“All right, you don’t have to be cheeky. I was just asking.” Gertie walked over to the next table. “Here, give me some. I’ll help you.”
Feeling sorry for snapping at her friend, Pansy handed over a pile of serviettes. “Did you have a nice sleigh ride?”
“Yeah, we did.” Gertie gave her a sharp look. “You’re not cross with me because I took the time off, are you?”
Pansy shook her head. “Sorry. I’m upset at Mrs. Chubb. She won’t let me help Doris with her costumes in the pantomime.”
Gertie gasped. “Phoebe Fortescue asked you to help her?”
Pansy turned to her, all her resentment flooding to the surface. “No, it was Doris what asked me! She said she needed help with her costumes and didn’t trust nobody else. She trusted me to help her, and now Mrs. Chubb says we’re too busy and she’d have to think about it. You know what that means. It means she’s not going to let me do it.” Pansy blinked back a tear. “And I want to do it! I really do!”
“All right, all right, don’t get your flipping knickers in a twist.” Gertie started threading the rolled-up serviettes through the rings. “I’ll have a word with Chubby. We’ll find a way for you to do it.”
“It’ll mean going to rehearsals. At least the dress rehearsals, as well as the pantomime.”
“Leave it to me.” Gertie smiled at her. “Don’t worry. You know I can get around old Chubby.”
Pansy sniffed. “Thank you, Gertie-you’re a real friend.” Feeling much better, she moved on to the next table. “So tell me what happened on the sleigh ride.”
Gertie shrugged. “Not a lot. We went up to the woods to get some mistletoe, and James fell out of the sleigh and broke his arm.”
Pansy paused, a serviette dangling from her fingers. “You’re joking.”
“No, I’m not.” Gertie sighed. “It was awful, seeing him disappear over the side like that. I thought he was dead. Scared me to bloody death, I can tell you.”
“Is he all right?”
Gertie rolled up another serviette. “Well, he’s got a plaster cast on his arm. Solid as a rock, it is. He has to keep it on for weeks. That’ll bloody slow him down a bit. It will probably mean he won’t be in the pantomime.”
“Oh, Gertie, I’m so sorry.” Pansy rushed over to give her friend a hug. “Poor James. I hope this doesn’t spoil Christmas for him.”
Gertie snorted. “Once he sets eyes on what Clive is making for him he’ll forget all about his blinking arm.” She shook her head. “That man is so clever with his hands. Too bloody good he is to be working here.”
Pansy gave her a sly smile. “You really like him, don’t you?”
Gertie turned away with a careless shrug. “He’s all right. I don’t really know him, do I. I mean, just when I think I know him well, he goes and does something really strange. Like in the woods this afternoon. He acted as if he was really scared of something. Took off in the sleigh like a bleeding bat out of hell. We were going so fast we hit a bump and that’s when James went flying. Mind you, he was hanging out of the sleigh, so it wasn’t really Clive’s fault, but I never did find out why Clive had acted so strange.”
Pansy put the serviette down on the right side of the place setting. “P’raps he was scared of the Christmas Angel.” She caught her breath, silently cursing the slip of her tongue.
Gertie raised her head. “The who?”
“Never mind. Forget I said anything.” Pansy hurriedly moved to the next table.
Gertie walked over to her, her hands on her hips. “Tell me what you’re talking about.”
“I shouldn’t have said nothing. Samuel told me not to say nothing to nobody.”
“I’m not nobody.” Gertie leaned forward. “So bloody well tell me.”
Pansy held out a moment or so longer, then gave in. It was only a matter of time before everyone knew, anyway. Samuel had said that himself. “The Christmas Angel. He’s going around Badgers End killing all sorts of people. He leaves golden angels on their foreheads and chops off lumps of their hair.”
A loud gasp echoed across the room. Pansy swung around, just in time to get a glimpse of Lizzie’s terrified face before the maid rushed from the room.
“Now you’ve gone and done it,” Gertie said, looking a little frightened herself. “It’ll be all over the Pennyfoot. You’d better tell me the rest of it.”
Pansy shivered. “I don’t know any more than that. Madam and Samuel have been going around asking questions, but Samuel says nobody knows why he’s killing people. They think he’s loony and just does it because he feels like it.”
Gertie’s face had turned pale. “Where is he killing people? Not here in the hotel?”
Pansy felt sick. “No, no, not here. All over Badgers End. Remember Jimmy, the dairy farm boy?”
Gertie nodded.
“Well, it were the Christmas Angel what killed him. He killed a shoemaker and a farmer as well.”
Gertie looked as if she was about to cry. “I don’t believe it.”
“Well, it’s true. Samuel wouldn’t joke about a thing like that. Ask him yourself.”
“Does Chubby know?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, we’d better tell her, before Lizzie spreads it all over the Pennyfoot. Maybe we can stop her. Come on!”
Gertie sped across the room to the door, and Pansy followed, certain now that she’d never get the chance to help Doris in the pantomime. Mrs. Chubb was never going to forgive her for spreading the word about the Christmas Angel.
Worse, Samuel was going to be really cross with her, too. This was turning out to be a horrible Christmas season.
Cecily arrived back at the Pennyfoot to find the entire place in an uproar. The lobby was full of young women and a half dozen children all milling about, some crying, some shouting, and all of them acting as if the world were about to come to an end.
Spying one woman huddled on the staircase, clinging to a banister, Cecily hurried over to her. “Mabel! Whatever has happened? Has someone been hurt?” Don’t let it be Phoebe, she prayed silently, as the frightened woman stared up at her.
Mabel let go of the banister and clutched Cecily’s skirt. Loud enough for the entire population of Badgers End to hear, she yelled, “There’s a madman loose in the village! He’s going around chopping off people’s heads!”
Loud screams greeted her words, adding to the chaos in the lobby. Cecily rolled her eyes at the ceiling, then waded into the hysterical crowd, searching for someone, anyone, who could help her restore order.
As if in answer to her thoughts, a bellow erupted from the stairs, quieting the frightened women. “What the blue blazes is going on here?”
A few whimpers answered, but Baxter put an end to that with a raised hand. “Silence! This is a respectful country club. I will not tolerate such raucous behavior. You will leave the premises immediately. All of you.”
Cries of fear greeted his command and Cecily sped back to the stairs. Bounding up them to stand by his side, she called out, “Quiet, everyone. I have something important to say.”
It took a few moments of grumblings and whimpering before the group fell silent. Cecily made an effort to sound calm and confident. “Please, listen to me. The person they are calling the Christmas Angel is not chopping off people’s heads, I can assure you. Neither is he running around killing off everyone he sees. It is true one or two men have died recently, but at the moment we have no way of knowing who killed them or why. In any case, no women have been killed, so none of you has cause to worry. You can go home now. You will all be perfectly safe, I promise you.”
Praying that was true, she watched the women file fearfully out of the door.
Baxter said nothing until the door had closed behind the last performer. “You managed to calm them down. Well-done,” he said, rubbing his fingers across is brow. “That caterwauling was giving me a blasted headache.”