Murder at the Dolphin Hotel

by Helena Dixon

  Murder at the Dolphin Hotel

  A gripping cozy historical mystery

  Helena Dixon

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Hear More From Helena

  A Letter from Helena

  Acknowledgements

  Murder at the Dolphin Hotel is dedicated to my family, my husband, David, my daughters, Robyn, Corinne and Alannah, my parents, my brother and sister-in-law, and my mother-in-law. All of them have supported me and continue to support me in all kinds of ways and without them, Murder at the Dolphin Hotel would not have been created.

  Torbay Herald

  10th June 1916, Dartmouth, England

  A reward is offered for information regarding the disappearance of local Dartmouth mother of one, Mrs Elowed Underhay. Mrs Underhay, aged twenty-seven, was last seen two weeks previously when she was thought to have departed from Kingswear station to visit friends near London. She has not been heard from since and her family and friends are keen to assure themselves of her safety. She was not thought to be in low spirits or to have any financial difficulties at the time of her disappearance. Mrs Underhay is described as five feet two, blonde, with blue eyes and was dressed in a rose-pink travelling costume with grey hat and gloves. Any information to be given to Mrs Treadwell, The Dolphin Hotel, The Embankment, Dartmouth.

  Chapter One

  Dartmouth, 1933

  Kitty Underhay was on reception duty at her grandmother’s hotel. Outside the revolving doors lay a fresh, sunlit afternoon. Inside the lobby there was the scent of beeswax and lavender with dust motes floating in the air.

  ‘They fetched a body out the river this morning,’ Cora murmured to Kitty as she whisked her duster across the top of the reception desk. The older woman glanced around the lobby to check there were no guests within earshot before continuing with her tale. ‘Foreigner, Dutch they said. And it looks a bad business. Constable told me he’d had his head bashed in.’

  ‘Cora, really.’ Kitty glared at her employee. ‘You are the limit.’

  Cora loved a titbit of gossip, and in a small, sleepy riverside town like Dartmouth, foul play on this scale was unusual to say the least. She bustled around the desk, her round, middle-aged face avid with glee at being the bearer of news.

  ‘Police is searching the banks down by the lower ferry. Mr Farjeon found him in the water when he went to open up his booth. Says he thought it were a dead dog, so he fetched a long stick and there was a face looking back up at him, all glassy-eyed and weed-covered.’ The maid’s stout frame shuddered at the thought.

  Kitty sighed. Once Cora got started it was difficult to stop her, but she had to admit that her curiosity was piqued, even if she could have done without the details. As in any town that had a high number of holidaymakers and boats calling in to port, one expected some issues, especially with the naval college on the hill at the edge of town. Even so, a murder, especially of a stranger, was indeed news.

  ‘You can’t trust foreigners.’ Cora pursed her lips and rubbed at an imaginary spot in front of the visitors’ ledger. ‘I heard as well, that—’ Whatever else she was about to add was left unsaid as Kitty’s grandmother, small and elegant in a tweed suit, silk blouse and pearls, swept up to the reception area.

  ‘I think the desk is clean enough now, Cora, thank you, and Kitty dear, please pay attention to your work. You need to pay more notice when you’re on duty at the front desk. People expect high standards at the Dolphin.’

  Cora tucked her duster into the pocket of her starched white apron and hurried away, clearly piqued at not being able to finish her tale. Kitty couldn’t decide whether to laugh or sigh as she tore her gaze away from the bustling river scene on the embankment outside the hotel. She wondered how many of the day visitors had been at the far end of the embankment watching the police activity by the lower ferry. ‘Sorry, Grams.’

  Her grandmother raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow. ‘I wish you wouldn’t keep drifting off into a trance. I’m worried that you won’t be up to managing the Dolphin on your own whilst I’m away in Scotland. This tittle-tattle of Cora’s doesn’t help. One should feel safe in one’s home.’ The older woman ran her hand lovingly across the dark green leather visitors’ ledger on the polished oak reception desk.

  ‘Grams, I’ve worked with you at the hotel since I was old enough to hold a duster. There is absolutely nothing for you to worry about. I’m sure the police will catch the culprit very quickly.’ Kitty did her best not to let her frustration show in her voice. She’d lived at the hotel since she was a small child. She had worked in virtually every role that her grandmother had felt suitable, from housekeeping to the kitchen, yet she still treated her like a child, and an incapable one at that. The Dolphin might be the premier hotel in the small Devon river resort, but she was quite confident about her ability to run things in her grandmother’s absence. As for the news of a murder right on their doorstep, well, it was unsettling but nothing to do with the Dolphin.

  ‘I know, darling, but running a hotel is a lot of work and responsibility for one person. You never know what kind of problem may arise, especially at the start of the summer season. Anything could go wrong, from the chef walking out to a linen crisis. We’re very busy with bookings too. I do wish Livvy hadn’t had her accident at such an inconvenient time; it’s so difficult to get help when she insists on living in such an uncivilised place.’ The older woman frowned and adjusted the neat set of pearls encircling her throat.

