by C. J. Archer
“That’s her,” Mrs. Larsen said as she returned carrying a tray of tea things. “She was so beautiful, but as I always told her, beauty doesn’t last and she shouldn’t rely on it. Not that it matters now,” she added quietly. She poured the tea and handed me a cup and saucer. “I’m afraid there isn’t any cake. My sister wasn’t one for keeping sweet things in the kitchen. Too tempting, she used to say. She had a tiny waist but was terrified of getting fat. Silly, silly girl.” Her face crumpled and she had to put her cup and saucer down when her shaking hand made them rattle. She reached into her sleeve and pulled out a handkerchief. “I can’t believe she’s gone.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said. “It must have been a shock.”
“It was. We didn’t see eye to eye on many things, but she was still my little sister. To think I’ll never see her again… It hasn’t really sunk in.”
I gave her a moment to compose herself and watched the girl swinging her legs back and forth on the chair. She seemed quite content to sit there and wait for us to finish.
“You must want some things to remember her by,” I said to Mrs. Larsen.
She followed my gaze to the carpet bag. “I took a dress and pair of shoes as well as some personal items as keepsakes. The funeral director asked me to find her something to wear and my sister had a pretty blue dress that will look lovely.”
“When is the funeral?”
“Tomorrow morning at ten. That man is doing something, at least, and paying for the service and burial at Kensal Green cemetery.”
“That man?” I asked.
Her lips pursed. “Rumford. He wrote to me and said he’ll arrange it.”
“That’s very generous of him. He must have loved her very much.”
She picked up her teacup and took a long sip.
“As I said when I arrived, Lord Rumford asked me to look into your sister’s death as he doesn’t believe it was suicide.” I whispered the word so that the girl couldn’t hear. “But I’d like your opinion.”
Mrs. Larsen sipped again then, frowning, placed the teacup back in the saucer. “To be honest, I didn’t know Nellie very well.”
“Her real name is Nellie?”
She nodded. “There was already a famous Nellie on stage—Melba—so she was advised to change it. Westwood is also made up. It’s been six years since she began calling herself Pearl Westwood. The change of name also coincided with a change of character.”
“Oh?”
“She was always an outgoing girl, and very confident. Excessive beauty can do that to a woman. People told her she was beautiful her entire life and some put her on a pedestal because of it. Not just men, either, although they were the worst. It was only natural she became too confident. I don’t blame her for it.” She stared down at her cup. “As her star rose, her life changed. She went to parties, drank to excess and became one of those women you read about in the papers in the company of scoundrels.” Her mouth turned down in distaste. “We grew apart. Her world was very different to mine, and neither of us wanted much to do with the other. She saw me as dull, and I saw her as someone of loose moral character. Being apart was better for us both—fewer arguments, you see.” She nodded at the girl. “I also didn’t want her to be a bad influence on Millie. Do you understand why I can’t really answer your question, Miss Fox?”
“I do. What about Christmas? Did you see her then?”
“Christmas Day was the only time we really saw each other in the last few years. She dined with us at our home.”
“How did she seem?”
She shrugged. “The same as always. She talked about her shows, the parties, and the latest gift that man had given her. She mentioned that he wanted to take her on a holiday to Switzerland next autumn. She was very excited about it.”
That didn’t sound like someone who would commit suicide. “Did she seem troubled?”
“No.”
“Did she mention she needed money?”
Mrs. Larsen seemed surprised. “Money? No, she didn’t.” She indicated the room with its gilded frames, the marble statue of a Greek goddess reclining on a rock, and ostrich feathers shooting from a black marble vase. “My sister wasn’t poor.”
“All of this would have been paid for by Lord Rumford. If she lived a fast life, she could have spent quite a sum of her own to keep up. Perhaps she had debts.”
“If she needed money, she could have sold some of the jewels he gave her. Or she could have just asked him for it.”
“She did. He never got around to giving it to her before she died.”
“Oh,” she murmured. “I see. Do you think the reason she needed money is linked to her murder?”
“I don’t know yet.”
She sipped her coffee thoughtfully. “The last time I saw her was Christmas Day, but I can tell you she seemed quite her usual self. If she had financial problems, she didn’t confide in me or my husband.”
“Do you know anyone she might have confided in? A close friend, perhaps?”
She shook her head. “Nellie didn’t keep her childhood friends. She shed them along with her real name. And I’m afraid I didn’t see her enough lately to know her new friends.”
“You never met any when you visited her at the theater?”
“I never went to the theater. Not the Playhouse, anyway. I did see her after a show once, early in her career at a different theater. After seeing the constant stream of admirers coming into her dressing room that evening, I learned I didn’t want to repeat the experience. She didn’t care that they saw her half-dressed and they didn’t care that her older sister was present. If you want to know who her friends are now, you’ll have to ask around at the Playhouse. She performed there for most of her career.”
“I will, thank you.”
She glanced at the clock on the mantel and apologized. “I’m afraid I must leave. Do you have any more questions?”
“No, but I was hoping to look around the flat. I might find some letters from her friends, or a reason why she needed money.”
