Murder at the Mayfair Hotel

by C. J. Archer

  I wanted to put my arm around him and tell him I was sorry. I hadn’t intended for him to get hurt by this.

  I hadn’t expected anyone to get hurt. I’d expected to feel glad that murderers had been brought to justice, and wrongs had been righted. But Mr. Hobart looked so sad, so vulnerable and very old all of a sudden, that I doubted he could have harmed Mrs. Warrick.

  Mr. Armitage, on the other hand, looked ferocious. “Why?” he barked at me. “We’ve done nothing to you.”

  “She told me because she’s loyal to me.” Uncle Ronald stabbed his thumb into his chest. “Somebody around here is.”

  Mr. Armitage didn’t take his gaze off me. It was as fierce as my uncle’s but where Uncle Ronald’s was filled with hot anger, Mr. Armitage’s eyes were filled with cold censure.

  “Why?” Mr. Armitage demanded.

  I lifted my chin. I had both Floyd and my uncle on my side now. They could protect me if necessary and capture Mr. Armitage if he tried to flee. It was now or never. “Because I believe you murdered Mrs. Warrick.”

  “What!” all four men blurted out at once.

  “No, he didn’t!” Mr. Hobart cried.

  “Are you sure?” my uncle asked, all the bluster gone now.

  “Bloody hell,” Floyd murmured, eyeing Mr. Armitage carefully.

  Mr. Armitage merely laughed another of those bitter, humorless laughs. He did not try to flee or stop me from elaborating. Indeed, he said, “I want to hear this. Go on, Miss Fox. Why do you think I’m a murderer?”

  I cleared my throat. “Mrs. Warrick knew about your past as a thief and was going to expose you.”

  Mr. Hobart suddenly sat on the chair. He covered his mouth with a shaking hand.

  “Is that so?” Mr. Armitage’s voice might be calm, but it was edged with the sharpest steel. “And your proof?” He was every inch the policeman’s son at that moment. He might not share Detective Inspector Hobart’s blood, but his manner was as authoritative and direct.

  “First of all, she recognized you,” I said, keeping my chin raised. I would not let this man intimidate me. It was much easier to be brave with Floyd beside me, although Mr. Armitage was taller and broader. “I overheard her saying as much in the foyer the day of her murder. She said she knew you when you were younger and that you shouldn’t be here at the hotel.”

  “The foyer is busy during the day. She could have been referring to any number of people.”

  I didn’t tell them there were two other men in her line of sight when she’d said it. I didn’t want to dilute my argument.

  “Secondly, you’ve been sneaking about.” At his raised brows, I added, “I saw you checking Mr. Chapman’s coat pocket in his office this morning. I’ve also seen you coming out of Mrs. Kettering’s private chambers. You later lied about that to your own father when he inquired as to everyone’s whereabouts on the day of the murder.”

  Uncle Ronald shook his head sadly. “Once a thief, always a thief.”

  “He’s not a thief!” Mr. Hobart cried. “Not anymore,” he added in a mumble.

  Mr. Armitage didn’t take his gaze off me. “What does that have to do with Mrs. Warrick’s murder?”

  “It proves you aren’t an upstanding fellow,” Floyd shot back.

  Mr. Armitage ignored him. His entire attention focused on me. I felt the icy blast of it through to my bones.

  I swallowed again. It was becoming increasingly difficult to forge ahead with him looking at me like that. But I had to. There was a lot at stake. “Mrs. Warrick was also overheard having a heated conversation with Mr. Hobart about you on the day of her death. It’s not unreasonable to conclude she’d told him she recognized you and knew you’d been arrested years ago. Not knowing the family connection between you, she probably assumed he would act accordingly, but when he brushed aside the matter, she became cross.”

  “In which case she would raise it with Sir Ronald.” Mr. Armitage looked to my uncle.

  Uncle Ronald glared back. “I did speak to her that afternoon, but she didn’t mention your background. She only spoke about the footman who’d spilled her hot chocolate and the reparation she expected for the damage he’d caused to her fur coat.”

