Mystery at the Regal Rose Hotel

by C Jane Reid

  “Oh?” He looked a little too curious.

  “I prefer my gentlemen friends not to look at me as though I was something scraped off his highly polished shoe.”

  “How could anyone look at you in such a way?” He didn’t say it salaciously but with true incredulity.

  “Apparently you can if you’re an arrogant German ass.”

  “What does braying sound like in German?”

  Lola laughed and looped her arm around his. “Oh, I think I like you, Gordie Canfield. But before I decide, you must tell me one thing.”

  He put on an attentive expression. “And that is?”

  “Do you dance?”

  Chapter Two

  Saturday, January 6th

  “And did he?”

  Lola grinned from where she reclined on Miss Edie’s Victorian chaise lounge. She felt rather dramatic on the lounge, entirely too tempted to swing her arm over the lounge-back in a swoon, but she refrained.

  “He did. Quite nicely, too.”

  “Hmm.”

  A standard Edwina Blythe Fromer Meunier response. Though, Lola mused, if she had as many surnames as Miss Edie, she’d save her breath for saying them aloud, too.

  There was one name Miss Edie would rarely utter aloud: Baroness of Alwick.

  “And do you intend to see this young man again?”

  Lola couldn’t tell if Miss Edie found the idea disagreeable or acceptable. Those were her two main judgments toward any situation. It was usually easy to tell. One had only to look at the expression on the elderly woman’s face. She would appear either pinched and sharp or rosy-cheeked and pleasant.

  This morning, however, Lola couldn’t judge because Miss Edie sat with her back to her, penning a letter at the ornate writing desk. Her white hair was perfectly coiffed in an old Edwardian style, her dark blue day dress looked as though it had just come from the dress-maker, and her spine was ramrod straight.

  Lola sat up. She’d come to love visiting Miss Edie, no matter which side of the coin the old woman was on a given day. She had barged into Miss Edie’s life after learning who she was—the reclusive widow who lived on the top floor of the Regal Rose Hotel. Miss Edie had been married to Michel Meunier, the French architect who had purchased the old building to design into the Regal Rose, the glamorous, luxury hotel. He completed the top floor first so that he and Miss Edie could live on the property while construction continued.

  Lola couldn’t resist butting into the old woman’s life. On New Year’s Eve, she had determined that Miss Edie needed a friend. Miss Edie, as yet, didn’t seem so inclined to agree, but after the first day of Lola’s persistent inquiries at her door, Miss Edie had allowed her lady’s maid, Eugenie, to give Lola entry. “If only to stop this endless torment of door-rattling,” Miss Edie had declared.

  Lola didn’t believe a word of it.

  “We’re meeting at the club tonight,” Lola said, answering Miss Edie’s question.

  Miss Edie’s head raised. “Is your mother aware of this?”

  “I honestly couldn’t say,” Lola admitted. She twisted the strand of jet beads around her fingers. “I haven’t seen her since tea yesterday.”

  “Hmm.”

  That was definitely disapproving.

  “She had dinner with Sir Caldwell last night,” Lola told her, “and she had already gone when I woke this morning.”

  “I hardly think rising at ten o’clock is considered morning.”

  Lola chuckled. “I supposed I might have slept in a bit.”

  Miss Edie turned in her elegant chair to face Lola. “This seems to be a common occurrence for you.”

  “I understand that ladies often sleep well into the morning here.”

  “If you are referring to here as in England, then yes, it does occur. If she is a married woman,” Miss Edie stressed, tilting her head to peer at Lola from over her reading glasses. They were lovely things with silver frames and half-moon lenses. Lola thought she should get a pair. It was quite a statement to look over one’s glasses. Very effective.

  “Lola.”

  “Yes?”

  “Back to the matter at hand, if you will.” Miss Edie was learning her tendencies a little too well.

  “I was out late,” Lola defended, tilting her own face upwards as though to shield herself from that penetrating gray-eyed stare. She had danced far too long with Gordie, even missing her friends’ departure, but it had been too long since she’d lost herself to dancing the hours away.

  “With this young man?”

  “Gordie.”

