Chapter 1 #2
Sometimes the hotel had permanent or semi-permanent guests live in a suite for several months at a time.
Although I’d heard stories of guests spending their final days or weeks at the Mayfair when they knew they were dying, this was the first time someone had checked in to do so since my arrival last December.
“How awful,” I murmured. “The poor man.”
Goliath seemed rather excited, however. “Arkwright’s book was a childhood favorite of mine.
It was originally my father’s copy, and he passed it on to me.
I’ve read it so times it’s falling apart.
Did you know that Arkwright claimed to have seen the map that showed where Blackheart buried his treasure?
He wrote about it in the book, giving little cryptic clues away, but they were so cryptic, no one has found the treasure yet. ”
Goliath may be the tallest and strongest man I’d ever met, but in that moment he had all the enthusiasm of a little boy.
“Wasn’t that story discredited years ago after the entire country went mad with pirate treasure fever?
” Given the book was written well before I was even born, I wasn’t all that knowledgeable about the particulars, but I did know it had sold a lot of copies, mostly to youths keen to find the pirate’s treasure that Arkwright had claimed Blackheart buried.
Arkwright then happened to bury hints about the location within the book’s pages, after writing that he'd snuck a peek at the treasure map.
“The part about the treasure was apparently discredited,” Goliath told me with a heavy dose of cynicism.
“But I still reckon it exists. There’s no doubting Arkwright met Blackheart, so it’s possible he did see the pirate’s treasure map.
” He glanced around then leaned down to my level.
“It’s even possible the map is in Arkwright’s possession to this day.
Blackheart had no one else to bequeath his things to, so he may have left everything to his biographer. ”
“If Arkwright did see the map, why not find the treasure himself? Why mention it in his book so that every Tom, Dick and Harry would go searching for it?”
Speaking of Harry, I wanted to see him before he went out.
The morning was already dragging on and I suspected he’d be busy, coming and going from his office.
After the newspapers credited his detective agency with solving the murder at the Harley Street medical rooms, he’d picked up more work.
Some of it he declined, particularly the marital cases, but there was still enough to occupy him.
One of the other porters pushed a second trolley stacked with crates and boxes past us. He asked Goliath which room Mr. Arkwright was staying in.
“Shouldn’t the belongings be unloaded at the service entrance?” I asked once the second porter moved off.
“It’s temporarily closed,” Goliath said.
“Why?”
“Harmony’s orders. I mean, Miss Cotton. Apparently she needs that entrance to bring in some special fancy things for a dinner being held on Saturday night in the restaurant.
She wants as few people as possible to see what arrives.
Miss Fox, do you think it’d be all right if I ask Mr. Arkwright some questions? ”
It seemed that Goliath not only believed the story about the pirate treasure, he planned on finding it. “I think Mr. Hobart would frown upon that, particularly when the guest in question is elderly and dying.”
Goliath’s clear blue eyes tracked the figure of a small, wiry man carrying a brown valise striding with purpose across the foyer.
“Then I’ll ask Mr. Arkwright’s assistant,” he said, nodding toward the man.
“He’s neither a guest nor elderly.” He touched the brim of his hat in farewell then continued on, pushing the trolley ahead of him.
I went to leave but was intercepted by Mr. Hobart. “Good morning, Miss Fox. Welcome home.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hobart. Has all been well in my absence?”
“If you’re referring to the hotel, then yes. If you’re referring to a certain nephew of mine, then I have it on good authority that he missed you.” The corners of the hotel manager’s eyes crinkled with his smile. “Are you on your way to see him?”
“I am.”
“Then I won’t keep you.”
I was keen to leave, yet I hesitated. “Do you know who the special secret dinner is for?”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, Miss Fox.” The hotel manager pressed a hand to his chest. “Do forgive me. Sir Ronald’s orders.”
“I understand. What about the fellow who has come here to die? Louis Arkwright, the author.”
Mr. Hobart peered in the direction of the service corridor, which housed the goods lift where Goliath had taken the luggage trolley. “He’s an interesting one. He only wrote the one book.”
“About the pirate Blackheart Watson.”
Mr. Hobart nodded. “He made a fortune sixty years ago when he first published it, and it has been reprinted many times since. He never wrote another thing after that. He was recently told by his doctor that he has mere months to live, so he sold his house and most of his belongings and decided to move in here.”
“Why the Mayfair?”
Mr. Hobart looked at me as though I’d spoken nonsense. “Because we’re the best hotel in London. Mr. Arkwright has no heirs to care for him, you see, so why not stay in a luxury hotel where you can be waited on hand and foot by the staff?”
It did sound like a good idea for someone in his position.
“I read his book as a boy,” Mr. Hobart went on.
“It was published not long before I was born, and it was still very popular when I was nine or ten. Boys like me lapped it up. It was full of adventure and derring-do, just the stuff to appeal to a child with an active imagination. When I grew up, I wondered if it was a piece of fiction, but that doesn’t take away the joy it gave me. ”
“Are you saying you think all of it was made up, not just the part about the treasure and the map?”
“That’s a question I’ll leave to you detectives to answer.” He winked at me then smiled as a guest approached clutching a copy of Baedeker’s London and its Environs.
I went on my way, wondering if I did indeed want to spend time investigating whether the story was real or not. I wouldn’t gain anything from it, except to while away some time as well as get to the bottom of an intriguing tale.
Those were two compelling reasons, and I made my mind up on the walk to Harry’s office in Soho that I would have a chat with Mr. Arkwright. After all, he might like the company, and being friendly to guests was something my uncle would approve of. I would knock on Mr. Arkwright’s door later.
