Now that the moment was at hand, the last thing Cecily wanted was to be alone in the parlor with this man. There didn’t seem to be any other way, however, to have the conversation she needed to have with him.
Swallowing her fear, she managed a smile. “Thank you. I appreciate your kindness.”
“My pleasure, Mrs. Baxter.” He turned to the hovering assistant. “Nathan! Fetch the lady all the slippers you can find and bring them to the parlor.” With that, he grasped Cecily’s arm with firm fingers and propelled her through the curtain and down the hallway to the parlor.
“Can I offer you some tea?” he asked, as she reluctantly seated herself by the fire.
“Thank you, no.” She glanced at the clock over the fireplace. “I have another appointment shortly so I really can’t linger too long.”
“Ah, I understand.” He took the chair opposite her and sat down, leaning forward to ask, “I suppose the Pennyfoot will be filled with guests for Christmas?”
“Yes, indeed. We usually have a full house for the season.” She glanced at the table next to her. The book was still there and she picked it up. “Tales of a Mystic! I don’t think I’ve heard of this. Is it a good book?”
Lester smiled. “An excellent book. I highly recommend it. It’s the story of a poor lad who stowed away on a ship in search of the true meaning of religion. Very enlightening and provocative.”
Cecily stared at him. “Religion?”
He seemed puzzled by her reaction. “Ah… yes. It’s an interest of mine.”
She put the book down, her mind in a whirl. Of course. Mysticism. It could mean so many things. She had jumped to the wrong conclusion and her main theory had just flown out the window.
Obviously unsettled by her silence, Lester leaned forward. “Is everything all right, Mrs. Baxter? You’re not feeling ill, I trust?”
Shaking her head, she struggled to get her thoughts together. “I’m feeling quite well, thank you.” For want of a way to change the subject, she gestured at the empty corner of the room. “I don’t see Rex anywhere. I hope he’s in good health?”
Lester seemed preoccupied. “Rex? Oh, he was getting to be a nuisance. He was always in the way, wanting to be stroked or to be let out on the street. I took him over to Caroline Blanchard’s house. She collects strays, you know.”
So that was why the dog in Caroline’s home had seemed familiar. “Yes,” she murmured, “I know Caroline quite well.”
Lester pulled a face. “Well, forgive me for saying so, but that woman is the most unsociable snob I have ever come across. She treats animals like people and people like animals.”
If he hadn’t been so vehement in his disgust, Cecily would have smiled at the rather apt description of her seamstress.
“Still, she’s very good at handling the dogs. Caroline is quite the fanatic when it comes to her animals. She can’t bear to see them in pain. It’s almost as if she feels their agony herself.”
He gazed at the corner with a soulful expression, as if he missed the dog. “Yes, indeed. Rex will be well taken care of there. Funny thing about dogs. Old Thomas was cruel in his treatment of Rex, but Caroline told me the dog refused to leave the old man’s side when he died. Just sat there and howled. Sad, really.”
Cecily’s throat closed up, forcing her to cough. For a moment she fought to get her breath while Lester Salt watched her in concern.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” he asked, dragging a handkerchief out of his pocket to offer her.
She shook her head. “Thank you,” she said hoarsely. “It’s just a tickle in my throat.” She glanced at the door, wishing Nathan would get there with the slippers.
“Well, if you’re sure.” Lester leaned back. “I don’t suppose you have any news of the Christmas Angel? I would dearly love to see the brute who killed dear Thomas brought to justice and punished.”
Cecily swallowed hard. “No news yet, but we are getting close.”
“Oh? You have a suspect?”
“Perhaps.” She shifted on her chair, uncomfortable with the intense look on his face.
“Is it someone in the village?”
“I can’t be sure at this point, but I hope to bring the case to a close very soon.” To her relief, Nathan appeared just then, his arms clutching what looked like dozens of slippers.
Cecily pretended to study the styles, then hurriedly picked out the pairs she thought would fit and gave them to Nathan to wrap. After paying for her purchases, she bid a hasty farewell to a confused Lester Salt and walked briskly over to the carriage.
Samuel just about leapt on her as she approached. “I was worried,” he said, as he helped her into the carriage. “You were gone so long.”
She dumped her packages onto the seat. “We have a change of plan, Samuel. Take me to Mrs. Prestwick’s house and please hurry.”
Samuel’s face creased in worry. “You found out Lester Salt is the Christmas Angel.”
“Not exactly. I will explain once we get to Mrs. Prestwick’s house. Hurry, Samuel. We don’t have much time.”
“Yes, m’m.”
Samuel hurriedly slammed the door shut before she was properly settled. Her thoughts in a turmoil, she leaned back, her mind working feverishly. How could she have missed it? It was right there in front of her all the time.
There was only one way to resolve this. It would mean putting them all in danger, but if her plan worked out, it should all be well in the end.
Now all she needed was for Madeline to help her. It would be asking a lot of her friend, but with everything that was at stake, she was sure Madeline would agree.
“Where did you go?” Pansy demanded when Gertie dashed into the dining room. “Mrs. Chubb will have a fit if we don’t get all these dishes down to the kitchen. We won’t have time to get them washed and dried in time for the next meal at this rate.”
“Sorry. I had to talk to Clive for a moment.”
Pansy immediately brightened. “What for?”
“Never you mind.”
“Did you give him the wicks last night?”
“Yes,” Gertie said, as she hauled the pile of tablecloths into a basket. “I gave them to him.”
Pansy waited in vain for the rest of the story. When Gertie didn’t elaborate, she prompted her with an impatient, “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“And?”
“And, what?” Gertie nodded at the cupboard. “We need those serviettes, too.”
Frustrated, Pansy pulled the serviettes down from the shelf. “Didn’t he say anything?”
“Who?”
Now she was getting annoyed. “You know who. Clive.”
“Oh, him. Yeah. He said thank you.”
Pansy uttered a sigh of exasperation. “Is that all?”
Gertie frowned. “What was he supposed to say?”
Throwing caution to the wind, Pansy flung the serviettes in the basket. “Don’t you even know he likes you?”
Gertie picked up the basket and settled it on her hip. “Yeah, I know. I like him, too. So bloody what?”
“No, I mean like you. Like he’s in love with you.”
Gertie uttered a scornful laugh. “You’ve got your head too bloody full of Samuel, that’s what. Clive and I are just friends, that’s all. That’s all we want to be, so don’t go thinking there’s anything else to it, all right?”
She barged out of the room, shoving the door open with her elbow. Pansy followed, shaking her head. She knew Gertie. She knew all that blustering was to cover up what she was truly feeling and thinking.
It was going to take a lot longer than she’d thought to get those two together, but if Gertie thought she was going to give up this easily, then her friend was mistaken. Clive and Gertie were perfect for each other, and if it took Pansy Watson to prove it to them, then so be it.