Chapter 7 #3
Everyone stared at me. Considering it was one of the few times I’d spoken throughout lunch, perhaps their surprise was warranted.
“I don’t know,” Lady Caldicott said. “Mrs. Preston-Lowe’s sighting is the only one I’ve heard.”
“Perhaps she was mistaken,” Aunt Lilian said. “Doesn’t she wear spectacles?”
“For reading, not for watching the opera.”
“Let’s leave such gossip alone in the presence of the young ladies,” Mrs. Mannering cut in.
“I don’t mind,” Flossy said.
Mrs. Mannering ignored her. “Mother, weren’t you going to ask Lady Bainbridge and her family to dine with you?”
A discussion about dinner plans followed, and a suitable date settled.
Mrs. Mannering and her husband were invited, of course, and Sir Lawrence and Lady Caldicott’s two sons would be there.
Lady Caldicott insisted all of us should attend too.
I’d hoped to be left out, but it seemed I was firmly a part of the Bainbridge family for such events.
I couldn’t decide whether I would feign illness that day or not. I had a week in which to consider my options.
I met Harmony and Victor in the staff parlor after lunch. It was a busy time for the front-of-house staff, but the maids had all finished for the day, and Victor was taking a break between lunch and dinner.
I told them about the sighting of Lady Rumford at the opera. “If it’s true and she is in London, then she’s a suspect.”
“Most definitely,” Harmony said as she picked up her teacup.
Victor sat forward on the chair and rested his elbows on his knees. He cradled the teacup between his hands and looked up at me. “But did she care enough about the affair to kill?”
Harmony looked at him as if he were stupid. “What woman wouldn’t feel jealous that her husband keeps a mistress?”
“Some women wouldn’t. Humiliation, maybe, but not jealousy. Most toff marriages are for the sake of convenience, not love. She might like him to be occupied elsewhere, if you get my meaning.”
“I do but I don’t understand why any woman would give up on love,” Harmony said, matter-of-factly. “I’d never marry anyone unless I was in love with him and he in love with me.”
“Lucky fellow.”
Harmony narrowed her gaze at him, as if trying to determine if he was teasing her. Victor’s face was utterly serious, which didn’t necessarily mean he was being serious. Her look was lost on him, however, as he was staring straight ahead at the wall.
“Actually, you’re right, Victor,” I said. “According to Lady Caldicott, Lady Rumford was only upset about the expense of keeping a mistress, not the fact he had one.”
“Rightly so,” he said. “Rumford paid for Miss Westwood’s flat, but his wife stays at a hotel when she visits London.”
Harmony bristled. “And what’s wrong with the Mayfair? Why wouldn’t she prefer to stay here? There’s an army of staff at hand, an excellent dining room, and the location is superb.”
“You ought to write the advertising copy,” I said, smiling.
She sniffed. “The Mayfair doesn’t need to advertise.”
Victor glanced at the clock then drained his cup and rose. “Seems like you’ve got an extra suspect, Miss Fox. But how are you going to find Lady Rumford?”
“If she’s not staying here, there are few other places she’d be,” Harmony said.
Between them, they rattled off the names of four other suitable hotels where someone of Lady Rumford’s status would stay.
I would have to visit them all individually and somehow find out if Lady Rumford had stayed there and if her visit coincided with Pearl’s death.
When I told them I wasn’t looking forward to such a task, Harmony’s face lit up.
“Leave it with me,” she said, jumping to her feet. “I’ll put the boys to work on their afternoon off tomorrow.”
“The boys?” I asked.
“Peter, Goliath and Frank.”
“They get so little time off,” I said. “Don’t give them this extra task.”
“None of them have anything better to do. Well, Peter visits his parents, but Goliath and Frank are always looking for a distraction.” She was so enthused by her idea that she left ahead of Victor and me.
“Lucky you don’t have the afternoon off tomorrow,” I told him as we left together.
“I wouldn’t mind. I reckon Harmony would come with me to investigate.”
“Oh? Why do you think that?”
“Because I’d run some questions past her as practice and she’d think they were so bad she’d just have to help me.”
I smiled. “Would they be bad on purpose?”
He walked off, whistling.
The Nag’s Head was an unremarkable pub, befitting an unremarkable street.
It was small, dark, and filled with men talking quietly or sitting alone, nursing tankards.
Tucked away as it was in the mews, the patrons were the servants of the large townhouses nearby—footmen, coachmen and stable hands.
Butlers wouldn’t deign to drink with their inferiors.
There were only three women, all dressed in maid’s uniforms complete with mob caps, but without their aprons.
The man who must be Thomas Adams lifted his tankard in greeting when we entered. A cigarette burned in the ashtray in front of him. He picked it up, put it in his mouth, and shook Mr. Armitage’s hand. After a slight hesitation, he also shook mine.
We slipped onto the booth seat opposite him and I made the introductions. “Thank you for meeting us, Mr. Adams.”
Mr. Adams was a slightly built man aged in his early twenties. Like most footmen for great households, he was good looking and well-groomed with his dark hair parted down the middle and jaw cleanly shaved.
He drew on the cigarette and leaned back, his arm draped across the back of the seat. “Victor says you’re investigating the death of that actress,” he said in a Cockney accent. “I reckon you’ll be interested in what I have to say, but it’ll cost you.”
I placed my purse on the table. The coins inside jangled. “The amount depends on the information.”
He’d addressed his financial statement to Mr. Armitage but now he looked at me with renewed interest. His gaze raked over me and his lips stretched into a smile. “I see why Victor wants to help you.”
Mr. Armitage rested his forearms on the table. “Where was Lord Wrexham on Monday afternoon?”
“I don’t know but he wasn’t at the house. He rarely goes out, so that day was an exception.”
“That won’t earn you much.”
Mr. Adams drew on the cigarette and blew out a puff of smoke. “Lady Wrexham went out too, but she caught a cab, since his lordship had the brougham. She also doesn’t leave the house much usually, so something must have been important.”
“Is there a reason she rarely leaves?” I asked.
“She’s unwell. Doctors are always coming and going from the house, and her dressing table’s full of bottles of tonic and jars of creams, so the maid who cleans it tells me.
His lordship’s got some lumps here.” He indicated his mouth.
“He doesn’t go out because he doesn’t want to show his face.
Some of the creams are for him, I expect. Doesn’t seem like they work.”
He eyed the purse. I was about to remove some coins when Mr. Armitage placed his hand over mine to stay it.
“That wasn’t worth much,” he told Mr. Adams.
Mr. Adams leaned forward and blew smoke at me. “What I tell you next is going to be worth a quid.”
“It had better be good for that amount,” I said, removing a sovereign from my purse.
“Oh, it is, Miss. It’s real good.”