Cecily gave him a stern look. “That is my business, Samuel.”
“Yes, m’m.”
She was relieved when Bernard chose that moment to return with a tray bearing a bottle of brandy and three glasses. “Just in case you change your mind, Mrs. Baxter,” he said cheerfully as he set the tray down on a small table.
Glancing at the golden liquid gleaming in the bottle, Cecily imagined it sliding down her throat and warming her tummy. “Well, perhaps a tiny drop, then.”
“Ah! I thought you might. Nothing like a wee drop of the good stuff to warm the cockles, right?” Smiling, Bernard poured a generous amount in the three glasses and handed one to her. Motioning Samuel to take his, the publican picked up his own glass and sat down. “Now then, Mrs. Baxter, what can I do for you?”
Cecily took a cautious sip of the brandy, then winced as it stung her throat. “I wanted to ask you a few questions about the fight in your pub the other night,” she said, her voice sounding a little hoarse.
“Ah.” Bernard nodded. “I thought this was more than just a friendly visit.” He narrowed his gaze. “Does this have anything to do with the chap who recently died on the grounds of the Pennyfoot?”
Cecily exchanged a worried glance with Samuel. Apparently the news had now spread all over town. Avoiding his question, she said carefully, “Did you actually see the fight?”
Bernard shook his head. “No, m’m, I didn’t. I was behind the bar. I heard the commotion, though, and some of my customers told me that a couple of blokes were bashing each other outside in the yard.”
“So you don’t know how it ended up?”
“I didn’t see either of the chaps that were fighting come in the pub after that, so I reckon one got the better of the other and they both took off.”
Cecily took another sip of brandy. This one went down more smoothly, and gave her a pleasant, warm sensation as it slid down to her stomach.
“There was a woman came in looking for one of them. By that time they’d left, though.” Bernard downed his brandy in one gulp and smacked his lips. “Good drop of stuff, that.”
“Did you speak to her?”
“Aye, I did. She came up to the bar. I was a bit surprised, since it was the public bar and this woman was a lady. Not the kind you usually see in the public bar. Things got a bit quiet when she walked in, I can tell you.”
“Did she talk to anyone else while she was here?”
Bernard looked surprised. “No, she didn’t. She asked if I’d seen her husband. When she described him one of the customers mentioned he’d seen a bloke like that fighting out in the courtyard. She just turned around and left without another word.”
Cecily put down her glass before she was tempted to take another sip. “And you are quite sure she spoke to no one else outside?”
“As sure as I can be. I heard a horse taking off right after she went out the door, and I saw her go past the window. She didn’t have time to talk to anyone else.” He gave her a look full of speculation. “Does that help at all?”
“Perhaps. Thank you, Mr. McPherson.” Cecily tilted her head at Samuel. “I appreciate your time. I’m afraid we must leave now. I have some shopping to do before the shops close, and the traffic in the High Street is dreadful.”
Bernard jumped to his feet. “You can’t stay to see the missus? She’ll be disappointed to have missed you.”
“Please give her my apologies. Perhaps the two of you can stop by the Pennyfoot over Christmas and sample some of Mrs. Chubb’s baking. Her mince pies are legendary.”
“I’m sure they are, m’m. We’d like that very much.”
“Good.” Cecily rose to her feet. “Come along, Samuel. We must be off.”
“How are those two sons of yours?” Bernard asked, as he led them to the door.
Cecily smiled. “They are both very well, thank you.”
Bernard nodded. “I often think of your Michael. Those new pumps he put in when he was the publican here are the most efficient I’ve ever seen.”
“Michael loved this place.” Cecily paused, waiting for Bernard to open the door. “I think he still misses it.”
“He’s happy, though, right?”
Cecily laughed. “I believe so. He’s not very good at writing letters, I’m afraid.”
“Ah, men usually leave that sort of thing to the women. I canna blame him too much.” He opened the door and Cecily stepped out into the rain.
“Thank you for the brandy, sir,” Samuel said, touching his forehead with his fingers.
“You are most welcome, laddie.” Bernard smiled at Cecily. “Take care on the way back. The fog is getting thick.”
He was right, Cecily realized, as she settled herself on the leather seat. The dense mist seemed to wrap itself around the horse and carriage, enfolding everything in moist arms.
Shivering, she drew her scarf tightly about her neck. “Hurry, Samuel,” she called out. “We must reach town before closing time.”
“Right away, m’m.” Samuel cracked the whip and the horse started forward, jerking her back in her seat.
Their journey was slowed by the gray fog that swallowed up the view ahead. In a fever of impatience, Cecily leaned forward, as if by doing so she could will them to go faster, although she knew how dangerous that would be. Samuel was an experienced driver, and she respected his judgement.
At long last they reached the town, where the vehicles had thinned out considerably. Ordering Samuel to stop in front of a men’s clothier store, she climbed down before he had a chance to leap to the ground and assist her.
The manager was about to close the door as she reached it, and she gave him her warmest smile. “I shan’t be but a minute,” she promised, and, with reluctance, he allowed her to enter.
It actually took her ten minutes to find what she wanted, a burgundy velvet waistcoat. She waited for the assistant to wrap it for her, then hurried out of the shop and back to the carriage.
More relaxed now, she had time to think about Bernard McPherson’s words as they sped back along the Esplanade. Gloria had lied about the evening Ian died. Instead of waiting for him at home, as she told Cecily she had done, she must have gone to the George and Dragon to find him, but arrived after the fight and after Ian had left.
Since Bernard hadn’t seen the fight, he could not have told her that Ian had a black eye. Nor, apparently, did she speak to anyone else. Which meant that Gloria must have seen her husband later that night.
Now what Cecily wanted to know was why Gloria lied about that and what it was she was trying to hide.
“Where the heck did they find this?” Gertie snatched up the candlestick and held it out to Daisy. “Where did they get it?”
Daisy dropped her book and sat up. “I dunno. I never saw it before.”
Gertie swung around to face her children. Lillian looked scared, while James stared at her in defiance. “Where did you get this?” She shook it in James’s face and Lillian burst into tears.
“It must have been in the room.” Daisy jumped off the bed and fell to the floor on her knees. “They haven’t been out since you left.” Putting an arm about Lillian’s shoulders, she said gently, “Tell us where you found the candlestick, there’s a precious girl.”
“We found it under the bed,” James said, jutting out his bottom lip. “The stupid thing was just lying there. We didn’t do nothing wrong, Mama!”
Realizing her hand was still shaking, Gertie clutched the candlestick to her chest. “Under the bed? Are you telling me the truth, James? Lillian! Is he telling me the truth?”
Lillian simply cried harder. Daisy looked up at her, accusation blazing in her eyes. “What is the matter with you, Gertie? It’s just a silly old candlestick. It’s not even real silver.”
Instead of answering her, Gertie turned up the base of the candlestick. On the bottom was a brown stain, with a half dozen hairs sticking to it.