by C. J. Archer
“So it was forced,” I said, watching him closely.
He stepped into the foyer. “If you’ll excuse me, Miss Fox, I have staff to interview.”
Damnation. He’d given nothing away. He’d not so much as flickered an eyelash.
The inspector and constable were met by a very grave looking Mr. Hobart who directed them through to the vestibule. I followed at a distance, but Mr. Hobart closed the doors to the dining room where a number of staff waited. The manager did not join them.
“Is something the matter, Miss Fox?” he asked. “Did you have something to tell the inspector?”
“You mean your brother?”
“Ah. He told you.”
“Yes, but he didn’t have to. You’re very alike and have the same surname. Is there no one else you’re related to? The prime minister, perhaps?”
He smiled, and for the first time, it seemed genuine. “I don’t think you’ll come across more of us, unless my wife pays a call on me here. Sometimes she stops by if she’s out shopping. She likes to see Harry. He doesn’t call on us at home as much as he ought.”
“He gets fed too well here, I suspect. You know what young men are like. Once they grow up and leave home they only return for their mother’s cooking—or their aunt’s, in your instance.”
“I suspect you’re right. The food here is better than what he’d get at home.” Mr. Hobart nodded at the closed dining room door. “His parents often scold him for not visiting on his days off. I don’t think my brother has seen him yet, but I suspect he’ll receive just such a scolding when it’s his turn to be interviewed.”
“The detective inspector is Mr. Armitage’s father? But their surnames are different.”
He signaled that I should walk with him out of the vestibule to the foyer. “Harry is an orphan. He was taken in by my brother and sister-in-law at aged thirteen, but he wanted to keep his real name. He’d grown used to it, I suppose.”
It was quite a story, and I wanted to know more, but Mr. Hobart spotted a guest trying to attract his attention and excused himself.
I watched him greet the guest with a smile. Now I knew why he looked nothing like Mr. Armitage, although there was a similarity in their manner. They both had a way of putting others at ease, yet there was a quiet authority about them too. Instead of being a family trait, that manner must have been learned by Mr. Armitage as he studied at his uncle’s side all these years. Mr. Armitage would be a worthy successor to the role of hotel manager when Mr. Hobart retired.
The guest to whom Mr. Hobart spoke moved off. He looked somewhat familiar, but it took me a moment to place him. He’d been speaking to Mr. Armitage yesterday afternoon when Mrs. Warrick muttered to herself about a man who ought not to be in the hotel.
It was quite a strange comment to make, now that I thought about it. Who shouldn’t be in a hotel? Anyone could walk into the foyer.
On the other hand, not everyone would walk into the foyer of a luxury hotel. The rude greeting I’d received from the doorman upon my arrival was testament to that. Or, perhaps Mrs. Warrick was referring to a luxury hotel in London. There were so many things she could have meant. She had also mentioned he looked different and it had been years since she’d seen him.
There’d been three men in her line of sight—the guest who was now leaving the hotel clutching an umbrella, Mr. Armitage, and another man. Hopefully when I saw him again, I would recognize him. It might be important.
Or it might not. Perhaps I was seeing potential suspects where there were none. Grandmama called my imagination vivid, and my father had gently chastised me on more than one occasion for daydreaming instead of studying.
“That’s a wistful smile,” said a familiar voice. I looked up to see Mr. Armitage striding towards me. “There aren’t too many smiles around the hotel this morning, despite it being Christmas Day.”
“You’re right, it’s insensitive of me. Poor Mrs. Warrick.”
“That’s not what I meant. There’s no need for you to stop smiling. You didn’t know her.”
“Did you?”
He looked taken aback by my earnest question. “I met her when she checked in, and again when there was an incident with one of the footmen.”
“Danny, the one who is now the prime suspect?”
“Is he?” The sudden change from friendly to steely wasn’t lost on me. “Has the detective inspector confided in you?”
Despite being disappointed with the change my questions had produced in him, I forged on. Answers were more important than flirting. “Your father confide in me? No, of course he hasn’t. But I’ve heard from one of the maids that Danny delivered the poisoned cup of hot chocolate to Mrs. Warrick and that she had a prior grievance with him.”
