Chapter 1 #2
Wearing a soft pink gown that fit snugly across her chest, she was a picture of Rubenesque beauty.
Not that I would use that word to her face.
Once when a gentleman had innocently described her as such, she hadn’t eaten for three days.
The fashionably miniscule waistline was simply unattainable for my cousin, unless she starved herself.
I wished she saw how naturally beautiful she was, but unfortunately she’d inherited some of her mother’s lack of self-confidence.
“Are you going in to see Mother?” she went on. “Perhaps I’ll join you, since I have nothing else to do. It’s so boring at the moment, isn’t it?”
“What is?”
“London. Everyone’s somewhere else at this time of year.”
“It won’t be long before they’re back again.” I knocked on Aunt Lilian’s door. “We’re going out, as it happens. I’m accompanying her to an appointment with a new doctor.”
Flossy pulled a face. “On second thoughts, I’ll find something to do.” She hurried back to her suite before her mother saw her.
Aunt Lilian’s new doctor didn’t have rooms on Harley Street where all the so-called best physicians were located.
His practice was located near St. Pancras railway station in a nondescript brick building set in a row of other nondescript brick buildings.
He’d been recommended by Dr. Garside, an eminent medical scientist based at St. Mary’s Hospital.
Dr. Garside assisted the police on occasion, which was how I’d come to meet him when investigating a death by poisoning.
As Dr. Garside was an expert at the leading edge of a rapidly changing profession, Harry suggested we ask him for the name of a doctor who could treat Aunt Lilian’s addiction.
With many doctors prescribing cocaine, opium, and other highly addictive substances for treating all manner of ailments, Dr. Garside sometimes came under fire from colleagues unwilling to admit they were wrong, but that was precisely why Harry and I sought his advice.
Dr. Garside didn’t have consulting rooms himself, but he’d given us the name of a friend who did.
Aunt Lilian emerged from the consulting room with an air of hope. When she instructed Cobbit, the hotel’s coachman, to stop at a chemist on the way home, I waited until we were seated inside the carriage to ask why.
Aunt Lilian told me the doctor had not only given her a written plan of medication to take, but he’d spoken with her at length, unearthing the root cause of her addiction—her lack of self-worth.
I suspected it was the unburdening of her mind rather than the medicinal plan that lifted her spirits most. She handed me the written plan.
“The doctor wants me to take a powder, but in decreasing amounts over time. It will help with the headaches and other symptoms. He suggested someone else keeps it hidden from me and is the one to measure out the doses.”
I supposed that was to stop her replacing her addiction to one medicine with an addiction to another.
I looked over the plan as we drove. It stipulated precise measurements of the powder be mixed with a cup of water, the doses to decrease a little each week until the content of the cup was mostly water.
The idea was to slowly wean Aunt Lilian off her cocaine dependency.
“It’s beginning to rain,” I said, peering out of the window as we pulled up in front of a Boots chemist. “You stay in here and keep dry.”
“Thank you, dearest.” She reached forward and clasped my hand. I could feel her bones through the soft kid leather of her glove. “You are good coming with me today, Cleopatra. Your Uncle Ronald offered, but I didn’t want him there. Some things should not be seen or heard by one’s husband.”
Her relationship with Uncle Ronald was different to the one I wanted with Harry. I wanted to share everything with him—the good and the bad. Not that he’d formally proposed, but there was an understanding between us.
The fact that I was even thinking such thoughts after years of convincing myself I would never marry left me feeling lightheaded as I entered the pharmacy.
It wasn’t a terrible feeling. Quite the opposite.
I looked forward to seeing Harry again, to wrap my arms around him and feel his arms around me, too.
Although we wanted to see each other every day, it wasn’t always possible.
He was very busy with his investigations, and I couldn’t get away in the evenings without raising the suspicions of my family.
I purchased a packet of the powder prescribed by Aunt Lilian’s new doctor and a bottle of Nerve Elixir, the tonic she used to take. The small print on the bottom of the Nerve Elixir label did indeed sport the Bella Vita Company’s name. I buried it in my handbag so she wouldn’t see it.
