Chapter 15 #2
He pointed the hat at me. “You’ll prove I’m not soon enough, I hope.
He made to move off, so I blocked his way. “If the journalists leave, do you promise to try again to convince your colleagues to dine in our private dining room? I’m not threatening you, Mr. Mathers. I’m asking you.”
He placed his hat on his head. “Then I promise. Good day, Miss Fox.”
I watched him go until he left the hotel, then I headed upstairs to dress for afternoon tea.
* * *
Afternoon tea in the hotel’s large sitting room was often a pleasant interlude in the day.
The little cakes, tarts and sandwiches were always delicious, and the company usually enjoyable.
Never more so than now, since my aunt was feeling better.
Her addiction to cocaine was lessening thanks to the new treatment, and that meant she was more pleasant company.
She was back to being her delightful self, instead of the irritable, short-tempered wasp the tonic had turned her into.
Flossy, too, was in a good mood and chatted amiably about the things that mattered to her. Eventually, conversation drifted to the ball held at Stoneleigh House.
“I enjoyed myself much more than I thought I would,” Flossy admitted.
“When we entered that ballroom, my heart sank to see so many old people and so few my age. But once my dance card began to fill up, I realized what it meant to be one of the few eligible women in the room. I’ve never been more popular.
” She wiggled her fingers as she studied the selection of sandwiches.
“They may have mostly been widowers, but I’ve decided that an older husband might actually be a good idea. ”
Aunt Lilian had been watching me from beneath lowered lids, pretending not to study me, but she suddenly made a choking sound. The dollop of cream balancing on top of the scone she held slipped off and plopped onto the plate with a splat. “My dear, how old are you thinking?”
“Quite old.” Flossy finally made her selection, a cucumber and cress. “But no more than thirty.”
A bubble of laughter escaped Aunt Lilian’s lips before she schooled her features again. “And how did you enjoy the ball, Cleopatra? I hear you danced with some younger gentlemen.” She regarded me levelly. “Indeed, you danced with one in particular three times and seemed to enjoy his company.”
I looked at Flossy, but she pretended not to notice. “It was a pleasant evening. Hopefully next time you and Uncle Ronald can join us.”
“I think that would be for the best. Floyd isn’t the most reliable chaperone.”
“I wasn’t aware I needed chaperoning at my age.”
“You’re twenty-four, Cleo. Hardly old.”
“Apparently I’m only six years away.”
This time Flossy didn’t have to pretend not to notice. She seemed quite oblivious that I was teasing her.
My aunt smiled at my little joke. “I don’t think you need chaperoning at all, which is why you have more freedom than Flossy, but if your uncle hears how many times you danced with Mr. Armitage he will disagree.”
If Uncle Ronald found out my involvement with Harry extended further than dancing at balls, he’d be apoplectic.
I wasn’t sure what to say to Aunt Lilian.
I didn’t want to lie to her, but I didn’t want to reveal my feelings for Harry yet, either.
She would be obliged to mention it to Uncle Ronald and that was a conversation I wasn’t ready to have.
I suspected Harry wasn’t ready for it either.
He’d not once pressured me to set a time frame for when we’d reveal our relationship.
He’d made the assumption that it would happen at some future unspecified date.
Just when I worried Aunt Lilian would press me about Harry, she pivoted. “I heard Archibald Mathers came to the hotel to see you, Cleo. I also heard you danced with him at the ball, too.”
I narrowed my gaze at her. “Ye-es. And?”
“I know he’s several years older than you, and quite independent, but do you want me to ask his cousin the countess to tea next week? Ordinarily I’d suggest we invite his mother, but she rarely comes to London. Besides, he’s staying with the earl and countess at the moment.”
“Mr. Mathers and me?” I asked, not sure whether to laugh or give her a stern glare.
“If he likes you, and you him, it might be worth seeing what happens.”
I picked up my teacup. “No thank you. Mr. Mathers is not the right man for me. If he’s on Uncle Ronald’s list of prospective suitors for me, please strike him off.”
“Put him on mine,” Flossy said to her mother. “He’s over thirty, but I think I’ll extend my age requirement to forty. It gives me a lot more choice. As for Mr. Mathers specifically, he’s a viscount’s son, the second cousin to an earl, and he has kind eyes. What do you think, Mother?”
“I-I’m not sure.”
“Cleo?”
I wanted to tell her to wait and see if he turned out to be a murderer, but instead, I said, “His father has cut him off and he’s very interested in politics.”
Flossy wrinkled her nose, but I wasn’t sure if it was Mr. Mathers’ financial situation or politics that displeased her. “Never mind. Perhaps if he was more handsome I’d have set aside those two negatives, but three negatives are just too many to overcome. Don’t you agree?”
“Oh, yes,” I said, at the same time Aunt Lilian said, “Quite.”
My aunt spotted some friends she hadn’t seen for a while at another table and made her excuses to us.
Once she was gone, I asked Flossy if she’d finished the Ida Gainsborough biography.
“I have,” she said. “There were no new revelations, though. It ended somewhat sadly, to be honest. Miss Gainsborough is still alive and yet it had a sort of melancholy note to it, as if she’d already gone.”
“I suppose she has been—gone from the theater stages, that is. Or was.” Something had niggled at me ever since speaking to Frank in the staff parlor, and I realized Flossy might be the perfect person to ask for clarification.
“You read magazines and keep up with the latest gossip about famous people.”
“I do. You could say I’m rather an expert on the subject of celebrated actors and singers. Why?”
“Have you heard or read about Ida Gainsborough’s new role in the Frank Curzon production?”
“No. If it’s very new, perhaps it hasn’t been reported yet. Are you sure it’s official? She has signed on?”