“That grievance was resolved before her murder, and there was no poison residue left in that cup, I believe.”
It seemed the detective had confided more to his son than he had to me. Mr. Armitage realized he’d said too much. He crossed his arms. “Leave the detecting to the police, Miss Fox.”
“I’d be glad to.”
Mr. Armitage’s gaze narrowed. “My father is very thorough.”
“I’m sure he is.”
His gaze narrowed further. “You’re agreeing with me too readily.”
“I’m sorry. Do you want me to disagree with you?”
He sucked in a breath between his teeth. It seemed to dissolve his frustration with me somewhat. His smooth smile returned again, but his eyes held none of their earlier warmth. “Enjoy your morning, Miss Fox. Please don’t hesitate to ask one of the staff if you require something.” He bowed and walked off.
I sighed. I had enjoyed seeing a more relaxed side to Mr. Armitage before our little confrontation, but it would seem my questions were not welcome. Truly, I hadn’t thought I’d been attacking his father’s reputation, but it must have come across that way. Perhaps I ought to apologize.
Then again, I wasn’t sure I had anything to apologize for. Mr. Armitage had simply read more into my responses than had been there.
“Cleo! There you are.” Flossy hurried towards me from the direction of the lift. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Come with me. Mother is awake and wishes to see you.”
Finally, I would meet her. I followed Flossy back into the lift and we headed up to level four. She knocked on the door to her parents’ suite and a voice inside bade us enter.
A thin woman sitting on the sofa smiled and held out a bony hand to me and another to Flossy. “You must be Cleopatra. Merry Christmas, my dear.”
She inspected me, giving me an opportunity to inspect her in turn. Instinctively, tears welled in my eyes. There was a remarkable resemblance to my mother, despite Aunt Lilian’s gaunt features and my memories of my mother being several years old. The sea-green eyes had been my mother’s most remarkable feature and were the same for my aunt. The gray streaks in her hair didn’t completely override the natural almond shade and her skin resembled the finest porcelain. Her high cheekbones would have given her a regal air if not for the hollows below. She was an older, thinner version of my mother.
“You look so much like her.” The words could have easily come from me but it was my aunt who whispered them. Her eyes shone as she patted the sofa beside her. “Come and sit with me, Cleopatra. Flossy, the gift.”
“She goes by Cleo,” Flossy said as she handed a small box to her mother.
Aunt Lilian gave it to me. “Merry Christmas.”
“Oh, I can’t accept it,” I said. “I’m afraid I didn’t get you anything.”
Aunt Lilian thrust the box into my hand. “It’s just a trinket. We were going to exchange gifts all together but your uncle informed me he’s too busy now, thanks to that poor woman’s murder. He might not even join us for luncheon.”
I opened the box to reveal a silver brooch in the shape of a butterfly, its wings made of blue enamel. I certainly wouldn’t describe it as a trinket. I pinned it to my dress. “Thank you. It’s lovely.”
She smiled. “It looks very fetching on you. Now, tell me everything about your life. I’ve missed so much of it. And you’ve missed so much of ours, too. Has Flossy been a good cousin while I’ve suffered with my headaches? Have you met Floyd? Dear Floyd, such a rascal, isn’t he, Flossy? In a good way, of course. And what do you think of the hotel?”
Flossy laid a hand on her mother’s shoulder. Going by Aunt Lilian’s wince, she squeezed it quite hard.
I tried to answer all of my aunt’s questions while she listened. There wasn’t much to say about my life, but I gave her an account of the years since my parents’ deaths. Despite being a short retelling, my aunt seemed to lose concentration. Her gaze darted about the room and it took Flossy clearing her throat to bring her focus back to me.
Despite the too-thin figure and drawn features, she was a vibrant woman with considerable energy. She found it difficult to sit still, and when I finished speaking, she suddenly rose.
“Shall we go downstairs?” she said. “Or perhaps for a walk. Would you like to shop with us, Cleo? Flossy, don’t you think Cleo would like some new things?”
“The shops are closed,” Flossy reminded her. “It’s Christmas day.”
