“No, m’m.” Clive shuffled his feet and looked away at the door. “I didn’t tell anybody but you.”

“Then I shall have to… oh, my Lord.” She shook her head to clear the fog of disbelief. “Run along, Clive. Get Ian… get the body out of that pond and out of sight before someone else sees him. Then I want both you and Samuel to report back to me in my office.”

“Yes, m’m.” This time Clive shuffled off to the door, letting in a gust of cold wind as he opened it, then closed it behind him.

Cecily took a moment to collect herself. Ian dead. It didn’t seem possible. She hadn’t seen him in quite a while, but at one time he had been a trusted member of her staff. Until that dreadful affair when he’d married Gertie, neglecting to tell her he already had a wife in London.

He’d gone back to London after Gertie had found out the truth. Then a year ago he’d come back, demanding to see his twins. He’d even gone so far as attempting to kidnap Gertie’s daughter, until Clive had caught up with him and saved the little girl.

Something had happened to Ian in those years after he’d left-something that had changed him into a hard, bitter man. Cecily uttered a deep sigh. Now he was lying dead outside, and once more her Christmas would be interrupted while she dealt with another death at the Pennyfoot.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Mrs. Chubb wiped her brow as she leaned into the massive oven to retrieve a sizzling pan of sausages. With a tea towel wrapped around each hand, she grasped the pan and hauled it out to drop it on top of the stove. The tempting aroma of bacon and sausage reminded her she hadn’t eaten her own breakfast yet. Nor, it seemed, would she have that luxury for at least another half hour.