Archie’s eyes gleamed as he sat forward. “I happened to overhear it mentioned that the young man found in the duck pond was, indeed, the victim of murder.”
Since by now the news was apparently all over the Pennyfoot, Cecily saw no reason to hedge any further. “Unfortunately, yes. It appears that way.”
“And… do you have any idea who might have perpetrated the crime?”
She looked him straight in the eye. “I’m afraid I don’t. None at all.”
“Ah!” He sat back, hands folded across his chest. “I suppose anyone could have done it. A prowler, perhaps. After all, anyone could have walked in off the street into the foyer. It would have taken only a moment to snatch the candlestick off the hallstand to carry out the dirty deed.” He nodded, as if pleased with his own cleverness.
Cecily stared at him for a long moment before answering. “Yes, I suppose someone could have done that.”
“Did he have many enemies? The deceased, I mean.” Archie’s gaze probed her face. “Someone who had good reason to want him dead, perhaps?”
“Mr. Parker.” Cecily controlled her annoyance with difficulty. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the matter, and even if I were, I know nothing that could possibly help determine who was responsible for what happened. Furthermore, I dislike discussing it, so I’d appreciate it if you would not bring up the subject again.”
Archie nodded, though he seemed quite unaffected by her reprimand. “I imagine all this turmoil would be upsetting, yes. I simply wanted to offer my help. After all, you must want to discover the identity of the perpetrator. It can’t be a comfortable feeling knowing there is a killer loose on the premises.”
“There is no indication that the killer is still on the premises.” Cecily met his gaze, determined not to be unnerved by the man’s persistence. “As you yourself pointed out, it could have been a prowler, a complete stranger having wandered in off the street and possibly long gone from the town now.”
Archie nodded. “Quite, quite.”
Cecily slowly let out her breath. “Was there something else you wanted to tell me?”
Archie twitched his nose and frowned. “What? Oh, right, Mrs. B. Actually I came to ask you if I could have a bed warmer at night. The fireplace helps to keep the room warm but my bed is always cold. I can’t sleep when my feet are cold. That’s the curse of sleeping alone, what?”
Confused by the abrupt change of subject, Cecily struggled to make sense of the words. “A bed warmer?”
Archie nodded with enthusiasm. “Yes. You know, one of those pans you fill with hot coals from the fire and rub it all over the bed.”
“I know what a bed warmer is, Mr. Parker.” She squared her shoulders. “I’ll see that your request is taken care of this evening.”
“Good, good.” Archie rubbed his hands together. “Perhaps that maid, McBride, could come up at bedtime and see to it for me?”
Cecily narrowed her eyes. “I’ll send one of the footmen,” she said shortly.
Once more Archie seemed unfazed by her disapproval. “Well, all right. As you wish.” He got up from his chair. “I hope you soon find out who clubbed Mr. Rossiter to death. Nasty business that. I suppose you’ll be calling in the inspector?”
Cecily rose, leaning her hands on the desk. “I can assure you, Mr. Parker, that everything is being done to apprehend the criminal.”
“Ah, yes. Right. Right. Thank you, Mrs. B.” Nodding and backing away, he came up hard against the door. “Oops! Didn’t see that there.” He grabbed the handle, opened the door, nodded at her once more, then disappeared.
Cecily stood where she was for a long moment, staring at the closed door. Then she shook her head, sat down, and pulled the bell rope. While she waited for one of the maids, she opened the ledger and began writing down the bills that had been paid that morning.
After having to erase a figure twice, she gave up and closed the ledger again. There was too much occupying her mind. Too many questions. It was time she started getting some of the answers.
She was hoping that Gertie would respond to her summons, but it was Mabel who stood hesitating in the doorway.
“Will you please ask Clive to come to my office right away, and tell Gertie I would like a word with her just as soon as she is free.”
Mabel ducked a curtsey. “Yes, m’m.” She turned to go, then paused as Cecily asked, “How are you settling in here, Mabel? Are Gertie and Mrs. Chubb taking care of you? I know this is a busy time, but I hope they are finding time to show you what you need to know.”
Mabel avoided her gaze, staring at the carpet instead. She was a rather plump young lady, with pale cheeks and gray eyes that for the most part seemed devoid of expression. Her fair hair was scraped back from her face, and her short stature made her look like a young schoolchild.
There was an air of deep sadness about her that for some reason made Cecily feel protective. Mabel had told her that her mother had died when she was a baby and she’d been brought up in London by her grandmother. Judging from her demeanor when she’d divulged this piece of information, Cecily gathered that the relationship was not a happy one.
Since Mabel seemed disinclined to answer, Cecily tried again. “Is anything wrong, Mabel? Is there something we can do for you?”
Mabel shook her head and muttered, “No thank you, m’m. Mrs. McBride is being really helpful and so is Mrs. Chubb.”
“Well, that’s good to hear.” Cecily smiled back. “Run along then, and don’t forget to tell Gertie I need a word with her.”
“Yes, m’m. I mean no, m’m. I won’t forget.” Looking as if she were desperate to escape, Mabel slipped from the room.
Cecily frowned, disturbed by the young woman’s obvious melancholy. She would have to talk to Mrs. Chubb about her, and see if there was something they could do to cheer up the new maid. She didn’t like to think that a member of her staff was unhappy with her job.
A few minutes later a thump on the door warned Cecily that Clive was about to enter. The big man seemed to fill the doorway as he stood waiting for her to speak.
“Come in, Clive, and close the door behind you.” She smiled, but her words must have struck a warning note, as he seemed wary when he sat down opposite her.
She wasted no time in coming to the point. “Michel tells me he bumped into you the night before last. I understand it was quite late.”
“Yes, m’m.” Clive looked down at the cap he held in his hands. “I was late leaving.”
“Very late. After nine o’clock, Michel said.”
“Yes, m’m.”
“Would you mind telling me what you were doing in the yard at that hour?”
“I was on my way home, m’m.”
Cecily frowned. “But your day ended at six. I don’t remember asking you to stay after that.”
“No, m’m. You didn’t. I… had a job to do and it took a lot longer than I thought it would.”
“I see.” She rested her hands in her lap. “What kind of job?”
He glanced up at her, then back down at his feet. “I… ah… was down in the wine cellar working on the water pipes.”
Worried now, she leaned forward. “Do we have a problem with the pipes?”
“Not anymore, m’m.”
She pressed her lips together. He gave her the distinct impression that he was avoiding the truth. She had to ask herself why, and she didn’t like any of the answers that presented themselves. “Gertie tells me you came to her aid that night, when Ian was pestering her.”
“Yes, m’m.”
“What happened exactly?”
Clive took his time thinking about that. After a long pause, he said slowly, “I was walking past the door and he was in the kitchen and I heard her yelling at him. I opened the door and she had a knife in his face. She was quite angry, and I was worried she might use the knife on him, so I hustled him out of there and out of the gate.”