Aunt Lilian laughed. “Of course it is. Is it time for our feast yet?”
“Almost,” Flossy said. “But I’m not sure we ought to leave our rooms. There’s a murderer about.”
“Nobody will try to murder us, dear.” Aunt Lilian flashed a smile and in that moment, I saw the famous beauty she’d supposedly been her in youth. “I would very much like to go out before luncheon. Where are my gloves? Flossy, have you seen my tan gloves?”
Flossy fetched gloves and hat for her mother, and she and I fetched our own things while her mother waited in the corridor. When I emerged from my suite, Aunt Lilian was pacing the floor near the stairs.
“We’ll walk down,” she said. “The lift is too slow.”
Flossy sighed.
Outside, we walked for an hour at a brisk pace that had Flossy puffing heavily and me feeling nicely warm. All the shops were closed for Christmas Day, but Aunt Lilian pointed out their favorites, commenting on why such-and-such was the best for parasols, or so-and-so made the finest boots.
We walked through Hyde Park and returned to the hotel from the opposite direction from which we’d left. Although Aunt Lilian set the brisk pace, she seemed to deflate very quickly. By the time we reached the hotel, she claimed she had a headache and needed a rest. Without being asked, Flossy led her away. She mouthed an apology to me over her shoulder as the doorman greeted them and opened the door.
The doorman waited after they disappeared through it, staring straight ahead.
“Merry Christmas,” I said to him. “Do you remember me from yesterday?”
“Yes, Miss Fox.” His cheeks pinked, but still he did not look at me. “Merry Christmas to you too.”
The porter who’d taken my bags the day before smirked and rocked back on his heels. He was enjoying this. The doorman was not, if his increasingly reddening cheeks were anything to go by.
The doorman swallowed. “I’d like to apologize for my greeting last time we met. It was unforgiveable. Let me assure you, it won’t happen again.”
I sighed theatrically. “I will try to forgive you. That’s all I can promise at this point.”
He bowed stiffly. “You’re very generous. Very generous indeed.”
The porter made a snorting sound as he tried to cover his laugh. The doorman’s jaw hardened.
“It seems I’m at a disadvantage,” I went on.
“No, Miss Fox, I assure you there is no disadvantage intended,” the doorman said. “If there is some way I can make you feel less at a disadvantage, please allow me to perform the task.”
“There is, as it happens. You can tell me your name.”
He went quite still. “Why?” He must suspect I was going to inform the manager of his ill-mannered greeting yesterday.
“Because I didn’t catch it.”
“I, er…”
“He’s Frank, miss,” said the porter, stepping forward. “And I’m Gilbert, but everyone calls me Goliath.”
“I can see where the moniker comes from. I’ve never seen anyone as tall as you.”
He puffed out his chest, earning an eye-roll from Frank.
“May I say something that should have been said yesterday?” Goliath asked me.
“Of course. What is it?”
“Welcome to The Mayfair.” He bowed deeply.
Frank eyed the porter as if he’d stolen money right out of his pocket.
“Thank you, Goliath.” I strode past Frank, still holding the door open. “And thank you, Frank.”
“Me?” he blurted. “Why?”
“For holding the door. You do it with such aplomb. May I offer some advice, however?”
“Please do.”
“A smile wouldn’t go astray.”
He gave me a hard smile, revealing crooked front teeth.
“Perhaps with a little less ferocity, however.” I winked at Goliath and he chuckled. Frank continued with his forced smile as I passed him and entered the hotel.
Aunt Lilian was fully rested by the time we sat down to luncheon. Uncle Ronald managed to join us after all, and we enjoyed a feast of turkey, ham, and mince pies in the dining room, along with the hotel guests. The pop of Christmas crackers, chatter and laughter seemed out of place considering a murder had taken place overnight just upstairs.
Indeed, it was the strangest Christmas day I’d ever experienced. I hadn’t gone to church as I usually would in the morning, and my family spent much of the luncheon exchanging pleasantries with guests rather than each other. They even sought out particular guests between courses. The only times all five of us sat together was to eat, and even then their attention often diverted to one neighboring table or another as if deciding who they’d speak to next. It lacked the intimacy and warmth I was used to. I’d never missed my grandparents more, and my parents too.