  “Yes. Mr. Canfield.” Miss Edie pursed her lips together, looking as though she had something to add, but she kept silent.

  “You know something about the Canfields, don’t you?”

  “I am not one to spread rumors or repeat gossip.”

  “You aren’t spreading rumors. You’re simply catching me up to society news. I am woefully behind.” Lola fluttered her eyelashes.

  Miss Edie did not rise to the bait. Instead, she turned back to the writing desk.

  “Whoever are you writing?”

  “No one says ‘whoever’ in that manner, my dear.”

  “It’s making a comeback.” Lola crossed to the desk. “Is that French?”

  “Oui, il est en effet.”

  Lola blinked.

  “Truly, young lady, we must do something about your lack of education.”

  “I’ve had a fine education, thank you.”

  “Steer-riding and bull-wrestling do not count as education.”

  “It’s steer-wrestling and bull-riding and I’ve done neither.” For a while, Lola added silently. “It might come in handy that I know how to lasso a calf.”

  Miss Edie looked up at her. “And have you seen many runaway calves on the streets of London?”

  “I haven’t seen much of London at all.” Lola leaned on the desk and crossed her arms.

  “Stand straight.”

  She jumped upright at the unexpected command.

  “A lady does not slouch.” Miss Edie returned to her writing.

  “As my mother has mentioned.”

  “And well she should.”

  “Mother did the best she could with me,” Lola defended. She didn’t like the idea that Miss Edie would find her mother lacking. “It wasn’t easy for her, being the only Brit in West Texas.”

  “I am positive it was not. I am amazed she remained as long as she did.”

  “She loves it there.” Lola’s eyes burned. “And she loved my father.”

  Miss Edie faced her. “I am certain she did. Why else would she move to West Texas?”

  Lola didn’t know how to respond. Of course her mother moved to Texas to be with the man she’d married. Why would she have gone otherwise? Was Miss Edie commenting on that fact? Or something else?

  “But now you are both here,” Miss Edie continued, returning to her letter. “For better or worse.”

  “Better or worse for who?”

  “That remains to be seen.”

  Lola laughed, though she had the feeling the old woman wasn’t trying to be amusing. Or was she? She didn’t know Miss Edie all that well. She was trying, but the woman didn’t make it easy.

  “I think it’s for the better,” Lola said, leaning against the desk again and toying with her jet beads. “And some ways worse, too. Aren’t all things?”

  “Well spoken.” Miss Edie glanced up at her from over her reading glasses again. “You are entering a new world, however. Once your mother marries my nephew—”

  “I know. I’ve heard.” Lola straightened and lifted her chin to recite. “There will be traditions to follow and expectations to meet that cannot be willfully shirked, no matter my thoughts on them.”

  “You do a suitable impression of your mother.”

  “Don’t all young women?” Lola winked.

  Was it her imagination, or did Miss Edie hold in a chuckle?

  “There is a great deal of truth to it, however,” Miss Edie warned
. “Are you prepared for what this union will mean for you personally?”

  Lola gave that a thought before answering. “I’m fond of Sir Caldwell. He’s different from my father, but I think they’d have gotten along well. Though—” Lola tapped the end of her beads to her lips. “Now that I think about it, maybe they aren’t so different after all. Just different in the wheres and hows they were raised.”

  “Indeed.”

  “You’ve considered this already, haven’t you?”

  “Naturally.”

  “Did Sir Caldwell ask for your blessings?”

  Miss Edie did chuckle at that. “Not a bit, but then, I am only his aunt. He hardly needs my blessings. Your mother needs no one’s blessings, either,” Miss Edie added.

  Lola sensed a story under that comment, and she opened her mouth to ask, but Eugenie came into the room.

  “A message for you, Madame,” Eugenie announced. Lola had yet to place her accent. Scottish? Irish? Welsh? None of them quite fit.

  Eugenie held out an envelope. As Miss Edie accepted it, Lola saw Mme Meunier printed boldly on the front.

  Miss Edie eyed the envelope.

  “Well?” Lola prompted. That earned her a look from over the reading glasses again.