Once back at the hotel, Frank the doorman held an umbrella over my aunt’s head as she traversed the short distance between the carriage and hotel door.
I waited for him to return and offer me the same protection, but he simply stood by the open door.
I waited some more. With a sigh, he released the door and joined me, umbrella raised high.
I stepped down from the carriage. “I like that you consider me your equal and a friend, Frank, but it would be nice to be afforded the same privileges you give the Bainbridge family when it’s raining.”
The grumpy middle-aged doorman was all smiles and “how do you do” for the guests and my family, but I usually received little more than a grunt in greeting.
I knew it wasn’t unfriendly—he treated the other staff the same way—and I wasn’t lying when I said I liked that he was comfortable enough with me to be himself.
“You’re always correcting folk who call you a Bainbridge, reminding them you’re a Fox,” he pointed out as he held the umbrella over the both of us as we walked.
“Yes, but—”
“And it’s not far, the rain is light, and you have an enormous hat to protect your hair and face.”
I touched the brim of my straw hat. “Yes, but the flowers and ribbons are silk.”
He opened the hotel door. “Seems to me you’re becoming more Bainbridge and less Fox the longer you live here.”
“What does that mean?”
He cleared his throat. “Sir Ronald wants a word with you.” He nodded at my uncle, standing in the foyer under the blazing light of the crystal chandelier where he was trying to catch my attention. A guest with a spectacular thick, black moustache with upward pointing ends stood beside him.
I joined them, smiling my best niece-of-the-owner smile. “Good morning, Uncle.”
“Cleopatra, may I introduce a guest at the hotel, Mr. Lombardi. Or should I say Signor Lombardi?” Uncle Ronald’s chuckle made his jowls tremble.
My smile froze.
In a cultured Italian accent, the guest said, “Mister Lombardi, please. When in England, do as the English do. Is that not what they say, Sir Ronald?”
The variation to the common idiom had both men’s moustaches twitching with mirth.
“Well then, Mr. Lombardi, may I present my niece, Miss Fox.”
Mr. Lombardi took my limp hand and kissed the back of it. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Fox.”
What did one say to the man who manufactured a medicine that made their aunt ill? And in front of my uninformed uncle, no less? He would expect me to be charmingly polite. I could manage the politeness but not the charm. “Good morning, Mr. Lombardi. How do you find the Mayfair Hotel so far?”
“It is a fine establishment. My room has a balcony with a very nice view over the park. What is it called?”
“Green Park.”
“If all parks were named for their color then all of England’s would be called Green Park.” He laughed lightly.
It was difficult to gauge his age. Both his moustache and hair were thick and black without a hint of gray, but the wrinkles fanning the outer edges of his eyes and across his forehead would suggest he was at least fifty. I suspected he used hair dye.
“Mr. Lombardi was just telling me how he has thirty-five pharmacists and another twenty-three doctors coming to his presentation next week,” Uncle Ronald said proudly. “Some of those are from outside London and will be staying here in the hotel. Isn’t that marvelous, Cleopatra?”
It was indeed, particularly with the hotel being rather quiet in October.
The best thing to say at that point would be to praise the number of attendees, or ask Mr. Lombardi if he regularly showcased his products to that many, and perhaps whether he was looking forward to the event.
But I found I couldn’t pretend enthusiasm. I simply murmured agreement.
Uncle Ronald frowned at me, but if Mr. Lombardi noticed my reticence, he gave no indication. He checked the time on his watch and made his excuses.
Once he was out of earshot, Uncle Ronald asked if everything was all right.
“We need to talk,” I said.
“Is it your aunt? I was with Mr. Lombardi when she entered the hotel and couldn’t ask how the appointment with the new doctor went, but she didn’t seem unhappy.” He gazed in the direction of the lift where John the operator bade two departing occupants a good day.
