She managed a shaky grin. “Thanks. I generally use my sleeve.”
He took one of the scuttles from her and pushed the handkerchief into her hand. “This is better.”
He turned away and started walking toward the coal shed, and while his back was turned she quickly dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose. She thought about giving him back the handkerchief, then decided it would be better if she washed it first. Tucking it into her sleeve, she followed him over to the coal shed.
“I’ll light the lamp for you,” he said, as she unlocked the door.
She waited while he struck a match, the flame flaring up in his face. Funny, she never really noticed before, but he had a really nice face. Not good looking, like Dan, but a kind face, sort of square and dependable. The kind of man who would take care of his family.
She wondered why he didn’t have a wife. Or perhaps he did somewhere. A wife and children, waiting for him to come home to them. No, Clive wasn’t the kind of man who would just go off and leave them. Either he wasn’t married, or something must have happened to them.
She realized then how little she knew about the big man. He’d been a good friend to her, protecting her when she’d needed it, always looking out for her and the twins, yet she knew nothing about him. Nothing at all. She made up her mind there and then that when she had more time, she’d make it her business to talk to him and find out more about his life.
The light from the oil lamp swung across her face and she jumped. A shovel leaned against the wall nearby and she snatched it up. “Thanks. I can manage now.”
“Give me that.” He took the shovel from her and started piling the gleaming black lumps of coal into the scuttle.
She appreciated his help, yet felt awkward just standing there. Moving deeper into the shed, she looked around for another shovel.
That’s when she saw it. A black shoe, lying in the middle of the coal pile.
Her strangled gasp brought Clive’s head up. “What’s the matter? Spider? Rat?”
“No, a shoe.” Her finger trembled when she pointed at it. “Look. Over there.”
Clive straightened his back. “What the heck is it doing there?”
He started to move forward, but Gertie thrust out a hand to grab his arm. “Don’t! Don’t touch it!” Her stomach heaved, and she slapped the other hand over her mouth.
Clive frowned. “It’s just a shoe, Gertie.”
Her throat felt so tight she had to force the words out. “The last time I saw a shoe like that,” she said, her voice so hoarse she hardly recognized it herself, “there was a bloody foot in it.”
Clive’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”
Gertie swallowed. “It’s true. One of our maids had been murdered and the killer flung her body into the shed out by the tennis courts. I was the one what found her, and that’s how I saw her first. Just one shoe.”
Clive reached for the lamp and swung it high above his head. The patent leather gleamed in the light. “Looks like one of your shoes.”
Gertie looked down at her feet. The toes of both her shoes poked out from under her skirt. “It’s not mine.”
“Then it must belong to one of the other maids.”
“If it does, we’ll soon find out. Mrs. Chubb makes us write our names in our shoes so we won’t get them mixed up.”
“Well, then, let’s find out who it belongs to.”
He started forward again, but Gertie grimly hung on to his arm. “It could be Ellie.”
For a moment she saw a flash of alarm in his eyes, then he quickly masked it. “It’s not Ellie, Gertie. It’s just a shoe. Not a dead body.”
She watched him hang the lamp on a hook on the wall. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to get the shoe so you can see for yourself there’s no foot inside it. Or anything else, unless a rat or a spider has decided to make it its home.”
Gertie shuddered. “I can’t look.” She closed her eyes, wincing as she heard Clive scrabbling up the coal pile, sending chunks of it sliding down to the floor.
He grunted, then more scrabbling, and his voice speaking almost in her ear. “Well, it’s not Ellie, that’s for sure. It is, however, her shoe.”
Feeling only slightly reassured, Gertie took the shoe from him and held it up to the lamp. “Oh, gawd. This is Ellie’s shoe all right.” She lowered it and stared at Clive. “So then, why would she leave it in here and walk out without it? Where the bloody hell is she?”
“Look at that. Disgusting behavior, I call it.” Baxter nudged his head at a spot across the ballroom by the doors.
Seated at the table opposite him, Cecily followed his gaze, and caught sight of Geoffrey and Caroline Danville sharing a chaste kiss under the kissing bough. “I’d hardly call it disgusting, dear. After all, they are newly married, and it was quite an inoffensive embrace.”
Baxter rolled his eyes. “Public displays of affection in an exclusive hotel ballroom? Where will all this lead, I’d like to know?”
Cecily felt her neck tightening. She was in no mood for Baxter’s intolerance this evening. All afternoon she had been trying to decide how to proceed with the investigation of Charlie’s death without even a glimmer of an idea.
She had so little upon which to base her suspicions. The position of Charlie’s body, that was all. In fact, if it wasn’t for Madeline’s vision, she’d be inclined to think that the whole thing was a tragic accident, after all. It was just that Madeline’s visions invariably transpired, and she had learned never to dismiss her friend’s unusual powers.
“You are not paying attention, Cecily.”
She gave a guilty start and covered it by smiling at him. “I’m sorry, my dear. You were saying?”
“I was saying that the world is going to rack and ruin, with all these corrupt standards abounding everywhere. We are leaving decency and ethics behind in our frenzied pursuit of modernization. I blame the French. They always were a loose lot.”
Cecily sighed. “Why Bax, darling, you are always impressing upon me the importance of progress, and how change is good for the country and the soul.”
Baxter grunted. “When it applies to mechanical conveniences like motorcars and telephones, yes. I shudder to think, however, of the detrimental effects all this will have on the morals of young people.”
“Piffle.” Cecily leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I seem to remember, my dear husband, you and I sharing such a kiss in this very room. And without the benefit of a kissing bough to make it acceptable.”
Baxter’s eyebrows lifted. “We were quite alone at the time.”
Keeping a solemn face, Cecily nodded. “You are quite certain of that?”
She watched a shade of pink creep over her husband’s cheeks. “Were we not? I don’t-”
He broke off abruptly as Sir Walter Hayesbury paused in front of their table. The gentleman bowed, and offered his hand. “I do believe this is my dance?”
Cecily glanced at her husband and encountered a face of thunder. For a moment she was tempted to make some excuse, but having penciled Sir Walter’s name into her dance card earlier, she was under an obligation to accommodate him.
She rose, murmuring, “I shan’t be long,” and received a curt nod in answer.
Much as she tried to suppress her emotions, she had to confess to a certain thrill of pleasure as the aristocrat took her hand for the two-step.
He was a strong dancer, guiding her around the floor with such ease she felt as if she were floating. Feeling somewhat guilty about the pleasure she was experiencing, she murmured, “Your wife looks particularly elegant tonight, Sir Walter.”
He glanced over to where Lady Esmeralda sat in deep conversation with Lady Millshire. “She does, indeed.” He returned his dark gaze to Cecily’s face. “If I may say so, madam, you look every bit as elegant, if not more so.”
Normally Cecily would ignore such blatant flattery, but she couldn’t suppress the rush of warmth his words gave her. “Why, thank you kindly, sir.”