  ‘Great Aunt Livvy needs you to go to her. I’ll be fine. The Dolphin will be fine. You’ll be back from Scotland before you know it.’ She pinned her brightest and most professional smile to her face. It wasn’t Livvy’s fault that she’d slipped and fallen on the stairs and broken both her ankle and her shoulder.

  ‘Hmm. I would have asked you to go to Livvy but since you’ve organised this new-fangled jazz thing with that American woman, you really need to be here to keep an eye on it all.’

  ‘We’re very lucky to have secured Miss Delaware to open the summer season. She was quite a hit at The Cat’s Miaow club in London. That kind of music is all the rage now. That’s partly why we’re so busy.’

  ‘I just hope she doesn’t attract the wrong kind of clientele. News of a murder in the vicinity will not be helpful for business. This masked ball you’re planning at the end of her engagement will also be quite a lot of work.’

  Her grandmother still didn’t sound convinced, especially about the American touring band and jazz singer that Kitty had booked for the first two weeks of the summer tourist season. It had been Kitty’s idea to enhance their summer entertainment programme with some new acts, rather than using the same local performers who toured all the hotels in the bay in turn. She gritted her teeth, determined to prove all of her grandmother’s misgivings unfounded.

  Fortunately, one of Grams’ friends entered the hotel through the dark oak and glass-plate revolving d
oor and she was left in peace to get on with her work. However, when two more of her grandmother’s oldest friends also entered the hotel a few minutes later and they headed for her private rooms, Kitty suspected something was afoot.

  Her fears were confirmed with the arrival of Mrs Craven, a small, sturdy woman with iron-grey curls, an avant-garde little felt hat and a fox fur stole about her shoulders. There was a determined expression on her face.

  ‘Kitty my dear, how is your poor grandmother?’ Her clarion voice carried across the lobby.

  ‘She’s very well, thank you.’ Of all her grandmother’s friends, Mrs Craven was the one she liked least. A former mayoress of the town, she was on the board of all the civic societies, every charitable committee and was the ladies golf captain. Somehow, she always contrived to make Kitty feel like something she’d scraped from the bottom of her shoe.

  ‘I don’t know. Trust Livvy to get into a scrape. She always was accident-prone even as a girl. Thoughtless and reckless,’ Mrs Craven pronounced. She tugged off her gloves and dropped them into her handbag. ‘I presume your grandmother is in her salon?’

  ‘Yes, I think she’s just rung for tea.’ Kitty struggled to get her head around her great aunt as an accident-prone girl. Livvy had turned seventy-four on her last birthday.

  ‘I do hope you’re supporting your poor grandmother with all this worry. This accident is typical of Livvy, never a thought for other people. Just like your mother.’ Mrs Craven swept away before Kitty could reply, which was lucky under the circumstances as several very rude words hovered on the tip of her tongue.

  ‘Here you go, Miss Kitty. You look like you need a cup of tea.’ Cora reappeared and slid a tea tray onto the small bureau in the alcove behind the desk. ‘There’s a biscuit too if you want one.’

  ‘Thank you, Cora.’ Kitty smiled at her, willing to overlook her earlier gossiping. Cora had worked at the hotel since Kitty was a child. A plump woman who filled out her neat black uniform and white apron, her greying hair was fixed in a neat bun under her white cap, and she was incorrigibly nosey. Kitty’s grandmother overlooked her impudence because she was a good worker and she knew Cora’s home circumstances were not happy.

  ‘I saw that old trout, Ma Craven, come in. I wonder how much we’ll see of her once your Grams goes off to Scotland?’ Cora mused as she fiddled about with the tea things.

  ‘I’d rather not think about it. Grams has a full meeting of “the gels” today so I expect they’ll be “popping” in and out to keep an eye on things, and on me too, no doubt. Especially after today.’ Kitty grimaced. She knew her grandmother and her friends all too well.

  ‘Excuse me,’ a polite male voice interrupted their conversation. ‘I was told to come here and ask for Mrs Treadwell.’

  Cora melted away back into the lobby with the appearance of the man at the front desk.

  He was clean-shaven, tall and rangy, in his mid to late thirties; his suit appeared worn at the elbows and he carried a small, battered leather bag. He didn’t fit the profile for the Dolphin’s usual clientele, or the description of anyone her grandmother would be likely to have an appointment with.

  Kitty hesitated, unsure if she should interrupt her grandmother’s morning gathering with her friends.

  ‘Um… Miss? This is the Dolphin Hotel?’ His blue eyes seemed to sparkle with amusement at her confusion.

  ‘Yes, sir, of course. You said my grandmother was expecting you?’

  The stranger’s grin widened, revealing a small dimple in his right cheek. ‘Yes, Mrs Treadwell is expecting me.’

  Kitty’s professional training kicked in. ‘I’ll just call through.’ She picked up the telephone receiver and dialled the extension number for her grandmother’s suite with a shaky finger. ‘What name shall I give her?’

  ‘Matthew, Mr Matthew Bryant.’

