Chapter 11
“The dinner has been canceled,” Frank murmured in my ear as he held the front door open for me.
I’d been frowning at the two police constables standing a few feet away, but now whipped around to speak to Frank. “Oh no. What happened?”
He didn’t get a chance to answer as a carriage with a traveling trunk strapped to the roof arrived. He ushered me into the hotel then went to open the carriage door for the occupants.
In the foyer, Mr. Hobart and Peter spoke quietly together, their glum faces telling the story of their disappointment.
Despite guests arriving to check in, they didn’t make themselves available to them, as they usually would.
Even if I hadn’t seen their expressions, that would be a sure sign all was not well.
Mr. Hobart saw me, and with a subtle jerk of his head, invited me to join them. “Have you heard, Miss Fox?”
“I have. Why did they cancel?”
“The newspapermen won’t leave us alone. They’re convinced Arkwright is still here, despite what we told them. They made a nuisance of themselves outside, but two managed to get in and made a nuisance of themselves in here. I had to telephone the police.”
“I saw the constables out there. They’re quite conspicuous, which I suppose will keep the journalists away, but I presume it has rattled the secret diners.”
“Apparently so.”
“Sir Ronald has just informed Harmony.” The grim set of Peter’s mouth told me everything I needed to know about that.
“Poor Harmony. Has she gone home for the day?”
“She’s in the staff parlor.”
“I’ll see if she’s all right.”
Harmony put on a brave face for me, but I could tell she was extremely disappointed. For one thing, she’d removed her shoes and stood in just her stockinged feet. For another, she was cradling the biscuit tin.
She thrust it at me. “Take these away before I finish them.”
I peered inside. “Too late. Sit down and I’ll make you a cup of tea.”
“I’ve had three cups already and I’ve only been in here twenty minutes. Have you got anything stronger?”
“Not on me.”
She flopped down onto a chair with a groan.
I opened my mouth to tell her it was just a dinner and that there’d be others, but I suspected she needed more sympathy than that. And perhaps a distraction. “Now that it’s not going ahead, can you tell me who the dinner was for?”
“I told you, I don’t know.”
“I thought you might have lied so I wouldn’t pester you.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “You can be annoyingly tenacious when there’s a secret to be discovered.”
“Thank you.”
“I did say annoyingly.”
I patted her hand. “We can rule out journalists being the dinner guests. And society ladies organizing a charitable event.”
“Why them?” she asked.
“They’d want the publicity for their event. All we know is that it was a man liaising with Floyd and Uncle Ronald.”
Harmony sighed. “Mr. Bainbridge wouldn’t give me a name.”
“I wish I’d been more annoyingly tenacious with him now. He’s rather hopeless at keeping secrets; I would have got it out of him eventually.”
Harmony wasn’t listening anymore. She sat forward, a gleam in her eyes at the prospect of solving a mystery. “All of the diners were men.”
“How do you know? Did you write Mister on their place cards?”
She shook her head. “The place cards simply had their initials. No, I’m quite sure they were all men because the decorations were simple.
They wanted few trimmings. When I asked how to decorate the tables in their private dining room, Mr. Bainbridge said they didn’t want flowers.
He suggested some dishes to collect cigar ash, as smoking would be allowed throughout dinner. ”
“Definitely no ladies then,” I said.
“And there was to be an abundance of wine, cognac and brandy,” Harmony went on.
“But when I asked if we were serving only the best, Mr. Bainbridge said no. They didn’t like anything too expensive.
They chose the Mayfair’s restaurant because it’s easy to access one of the private dining rooms from the back.
They didn’t want to enter via one of the main entrances from the street or hotel. ”
Knowing all the diners were men didn’t help narrow down who they might be. Every business in England was probably owned and run by men. Most societies and clubs were exclusively male, too. “Any other clues?” I asked Harmony.
“They wanted to vet every waiter serving them on the night,” she said. “We’d already sent a list. I wonder what they were specifically looking for. Or not looking for.” At my blank look, she added, “Making sure they have no criminal connection.”
“We already vet new staff for that,” I said. Given Harry had been employed at the hotel despite having been arrested in his youth, perhaps the secret diners were right to be overly cautious.
“One was allergic to shellfish,” Harmony added.
“How does that help identify who they are?”
“It may not, but everything could be a clue. You taught me that, Cleo.”
