Free 5 Check-Out Time by Kate Kingsbury Page B

nodded. “Thank you, Gertie. Tell Mrs. Chubb I kept you talking if she complains.”
    Gertie grinned. “Don’t you worry about Mrs. Chubb, mum. Her bark is a lot worse than her blinking bite.” She marched off across the foyer, muttering loudly, “Aw right, aw right, keep your bleeding wig on. Cor blimey, there ain’t no bleeding peace for the wicked, that there ain’t.”
    Thankful that Mrs. Chubb couldn’t hear the housemaid’s words, Cecily hurried down the hallway to the gardens beyond.
    A loud chorus of birds greeted her as she stepped outside into the cool morning air. Dew sparkled on the smooth lawns and on the branches of the topiary bushes so carefully maintained by John Thimble, the Pennyfoot’s amiable gardener.
    Cecily glanced fondly at the shrubs, then halted, her eyes widening. The two at the far end of the row had something hanging from them.
    Hurrying toward them, Cecily shaded her eyes from the sun to get a better look. She hadn’t imagined it. Groaning, she surveyed what could only be the latest handiwork of Master Stanley Malton.
    Tied to a lower branch of one bush, a lady’s corset swung gently from its laces. The other bush was lavishly adorned with various items of ladies’ underwear. A pair of pale orchid drawers flapped in the fresh sea breeze, and silk stockings clung to several branches, like garlands on a Christmas tree.
    Gritting her teeth, Cecily headed for the Rose Garden, trying to remind herself that the boy was going through a traumatic time after the death of his father.
    She saw John Thimble as soon as she passed beneath the archway. He stood bending over a white rosebush, carefully snipping at it with a pair of shears.
    She greeted him warily, wondering how she was going to tell him about the lingerie clinging to his shrubs. John was fanatical about his gardens. He cared more for his plants and shrubs than he did for people. His work was his life, and he lived for nothing else. Cecily decided she wouldn’t want to be in Stanley’s shoes when John saw what he’d done to his precious topiary bushes.
    He answered her greeting with a nod of his head and touched the floppy brim of his hat. John rarely spoke unless it was absolute necessary.
    “Have you seen Master Stanley Malton anywhere about?” Cecily asked, not really surprised when John shook his head.
    “Haven’t seen anyone, m’m.”
    “Well, never mind. I’m sure I’ll find him.” Cecily hesitated, then murmured her thanks and left. She would find Stanley and make him remove the articles of clothing, she decided, since he was the one who put them there.
    Poor John had never been married. He would be mortified if faced with that array of unmentionables. Stanley was exceptionally devious.
    She had almost reached the fish pond when she heard the sound of voices—a shrill young voice, echoed by a deeper hoarse tone that sounded quite desperate.
    “Get out of here, you filthy swine! Down boy, down! Stay under cover. By gad, I’ll have them!”
    Barely recognizing the colonel’s voice, Cecily quickened her step.
    “There they are, Colonel! Look, over there,” the young voice exclaimed.
    “Where? Where? Let me at ’em. By George, I’ll massacre the rotten blighters.”
    Again the shrill voice. “Over there, over there, look, look!”
    “Where? Great Scott, they are fast little buggers.”
    “Over there, Colonel. Look out! One of them has a gun!” The shrill words were followed by an agonizing scream.
    Cecily broke into a trot and burst through the bushes just as the colonel howled, “Now see what you’ve done, you despicable degenerates. You’ve killed him. By God, I’ll see you hung, drawn and quartered for this, you damn butchers.”
    Cecily took in the scene with one swift glance. Stanley lay flat on his back, looking like a bleached whale. Rolls of fat bulged above the waist of his knickerbockers, while a horrible grimace distorted his features and one hand clutched his chest. His eyes were closed