Baxter frowned. “But what about the handkerchief? You said you found it outside the Danvilles’ suite. If it does belong to Mortimer, or Doyle, whichever it is, what the devil was it doing there?”
“The suite is on the same floor as Sir Arthur’s room. He probably dropped it while passing by the room.” Cecily gave him another triumphant smile. “I think I know why he’s carrying it around. He recently lost his wife, which is most likely why he is here in Badgers End for Christmas. He is getting away from the memories, which can be so awfully painful this time of year. I think the handkerchief belonged to his wife, and he’s carrying it to keep her with him.” Her smile faded. “In which case, he’s probably devastated by its loss.”
Baxter’s frowned deepened. “There’s just one thing I don’t understand. If Mortimer is actually Doyle, why would the initials be R.M.?”
It took a moment or two for his words to sink in. Then she let out an explosive sigh of disgust. “Of course, how thoroughly stupid of me. It wouldn’t be, of course. I was so caught up in the romance of it all I completely ignored that point.” She picked up the handkerchief and studied the embroidery. “Which means I have to find out to whom this handkerchief belongs. It’s back to square one.”
A sharp tap on the door brought up her head. She hastily tucked the handkerchief in her sleeve as Baxter got up to answer the summons.
She heard Pansy’s voice in the hallway and relaxed her tense muscles. She had half expected a hysterical outburst announcing yet another death.
Baxter closed the door and returned to his chair. “Mrs. Prestwick is here and waiting for you in the library.”
“Oh, good heavens. I completely forgot Madeline was bringing fresh greens this morning. This dreadful business is completely muddling my head.” Cecily rose and hurried to the door. “Madeline will be joining us for the midday meal, so we’ll meet you in the dining room.” She waited just long enough for his nod of agreement, then darted out the door and down the hallway.
Reaching the library, she found Madeline busily fastening miniature candlesticks on the Christmas tree among the green and gold glass balls and red heart-shaped sachets.
Upon seeing the tiny candles, Cecily’s heart skipped a beat. “What are you doing?”
Madeline turned with a guilty smile. “It just didn’t look right without the candles. Don’t worry, Cecily dear, we won’t light them.”
Cecily took a deep breath. “I certainly hope not.” She glanced around the room. “Where’s the baby?”
“Over there.” Madeline nodded at the deep armchair facing the French doors. “She’s sleeping, so I thought I’d leave her there while I run into the ballroom and change over the greens. The ones I put in there a few days ago are looking extremely dried up. That’s the problem with them being out of water. I wish there were some way to keep them watered while they are hanging on the wall.”
“I’ll keep watch over Angelina.” Cecily glanced at the tree again. “I’ll put the rest of the candles on while you’re in the ballroom.”
Madeline smiled. “That’s a very good idea. It will help you overcome that awful phobia you have.” Her smile faded. “I don’t suppose you found out who killed that lovely honeymoon couple?”
Cecily shook her head. “P.C. Northcott was convinced it was the Mayfair Murderer, but he’s been caught now, so I don’t know if the constable will decide to continue the investigation or wait for Inspector Cranshaw.”
Madeline studied her face. “You’re not going to pursue it yourself?”
“I don’t know that I can.” Cecily picked up a candlestick and fastened it to the branch with unsteady fingers. “I have an idea who it might be but there doesn’t seem to be any way to prove it.” She frowned. “Yet that little voice that always tells me I know more than I think I do is starting to make a noise in my head. I need to concentrate on what I know. Perhaps I can think of something useful.”
“Excellent idea.” Madeline picked up the huge basket crammed with holly, cedar, and fir. “Meanwhile I’ll get these greens hung up in the ballroom.” She flipped her hand in farewell and disappeared through the door.
Sighing, Cecily picked up another candlestick. Somewhere in all the muddle in her head lay the answer. She was sure of that now. All she had to do was go back to the beginning, and try to remember everything that had happened, and all she had learned.
Hopefully, something would jump out at her and she could go from there.
Deep in concentration, she fastened the candlesticks one by one, her mind focused on her conversations with Mick Docker and Stan Whittle. Barry Collins had said that he couldn’t remember seeing Mick Docker for a while the night Ellie died. She needed to talk to Mr. Docker one more time. Stan Whittle, too, since he had left the pub well before closing time.
Samuel said he heard Mick Docker arguing with Ellie that night. It was possible, however, that Samuel had mistaken Stan’s Scottish accent for Mr. Docker’s Irish accent. Then again, how had either one of them been able to get into the Pennyfoot to kill the Danvilles, and why?
Unless her theory was right about wanting to make it look like the work of the Mayfair Murderer. After all, everyone was at the pantomime that night. In that case, it wouldn’t have been quite so difficult to enter and leave the building without being seen.
Hearing a slight sound behind her, Cecily turned her head. Thinking Angelina was waking up, she waited to see if the child would cry. She could hear no further sound, however, and turned back to fasten the last candlestick.
What if it wasn’t either Mick Docker or Stan Whittle? She had concentrated so much on those two, she really hadn’t considered anyone else. Who else would have wanted to kill Ellie? That’s what she needed to know, for that’s where it had all started. Find the motive behind that murder and she’d find the clues to the rest. She was sure of it.
For some reason, the handkerchief she’d found kept popping into her head. She reached into her sleeve and drew it out again. It was a very pretty handkerchief, edged in fine French lace, with the initials embroidered with a deep purple silk thread.
She raised it to her nose to see if she could detect a fragrance and was rewarded with the smell of rosewater. She was about to unfold the handkerchief, when the door opened and Madeline floated into the room, her floral frock swirling around her bare ankles.
At the same time Cecily felt a distinct draft-more like a blast of cold air. She glanced over at the French doors and was stunned to see them standing open.
Madeline came to a halt, her gaze fixed on the armchair. For a moment she looked like a statue, her face white and set in stone. Then, in a strangled voice Cecily hardly recognized, she spoke one word. “Angelina.”
With a harsh cry of disbelief, Cecily rushed across the floor to the armchair. The baby’s fluffy pink blanket lay on the seat, with a little pink bonnet lying on top of it. A wave of nausea made Cecily clutch her stomach.
Inconceivable as it seemed, Angelina had disappeared.
Pansy had just begun to lay the tables for the midday meal when Gertie rushed into the dining room, hair flying out from under her lopsided cap. “Quick,” she said, breathless and panting, “go and find Samuel.” She held out a pink baby’s bonnet, the ribbons dangling almost to the floor. “Give him this and tell him to shove it under his dog’s nose.”
Pansy frowned. Gertie was always playing tricks on her, but this was really stupid, even for her. “What for?”
“Ms. Pengrath… I mean Mrs. Prestwick’s baby. It’s been stolen!”
Still unsure if this was a joke, Pansy shook her head. “Go on with you.”
“Pansy, it’s true. The baby’s gone and madam wants Samuel to look for her. She said the dog might help if it smells the bonnet.”