Chapter 2 #3
“Perhaps he simply wanted to gain experience under a different owner and manager.”
Mr. Armitage tapped the side of the cup with his finger then suddenly picked it up. “Finish your coffee, and I’ll accompany you back to the hotel. I’ll question my uncle first and see if there is a potential case here.”
“Have him point out the guest named Clitheroe to me. I’ll know immediately if he was the same man or not.” I opened my purse to pay for coffee, but Mr. Armitage refused.
“You gave me the case, Miss Fox. The least I can do is pay for your coffee.”
The walk to the hotel was brisk, and I was a little out of breath by the time we reached it. But instead of going through the front door, Mr. Armitage merely greeted Frank and kept on walking.
I raced after him. “Where are you going?”
“Down here.” He pointed to the side street. “I prefer to use the staff entrance.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not a hotel guest.”
I followed him when he turned into the side street.
He stopped. “You can’t come this way.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re not staff.”
“That’s ridiculous. You once said family can go wherever they wish in the hotel.”
He crossed his arms and arched his brows at me. “The staff will feel uncomfortable if you use their entrance.”
“But the staff like me.” I winced at the whine in my voice.
He gave me a benign smile, as if to say the staff were being polite as their employment depended upon it. I sighed. He was probably right.
“Thank you for your help so far, but this is my investigation now.” He lowered his arms and continued on. “Goodbye, Miss Fox,” he tossed over his shoulder.
I trudged back the way I’d come, entering the hotel through the front door, which Frank held open for me. “You like me, don’t you, Frank?” I asked.
“Of course I do, Miss Fox,” he said smoothly.
“You’re not just saying that because I’m Sir Ronald’s niece.”
“Not at all. You’re one of my favorite people.”
I sighed and headed inside. If Frank had instilled a little more sincerity into his response, I might have believed him.
I paused in the foyer, but decided not to go in search of Mr. Hobart. Mr. Armitage was right and it was his investigation now. I’d done my part.
I went in search of Flossy instead and found her coming out of her parents’ suite. She looked troubled.
“Is something the matter?” I asked.
“My mother’s headache is dreadful today. I knew last night would be too much for her. She shouldn’t have had that second dose of tonic.”
“I don’t understand. Doesn’t the tonic make her feel better, not worse?”
“It does, temporarily, and then the headaches return, crueler than ever.”
She looked so sad. Flossy was such a bright, happy spirit that I hated seeing her like this. I clasped her hand and squeezed. “Is there anything I can do?”
She gave me a weak smile. “No, thank you, Cleo.”
“Perhaps I can sit with her later. We can have a quiet talk while you go out for some air, with a maid as chaperone, of course.”
She nibbled her lower lip and glanced at her mother’s door. “I suppose I could go to the dressmaker’s and milliner’s on Bond Street.”
“I’m sure the air on Bond Street will do you some good.”
“It will, won’t it?” She kissed my cheek. “Thank you, Cleo.”
Harmony emerged from the stairwell and jerked her head towards the door to my suite. I excused myself and joined her there. She slipped into my suite behind me.
“We’re in luck,” she announced with a level of excitement I’d usually associate with Flossy, not Harmony. “Miss Westwood was murdered.”
“That doesn’t sound very lucky for her.”
She gave me an arched look. “This is no time for jokes.” She reached up to unpin my hat. “You ought to see Lord Rumford while he’s in his suite. Room four-fifteen, just down the hall.”
I relinquished my hat and gloves when she asked for them too. “Why do you think Miss Westwood was murdered? And are you suggesting Lord Rumford is her murderer?”
“He’s the one who thinks she was murdered.
He doesn’t believe she killed herself. He says she had far too much to live for and was a very happy person.
But the police don’t believe him and are refusing to investigate further.
They’re too lazy, if you ask me. Suicide is the easy verdict and saves them the trouble of finding out what really happened. ”
“Detective Inspector Hobart isn’t lazy.”
“He might not be the investigator on this case. There must be many other detectives in Scotland Yard.” She shooed me towards the door.
I planted my feet on the floor, refusing to budge. “I don’t know.”
She thrust a hand on her hip. “If it is murder, he or she should be uncovered for poor Miss Westwood’s sake.”
“I suppose.”
“And if the police won’t do it, who else is there?”
“Harry Armitage is a private detective now.”
“Mr. Armitage can find his own clients. Besides, I don’t know if Lord Rumford will pay. He made no specific mention of hiring anyone.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I have eyes and ears.”
“You’ve been eavesdropping?”
She remained silent, which was probably wise. That way she couldn’t be accused of anything.
I sighed. “Very well, but only because I have nothing better to do.”
“Very true.”
I eyed her sideways. “And if Miss Westwood was murdered, her family should have justice.”
She beamed. “Excellent. I’m so glad you agree.” She gave my shoulder a little shove. “Let’s do it now before he heads out again.”
“You’re coming with me?” I asked as she followed me along the corridor.
“Of course. You need a chaperone. We can’t have your reputation ruined.”
I swallowed my laugh when she gave me a sharp glare. Sometimes Harmony could be more censorial than a parent.
Perhaps she was right to be protective. Although I was used to going where I wanted without being accompanied, I was now part of the Bainbridge household, and they lived by different rules than my middle class grandparents.
Lord Rumford looked like a man in need of sleep.
Dark shadows circled his eyes, the whites of which were webbed with tiny veins, and his gray beard and hair were in need of a comb.
While he didn’t smile in greeting when he opened the door on my knock, he didn’t bark at us either. He simply sighed and said, “Yes?”
“My name is Cleopatra Fox and this is Harmony Cotton.” At his blank expression, I added, “I’m Sir Ronald Bainbridge’s niece.”
He shook my offered hand. “Very pleased to meet you.”
I wasn’t sure what to say next. “I’m going to uncover your mistress’s killer” sounded presumptuous.
Harmony came to my rescue. “Miss Fox is going to investigate Miss Westwood’s death and wishes to ask you some questions. May we come in?”
A spark lit Lord Rumford’s eyes. “You are not what I was expecting.”
“You were expecting someone else?”
“Someone a little older and…”
“Male?”
His smile was kind. “Admittedly, yes.”
“Miss Fox is very experienced,” Harmony said. “She solved the case of the hotel’s murdered guest a couple of weeks ago.”
“The Christmas Eve Killer?” he asked, citing the name the journalists had dubbed Mrs. Warrick’s murderer. “You weren’t mentioned in the papers.”
“Miss Fox is Sir Ronald’s niece.” Harmony didn’t need to say more. Lord Rumford understood that it was unseemly to associate the Bainbridge name with the solving of a murder, particularly when the sleuth was a female member of the family.
“You won’t want to attract attention to yourself then,” he said to me.
“I don’t.”
“Good. Because I don’t want to attract attention to myself either. Not in relation to Pearl’s death.”
“Or her life?”
“Precisely.” He glanced up and down the corridor then, seeing it empty, stepped aside. “Do come in. I’d be very happy to hire you as long as my name is kept out of it.”