For now, the thought of seeing Harry beckoned.
* * *
Often of a morning, as I made my way to Harry’s office, I’d stop at the Roma Café below. Not this time. I pushed open the door beside the café, hurried up the steps, and pushed open the second door at the top of the staircase without knocking.
“Harry, I—” I stopped short when I saw the woman seated opposite him at the desk, a small brown dog on her lap. Both the dog and the woman gave me a brief glance, wrinkled their noses, and turned back to Harry.
“My apologies.” I backed out of the office, only for Harry to call me in.
“Mrs. Ellington was just leaving,” he said, rising.
Mrs. Ellington remained seated. “You will not change your mind, Mr. Armitage?”
“I will not. I don’t take on cases of that nature.”
Mrs. Ellington tucked the dog under her arm and stood. “Well. Then I shall go elsewhere.” She swept past me with a rustle of silk skirts and whiff of strong perfume.
I closed the door behind her. “A domestic situation?”
Harry approached me, a devilish smile on his face, and a hunger in his eyes that focused intensely on me. “Spying on her husband. I told her I don’t spy on spouses.”
I leaned back against the door as he closed in on me, and tilted my head to receive his kiss. It didn’t come. “Hello, Harry.”
“Hello, Cleo.” His voice rumbled from the depths of his chest. “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too.” I sounded like a breathless girl in the presence of the boy she secretly wished would notice her.
He caressed his thumb down my cheek then cupped my jaw.
He leaned in, so close I could see the golden specks in his brown eyes.
He still did not kiss me. My heart pounded with anticipation and more than a little frustration.
Somehow he made me feel as though our courtship was once again in its thrilling early days, even though we’d been together for over a month.
When I could stand to wait no longer, I reached up and drew him down to me. He circled me in his arms and kissed me. It was everything I wanted, and needed, after a few days apart.
The kiss didn’t last long. Harry ended it, stepping back abruptly, and cleared his throat. “We should stop before passions overrule common sense.”
I drew in a ragged breath. He was right, but that didn’t mean I liked it.
He assisted me out of my coat and invited me to sit in the chair Mrs. Ellington and her dog had vacated. “How was the ball?”
“Enjoyable.”
“I’m glad you had a good time.” It was a testament to his character and the strength of our relationship that he didn’t mind me having a good time when we were apart. Indeed, he always seemed to want me to enjoy myself. He wasn’t jealous. “But I’m also glad you missed me.”
“I did, Harry,” I said quite seriously. “I look forward to the day we can attend country balls together.”
“So do I.”
I indicated the pile of folders to one side of his desk. “New cases?”
He gathered up the files. “They’re coming in thick and fast. These are just the ones I haven’t decided whether to take on yet.
I’ve turned away others that are a definite no.
” He nodded at the door through which Mrs. Ellington had left and heaved a sigh.
“I’m afraid I can’t stay and talk, as much as I want to.
I have some things to chase up. Sorry, Cleo. Can we meet for lunch?”
“We can, but why don’t I help? Give me those files. I’ll prioritize them while you’re out.”
“Are you sure you can spare the time?”
“Unlike you, I have too much time at the moment. The only thing I planned to do today is greet a certain guest at Floyd’s request, and question another about a biography he may or may not have faked. I’m putting off the former task, and the latter can wait.”
“In that case, thank you.” He passed me the folders. “Any insights you can provide will be helpful. I’ll see you at lunchtime.” He did not kiss me and left after grabbing his hat and coat off the stand.
I took a pencil, paper and the files to the leather armchair, removing the newspaper on the seat that was folded to an article about the unification of the colonies into the Commonwealth of Australia slated for the new year.
Politics wasn’t Harry’s usual reading matter of choice, but he did like to keep up with current events.
I spent the next few hours sorting through the files and making notes on the most urgent ones.
Some I dismissed altogether and even wrote letters explaining why he wouldn’t be taking them on.
If he agreed, all he had to do was sign them.
I broke up the morning with a visit to the café.
After exchanging conversation with Luigi, the proprietor, and practicing my poor Italian on his regular customers, I returned with a coffee to complete my tasks.
When Harry returned, he suggested we dine in the café. Over bowls of Luigi’s delicious pasta, I told him more about my few days away, then he discussed the cases that had come across his desk lately.
I interrupted him as a man passed by the window. Although I couldn’t see his face with the collar of his coat turned up and cap pulled low, his size was unmistakable. “What’s Goliath doing here?”
Harry leaned closer to the window to peer out. “He’s stopped at my office.”
Harry had locked the door from the street after we left, so Goliath wasn’t able to enter. He set off back the way he’d come, past the café. He looked in when Harry knocked on the window.
With a tug on his cap brim, Goliath hunched into his coat and entered the café. “I’m glad I found you, Mr. Armitage. You, too, Miss Fox.” He quickly scanned the faces of the other patrons then jerked his head at us. “Can you come away from the window to talk? I don’t want anyone to see me.”
I followed him to the far reaches of the café, Harry on my heels. “Goliath, what is it? Has something happened?” His furtive behavior worried me, but it was the panic in his eyes that set my heart racing. He was scared. It was cause for alarm when a man the size of Goliath showed fear.
He rubbed a hand over his face and down his chin to his throat where it lingered, as if it felt constricted. “They’re after me.”
“Who are?” Harry asked.
Goliath glanced at the window then positioned himself so that Harry blocked any sight of him from the street. “The police.”
I gasped. “Why? For what crime?”
“Murder.”