Chapter 7 #2
The maid who answered his knock had the reddened, chapped hands of someone who has them plunged into hot water for a considerable amount of time.
She took one look at Mr. Armitage, smiling on the doorstep, and buried them in her apron.
She blinked up at him with wide eyes and seemed to have stopped breathing.
“My name is Harry Armitage, and this is Miss Cleopatra Fox.” He smiled. “And you are?”
“Betty Proud, sir. Pleased to meet you.” She didn’t even look past him at me. Her eyes were firmly fixed on his face. At least she was breathing again and the blinking had stopped.
“Miss Fox and I are from the Piccadilly Playhouse.”
Her eyes widened even further. So did mine. What was he up to? This was not planned.
“Are you actors?” Betty asked.
“No, nothing like that.” Mr. Armitage chuckled. “The actors are still asleep, getting their rest for tonight’s performance. They’re resuming Cat and Mouse, but without its star, Miss Westwood.”
Betty gave him a sympathetic look. “I read about her death. I’m so sorry for your loss, Mr. Armitage. You must all be devastated.”
“We are. Losing her at such a young age is a tragedy.”
I eyed him sideways. He looked quite distressed. He was good at this.
“That’s actually why I’m here,” Mr. Armitage went on. “I have a message for Lord Wrexham about Miss Westwood.”
For the first time, Betty looked at me. She was confused by this turn of events. “Why would there be a message for him about her? He didn’t know her.”
“How long have you worked here?” I asked.
“Eleven months. What’s your message, sir? I’ll see the master gets it.”
“Perhaps I’m mistaken,” Mr. Armitage said. “Someone at the theater thought they saw Lord Wrexham there on the afternoon of Pearl’s death.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I doubt it.”
“Betty? Betty, who’re you talking to?” A woman with gray hair pinned into a bun muscled the maid aside and fixed a glare on Mr. Armitage. “Who’re you?”
“Mr. Armitage, and this is Miss Fox. We work at the Piccadilly Playhouse.” He smiled and gave a shallow bow. “Am I speaking to the housekeeper?”
“You are. I’m Mrs. Gardiner. What do folk from the Playhouse want with my scullery maid?”
“They’ve got a message for his lordship,” Betty said. “It’s about Miss Westwood, that actress who died.”
Mrs. Gardiner squared her shoulders. “Go, Betty.”
“But—”
“Get back to work.” Mrs. Gardiner waited until Betty’s footsteps had receded. “What do you want, Mr. Armitage?”
“I want to know where Lord Wrexham was on the afternoon of Monday the fifteenth.”
She crossed her arms beneath her considerable bosom. “That’s none of your business.”
Mr. Armitage pulled out some coins from his pocket.
“Put that away,” she growled. “Neither me nor my girls are willing to jeopardize their position for a few bob.” She thrust out her chin. “You’re not really from the theater, are you?”
Mr. Armitage pocketed the coins. “We’re private detectives, commissioned by a friend of Miss Westwood’s to make inquiries into her death.”
“What has that got to do with this house?”
“I think you already know.”
She stared at him, unblinking. “No,” she finally said.
“Miss Westwood was a particular friend of his lordship.”
The muscles in her jaw bunched and her glare sharpened. There was no surprise in her reaction, however.
“Miss Westwood might not have killed herself,” he went on. “If there’s a chance she was murdered, we should find out who did it. She deserves that, at least.”
“Does she?” she spat.
Mr. Armitage’s charm was working as well as mine had on the coachman. It wouldn’t hurt if I cut in. This encounter couldn’t deteriorate further than it already had.
“We know Lord Wrexham cared for her,” I said. “I saw him at the funeral. He was upset.”
She grabbed the edge of the door. “You people disgust me,” she hissed. “Raking up all this filth when it should be left in the gutter where it belongs. You should be ashamed of yourselves.” She slammed the door in our faces.
I stepped back. “I was about to commend you for your acting skills until the housekeeper came along.”
“As disappointing as it was, it’s nice to see loyalty still exists. Hopefully the footman can tell us something of use later.”
“We did learn something from that exchange,” I said as we headed back the way we’d come. “The housekeeper clearly knew about Pearl’s relationship with Wrexham but the maid didn’t.”
“So the relationship definitely ended more than eleven months ago, the length of time the maid has worked for Wrexham,” he finished. “But why murder her now? Surely if he was wracked by jealousy, he’d have acted when the relationship finished.”
“According to Mr. Culpepper from the theater, Pearl was with Rumford, and only Rumford, for two years, so her relationship with Wrexham must have ended before that.”
It must have been nostalgia that made Lord Wrexham attend Pearl’s funeral. Just because they hadn’t been together for some years didn’t mean he wouldn’t want to pay his respects.