I thought back through that conversation with Ida Gainsborough. “Yes, she has signed a contract with Curzon.”
“Perhaps they’re waiting for the right time to announce it.
These things often happen only when several pieces are in place.
” She selected a strawberry tartlet from the platter.
“The lead actors are all signed up, the director is hired, dates are allocated, that sort of thing.” She bit into the tartlet and closed her eyes, humming with pleasure. “These are very good, Cleo. Try one.”
I selected one and bit into it, but I hardly noticed the taste.
My mind was elsewhere. That was two people who’d not read about Ida Gainsborough’s new role in a Frank Curzon production, but Mrs. Jeffry had mentioned it to us.
Where had she read it? Was it only in one small publication that she read but Frank and Flossy hadn’t?
There was one way to find out for sure that didn’t involve asking her.
Once afternoon tea was over, I went outside and approached the collection of journalists hunkering into their coats against the wind.
The early onset of dusk meant the streetlights were already on, guiding the steady stream of traffic along Piccadilly.
I asked the men if any of them reported on the entertainment industry, and two of them claimed it was their specialty.
“I report on all announcements in the theater world,” one boasted. “I know everyone and everything that goes on.”
“I know about goings-on before they’re announced,” the other countered.
“Perfect,” I said. “Have either of you heard about Ida Gainsborough signing with Frank Curzon for an upcoming production?”
The first journalist shook his head. The second, however, looked me up and down. “How do you know about that, Miss? I only just heard yesterday.”
“It’s true?” the first reporter asked.
The second realized too late that he’d given his rival an important piece of news. “You can’t print it yet. They’re waiting for one final actor to sign on, then there’ll be an announcement.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” the first fellow said as he scribbled something in his notebook.
“So the news hasn’t been leaked to a publication?” I asked. “Not even an obscure one?”
Both men shook their heads and declared they would know.
“So how do you know, Miss?” one of them asked me again.
I smiled. “I have sources.”
A young lad raced up to us, puffing heavily from running. One of the men seemed to know him and asked what he wanted.
“Got a message from the editor, sir,” the lad said between breaths. “Mr. Arkwright has checked into the Savoy Hotel.”
That got the attention of all the reporters, and me.
“No, he hasn’t,” the reporter said to the lad. “He’s still here.”
“No, sir, he ain’t. Editor says his source is good and you’re to immediately go to the Savoy.”
The reporter hesitated. The others exchanged glances.
Then another lad arrived, just as out of breath as the first. He spoke to the photographer. “Editor sent me. You’re to go to Claridge’s. Arkwright checked in an hour ago.”
The photographer frowned. “Are you sure it’s not the Savoy?”
“Definitely Claridge’s, sir.”
“We didn’t see him leave here,” said one of the journalists to his fellow reporters.
“There are other exits,” another pointed out.
“He’s a guest. He wouldn’t use a staff or delivery exit.”
“I would,” I said. “If I was trying to avoid people following me.”
The reporters exchanged glances again while the photographer unclipped his camera from the tripod, muttering under his breath.
Then a third lad arrived. I only stayed long enough to hear him mention the name of a different hotel than the first two messengers.
I smiled at Frank who’d been close enough to hear the exchange, then smiled again at Mr. Hobart, hovering inside near the door. He must have been trying to catch glimpses of the journalists every time it opened.
“Did you make telephone calls to all of the newspapers?” I asked him. “How did you get them to believe you?”
“I’ve had no contact with the press myself, Miss Fox.
” He rocked back on his heels, looking rather smug.
“I telephoned my counterparts at other hotels and asked them to spread the news that Arkwright had moved in with them. Unlike us, they were keen for the publicity it would bring. By having several hotels make the same claim, it muddies the waters and adds a layer of confusion.”
“That was good of the other managers to do that for you.”
“I’ve done favors for them from time to time. This industry is small and we help each other out if we can. Extra sets of linen here, the name of a reliable supplier there… The rivalries between managers are not as heated as those between the owners of our establishments.”
“Smart and diplomatic. Very wise, Mr. Hobart.” I went to walk off, but then stopped.
I could do with some sage advice. “If a famous actress is going to appear in a new play put on by a famous producer, and the members of the press haven’t got wind of it, would you say that’s because it’s not yet public knowledge? ”
“Most definitely. The combination of a famous actress and producer would necessitate a formal announcement by way of a press release, so all the newspapers receive the information at once.” He nodded at the door.
“If it was leaked before the announcement, those scoops out there would have heard and printed it.”
“They haven’t.”
“In that case, only those very close to the production would know. Probably only the producer, director, the main actors, and their family members.”
“That’s what I presumed. May I use your office to telephone Harry?”
“Be my guest.”
A few minutes later, I informed Harry that I’d meet him in his office first thing in the morning to give him some news and that he should be prepared to leave straight away.
I hung up without telling him where we were going or why.
The telephone exchange operators sometimes listened in to calls, and this was one piece of news I didn’t want them to hear.
Ida Gainsborough was well known and any gossip about her would spread like fire.
I didn’t want her to know we were going to question her about her relationship with Mrs. Jeffry.
I decided not to visit Mrs. Jeffry first. I wanted to hear Ida’s unrehearsed answer, and that meant speaking to her before speaking to Mrs. Jeffry.
We’d been quite sure many of Ida’s responses to our questions were rehearsed, and now I suspected it was Mrs. Jeffry who’d warned her we were on our way, and perhaps even coached her .
The women must know one another. Mrs. Jeffry had mentioned that Ida Gainsborough was going to make a return to the stage, yet not even the press had heard about it. Why hadn’t either one told us they were familiar with the other?
And did the omission mean one of them was a murderess? Or both?