  “That’s what she spoke to me about too,” Mr. Hobart said. “She told me she’d brought it up with Harry but he’d refused to dismiss Danny. She came to me demanding I do it, and I also refused. I suspect that’s when she went to Sir Ronald.”

  My heart sank to my stomach.

  Mr. Armitage arched his brows higher at me. “That is the sum of your proof, Miss Fox?”

  “It may not be enough to convict you of murder,” Floyd said, “but it seems you’ve been thieving from the other senior staff.”

  “Harry wasn’t thieving,” Mr. Hobart said on a sigh. “He was trying to uncover a thief. Someone has been stealing the silverware. When one of the waiters brought it to my attention, I asked Harry to investigate.” He appealed to my uncle. “You know this, sir. I brought it to your attention a week ago and told you Harry would find out who was responsible.”

  Uncle Ronald gave a single nod.

  My heart plunged further, all the way to my toes. I felt sick. I’d accused an innocent man of murder. But it got worse. I’d exposed the lie of a good man who’d simply wanted to give an orphan a second chance. And now they were going to pay for it.

  “Oh,” Floyd murmured. “Sorry, Armitage.”

  I wanted to say I was sorry too, but my throat ached as I tried to hold back my tears.

  “It doesn’t excuse the fact you lied, Hobart,” Uncle Ronald said, taking his seat. “You both did. I would never have hired him if I’d known he was a convicted thief.”

  “But he’s reformed!” Mr. Hobart cried.

  “You’re both dismissed. I want you gone before dinnertime.”

  “No!” I cried. “Please, don’t dismiss them.”

  “I have to, Cleo. I know it seems cruel to you, but I can’t have people taking advantage of me.” He waved at the door. “Get out.”

  “But—”

  He slammed his fist on the desk. “That’s enough!”

  Floyd placed his hand at my back, either to comfort me or to warn me to keep quiet. It was not comforting enough, but I did keep my mouth shut. My uncle was too angry to listen to reason.

  Mr. Armitage was not prepared to remain quiet, however. He pressed his knuckles on the desk and leaned forward. “Let my uncle stay, and I won’t create a scene.”

  Mr. Hobart touched his nephew’s arm. “It’s all right, Harry.”

  “It’s not all right!”

  “Harry, please. I’m begging you.”

  Mr. Armitage straightened and squared his shoulders. He shot a blood-chilling glare at me then stormed out of the office. Mr. Hobart followed.

  Floyd signaled to me that we ought to leave too.

  I walked steadily to my suite, but the moment I shut the door, my legs turned to jelly. I slid onto the floor and cried into my hands.

  Chapter 9

  Wallowing in my own misery would not solve anything, but I did indulge long enough to get the tears of self-loathing out of my system. Some would call crying a weakness, but to me, it was a reminder that I was human. In this instance, my wretchedness over what I’d set in motion was a reminder that I had a habit of overstepping. I’d been too eager to prove myself here at the hotel and to my new family. Finding the murderer was a way of demonstrating that I could be useful.

  That eagerness to prove myself had blinded me to the fact that my evidence against Mr. Armitage was flimsy. I should never have gone to my uncle with my concerns about Mr. Armitage’s past. Even though I hadn’t mentioned him by name, I should have known he’d follow up with Mr. Hobart. The manager had crumbled when confronted with Uncle Ronald’s wrath.

  Once I’d got the tears out of my system, I washed my face and ventured out of my suite. I had to set everything right before it was too late.

  My uncle was not in his office, however. Very well, I would g
o downstairs and enter the lion’s den. It had to be done, and it served me right if I was shouted at.

  It was clear the moment I entered the lift that all the staff knew Mr. Hobart and Mr. Armitage had been dismissed. John couldn’t stop telling me what a tragedy it was, and speculating on the reason behind it. He didn’t know any of the particulars, and going by the way he spoke to me, he didn’t know of my involvement.

  Goliath’s reaction was the same. “Can you believe it, Miss Fox?” he asked with a shake of his head. “What do you suppose they did?”

  “Yes, what do you know?” Peter asked. He’d even come out from behind the front desk to speak to me.

  “I need to see them,” was all I said. “Excuse me.”

