, I happen to know she’s sweet on one of the footmen.”
Pansy brightened. “Which one?”
“Charlie, the dark-haired one with a mustache.”
“Oh, the nice-looking one. How do you know?”
“I saw them kissing under the kissing bough.”
Pansy squealed. “Ooh, go on! I love that kissing bough. Mrs. Prestwick is so clever. She always has something