I retired to my suite after luncheon and was reading a book when Harmony sought me out. I needed little convincing to go with her to the staff parlor where Danny the footman waited. Apparently she suggested he tell me everything he’d told the inspector. When I asked her why, she merely said she suspected I would put in a good word for him.
“I collected her chocolate pot and cup from the kitchen, same as every other night,” Danny said.
Like all the footmen and waiters I’d seen in the hotel, he was handsome and young. But Danny’s youthful good looks were marred by an anxious frown. He hadn’t been arrested, thankfully, but he’d been ordered not to work, and a constable stood outside the parlor door. Danny was essentially a prisoner in the hotel.
“How did you know it was Mrs. Warrick’s pot of chocolate?” I asked. “I assume there are pots of chocolate going from the kitchen up to the guests all the time of an evening.”
“From the label.”
I gave him a blank look.
“Mrs. Warrick’s hot chocolate is a regular order,” he explained. “She doesn’t have to call down to the kitchen. Regular orders get made as necessary and a footman collects them. The chef writes the guest’s name and room number on a label and leaves it with the tray. There were only three of us footman working last night, and we’re always coming and going. I saw the pot and cup when I entered the kitchen, read the label, and took it up to Mrs. Warrick.”
“And she was definitely alive when you delivered it?”
“Yes! She scolded me for being late, but I swear I wasn’t. Ugly old bat.” He all but spat the words. “I placed the tray on the table and asked her if she required anything else. She didn’t even answer me. She just kept complaining that I was late with the hot chocolate. She was alive the whole time, I swear to you.” He lowered his head and dragged a hand through already ragged hair. “The detective mustn’t believe me or he wouldn’t be asking everyone where they were before eleven, which is when I saw her. He’s eve
n asking what everyone was doing in the late afternoon! Why? Can’t he check if she ate dinner in the dining room or in her own room?”
Harmony squeezed his shoulder. “It’s all right, Danny. We believe you, and Miss Fox is going to help the police find who really did it.”
I blinked at her. “I don’t—”
“Thank you, Miss Fox.” Danny gave me a wobbly smile. “It means a lot to me to have one of the Bainbridges on my side.”
“I’m sure they’re all on your side, Danny,” I said. “Everyone wants to find the truth. Nobody wants a murderer roaming around the hotel.” The thought chilled me. My words weren’t empty ones. I did want to find the real killer. Like Harmony, I didn’t think Danny was the type.
But as Detective Inspector Hobart said, killers did not have a type. Anyone was capable of murder, and poison was the weapon of choice for absentee murderers.
“Mr. Hobart and Mr. Armitage believe you’re innocent,” Harmony assured Danny. “Mr. Hobart told us so this morning, in the dining room, when we gathered to be interviewed by his brother the detective.”
“Thanks, Harmony.” Danny glanced at the door. “The sooner you find the killer, the sooner I can get back to work.”
“And the better we can avoid scandal.” Harmony squeezed his shoulder again.
It didn’t cheer Danny up. “Will this affect the ball?”
“It might, if we don’t find the killer soon. No one will want to stay here with a murderer roaming about, like Miss Fox said.”
We went to leave, but I paused at the door. “Did you notice anyone in or near the kitchen last night who shouldn’t have been there?”
Danny shook his head.
Harmony and I left, giving the constable smiles of thanks as we walked towards the stairs. Instead of going up, we went down.
When Mr. Armitage had taken me on a tour, we’d not stepped very far into the kitchen. Today, Harmony and I ventured beyond the door into the hot, pulsing, noisy space. Chefs dressed all in white worked at long counters or by the stoves, some shouting orders with others hurrying to carry them out. A robust man with red cheeks sang an operatic tune as he chopped potatoes, while the sweating chef next to him downed the contents of a tankard in one gulp. Shelves stacked with pots and pans ranged against the back wall and electric bulbs hung from long wires over the benches to better cast their light in the windowless basement. A short fellow with curled moustache ends strolled between the other staff, hands at his back, inspecting the work of each man and sometimes tasting the contents of a pot.