  Her grandmother answered on the second ring. ‘Grams, there’s a Mr Matthew Bryant in reception. He says he has an appointment with you.’ She noticed the stranger’s lips twitch when she emphasised the Mr in front of his name.

  ‘Wonderful, I’ve been expecting him. Ask Cora to show him through to my rooms.’

  Kitty carefully set the receiver back in its cradle, a million unanswered questions buzzing in her head. Her grandmother was clearly up to something, and her sixth sense told her it was something that Kitty wouldn’t like. There had been a lot of odd things happening lately. None of them very significant, but perplexing nonetheless, and her grandmother had not been keen to discuss them.

  ‘I’ll just call someone to take you through.’ She was about to press the small brass call bell for the portering staff when Cora reappeared. Kitty wondered how much she had heard. She couldn’t have been far away from the desk, no doubt doing her best to eavesdrop. Nothing pleased Cora more than being the first to know something.

  ‘Cora, could you show Mr Bryant to Grams’ rooms, please.’

  The man hefted the leather bag. ‘Nice to meet you…’ he leaned in to read the discreet gold badge pinned to her lapel, ‘Miss Kitty Underhay.’

  Heat sizzled in her cheeks at the amusement in his eyes at her obvious discomfort at his impudence.

  ‘If you’d like to follow me, sir.’ Cora headed off across the lobby towards the stairs with the stranger following in her wake.

  Thankfully the lobby was empty now of guests, so Kitty took advantage of the opportunity to take a sip of the tea Cora had left for her in the alcove. Although the drink was almost cold, it helped to fortify her nerves. She wondered who Matthew Bryant was and what his business with her grandmother could be.

  She swallowed her last mouthful, shuddering slightly at the cold dregs. A faint tremor in her fingers which had started when he’d arrived, now caused the china to chatter when she replaced her cup onto the saucer. She wasn’t certain why the stranger’s arrival had affected her, but something about him unsettled her usual calm.

  She peeped out of her hiding place at the glimpse of spring sunshine outside the lobby. On days like today, the centuries-old building seemed to close in on her, suffocating her and pinning her to the ancient walls like a helpless moth. The hotel was almost as old as Dartmouth itself, dating back to the fifteen hundreds and handed down in Kitty’s family from generation to generation since it had first begun as a small tavern to the present day, when it was a large hotel, catering for the growing tourist trade. The half-timbered building faced the river not far from the upper ferry station, and a brisk walk from Warfleet Bay and the ancient Dartmouth Castle.

  Outside, the sun shone on the water, the castle stood guard at the river mouth and people were enjoying the fine day. She was inside, trapped by her inheritance, doing the same mundane jobs, day after day.

  ‘I’d better get rid of that tea tray, miss, before your grandmother spots it, or we’ll both be in trouble.’ Cora whisked into the alcove and collected the tray of dirty crockery.

  ‘Thank you, Cora. Did you take that man to see Grams?’

  Impudent as ever, Cora replied, ‘Yes, miss, and I tried to find out why he was here as I was sure I’d seen him before, but he was as close-mouthed as an oyster.’ She shook her head, a perplexed expression on her face. ‘Sorry, miss, got no information for you.’

  Matt shifted uncomfortably on the rose-patterned chintz armchair, the continued scrutiny of a half-dozen pairs of eyes boring into his skin.

  ‘More tea, Captain Bryant?’ Mrs Treadwell picked up the silver teapot and gestured towards his half-empty cup.

  ‘No, thank you, and please, I prefer to be plain “Mister”. The war is long over and my army service is ended.’ He set the cup down carefully on its saucer on a small, highly polished mahogany side table.

  Mrs Treadwell placed the teapot back on the tray and folded her hands onto her lap. ‘Very well. Now, I realise my proposition is a little unusual, but as I leave for Scotland tomorrow, time is of the essence and Kitty’s well-being is my prime concern. Even more so now there has been a murder only this morning so clos
e to the hotel.’

  Matt raked his hand through his hair and wished he’d thought to don a better suit and tie. Better clothes would at least have given him some kind of armour against Mrs Treadwell and her cronies. He’d faced a good many dangers in his past, but this group of old ladies was as scary as any he could remember. Especially the one with the fur stole and the gimlet gaze, seated like a queen on a throne in the best armchair. The other two ladies had the sofa and Mrs Treadwell had a straight-backed chair presiding over the tea tray.

  ‘What does your granddaughter think of your idea?’

  The older woman’s lips thinned. ‘I would prefer that Kitty remain unaware of the real reason for you being at the hotel. I am anxious not to trouble her.’

  ‘But if she knew there was a threat of some kind to her, or to the hotel, she would be more alert.’

  The other women exchanged glances.

  ‘No.’

  Matt sighed and tried again. ‘Have you taken your concerns to the police?’

  His question caused a series of half-stifled nervous titters to break out around the room.

  ‘Unfortunately, our police force is not as one would wish it to be. The station in town is very small and covers a large area. I have raised my concerns with a senior officer but unless something actually happens, it would seem that the services they can offer are somewhat limited. Besides which, I do have the reputation of the Dolphin to consider,’ Mrs Treadwell frowned.