For answer, she held out the envelope, which shook even worse than when Philip had handed it over.

Frowning, Baxter took it from her, turning it over and back again. “What is it?”

“It’s a telegram.”

“I’m aware of that. What does it say?”

“I don’t know. I was too afraid to open it.” Her voice broke, and her words came out in a rush. “Oh, Bax, what if something has happened to one of the boys?”

“Hush, now.” He stuck his thumb under the flap and slit it open. “You are borrowing trouble again.”

She watched him anxiously as he scanned the lines. Her heart skipped when she saw his expression darken, and he swore under his breath.

“What is it?” She leaned forward, her heart now pounding like a sledgehammer.

“Are we never to escape this dratted curse?” Baxter thrust the piece of paper into her hands. “Here. Read it for yourself.”

She read it out loud, relief blended with dismay. “Cancel booking. Stop. Wife refuses to spend Christmas with murderer on the loose. Stop. With regret, Lord Chattenham. Stop. Oh, no!”

Baxter cursed again. “How the blazes did he get the news? Northcott only told you about the deaths yesterday.”

“I have no idea.” She stared at the faded letters pasted on the paper. “That’s four people less for Christmas. Oh, Bax, what if more people do this? We’ll be ruined!”

“Blasted cowards. We’ve had murders here before. It’s never stopped people coming here.”

“They don’t usually get forewarning,” Cecily reminded him. “What I don’t understand is that this time, it had nothing to do with the hotel. Why should something that happened in the village scare them away?”

“I suppose they’re worried the Pennyfoot might be next on the killer’s list.” Baxter began pacing back and forth. “I have to admit, with our record, it’s a viable concern.”

“Piffle.” Cecily got up and walked over to the window. Staring outside at the wintry lawns, she murmured, “And I was worried about the snow. This is a vastly more serious problem.”