“The appointment went well. I’m sure she’ll tell you all about it when you have a moment.” I pulled out the bottle of tonic from my handbag, checked the vicinity to make sure no one was watching, and showed him the label.
“He prescribed the same stuff that made her ill?” he whispered loudly.
“No. He prescribed a powder. I purchased this to show you something. Look at the manufacturer name.”
Uncle Ronald snatched the bottle off me and squinted at the label. His face drained of color. “Lombardi makes this?”
I nodded.
“That bloody scoundrel. I ought to chase after him and tell him what I think of his blasted tonic.” He didn’t move, however.
“Or you could cancel the presentation.”
“I could…”
I waited for more, but he stopped there. “Uncle?”
“Damn and blast. We need the presentation to be held here.”
“We need for Aunt Lilian to get well.”
“Hosting the presentation won’t make her ill again. She’s on the mend and will be back to her old self in no time.” I wasn’t sure if he was truly optimistic about the outlook for her health or if he was trying to convince himself. His outlook may be heartening, but it wasn’t the point.
“Uncle, you can’t let him present here. It would be condoning the manufacture of this…” I took the bottle of tonic back and dropped it into my bag. “…this quackery.”
“It’s not as simple as that, Cleopatra. There are other considerations.”
“Such as?”
“Mr. Lombardi’s presentation is the only important event on the horizon. We need more.”
“Isn’t October typically quiet anyway?”
“October is, but the rest of the year is looking lean, too.” He tugged on his shirt cuffs as he peered around. “I don’t want to trouble you with the details, but suffice it to say, I expected the ballroom we created from the old restaurant to be more in demand after the Hessing-Liddicoat wedding.”
“I am sorry it’s not, but even so—"
“Even so, I won’t make a rash decision about something so important. Hobart!” he called out. “Do you wish to speak to me?”
The hotel manager had been hovering nearby. He now approached and greeted us both warmly. “Actually, I wanted to speak to Miss Fox.”
Uncle Ronald looked relieved. “Good, good. I’ll leave you to it. I have to see Lady Bainbridge.” He went to walk off, only to stop. “Have either of you spoken to Harry Armitage about my proposal?”
Mr. Hobart glanced at me. “Um…”
“He won’t be interested, Uncle,” I said.
“You don’t know if you don’t ask.” Before I could respond, he strode in the direction of the lift.
Mr. Hobart blew out a breath. “He asked you to ask Harry to return to his former position here, too?”
“Not quite the same position, but yes he did. I keep forgetting to mention it to Harry.”
“I did ask him, and you’re right. He wasn’t interested. I just don’t know how to tell Sir Ronald in a way that will cause the least offence.”
“I’m quite sure that whatever you say will be less offensive than what I say. You’re diplomatic, whereas I can be too blunt, particularly when speaking to my uncle.”
He watched as John welcomed Uncle Ronald into the lift. “Sometimes bluntness is best. Sir Ronald appreciates forthrightness.”
“We’ll think of a way to manage him,” I said.
“Has Harry telephoned asking for me? Is that why you needed to speak to me?” Sometimes Harry would place a call to his uncle’s office directly from his own office, although he kept such calls to a minimum.
They were rarely necessary anyway, since Harry and I saw each other quite a lot lately and were able to say what we needed to say in person.
Mr. Hobart looked worried. “He asked me to ask you to meet him at the medical rooms of Lady Bainbridge’s former doctor as soon as possible, if you have the time.”
“I do, but why does he want to meet me there?”
“Apparently he needs your expertise as both an investigator and as someone who knows that particular doctor. He hired Harry today, and Harry wants your opinion on the doctor’s trustworthiness.”
As far as I knew, Mr. Hobart didn’t know Aunt Lilian was addicted to the cocaine in the tonic that doctor prescribed, but he did know that her health had not improved while she was his patient. “I’ll go now. What has he hired Harry to investigate?”
“He wants Harry to prove him innocent of the murder of a patient.”