He was gone before she could respond. Worried now, she went back to the fireplace. She had assumed that he’d entirely dismissed the opportunity to open hotels in foreign lands. It seemed, however, that he was still harboring thoughts of such an enterprise.
She had weakened her situation considerably by asking him to release her from her promise. If he took that post now, she would have only herself to blame.
Miserably she stared into the flames. All she could hope was that finding this killer would be worth what it might cost her.
Gertie was in a fever of impatience for the midday meal to be over with, so she could get her twins ready for the great sleigh ride that afternoon.
There were only two guests still in the dining room-an elderly couple who seemed to take forever to eat their steak and kidney pie. Twice Gertie had been to their table to clear their plates away only to find them still piled high with pastry, meat, potatoes, and carrots.
“Are you going to finish all that?” she asked the woman, whose wrinkled face was so heavily powdered she looked like one of Lillian’s dolls. “You won’t have room for afters if you stuff all that in your blinking mouth.”
The gentleman peered at Gertie over his spectacles. “You are an impertinent young woman, and I shall complain to the head of the household about your rude behavior.”
Silently cursing her runaway tongue, Gertie tried to make amends. “Please forgive me, sir, but Mrs. Chubb has made some delicious pear tarts, and she put a dollop of brandy in them. I was concerned your lovely wife might not have enough room to enjoy them.”
“Oh, Wilfred, they do sound divine.” The woman pushed her plate toward Gertie. “Take this away and bring me some of those tarts.”
Her husband grunted and reluctantly surrendered his own half-finished plate. Gertie snatched them up and whisked them over to the dumbwaiter outside in the hallway.
“Two pear tarts,” she called down, as the plates descended. Impatiently tapping her foot, she waited for the sweets to come up.
“Ah, there you are.”
The deep voice behind her made her jump and she twisted around, breaking into a grin when she saw Clive. “What’re you doing here? Looking for something to eat?”
Clive chuckled, a deep sound in his throat that always made her smile. “I came to see you.”
“What about?” She looked at him anxiously. “Is something wrong?”
“No…” He hesitated, then added, “Well, yes. We’ll have to postpone our sleigh ride.”
“Oh.” Her crushing sense of disappointment left her weak. “The twins will be upset. They were looking forward to it.”
“I know.” His frown deepened. “So was I. Mrs. Fortescue wants me to put up the sets and wiring for her pantomime. She’s starting rehearsals in a day or so.”
Gertie pouted. “That old bat always wants something. Can’t the footmen do it?”
“They can and they will, but I have to supervise. Mrs. Fortescue doesn’t trust them to make the wiring safe.” He bent his head to look closer into her eyes. “She told me the twins are going to be in the event.”
Gertie shrugged. “Per’aps. I haven’t asked them yet. I was going to do that on the ride this afternoon.”
“Well, if they are going to perform, wouldn’t you want to be sure that everything on that stage is really safe and secure?”
“I suppose so.” She forced a smile. “You’re right. Go and do what that fussy old Phoebe Fortescue wants. We’ll go on the ride another time.”
His big hand descended on her shoulder in a friendly pat. “I knew you’d understand.”
She nodded. “Just hope the bloody snow doesn’t melt.”
He laughed, and she watched him walk all the way to the end of the hallway, the memory of his hand still warm on her shoulder.
Cecily hurried down the stairs, fastening her warm scarf under her chin. To her relief, Samuel was waiting for her in the foyer. Catching sight of her, he opened his mouth to speak, but she quickly silenced him with a finger at her lips.
Mindful of Philip watching them, she raised her hand, calling out, “If Mr. Baxter asks for me, Philip, please tell him I have gone into town and shall be returning shortly.”
“Yes, m’m.” Philip pulled a tablet toward himself, took a pencil from behind his ear, and scribbled something down.
Ignoring Samuel’s curious stare, Cecily headed for the door, forcing him to dart around her to open it for her.
Once outside, she waited until he had handed her into the carriage before asking him, “Do you happen to know a man by the name of Sid Tippens?”
Samuel’s eyes widened. “I’ve heard of him, m’m. Never met the bloke, though.”
“I believe he is a bookmaker?”
“Yes, m,’m, but-”
“Do you know where he lives?”
“No, m’m, but I do believe he has an office on one of the backstreets off the High Street.”
“Then I need you to take me there, Samuel.”
Her stable manager’s face grew red. “I don’t think Mr. Baxter would approve, m’m. I don’t-”
“Never mind what Mr. Baxter will or will not approve.” She leaned forward, fixing him with a hard stare. “I thought we had an understanding.”
“Yes, m’m, but-”
“No buts, Samuel. Let’s get on our way. I’d like to be back before Mr. Baxter finishes his work.”
“Can’t you ring the bookmaker on the telephone?”
“No, I can’t. The operators at the exchange have a nasty habit of listening in to my business, and this isn’t something I want to broadcast to everyone in the village.”
Samuel looked as if he were about to suffer a heart attack. “From what I hear, m’m, this Tippens chap is not a good person. I don’t think-”
“That’s the trouble with you, Samuel. Sometimes you tend to think too much. Now, please do what I say and get going this minute.”
Samuel’s mouth clamped shut on whatever he was about to say next. Muttering something she didn’t catch, he climbed up onto the driver’s seat and shook the reins.
The carriage jerked forward, and Cecily leaned back with a sigh. She didn’t like putting so much onto the back of her stable manager. Samuel had been a good and loyal worker all the years she had known him, and there was no question about his loyalty toward her. He had often faced Baxter’s wrath while aiding her in her investigations, and had more than once risked his own life to protect her.
Well aware of the awkward position she put him in at times, she had to admit to strong feelings of guilt whenever one of her well-laid plans went wrong. She could only hope this visit to Sid Tippens would not turn out badly, for either of them.
Once they reached the High Street, Samuel left her alone in the carriage while he went to find out where the bookmaker had his office. While she waited, Cecily watched the people hurrying in and out of the shops on either side of the road.
Christmas was in full swing in the High Street. Geese and ducks hung in the windows of Abbitson’s, the butcher‘s shop, naked of their feathers and necks hanging loosely as they swung from the hooks.
The haberdashery next door had a life-sized Father Christmas in the window, surrounded by elves bearing armfuls of socks, ties, handkerchiefs, and cravats.
She was admiring the colorful display of a snow scene in the clothier’s when Samuel returned, out of breath and looking decidedly disapproving.
“I have to say this, m’m. If you’re planning to place a bet on the horses, or something, you really need to know what you’re doing. You could lose a lot of money gambling, and I know Mr. Baxter wouldn’t like that at all. He’d blame me for taking you to a bookie and-”
“For heaven’s sake, Samuel, I’m not going to gamble away my hard-earned money.” Cecily climbed down from the carriage and shook out the folds of her blue serge skirt. “I happened to spot a betting slip from Mr. Tippens’s office marking a book in Lester Salt’s parlor. I simply want to have a word with the bookmaker, that’s all.”