Mulled Murder (Pennyfoot Holiday Mysteries) by Kate Kingsbury Read Free Book Online

Gertie’s turn to stare. “You don’t know your own name?”
    The woman gave a quick shake of her head, followed by a moan.
    It was no wonder the poor thing was shivering, Gertie thought. All she had on was a thin woolen frock. “Where’s your coat? Where did you come from? How did you get here?”
    Tears formed in the woman’s eyes and dribbled down her cheeks. She opened her mouth to speak, but Gertie said it for her.
    “Don’t tell me. You don’t bloody know.” She started for the kitchen, dragging the other woman by her arm. “Come on, let’s get you warmed up before you bleeding freeze to death. You’ll be lucky you don’t get pneumonia, lying out there in the cold. How long have you been out there, anyway? All right, I know. You don’t know.”
    She shoved open the door and pushed the stranger inside. “Wait there for me. Go and stand by the stove until I get back with the coal.”
    Hoping no one would come into the kitchen until she got back, Gertie sprinted across the yard, snatching up the scuttles as she tore by.
    It took her several minutes to fill the heavy cast iron containers, and she had to watch her feet as she carried them back to the kitchen, for fear she’d slip on the icy ground. Backing into the kitchen with a scuttle in each hand, she called out, “I’m back, so we’ll soon get you warm.”
    “What’s going on here, then?”
    At the sound of Mrs. Chubb’s voice, Gertie spun around.
    The housekeeper stood just inside the door, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the cowering, shivering woman by the stove.
    Sighing, Gertie dumped the scuttles on the floor, sending a chunk or two of coal skittering across the tiles. “I found her lying out in the courtyard. She’s bloody freezing in that thin frock.”
    Mrs. Chubb stepped forward, a frown wrinkling her forehead. “Are you hurt? What were you doing in the courtyard?”
    Through chattering teeth the woman whispered, “I don’t know.”
    “That’s all she can say.” Gertie picked up one of the scuttles again and carried it over to the stove. Bending over, she pulled open the hatch, grabbed a small shovel, and started feeding coal into the opening.
    “What’s your name?” Mrs. Chubb demanded.
    “She doesn’t know.” Gertie straightened. “I think she’s foreign and doesn’t speak English. All she knows how to say is, ‘I don’t know.’”
    As if to contradict her, the woman muttered, “My head hurts.”
    “Well,” Mrs. Chubb said, “it seems she can speak some English.” She walked over to the closet and opened it. Reaching inside, she pulled out a thick, blue woolen shawl. “Here.” She walked back to the stranger and draped it around her shaking shoulders. “This’ll help.”
    The woman clutched the shawl as if it were a life belt. “Thank you.”
    “Okay, ducks. Now tell us your name.”
    Tears welled up in the woman’s eyes again. “I don’t know. I don’t remember anything before I opened my eyes out there.” She nodded at the door to the yard. “I woke up and saw that lady and that’s all I remember.”
    Mrs. Chubb’s frown intensified. “What lady?”
    The woman pointed at Gertie.
    Mrs. Chubb rolled her eyes. “That’s not a lady. That’s Gertie, my chief housemaid.”
    Gertie pretended to be offended. Tossing her chin she said loudly, “Well, ta ever so.”
    “Oh, you know what I mean.” The housekeeper gave the stranger another intent look. “You don’t remember anything?”
    The woman shook her head.
    “Well, sit down here.” Mrs. Chubb pulled out a chair from the kitchen table. “I’ll make us a nice cup of tea and I’ll put a drop of brandy in it. Maybe that will shake up your memory.”
    “Better not let Michel know you’re giving away his brandy.” Gertie fetched the other scuttle and stood it by the stove. “He’ll have a flipping pink fit.”
    “I decide where the brandy goes. Not Michel.” Mrs. Chubb glanced at the clock. “Put the kettle on, Gertie. We’ll have time