  Both Mr. Armitage and Mr. Hobart’s office doors were closed. Being the coward that I am, I chose to knock on Mr. Hobart’s. He bade me enter and I opened the door. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of Mr. Armitage standing behind his seated uncle, a hand on his shoulder.

  “Come to gloat at your success?” Mr. Armitage sneered.

  “Harry,” Mr. Hobart scolded. His eyes looked as red as mine, his face just as drawn.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat and entered the office. I closed the door and drew in a steadying breath. “I’m so sorry for what I’ve done,” I began.

  Mr. Armitage grunted. “Go away. We have things to do.”

  His anger was horrible enough, but it was Mr. Hobart’s reaction that brought tears to my eyes again. He diverted his gaze. He couldn’t even look at me.

  “I’m going to speak on your behalves to my uncle just as soon as I find him,” I went on. “I’ll tell him I was mistaken. Or that I made it up.”

  “You’re forgetting that my uncle already confessed,” Mr. Armitage said. “The truth of the matter is, I am a convicted felon, and Uncle Alfred knew it and still hired me. Sir Ronald won’t forgive that.”

  “He might.”

  “You haven’t been here long enough to know, but you’ll learn he never backs down from a decision. Not for anyone. Not even when his own family begs him.”

  “Harry,” Mr. Hobart said, sharper this time. “Don’t take your anger out on her. She was only doing what she thought was best.”

  Mr. Armitage’s nostrils flared and his chest rose and fell with his deep breaths.

  “I have to try anyway,” I said. “I have to fix this.”

  Mr. Hobart nodded.

  “I truly am very sorry,” I went on. “I let my imagination run away with me and…” I did not go on. My excuses were pathetic and could not adequately account for my actions.

  “Since you enjoy playing detective, you can take over where I left off in the case of the missing silverware,” Mr. Armitage said through a hard smile. “But forgive me if I don’t hand over the evidence I’ve already gathered. I don’t feel inclined to help you.”

  Mr. Hobart shook his head. “I will leave everything we’ve learned about the thefts thus far in the top drawer.”

  I nodded and thanked him. “I hope this is not goodbye,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

  I left only to find Mr. Armitage following me out. I stopped, not because he blocked my path or held me back, but because I deserved whatever angry words he wanted to fling at me away from his uncle. I steeled myself.

  “I thought you were different to them,” he said, voice low and harsh. “But I see you’re the same.”

  I shook my head, not quite following. “I’m sorry you think this was a result of whatever prejudice you assume I have against you, but I can assure you, this is purely a result of me thinking you were a murderer. You might not believe it, but I had everyone’s best interests at heart.”

  His jaw hardened. “I don’t care for myself. I’ll find other work. But this hotel is my uncle’s whole life. He has given decades of devoted service to Sir Ronald, and yet he is being thrown away like a piece of rubbish for making one mistake years ago. The worst of it is that everyone will think he was dismissed for something heinous; his reputation will be ruined. But I challenge you to find anyone who thinks giving a boy a second chance is a crime worthy of dismissal after decades of loyalty.”

  Every word was like a twist of the knife in my gut. It took all of my willpower not to let the tears burning my eyes to fall.

  “Harry,” Mr. Hobart said from the doorway. “Don’t say something you’ll later regret.”

  Mr. Armitage marched off to his own office and slammed the door.

  “He doesn’t mean what he says,” Mr. Hobart told me.

  I blinked back tears. “Yes, he does.”

  I took several moments to compose myself before returning to the foyer. There were few guests about and none seemed to be aware of the turmoil that had befallen the hotel. The front of house staff, however, looked worried.

  “Harmony’s in the parlor,” Goliath told me as I passed him. “She wants to speak to you.”

  I wanted to retire to my room to avoid them all, but I had to face everyone at some point. Goliath followed me to the staff parlor where Harmony, Edith and Victor sat. The women nursed cups of tea while Victor tossed his knife up and caught it. They turned forlorn and troubled gazes upon me.

