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

for a cuppa before the rest of them get here. Then you can take Miss Memory up to Madam to ask her what’s to be done.”
    Gertie raised her eyebrows. “Miss Memory?”
    “We have to call her something, don’t we?” Mrs. Chubb took the woman’s arm and guided her into the chair. “Sit down, ducks. You’ll feel better after the tea.”
    Gertie filled the kettle and carried it to the stove. “I could use a cuppa meself.”
    “Why are you up so early, anyway?” Mrs. Chubb spoke over her shoulder as she reached into a cupboard for some cups. “Who’s watching the twins?”
    “They’re watching themselves.” Gertie took the cups from her and waited for the saucers. “Daisy will be down soon, and they’ll be good until their nanny gets there. They know what will happen if they’re not.”
    Miss Memory stared at her with alarm in her soft blue eyes.
    “I told them Father Christmas won’t bring them any toys if they don’t behave,” Gertie hastened to tell her, just in case the woman thought she was beating her children.
    Just then the door swung open and Michel rushed in, shouting at the top of his voice. “
Sacre bleu!
Why eez everyone standing around doing nothing, eh? Why is—” He stopped short and stared at the woman seated at the table. “Who are you? What are you doing in my kitchen?”
    Gertie stared at Miss Memory in surprise. Michel was tall, and loud, and could, at times, be a bit overpowering, but she had never seen anyone shrink away from him like he was some terrible, ugly monster. The woman was practically sliding off her chair as if she was trying to get under the table.
    Even Michel seemed surprised. He took off his white chef’s hat, scratched his head, and looked at Mrs. Chubb. “What eez the matter with her?”
    Mrs. Chubb looked just as mystified. “I think she’s ill,” she said, tapping a knowing finger at her forehead.
    “Ah.” Michel put his hat back on. It flopped over on one side, giving him the look of a comical clown.
    Miss Memory wasn’t laughing. She looked terrified.
    Michel tiptoed past her, murmuring, “What will you do with her?”
    “Give her a cup of tea,” Gertie announced, adding gleefully, “with a good dollop of brandy.”
    Michel stopped short. “
My
brandy? You give her
my brandy
?”
    “It’s not your brandy,” Mrs. Chubb said crossly, “and for goodness’ sake, Michel, stop that infernal bellowing. You’re scaring the young lady to death.”
    Catching sight of steam billowing from the kettle’s spout, Gertie snatched up a teapot from the dresser. After spooning three spoonfuls of tea leaves into it, she carried it over to the stove and poured boiling water on top of it.
    Michel muttered something she couldn’t hear and busied himself at the counter, pulling out various pots and pans and an assortment of cooking utensils.
    Gertie could hear Mrs. Chubb murmuring something to the woman at the table, but couldn’t make out what she said, either. This whole thing was so strange. What was the woman doing in the courtyard without a warm coat? Her frock looked to be of good quality, as were her boots. So why wasn’t she wearing a coat? Why couldn’t she remember anything? What had happened to her for her to end up lying unconscious on the icy ground?
    This was going to stir things up, all right. Maybe Madam could sort it all out. She was good at doing that. Gertie couldn’t wait to find out all the answers. She just hoped she wouldn’t have to wait too long. There was so much going on at present, what with Pansy’s wedding and Christmas and everything.
    She glanced over at the table. It looked as if Mrs. Chubb had calmed the woman down a bit, though she still appeared as if she might bolt any second.
    Gertie felt sorry for her. It must be awful to not remember her name or anything else that had happened to her. She just hoped that Madam would be able to help the poor thing. Though how she was going to do that when the woman didn’t even know