“A handkerchief.” Madeline frowned, as if she were struggling to see again the elusive article. “A small lace- edged handkerchief, belonging to a lady.”
“A lady?” Cecily sat back. “That can’t be. I don’t know how the killer got Ellie’s body into the woods, but I doubt a lady would have had the strength or the fortitude.”
“You’re quite right. The killer is a man. It was definitely a lady’s handkerchief, however.” Madeline shook her head. “I don’t know why it is so significant, but believe me, Cecily, you would do well to take note.”
Feeling defeated, Cecily could only nod. She simply couldn’t imagine what bearing a woman’s handkerchief could possibly have on Ellie’s murder. Then again, she had dealt with such matters often enough to know that anything and everything was possible.
She’d hoped that Madeline would be able to give her a little more to go on, but it appeared that once more, she would have to rely on her wits and a great deal of luck, if she was to bring a ruthless killer to justice.
“I suppose you didn’t tell Mr. Baxter that you were going to the Fox and Hounds,” Samuel said, as he helped Cecily into the carriage that afternoon.
“Mr. Baxter hasn’t returned from his visit to Wellercombe.” Cecily settled herself on the seat and tucked her hands in her muff. “He is doing some last-minute Christmas shopping and doesn’t expect to be back until later this afternoon. By that time I hope to be home again, Samuel.”
“Yes, m’m. I’ll do my best.” Samuel touched his cap, closed the door, and climbed up into the driver’s seat.
The carriage jerked, sending Cecily back against the cold leather. Shivering, she leaned forward again to look at the ocean as they rattled down the Esplanade.
Patches of white froth rode in on the waves, driven by a chill east wind. All along the seafront the stiff arms of the gas lamps were wrapped in holly, the bright red berries adding a splash of color against the dull gray sky.
The latticed windows of the shops lining the street displayed their wares, everything from toy soldiers and red-cheeked dolls to Christmas crackers and decorations of all shapes and sizes-silver stars and white angels, brilliant red and green glass balls twisting on slim cotton thread, colorful paper chains and tiny candles.
A shudder of dread shook her body. She had once almost burned to death in a fire caused by Christmas tree candles. Ever since then she had been unable to view them without a shudder and a feeling of dread.
Shaking off her morbid thoughts, she focused her gaze on the ocean again as Samuel urged the horses into a fast trot. Madeline’s words popped into her mind. A handkerchief. How could a woman’s handkerchief help her find the killer? Unless it belonged to Ellie. Why hadn’t she thought of that before?
With a start she remembered the necklace. Samuel hadn’t mentioned it, so she had to assume he hadn’t found it. She made a mental note to ask him as soon as they arrived at the Fox and Hounds.
The ride took them over the cliffs and across the Downs. Buffeted by the winds and bouncing along the rutted path, the carriage rocked and bucked until Cecily was quite sure she would lose her front teeth.
She was most thankful when they arrived at last in the courtyard of the Fox and Hounds. Feeling bruised and battered, she climbed down from the carriage before Samuel had a chance to offer her a hand.
“I’m coming in there with you, m’m,” Samuel said, without waiting to be asked. “I know Mr. Baxter would want that.”
“Thank you, Samuel. But before we do, tell me, did you look for the necklace?”
“I did, m’m. I didn’t see it anywhere in the yard, and it was sort of hard to look for it in the coal shed. I shone my torch all over the coals but didn’t see nothing. It could have been scooped up in one of the coal scuttles and thrown on the fire.”
“I suppose it could have. Well, thank you for looking, anyway, Samuel.”
“Yes, m’m.” He hesitated, then asked, “Was it really important?”
“I really don’t know.” She shook her head. “To be honest, Samuel, I don’t know what is important and what isn’t. Perhaps we shall find out something useful from Barry Collins.” With that, she marched across the gravel to the side door, where the publican had his private quarters.
After rapping on the door with the fox’s head door knocker, she waited, hoping she wasn’t disturbing the publican’s afternoon nap. Since the pub had to stay open until eleven p.m., that brief respite when it closed in the afternoon had to be so coveted.
The door opened to reveal a young woman holding a baby. She seemed shocked when she saw her visitor. “Mrs. Baxter! Whatever are you doing here?”
Cecily smiled at the publican’s wife. “I’m so very sorry to disturb you at this hour, but I would like to ask your husband some questions. I was hoping he’d have a few minutes to accommodate me.”
“Of course, do come in.” The woman sent a curious glance at Samuel, who was hovering behind Cecily, his cap crushed in his hands.
“Oh, this is my driver and stable manager, Samuel. I’d like him to accompany me, if he may.”
“Of course. Welcome.” Mrs. Collins drew back and opened the door wider.
The baby gurgled, and Cecily smiled at him. He was about the same age as Angelina, though a good deal heavier, by the look of him. No doubt his diet wasn’t as nutritious as Madeline’s meals.
Following the young woman into the parlor, Cecily took a seat by the window, while Samuel stood close by.
“I’ll fetch my husband,” Mrs. Collins said, and left them alone.
Looking around the familiar room, Cecily could see little change since Barry Collins had taken over the license. Her eldest son had become publican of the Fox and Hounds soon after his father died, and she had spent many hours in this room, listening to Michael’s tales about unruly customers and the hard luck stories he’d heard.
Now the pub belonged to someone else, and Michael was on the other side of the world. She rarely heard from him. She thought of him often, but never quite as clearly as she did when in the warm comfort of the Fox and Hounds.
Her thoughts scattered as Barry Collins walked into the room. A tall man with a luxurious mustache and a thick head of blond hair, he seemed more suited to be a musician or artist than a publican charged with keeping a rowdy group of drunkards in order.
He seemed a little disoriented as he greeted her and acknowledged Samuel’s presence with a brief nod. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” he enquired, as he perched on the arm of a comfortable easy chair.
Cecily wasted no time in coming to the point. “I have reason to believe that Mr. Mick Docker visited your establishment three nights ago.”
Collins frowned. “Docker? Oh, the roofing chap. Yes, he was here. He came in soon after opening time, if I remember, with that other young fellow. Lenny, his mate.”
“They stayed all evening, is that so?”
The publican gave her an odd look. “Well, now, I can’t swear to that. I saw them come in, and I saw them leave at closing time, but I can’t say if they were here all evening. We had a bit of excitement in here that night, so I wasn’t paying much attention as to who was here and who wasn’t.”
“Excitement?”
The publican looked uneasy. “Look, I don’t like telling tales. If this is about the fight between Docker and Stan Whittle all I can tell you is that no one really got hurt. A couple of glasses got smashed but that’s all, and we got the mess cleaned up right away.”
Cecily sat up. “Mick Docker fought with Stan Whittle? Do you know what the fight was about?”
“Nothing. It was just a couple of chaps letting off steam, that’s all. Those two are always going at it over something or other. A Scotsman and an Irishman. What can you expect? They’ve both got hot tempers. It doesn’t take much to set them off. We broke up the fight, Stan left, and…” He paused. “Come to think of it, I don’t remember seeing Mick for a while after that, but I know he was here at closing time. I chased him out myself.”
“So it was possible he could have left and returned without you noticing?”
The publican lifted his hands and let them drop again. “In a place like this, Mrs. Baxter, anything can happen under my nose. There’s always something going on, and I don’t have eyes in the back of my head.” He laughed to soften his words. “I often wish I did.”
“So do I, Mr. Collins.” Cecily rose to her feet. “So do I.”
Frustration was making her snippy, she thought, as she made her way back to the carriage, with Samuel close
