“It’s about you and me.”
His face was shadowed, with just enough light from the gas lamps to see his set expression. “What about you and me?”
She looked away, because it hurt too much to look at him. Her voice trembled so badly she could hardly get out the words. “I can’t marry you.”
She heard his sharp intake of breath and squeezed her eyes shut tight so she wouldn’t cry.
“Why not? I thought that was what you wanted.”
“I did.” She gulped. “I do. But I can’t drag my children away from their home and everyone they know.”
“Children that age are adaptable. They’ll soon forget all about this place once they settle down. There is so much more to do in the city. Visits to the park and the zoo, boat rides on the Thames, museums and historical places to explore. They will love it there.”
“But it won’t be home. They’ve just spent a week or so in London, and look how excited they were to be home. They’ll miss the people, and the life here. They’ll be miserable and lonely in the city.”
He was silent so long she was afraid he was never going to answer her. Just when the silence became unbearable, he spoke.
“What you really mean is that
She thought about it for several seconds, then sighed. “Yes, I suppose that’s what I mean.”
“I’m sorry, Gertie. I wish I could tell you I’d stay here, but I can’t. My life is in the city. That’s where I belong.”
She hadn’t realized how much she’d been nursing that small hope. “I understand, Dan. I really do. That’s why I can’t marry you.”
She stole a look at him. He sat staring straight ahead, and she couldn’t see his expression, but she could guess from the set of his shoulders.
When he spoke again, his voice was gruff. “Very well. Then I suppose this is good-bye.”
The pain cut deeper and she blinked. Hard. “Good-bye, Dan. I wish you lots of luck in London.”
He nodded. “You, too.”
She turned quickly and scrambled out. She didn’t wait for him to crank the engine and leave. Without looking back she fled around the corner and into the kitchen yard.
Shutting the gate behind her, she leaned against it, listening to the engine turn over until at last it caught and roared to life.
His motorcar door slammed, and it was like a door slamming on her life. She’d turned down the chance of a future with a man she’d loved with all her heart. Probably the last chance she’d ever have of marriage and a home of her own. Perhaps tomorrow she’d feel better about it. Perhaps tomorrow she’d know she’d made the right decision.
Right now, however, it felt as if she was the biggest fool on earth. And still she didn’t cry.
The quartet began playing the opening chords of “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” as Cecily quietly closed the library door. She could hear Colonel Fortescue’s voice booming out above the rest. Apparently the deaths of four people had little effect on him. Phoebe, no doubt, was at this very moment doing her best to shut him up.
Cecily hurried along the corridor until she reached her office. Once inside, she felt for the matches on her desk and quickly lit the oil lamp. The photographs were where she’d left them, and she picked them up, thumbing through them until she found the one she wanted.
Now she was convinced she knew who had killed Ellie Tidwell and most likely the other three victims. As for the motive, she could only guess right now. What she needed was proof, and there was only one way to get that.
To do so meant being elsewhere far longer than was prudent. Baxter, at least, was bound to notice her absence, but that couldn’t be helped. He would understand if she found what she expected to find. Wasting no more time, she dropped the photographs back onto her desk, picked up her oil lamp, and left the room.
She encountered no one on her way upstairs, and reached Sir Walter Hayesbury’s suite without being seen. It took only a moment to unlock the door with her master key, and slip inside the room.
Placing the lamp on the bedside table she headed for the wardrobe. She had learned long ago that if someone wanted to hide something, the wardrobe was usually the first choice.
Opening the door, she quickly rummaged through the contents, searching pockets, feeling along shelves, and tipping boots upside down to make sure nothing had been hidden inside them. She had almost given up when she found it. A rolled-up cravat, with something solid inside it.
Carrying it over to the lamp she opened it up. As she did so, a white bow tie fell to the floor. She barely noticed, her gaze focused on the glitter of gold that sparkled in her hand. With a feeling of triumph, she held up the broken necklace.
Stopping to pick up the tie, she saw at once the smeared bloodstain. That’s why Sir Walter couldn’t wear it the first night at the banquet. Why he’d borrowed one from Baxter. He must have had blood on his fingers from the cut on Ellie’s neck when he tore the necklace from her.
Quickly she wrapped the tie and necklace back in the cravat and tucked it into her sleeve. Then she picked up the lamp and left the room.
P.C. Northcott would not be pleased with her for summoning him on Christmas Eve, but she had no choice. The man had in all probability committed four murders, and once he realized she had uncovered evidence to the fact he would most likely do everything in his power to see that it didn’t reach the constable.
Again she passed no one on her way back to her office. Once inside, she went straight to her desk, lifted the telephone off its hook, and held it to her ear.
The operator’s voice asked, “Number, please?”
Cecily was about to answer when she heard a slight sound behind her. She spun around, dropping the phone onto the desk with a clatter.
Moving toward her, a wicked-looking knife gleaming in his hand, was Sir Walter Hayesbury.
“Where’s madam? I can’t see her anywhere.” Gertie held on to the hands of Lillian and James, just in case they got too close to the Christmas tree. It wasn’t often they were allowed in the library, and now that it was transformed into a Christmas wonderland, their excitement had them jumping all over the place.
Gertie had visions of them crashing into the tree and sending it to the ground. She’d never live that one down.
Looking over at the window, she saw Mrs. Chubb and Clive. They’d know where madam was. Pulling the twins with her, she edged over to them.
The housekeeper held out her arms the minute she saw them and hugged the children. “Where have you been? I thought you would have been here ages ago.”
The children ran to Clive, and he wrapped his arms around both of them.
“I was talking to Dan,” Gertie said, her attention on her daughter, who was clinging to Clive’s arm.
Mrs. Chubb gazed around the room. “Where is he? Didn’t he come with you?”
“No, he didn’t.” She hesitated, aching to tell someone, yet knowing this was not the right time.
She had underestimated Mrs. Chubb’s perception. The housekeeper leaned forward, asking softly, “What happened, Gertie? You can tell me.”
Gertie shrugged. “Dan asked me to marry him.”
Mrs. Chubb clasped her hands together with a loud gasp, while Clive uttered a slight choking sound, then coughed. “I think I’ll be off, now,” he said, immediately invoking a chorus of protests from the twins.
“Oh, no, Uncle Clive, don’t go,” Lillian pleaded. “We just got here.”
“Gertie!” Mrs. Chubb threw her arms around Gertie’s shoulders. “I’m so happy for you!”
“I turned him down.”
Gertie pinched her lips together as both Clive and the housekeeper stared at her.
Mrs. Chubb was the first to speak. “What did you do that for? I thought you were so in love with him!”
“Shhsh!” Gertie glanced around to make sure no one had overheard. “I don’t want the whole world to know.”