  “Edith and I came back to the hotel early,” Harmony said. “We’re not supposed to return for a few more hours yet, but we can’t stay away after something like this. We can’t believe it. Both Mr. Armitage and Mr. Hobart both dismissed and no one is saying why.”

  “Do you know?” Edith asked in her small voice.

  I didn’t dare look at Victor. If I did, he might realize it was linked to our midnight visit to the boys’ home. No matter how many times they asked, I would not tell them about Mr. Armitage’s past. I didn’t want to be responsible for changing their opinions of him on top of everything else.

  I shook my head.

  “It must have been something real bad,” Goliath said. “Sir Ronald wouldn’t dismiss both of them without a good reason. He knows how it’ll look, and when the guests find out, they won’t like it.”

  “Why will the guests care?” I asked.

  “Because they love Mr. Hobart, especially the regulars.”

  “Many of them return because of him and his personal service,” Harmony went on. “The Mayfair is one of a handful of luxury hotels in London, and some have more modern amenities, but none have a manager like Mr. Hobart. He’s attuned to their every need and whim.”

  Edith nodded. “He might ask us to put a particular flower in a guest’s room because he knows that’s her favorite, or we’ll have to put out different soap because she doesn’t like the scent of lavender.”

  “He’ll tell the kitchen in advance of a guest’s arrival what their favorite dishes are so we make sure we have it in stock, even if it’s not on the menu,” Victor added.

  “He can get tickets to a sold-out opera or for the best seats at the theater,” Goliath said. “I don’t know how he does it.”

  “He knows everyone there is to know,” Harmony told him. “They do favors for one another. He also keeps notes on every guest and only shares those notes with Mr. Armitage.”

  “Mr. Armitage was going to take over from him,” Goliath said.

  “Who will be our manager and assistant manager now?” Edith asked.

  “Mrs. Kettering and Mr. Chapman will have to do more until someone is appointed,” Harmony said. She and Edith pulled faces at the prospect.

  Victor resumed his knife tossing. “There are going to be ramifications.”

  Harmony frowned. “What sort of ramifications?”

  “Bad ones.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  Edith looked up from her teacup which she’d been studying intensely. “Could their dismissal be related to the murder?”

  “They’re not murderers!” Goliath cried.

  She looked down at her teacup again. “It was just a thought.”

  Harmony placed her teacup on the table and put her arm around my shoulders. “You look like you’ve taken t
his very hard, Miss Fox.”

  I tried to smile but I suspected it was not very convincing. “Have you seen my uncle?”

  “He went out,” Goliath said. “He told Frank he’ll be gone the rest of the day—tonight too.”

  I heaved a deep sigh. I wouldn’t get the opportunity to speak to him before Mr. Hobart and Mr. Armitage left.

  By the following morning, everyone had heard about the dismissals of the manager and his assistant. A number of guests demanded to know why, but the staff could give them no answers. Poor Peter looked as though he’d explode if someone asked him again. He was usually so unflustered, but his tight smile and curt responses spoke of his frustration.

  “Will I still be able to swap rooms?” asked a gentleman of Goliath.

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “Mr. Armitage was going to take care of it today. What happens now?”

  “I don’t know, sir,” Goliath said. “You could ask Mr. Chapman.”

  “The restaurant steward?”

  “He is taking over the role of manager for now.”

  “Where is Mr. Chapman?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  The gentleman sighed and turned instead to Peter when the guest he’d been speaking to moved off. Peter shot Goliath a harried glance, as if blaming him for not resolving the issue.

  By late morning, the journalists had returned, demanding to know whether the dismissals of the manager and assistant manager had anything to do with the murder. Two of them got past Frank, but after they were thrown out by Goliath and the other porters, the doorman was more prepared and the rest were not allowed in. Fortunately they didn’t create a scene, but they lurked outside and accosted the guests as they left. Some brushed them aside, but others stopped to speak to them.

  “I wouldn’t go out there if I were you,” Flossy said as she and Floyd joined me in the foyer. “A thunderstorm would be more inviting than walking through that lot.”

  “They’re persistent,” I said.

  “They smell blood,” Floyd added. “They can see we’re in trouble and want to beat us into submission while we’re down.”