It was Cecily’s considered opinion that her robust housemaid would waste no time in putting the objectionable man in his place. With considerable fervor if necessary. “Of course. You can rely on my discretion.”

“Good, good.” He thrust a hand in his pocket and came up with a large white handkerchief. Mopping his brow, he muttered, “Don’t want to go putting ideas in young heads, now do we. Wouldn’t do at all.”

Cecily was about to answer when the front door flew open and a bulky man wearing overalls charged through it. Clive Russell was the club’s maintenance man, and right now he appeared to be most disturbed.

His dark hair, usually neatly combed, looked as if he’d been fighting a strong wind, and he seemed to have trouble finding words, since his mouth opened and shut without a sound coming out of it.

Watching him stumble toward her, his hat crushed in his hands, Cecily felt a familiar sinking feeling in her stomach. “If you will excuse me, Mr. Parker,” she murmured, and without waiting for his answer, hurried to meet the other man.

Clive halted as she reached him, his eyes wide with shock. “Dead body,” he said hoarsely. “In the duck pond.”

Cecily clutched her throat. For the past week she had fought the worry that something dreadful might occur, as it had so often during this time of year. Now it appeared her worst fears had been realized. It seemed they would never be rid of the dreaded Christmas curse.

“Oh, no, no.” She drew a deep breath. “Tell me what happened.”

Clive made an obvious effort to lower his voice as the sound of chatter warned of people descending the stairs. “Don’t know exactly, m’m, though the bloke stinks of booze. I reckon he must have been drunk and fallen headfirst into the water. Looks like his head hit a rock or something.”

“One of our guests?”

Clive shook his head, and Cecily swung around as someone spoke from behind her.

“Mrs. B.? Is anything wrong?” Archie peered up at her, his sharp gaze darting from her to Clive and back again. “Can I be of any assistance?”