Chapter 15
“Good afternoon, Miss Bainbridge,” Harry said smoothly. “Miss Fox and I have just come from Mr. Arkwright’s suite. He’s helping us with our inquiries.”
Flossy’s frostiness thawed a little, but not completely. “You’re investigating together?”
“We are.”
“Your father knows,” I quickly assured her.
“Oh. All right then. Can you spare two hours for afternoon tea, Cleo? Mother specifically wants you there.”
“Why?”
“To spend time with you, of course. She’s feeling better and wants to get out of her suite for a while. You will be there, won’t you?”
I looked at Harry. “Do you mind?”
“We haven’t got any more leads to follow today,” he assured me.
Flossy brightened. “Excellent. It’ll be just the three of us, Cleo. It’ll be lovely.” She headed off to her parents’ suite while Harry and I walked together to the stairs.
“She knows,” Harry told me. There was no need for him to clarify. I knew he was talking about us.
“She’ll probably grill me at afternoon tea, but I can divert her attention.”
“But can you divert Lady Bainbridge’s?”
We discussed what we’d learned from Mr. Arkwright as we descended the four flights of stairs, but neither of us could decide whether to believe him about the argument he and Mr. Bradbury had before the latter stormed out.
It had been heated enough for Sister Meersham to mention it to us, but I didn’t believe Mr. Arkwright’s claim that Mr. Bradbury had become cross at his lack of sympathy over the noisy Mr. Symond and Miss Newman.
Harry agreed. “It seems trivial to me, too. I may not have a creative mind like either of them, but to storm out like that…the argument had to be about something more. But what? And was it enough to kill Bradbury over?”
“Whatever it was about, Bradbury went straight home and typed up those opening lines of the manuscript. He was going to reveal something scandalous and explosive about Arkwright. As to your second question, Arkwright can’t have killed Bradbury. Sister Meersham says he didn’t leave the suite.”
Harry stopped suddenly. “Unless they’re in it together, and she’s providing him with an alibi. I got the strong sense she’s more than his nurse.”
“If she’s more of a partner than employee, and she has lied to give him an alibi while he committed murder, why did she mention overhearing the argument to us at all?
Telling us about it put Arkwright on the spot.
He had to come up with an explanation quickly, and his explanation is rather a weak one. ”
“Good point,” Harry said, setting off down the stairs again.
I bade him goodbye in the foyer and made my way to the staff parlor, since it was the time when some stopped for their afternoon break.
I found Frank, Victor and Harmony already there, sipping tea.
Harmony wore her maid’s uniform and an unhappy countenance, but at least she wasn’t nursing the biscuit tin this time.
The presence of Victor may have had something to do with that.
He sat close, and although they didn’t touch, his support was evident.
Harmony wasn’t the only grim one. Frank sat with his head bowed. I would have thought he’d nodded off except the cup of tea he held was perfectly stable.
I sat near him. “You’re worried about Goliath, aren’t you?”
He raised his gaze to mine. “Mr. Hobart told us not to worry. He says Goliath is just having some time off. But he won’t say where he’s gone, or even how he knows he’s on holiday. Goliath never mentioned anything to me and I’m his best friend.”
“Are you?” Victor asked.
“’Course I am.”
“You two argue all the time.”
“We do not.”
“Let’s change the subject,” I said quickly.
Harmony set her teacup down and stood. “Good idea. Let’s talk about those blasted journalists on our doorstep and how to get rid of them.” She retrieved the biscuit tin from the shelf and sat again, slumping in the chair.
Victor eyed her carefully as she removed the tin’s lid. “Just tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.”
She reached for his hand. “You are sweet.”
“Anything for you, Harmony.”
Frank made a gagging noise. “Enough, you two. If Goliath were here, he’d say you’re making the rest of us sick.”
“Mr. Hobart has a plan to get rid of the journalists,” I assured Harmony.
That perked her up, but only a little. “That is good news. It may be too late for the secret dinner, but there’ll be others that need privacy.” She offered us each a biscuit from the tin then took one herself before closing it. “This morning’s little play was a disaster.”
“That’s because you didn’t have time to get real actors,” Frank said. “Otherwise, I reckon it would have worked.”
“You may be right, but good actors can’t be found on short notice. They also don’t work for nothing.”
“Unless they’re past their prime. You could probably get an aging former lead for a song, they’d be that desperate.”