I gave her a small smile and grasped her hand. “I know you’re upset, Harmony, but there will be other dinners. Fancier dinners, where you’d have a better opportunity to showcase your skill. This one sounds dreadfully dull, to be quite honest. It was hardly worth the trouble of working late.”
She returned my smile and squeezed my hand. “You’re sounding more and more like your cousin the longer you live here.”
I gasped in mock horror. “Good lord, you’re right. I’ll be staying out all night and sleeping in past midday soon, if I’m not careful.”
She laughed. “Speaking of going out, Miss Bainbridge told me you’ve all been invited to a ball tonight. She asked me to do her hair now that I’m back to being a maid. I’ll do yours first, if you like.”
We agreed on a time then I left her in the staff parlor when some housemaids arrived, their shift having finished. I went up to my room, ordered a light lunch of cucumber sandwiches through the speaking tube, followed by tea for three to arrive fifteen minutes after the sandwiches.
When the tea arrived, I carried the tray down the corridor to Mr. Arkwright’s suite. Sister Meersham answered my knock. Upon seeing me, she tried to close the door but couldn’t manage it since the tray I held got in the way.
“Good afternoon,” I said breezily as I swept past her. “I’ve brought Mr. Arkwright’s tea.”
“I didn’t order tea,” the nurse said, snippily.
“And now you don’t have to. I’ll take it in directly, shall I?” I didn’t wait for her answer but headed through the sitting room toward the bedchamber.
The bedchamber door swung open before I reached it and Mr. Arkwright emerged. “What’s all the—? Ah. Miss Fox. It’s you.” He sounded neither surprised nor upset to see me in his suite uninvited. “I thought one of those infernal reporters managed to get in.”
“Not at the Mayfair Hotel,” I said. “Our front-of-house staff are very good at keeping undesirables out.”
“Have you found Mr. Bradbury’s notebook?”
“Not yet.”
His fingers tightened around the head of his walking stick before he pointed it at the table beside the sofa. “Set the tray down. Sister Meersham will pour.”
The nurse complied then took her tea to the desk by the window overlooking the park opposite.
She was aged in her forties, quite attractive, and he seemed to treat her with the familiarity of a companion.
Could she be both companion and nurse? By all accounts, Mr. Arkwright had lived a colorful life.
Perhaps that meant he kept a much younger mistress whose role changed once he became ill.
She watched him closely as he shuffled forward then eased himself into an armchair. I handed him a teacup and she finally turned away once he was settled.
He wore a midnight-blue satin brocade robe decorated with a large gold dragon in the sky above an ocean of green and blue swirls. It was made for a larger man, or perhaps for this man when his health was more robust.
He noticed me admiring it. “I bought it in Shanghai years ago. It was worn by a member of the Chinese imperial court in the late seventeenth century, so I was told. Of course, the salesman could have told me anything and I would have happily parted with my money.”
“Because you liked it a lot?”
“And because I had too much money.” He lifted the teacup and sipped. “I heard the reporters have returned.”
“They have, and in larger numbers. They were disturbing our guests, so the police had to be called.”
“That is unfortunate. I’m sorry to be the cause of so much fuss.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Well…” He sipped again. He didn’t look entirely displeased to be the cause of the fuss.
“If you want to get rid of them for good, you have to be more creative. They won’t believe a hotel representative when he or she simply says I’ve left.
They’ll want proof. Reporters and the police are alike in that regard. ”
“Creative in what way?”
“Let me think on it. I presume you have more questions for me regarding poor Chester Bradbury’s demise?”
“Last time we spoke, you told me you hadn’t told Bradbury the location of Blackheart’s treasure. You also claimed the treasure was real, and the clues to find it were entirely of your making.”
“I said there is a very real treasure.” As with the last time we spoke, I got the feeling he was choosing his words very carefully.
“What exactly does the treasure comprise?”
“You haven’t read my book?”
“I confess that I haven’t. Is it gold and silver coins? Jewels? Valuable artifacts?”
His eyes twinkled as he sipped his tea.
I sighed. “Right. You’re telling me to do my own research. Very well, I will. Let me ask a different question. Where did you meet Blackheart Watson?”
His focus sharpened. “That’s a different and unexpected question.”
He was stalling for time, using precious seconds to think of an answer. I was sure of it. I simply waited, watching him.
“We met near where he was living at the time,” he said.
“Which is?”
“I’d rather not say. There are people still alive who hid him from the authorities, and I don’t want to get them in trouble.”