We parted ways outside the hotel with a promise to meet again later. I greeted Frank as he opened the door for me, and I waved to Peter, handed the umbrella to Goliath, and headed for the lift. The door slid open the moment I pressed the button and Flossy and Aunt Lilian stepped out.
“There you are, Cleo,” Aunt Lilian said breezily. “I’m so glad we found you. You must join us for luncheon in the dining room. You won’t be needing your coat in there.” She signaled to Goliath who strode over.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Take Cleo’s coat.” She assisted me to remove it then handed it to Goliath.
He folded it over his arm and carried it to the luggage room.
“I’m delighted to have lunch with you both,” I said. “Isn’t it a little early?” According to the clock on the wall behind Peter, it wasn’t yet midday.
Flossy opened her mouth to speak, but her mother got in first. “It is, but Lady Caldicott prefers to luncheon early.”
“Caldicott?” I asked. “Is she related to the banker?”
“Sir Lawrence, yes. She’s his wife. You are well informed, Cleo. Good for you. I’m so pleased you’re taking an interest.”
Flossy sighed, so I suspected that was a slight aimed at her.
We followed Aunt Lilian through the vestibule to the dining room where Mr. Chapman greeted us with a smile. “You’ll be served by Richard today, assisted by Gregory and Francis.”
The three men stood behind chairs at the family’s regular table, positioned in the center of the room.
They all wore black ties as part of their uniform, but Richard, the head waiter, was the only one without an apron.
He pulled the chair out for Aunt Lilian while Gregory and Francis did the same for Flossy and me.
Aunt Lilian was in one of her lively moods this morning as she conversed with the sommelier and Richard about the menu. She must have taken a dose of her tonic, which meant this wasn’t an ordinary lunch. If it was important, I ought to be prepared.
“Is Sir Lawrence my uncle’s banker?” I asked Flossy while her mother was occupied.
“Yes. He has two sons, both unmarried and in their twenties, and an older, married daughter. She and her mother are coming today.”
“Is this meeting intended to butter Lady Caldicott up so that she can speak to her husband on your father’s behalf?”
Flossy gave me a blank look. “It’s about Lady Caldicott meeting me. Mother wants me to marry one of her sons, so I must give a good impression.”
I pulled a face. “Oh. Sorry.”
“Save some of that sympathy for yourself. Now that you’re here, you’ll be considered for the other son.”
Ugh. So it was going to be that sort of lunch. “Any particular son or do I just get the one you don’t want?”
Flossy suppressed a giggle. “You’re wicked, Cleo. Be sure not to let it show during lunch. Lady Caldicott and her daughter have no sense of humor.”
“Then I can tell you I probably wouldn’t want to marry one of her sons.”
She leaned closer. “Me either. But we mustn’t disappoint Mother. She’s gone to a lot of effort to arrange this lunch.”
The two guests arrived and I was introduced as the niece from Cambridge. Lady Caldicott and her daughter, Mrs. Mannering, both commented on how much I looked like Aunt Lilian, and expressed their sympathies over the recent loss of my grandmother.
Both women wore the latest fashions, like my aunt and cousin, and if they thought my black dress somewhat plain and out of date, they were polite enough not to show it.
It wasn’t until sometime during the dessert course that I noticed Mrs. Mannering watching me from beneath lowered lashes.
I thought she’d been listening in to her mother and Aunt Lilian gossiping, but it seemed not.
I waited for her to say something, but she didn’t.
“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you about Lady Rumford,” Lady Caldicott said to my aunt.
The name had me turning sharply towards them.
“What about her?” Aunt Lilian asked.
“Do you know Mrs. Preston-Lowe? She told me she saw Lady Rumford at the opera last week.”
Aunt Lilian looked up from her Bavarian cream. “She must be mistaken. If Lady Rumford is in London, she’d be staying with us.”
“While her husband is here grieving for his late mistress?” Lady Caldicott sounded triumphant, as if she knew Aunt Lilian was attempting to hide that fact.
Lady Caldicott was reveling in spreading her gossip.
“Come now, Lilian, don’t look so surprised.
Almost everyone knows he kept that actress, even Lady Rumford. ”
“So sad about her death,” Mrs. Mannering said.
“I doubt Lady Rumford is sad. I heard she and Rumford had blazing rows over his interest in Miss Westwood. Not the affair itself, you understand, but the expense of keeping her.” Lady Caldicott positively glowed with delight at imparting such salacious news.
The three glasses of wine probably had something to do with the glow too.
“Mother,” Mrs. Mannering chided.
“Is Lady Rumford still in London?” I asked.