“That’s not entirely true,” I said. “Ida Gainsborough will be performing in a new Frank Curzon production and seems very satisfied with the deal.”
“She is?” Frank asked. “How do you know?”
“She told me.”
“You’ve met her?”
“I have.”
He regarded me as though I were a herald announcing blessed news. “Gosh, Miss Fox. I envy you. I’m a fan of Miss Gainsborough’s. Have been for years. I’m glad to hear she’ll be in something new. When will it be announced?”
“I believe it already has been.”
He shook his head. “I would know.”
“Perhaps you missed the announcement.”
He gave another emphatic shake of his head. “Believe me, Miss Fox, I would know.”
The door opened and Peter entered. “Mr. Hobart said he saw you make your way here, Miss Fox. There’s a visitor for you in the foyer. His name’s Mathers.”
He must have come to plead with me not to hand over his shoes to the police. Since Harry was the one who took them and threatened to give them to Scotland Yard, why not call on Harry at his office? Perhaps he had and Harry wasn’t there.
Or perhaps Mr. Mathers was avoiding him, thinking I was easier to manipulate. Considering Harry’s reaction this morning when we caught Mr. Mathers trying to destroy his shoes, he had good reason to think that. But he didn’t know me very well.
I followed Peter out of the staff parlor, back through the corridor behind the lift and out to the foyer.
Mr. Mathers clutched the brim of his hat in both hands as he gave me a nod in greeting.
He looked even paler than he had this morning, and his tie sat askew.
I found the nervous tic beneath his left eye more distracting.
He self-consciously pressed a finger to it.
“I’m sorry to come here, Miss Fox, but I wanted to tell you in person that I’ve tried to speak to my colleagues and convince them to change their minds and have their dinner here, but they’re refusing.
” He glanced around then lowered his voice.
“They say this venue isn’t right for their needs.
I think you and I both know why they’re so anxious at the moment. ”
“What if the journalists leave?” I asked.
“There are still several outside.”
“They may not be there for much longer.”
He looked down at his hat, the brim of which was enduring rough handling. “Then I’ll try again if the press go.”
“Is that a promise?”
He swallowed. “Will you threaten me if I don’t?”
I glared at him, my brows arched, challenging him. I expected him to return the challenge. I didn’t expect him to crumble.
His chin wobbled as he studied his hands, vigorously stroking the hat brim.
“Come and sit down out of the foyer,” I said gently.
I directed him to the armchairs, still in sight of the foyer, but not in the way. The hotel’s second sitting room, the one kept for the family’s use, would have been more private, but I didn’t want rumors to start if we were seen entering together.
He rested his hat on the table between our chairs and rubbed the eye that was still pulsing. “I’m sorry, Miss Fox. I’m not at my best. The investigation coming on top of the leadership talks, the secrecy of it all, the lies to my family, and being cut off without a penny… It’s overwhelming.”
“I understand.”
“Please don’t tell your family, Miss Fox.”
“I won’t.”
He removed a handkerchief from his top jacket pocket and wiped the end of his nose, looking around the vast foyer as he did so.
“I miss staying here when I’m in London.
I feel comforted again just being here.” He smiled wistfully.
“Perhaps it’s just nostalgia making me feel this way.
My life was simpler in those days, before my father cut me off.
My greatest concern was that someone would report back to him that I was associating in pubs with the hotel’s assistant manager.
” He gave me a crooked smile. “I envy Harry. His family are supportive of his decisions. I’m aware he doesn’t know who his real father is, and some would think that’s a curse, but I think it’s a blessing.
It means there’s no weight of expectation from that quarter. ”
I was shocked into silence. It was akin to wishing his own father was dead.
I might have told him Harry knew he was fortunate but would still like to know more about his real father, but it wasn’t my place to say.
I probably should have said not all fathers put pressure on their sons, but then I saw Floyd and Uncle Ronald crossing paths in the foyer.
Floyd had been about to leave, but Uncle Ronald said something to him that made my cousin’s shoulders stoop as he changed course and trailed after him.
Mr. Mathers picked up his hat and rose. “Thank you for indulging me, Miss Fox. I’m sorry to have burdened you.”
“It’s not a burden. If you need to talk to someone, you can always find me here. And you have Harry’s office address on his card.”
His lips flattened at the mention of Harry. “He made it clear we can only be friends if I change my colleagues’ minds about their dinner plans.”
“That’s not true. He can’t be your friend if you’re involved in the murder of Chester Bradbury.”