She glanced at the clock again.
“You don’t have to stay,” I said quickly. “I have a key to lock up. Leave the teacups; I’ll wash and dry them before I go.”
She gave me a wan smile. “I don’t see why not.” She crossed to a mahogany escritoire and flipped the lid on an inkwell. She wrote an address on a piece of paper and handed it to me. “Please keep me informed if you learn something. You can find me here.”
She and Millie saw themselves out, and I headed into the kitchen to wash and dry the dishes. A quick look in the cupboards proved Pearl kept very little food. There were no baking utensils and the oven and stove were spotless.
I searched the parlor next, starting with the escritoire. Pearl wasn’t much of a letter writer. There was no personal correspondence, just some legal and banking documents. One was a contract to work exclusively for the Piccadilly Playhouse which ended at the end of 1901 with the option to extend if both parties wished it. It was signed by the theater manager, Mr. Culpepper. The bank statements showed she had some money in her own name, but not much. There were some doctors’ bills and several shop bills, most of which had been paid with the only outstanding ones being for recent purchases. They were not yet due. If Pearl needed money, it wasn’t to pay off creditors.
Aside from a very well stocked drinks trolley, there was nothing else of note in the parlor, so I moved on to the bedroom. I finally found the personal correspondence I’d hoped to find in one of her dressing table drawers. I undid the pink ribbon tying them together and went through them, one by one. There were thirty-eight, all written by Lord Rumford and dated over the previous two years. After reading the first two, I decided not to read further. Their contents made my cheeks burn, and he wasn’t a suspect anyway.
I searched the rest of her dressing table and moved on to her wardrobe, only to come up empty handed. I sat on the bed and looked around the room, trying to put myself in Pearl’s shoes. If I had je
wels, where would I hide them?
After another search for loose floorboards, false bottoms and cavities in the walls, I decided that the jewelry couldn’t be in the flat at all. Mrs. Larsen must have taken them with her in the carpet bag as part of the personal effects she’d mentioned. As next of kin, they were hers to take, unless Pearl had left a will that excluded her sister. Lord Rumford clearly wasn’t expecting them back or he would have asked me to retrieve them while I was here.
I locked up the flat and returned to the hotel. It was late afternoon and many of the daytime staff should have left, while the number of kitchen staff would increase before the wait staff arrived. Frank was still on the door and he welcomed me back by telling me Harmony had been looking for me.
Goliath greeted me in the foyer. “Harmony wants to see you,” he said as he passed.
Peter looked up from the reservations book and beckoned me over. “Harmony is waiting for you in the staff parlor.”
“So I heard,” I said wryly.
“How is the investigation coming along?”
“You know about that?” I asked.
He looked offended. “Of course. Harmony told us.”
“Us?”
“Me, Goliath, Frank and Victor.” He gave me a blank look. “Why wouldn’t she tell us? We proved to be a great team last time.”
“Very true. Your help was invaluable in solving Mrs. Warrick’s murder. But this time the murder has taken place outside of the hotel. I don’t know how much help you can provide.”
“True enough, but if there’s anything we can do, you know where to find us.” He flashed me one of his characteristic smiles.
Of all the staff, Peter was the sweetest, with a genuinely pleasant nature. I was told that was why he was on the front desk. He made guests feel welcome, and since he was often the first person they spoke to upon arrival, and the last before they left, it was important for the hotel to put its best foot forward. Frank was the most cantankerous, although he usually managed to hide it as he opened the door for guests. He had not hidden it for me when I first arrived at the hotel, however. Seeing me dressed in clothing not suited to a luxury hotel, he assumed I was in the wrong place and treated me as though I couldn’t afford to set one toe across the threshold. He’d tripped over himself to be nice to me after finding out I was Sir Ronald’s niece, but my initial opinion of him hadn’t changed much.
Goliath, the extraordinarily tall porter, had a nature that was at odds with his physical appearance. He was rather boyishly innocent, preferring jokes to serious conversation. He liked rubbing Frank the wrong way, like a younger brother likes to irritate his older sibling. Frank always reacted badly, which was just what Goliath wanted.
Then there was Victor, one of the junior cooks. He was the most mysterious, and I hadn’t quite made up my mind if he was dangerous or not. He had an affinity for knives, but had thankfully channeled that aptitude to honest work rather than being a menace on the streets. From the hints Harmony had given, and the way he helped me break into the Dean Street school for orphaned boys, clearly his past had been somewhat murky, but I was yet to uncover the details.
I smiled as I headed to the staff parlor behind the lift well. Mr. Armitage had been wrong. The staff did like me, enough to want to help me, at least. It would seem the only person who didn’t like me was Mr. Armitage himself. I didn’t know how to change that. I dearly wished I did.
