“Well, you should know,” Gertie muttered.
The housekeeper banged her rolling pin on the table, making Gertie jump. “Stop this bickering at once. Answer my question, Gertie.”
Opening the drawer next to the sink, Gertie hunted for a sharp knife. Finding one, she pulled it out and began peeling the potato. “Clive thinks he heard the colonel crashing around in the woods this afternoon while we were out there.”
“Why didn’t you stop to look for him, then?”
“Because at the time Clive thought it was the bloody Christmas Angel, didn’t he.” Gertie sliced one end off the potato.
“It might have been him,” Pansy said, her voice shaking. “The colonel could be dead, and Clive and Dr. Prestwick might run into him in the woods. They could be killed, too!”
Gertie turned on her swiftly. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that!”
“Ooh, la la!” Michel swayed his hips from side to side. “Our Gertie has ze amoureux, non?”
“No! So shut your bleeding mouth!” Gertie slung the potato across the room at Michel, who ducked. The potato hit a cupboard door and fell with a thud to the floor.
Pansy giggled, then pinched her lips together when Mrs. Chubb glared at her.
The housekeeper turned on her chief housemaid. “Whatever’s the matter with you?”
Gertie shrugged. “I’m just worried, that’s all. About the colonel,” she added, as Michel snickered. “He’s an old man. He must be so cold and lost out there all alone.”
“Especially with a murderer running around out there,” Pansy said, joining her at the sink.
Mrs. Chubb slapped a slab of pastry with her rolling pin. “That’s quite enough talk about a murderer. What I want to know is how all those women in the pantomime heard about it. I could hear them screaming from down here. I thought it was part of the presentation, until Pansy told me what it was all about.”
Pansy looked at Gertie for help.
“Lizzie told them,” Gertie said, splashing her knife into the cold water in the sink. “At least, one of the performers heard Lizzie telling another maid and she told the rest of them.”
“Who told Lizzie, then?”
Pansy swallowed. Still with her back to the housekeeper, she muttered, “It was my fault. I was telling Gertie about it and Lizzie heard me.”
Mrs. Chubb paused, both hands still on the rolling pin. “And who was it told you?”
“Samuel did.”
“Ah.” Mrs. Chubb wiped her mouth with her sleeve. “So what about the Pennyfoot rules that say not to repeat gossip to anyone? Did you all forget that?”
Gertie put down her knife. “It wasn’t gossip. It was news, and we didn’t tell anyone except ourselves and it wasn’t our fault that some people have bloody big ears and were flipping listening to what they shouldn’t have been.”
For a long moment Mrs. Chubb’s fierce gaze bored into Gertie, then she sighed. “Well, all right. I’ll let it go this time.”
“Speaking of gossip,” Gertie said, wiping her hands on a tea towel, “who are the special guests what’s supposed to be coming for Christmas? And why didn’t you tell me about them?”
“You don’t have to know everything, non?” Michel muttered.
Gertie ignored him. “Who are they, Chubby?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.” Mrs. Chubb waved her rolling pin at her. “And don’t call me Chubby! I’ll take your afternoon off away if you don’t stop calling me that.”
“Aw, go on with you. You like it, really.” Gertie dug in her pocket for a handkerchief and blew her nose. “Anyhow, we’ll know soon enough when they get here. So you might as well tell us now.”
“My lips are sealed.” Mrs. Chubb drew a finger across her mouth. “And in future, you both better be extra careful of who might be listening when you’re having a private conversation. It can cause all sorts of trouble, like today. Are you hearing me?”
Gertie and Pansy answered together. “Yes, Mrs. Chubb.”
Michel echoed with a high-pitched mimic, “Yes, Mrs. Chubb.”
The housekeeper glared at him, then picked up a lump of pastry and threw it at his head. He didn’t duck quite fast enough and the lump of dough knocked off his hat.
In spite of her worry, Gertie laughed. It wasn’t often anyone got the best of Michel, but oh, how she loved it when someone did.
“So can I help Doris with her costumes?” Pansy asked, her voice full of hope.
Mrs. Chubb frowned. “I don’t know that we can spare the time. We have only two more days left before the Christmas guests arrive.”
“I can manage without her,” Gertie said, giving her friend a nudge. “She can help me later when she’s done with rehearsals.”
“Yes, I can do that!” Pansy was practically jumping up and down with anticipation.
Mrs. Chubb looked doubtful. “Well, I don’t know…”
“Oh, come on, Chubby. What will it hurt?” Gertie wiped her hands on her apron. “Doris needs someone to help her and she doesn’t trust no one else. You don’t want to make Doris look like a fool up there because she doesn’t have the right costume on, do you?”
“Well, no, of course not, but-”
“I’ll work twice as hard afterward.” Pansy held out her hands. “Please?”
Mrs. Chubb shook her head. “Oh, all right. But you’ll have to make up for it later, young lady.”
“Oh, I will! I will!” Pansy threw her arms around Gertie’s waist. “Thank you, thank you! You’re the best friend anyone could have. You really are.”
Gertie cleared her throat. “Go on with you. Get off me before I choke.”
Pansy grinned. “I’m going to get you the best present you ever saw for Christmas. You’ll see.”
“You don’t have to get me nothing.” Gertie turned back to the sink. Just get Clive back alive, she silently prayed. Oh, and Dr. Prestwick and the colonel. That was all she asked. All she wanted.
Baxter’s expression spoke volumes as Cecily led Phoebe and Madeline into the sitting room. Only then did she remember his last words. Just don’t bring her up to the suite. Ah well, it was too late now.
Smiling brightly at him, she said, “Clive and Dr. Prestwick have gone to look for the colonel. We are going to wait here until they all return.”
Baxter raised an eyebrow. “I don’t suppose they happened to look in the bar, by any chance?”
Cecily gave him what she hoped was a meaningful look. “The colonel is not in the bar, or anywhere else in the Pennyfoot. The men are looking for him in the woods on Putney Downs.”
At her words, Phoebe uttered a little moan.
Baxter raised both eyebrows. “In the woods? What in blazes is he doing up there?”
“We don’t exactly know, darling.” Cecily seated Phoebe next to the fireplace and motioned Madeline to sit across from her. “All we know is that Gertie found his walking stick up there and Madeline thinks he’s still there somewhere.”
“Good Lord.” Baxter rubbed his brow. “I hope the poor blighter is all right.”
Phoebe whimpered and dug out her handkerchief again.
“I’m quite sure he is,” Madeline said firmly.
“Darling, why don’t you go down to the library and take your newspaper with you.” Cecily smiled sweetly at her husband. “I’m sure you will be more comfortable down there.”
To her relief, Baxter picked up his newspaper, nodded at the ladies, and strode to the door. “Please inform me of any news,” he said, and closed the door with a firm snap behind him.
“I think he’s upset about something,” Phoebe said, tucking her handkerchief back in her sleeve. “Sometimes it’s hard to know what Mr. Baxter is thinking.”