  Miss Edie set the envelope aside. “What are your plans for the day?” Miss Edie asked calmly.

  “You aren’t going to open it?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “Aren’t you curious who it’s from?”

  “Are you?”

  There was definitely a twinkle in the old woman’s eyes.

  Lola heard Eugenie chortle and glanced over to see the middle-aged woman covering her mouth with her hand.

  Emboldened, Lola snatched the envelope off the desk. She hesitated for a moment but Miss Edie said nothing, so she ripped it open and pulled out a half sheet of paper.

  And frowned.

  “It’s in French.”

  Miss Edie smiled. “Is it?”

  “You knew it would be.”

  “No, not at all. It might have been in Italian. I correspond in both.” She held out her hand, and Lola dropped the envelope and letter onto it.

  Miss Edie scanned it as Lola watched with a smirk. Their eyes met at the same time.

  “Clever,” Miss Edie mumbled.

  Lola glanced at Eugenie and winked, silently congratulating herself on her successful ploy. Now if only Miss Edie would share the contents of the letter.

  Miss Edie sobered and sat straighter, if that were possible.

  “What is it?” Lola bent at the waist, peering at the note with Miss Edie like it would make the French legible.

  Miss Edie tossed the note aside as though it offended her and pulled a fresh sheet of paper to her. She penned a response, at least that’s what Lola assumed, signed and folded it, and slipped it into a clean envelope. On the outside, she wrote “Herr Eckhardt Prinz.”

  “Oh! I’ve met him. But he’s German. Why is he writing to you in French?”

  “Perhaps because he believes I’m French.” The words were abrupt.

  “Why would he . . . oh, your husband. Why is he writing to your husband?”

  “He was not. He was addressing me.”

  “In French?”

  “As you saw.”

  “A German, writing in French, to an Englishwoman, widowed to a Frenchman.” Lola tapped her jet beads to her teeth.

  “Do stop that,” Miss Edie said, but Lola heard tension under the words. She let the beads drop back along her chest.

  Miss Edie stood and handed the envelope to Eugenie.

  “See that delivered immediately. I am going to retire until tea.”

  “Of course, Madame.”

  “I’ll have tea with you,” Lola said. “We can go together to the Tea Rose. I haven’t been to it yet.”

  “You will have to indulge in your exploration on your own,” Miss Edie told her. “It seems I have an appointment.” Miss Edie left the parlor, moving more slowly than Lola had seen the old woman move before.

  “Have you ever heard of this German?” Lola asked Eugenie.

  “No, miss, but Madame rarely speaks of old acquaintances.”

  “So I’m gathering.” Lola nodded at the envelope in Eugenie’s broad hand. “I can save you a trip on the lift.”

  “And give you a reason to take the letter?” Eugenie grinned, showing her overly large teeth. She was a solid woman, naturally broad, but soft-spoken, though Lola had the feeling she would turn from well-behaved help-meet to raging bull if anyone threatened Miss Edie. Eugenie was devoted to her, though Lola didn’t know the reason. It was more than simply a lady and her maid relationship. Lola had realized that much.

  Eugenie handed over the envelope. “Lola, no peeking.”

  “I’d never.” Lola pressed her hand to her chest as if wounded. “She sealed it.”

  Eugenie chuckled, a rich, deep sound. Lola looked her over with more care.

  “Eugenie,” she said seriously, “I could do wonders with your hair. That color is amazing, but it’s all hidden under that hideous bonnet.”

  Eugenie touched the ruffled cap concealing her golden hair. “It’s tradi—”

  “Tradition,” Lola finished for her. “Not all traditions need to be kept up, and this one, no offense, is tired. Why don’t I run this down to the front desk, then I’ll pick up a few things from my room and we’ll have a chat.”

  Eugenie looked dubious.

  “I promise,” Lola told her, “only a chat. At first.”

  Eugenie smiled. “You’re going to be a handful, Lola Rose.”

  “Is that so awful?”

  “No, my dear. I think it’s wonderful. What’s more,” she added, lowering her voice, “I think you are exactly someone Edwina needs in her life.”

  Lola grinned. “So do I.”