Chapter 4
I found Harmony in the staff parlor reading one of the books I’d loaned her. When I entered, she slammed the book closed and hugged it to her chest, covering the cover. When she realized it was me, she let out a breath and lowered the book. Since staff were not allowed to borrow books from the hotel library, she was right to be cautious. If one of the senior staff caught her with it, she’d be in trouble. Mr. Hobart might merely chastise her, but Mrs. Short, the new housekeeper, could dock her pay. Mrs. Short had proved to be just as mean as her predecessor. Harmony had once quipped that it seemed to be a requirement of employment for housekeepers to be mean to their maids.
“Why didn’t you return home?” I asked her. “You’ve been up since before dawn. You must be exhausted.”
“I couldn’t leave without finding out how you went at Miss Westwood’s place.” She offered me a cup of tea. There was always a warm teapot in the staff parlor with spare cups to use. The maids or kitchen staff must replenish the pot and cups as needed.
“No, thank you, I just had a cup.”
She gasped. “You helped yourself to a dead woman’s tea?”
“Her sister was there retrieving some clothes to dress Miss Westwood’s body.”
Harmony pulled a face. “What an awful thing to have to do.”
It was. While I’d been too young to take on such a task when my parents died, I’d helped my grandmother press my grandfather’s best suit after his death, and gone through her wardrobe to decide what to dress her in for her funeral. It had been among the hardest things I’d ever had to do.
I sat and was about to tell Harmony all about my afternoon when the door opened and Victor sauntered in. Dressed in clean chef whites, he must not yet have started his shift. The knife belt strapped around his hips was fully stocked until he perched on the edge of the table and removed the small paring knife. He twiddled it as if it were a pencil, not a sharp blade that could slice off a fingertip. It was no wonder he had scars on his hands and another on his face.
“What are you doing here?” Harmony asked him, her tone brisk.
“I heard Miss Fox was back.” He nodded a greeting at me. “Afternoon.”
I nodded back. “Good afternoon, Victor. When do you start?”
He glanced at the clock. “In fifteen minutes, so you best be quick.”
I arched my brows. “With what?”
He caught the knife and for a moment, his hands were still. “Telling us about your visit to the actress’s home.”
Harmony bristled. “Who told you?”
“Goliath.”
She rolled her eyes. “I need to have a word with him about loose lips sinking ships.”
I smiled. “It’s quite all right. One more knowing that I’m investigating won’t matter. Just don’t tell anyone that Lord Rumford has asked me to look into it. He doesn’t want a scandal.”
He nodded just as Goliath entered, followed by Frank. They removed their brimless hats, threw them on the table, and poured themselves cups of tea.
“Have we missed anything?” Goliath asked, turning to face us.
“Miss Fox was just about to tell us what she discovered at the actress’s flat,” Victor told him.
Harmony glared at him. “She was just about to tell me. The three of you weren’t invited to this meeting.”
Goliath pouted, his shoulders slumping forward, and Frank stared into his teacup.
Victor merely shrugged. “Just pretend we’re not here.” He twirled the knife again.
Harmony’s jaw set so hard I could hear her back teeth grinding.
“Apparently we’re a team,” I told her before she could scold him again. “Along with Peter, of course.” I glanced at the door, expecting him to walk in at any moment. But it remained closed.
She lifted her chin. “You and I are a team.” She sniffed. “Although I’ll concede that we may require their help on occasion.”
“Good of you to see it that way,” Victor said evenly. It was difficult to tell when he was trying to rile her. Sometimes I was quite sure of it, but at others, his face was so straight that he couldn’t possibly be anything other than serious.
“But this is not one of those occasions,” she finished.
Frank eased himself onto a chair with a groan. “That’s better.”
Goliath slapped him on the shoulder. “Quiet, old man. Miss Fox doesn’t want to shout over your creaking bones.”
“I’m only a few years older than you.”
Goliath snorted. “If a few is fifteen, then sure.”
“Fifteen!
How old do you think I am?”
“Stop it,” Harmony hissed. “Let Miss Fox speak.”
With the group quiet, I told them about meeting Mrs. Larsen and what she’d told me of her sister’s nature and their fractured relationship. I described the flat with its many photographs of Miss Westwood and the lack of jewelry and personal letters, except for those written by Lord Rumford.
“Where did you look?” Victor asked.
“Everywhere,” I said.
“Where exactly?”
“The dressing table, writing desk, wardrobes, and cupboards.”
“Did you look in the jars in the cupboards?”
“Yes,” I said, feeling pleased that I was a step ahead of him.
“What about under the carpet?”
“I pulled back the rugs and felt for loose floorboards. I tapped the walls looking for hollowed spaces, and checked for hidden triggers to open false bottoms in the desk and dressing table.”
“What about inside the mattress and cushions?”
My bubble of satisfaction deflated. “No. But I don’t think I would have found any jewelry. I think her sister took them with her when she left.”
He tucked the paring knife in his belt and crossed his arms. “If you want to go back, I can pick the lock and get you in.”
“Victor!” Harmony cried. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Yes, Victor, what’s wrong with you?” I mocked. Harmony didn’t know that Victor had helped me break into the boy’s orphanage, but she must have suspected since she’d pointed me in his direction when I’d asked for someone who could help. “There’s no need to break in.” I held up my purse. “I have the key.”