  Chapter Three

  “Who is it again?”

  Lola’s mother stopped midway through clipping on her emerald ear bobs. “Lola, must I say it again?”

  “This is the final time, I swear.”

  Her mother sighed. “Jack Edgars.”

  “Right.” Lola had no idea who Jack Edgars was and why they were meeting him for tea.

  “Mr. Edgars and your cousin served together.”

  The puzzle clicked together into one image. Wyatt had mentioned a few friends from his time serving in the AEF during the war, and Jack Edgars had been one of them.

  “Mr. Edgars read the engagement announcement in the newspaper,” her mother continued, fastening her emerald necklace, “and sent a note of congratulations, so I invited him to join us. It only seemed right, given that Wyatt speaks of him with such respect.”

  “Wyatt rarely tells me anything about the war,” Lola grumbled.

  “To spare you, Lola. You know that.”

  “He doesn’t spare you.”

  “I practically raised him.” Her mother smoothed down her dress for the third time.

  Lola realized how awful she was behaving. She crossed to her mother and wrapped her arms around her.

  “We’ll see him again, Mama. You know we will. Wyatt won’t be able to help himself. He’ll have to come meet Sir Caldwell to make sure he’s good enough for you.”

  Her mother laughed, though weakly and a little watery. “Yes, I suppose he will.” She patted Lola’s arms, and they looked at one another in the mirror. So much alike, Lola could see, by the heart-shape of their faces to their slender ears and porcelain blue irises. And then it was just as apparent what was different, the parts of Lola, like her straight nose and wide-spacing of her eyes that were her father’s. She had no idea where the red, corkscrew curls had come from, though.

  “Are you happy?” her mother asked, and Lola heard the worry behind the words.

  “Yes. Mostly.” Lola searched for the correct words that wouldn’t upset her mother. Normally, her mother didn’t need coddling. She was a strong-willed woman with a confident sense of herself.

  Everything was c
hanging for them both, but unlike the time her mother went through a major change in her life by moving to West Texas married to a Texas rancher, now she had Lola to consider, and Lola knew her mother took that responsibility seriously.

  “You don’t have to remain in London,” her mother told her. “I would never ask you to give up your life in Amarillo.”

  The bark of laughter escaped Lola before she could stop it. “I cannot possibly think of how I was existing in Amarillo. Not after, well—” Lola threw out her arm, gesturing expansively. “All of this. I feel as though I’ve come home.” Lola shocked herself. She hadn’t realized it until she said it.

  She tucked her head against her mother’s shoulder. “I’m happy, Mama. And I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Oh, thank goodness.” Her mother twisted and pulled Lola close to her. “What would I do without you, my Lola Lucille?”

  Lola’s chest tightened at the words, the ones her father used to say to her at least once a day. “My Lola Lucille is up to something, isn’t she?” he’d ask with a gleam in his eyes under the brim of his worn cowboy hat. Lola would laugh and swear she was up to nothing, which meant she was following whatever interested her, no matter whether she should or not.

  “We will make a fine life here,” her mother promised. “Sir Caldwell is a good man.”

  Lola drew back. “Please, Mother, tell me you aren’t going to call him ‘Sir Caldwell’ the entire time you’re married? I simply refuse to believe it.”

  Her mother laughed. “Only when it is expected.”

  “Fie on that,” Lola declared.

  “Fie? Lola, no one says ‘fie.’”

  “If the moment demands it, they should.”

  Her mother shook her head. “Finish dressing. Mr. Edgars will be waiting for us.”

  It didn’t take long before Lola was waiting with her mother for the lift, silently counting the floors as the arrow above the door pointed to numbers. A brief conversation with Carmen, the lift operator, who opened the ornate gate for them, and they arrived.

  The Tea Rose was the elegant tea room of the Regal Rose Hotel, located on the first floor with an overlook onto the rose garden outside. The room was actually a collection of rooms linked together. There were windowed doors between each that could be closed to keep conversations private while still allowing the sensation of sharing the tea room with others. And, Lola thought, to keep indiscriminate young people from taking advantage of the closed space.