by C. J. Archer
I stared at the page with its neat columns of figures. Every possible item a woman of my age could need was written down with an amount beside it. Indeed, there was far more than I would need. A new hat every month and new gown every three was excessive, but if he’d used Flossy as a guide, it was clear how he’d reached the figure. I suspected economizing was a foreign notion to her.
Neither the items nor the amount was what confused me the most, however. I put down the ledger and fixed my uncle with a glare. “How do you know the amount I’m already receiving?” It wouldn’t surprise me if he’d bullied his way into my banker’s good graces and coerced the knowledge from the poor fellow. My uncle’s ruthlessness was legendary.
He tilted his head to the side. “I pay your allowance, Cleopatra.”
My jaw dropped.
“You didn’t know?”
“No,” I murmured. He paid my allowance?
“They kept that from you?” He leaned back in the chair, moving his clasped hands from the desk to the top of his stomach. He stared at me, and I suspected I stared back with the same confused expression.
“I don’t understand,” I said. “How long have you been paying my allowance?”
“Ever since you were born.”
My jaw dropped again. Any more surprises and it was in danger of unhinging altogether. “For twenty-three years! But…why did no one tell me?”
“That is a good question, but one I suspect I know the answer to. Your family didn’t like me. Or, more specifically, they didn’t like your mother’s parents. Not telling you the source of your allowance was one small way they could obliterate them—us—from your life.”
“I don’t understand,” I said again, rather stupidly. “My maternal grandparents died before I was born. They were never in my life. Why withhold information from me about the allowance? What did it matter?”
My uncle flattened his moustache with his thumb and forefinger. His shoulders heaved with his sigh as he sat forward again. “I suspect there’s much you don’t know, Cleopatra, and hearing the truth might cast some of your family in a poor light. Are you prepared to hear it?”
I gripped the chair arm to steady myself. I suddenly felt as if the chair were floating away, taking me with it. I had never shied away from the truth. Indeed, I believed the truth, however hurtful, should always be revealed. I’d witnessed my parents’ deaths; I’d heard their arguing voices moments before our gig veered off the road. Knowing that fact about the accident helped me move on.
On the reverse side, there was Grandpapa’s secret debts. Grandmama had been deeply hurt when she’d learned of them. Nothing good came of deceit.
But I wasn’t convinced that my uncle was speaking the truth. I would hear his version, however. “Go on,” I prompted.
“Do you know that your mother’s parents left their entire fortune to her sister, your Aunt Lilian, when they died?”
“Yes. They didn’t like that she married my father against their wishes, so they removed my mother from their will, and their lives.”
“That’s a fair summary. I married your Aunt Lilian shortly afterwards, and her inheritance allowed me to turn my ancestral home into this hotel.” He spread out his hands. At least he admitted that his wife’s money had led him to become the wealthy hotelier he now was. I hadn’t expected him to, and I gave him credit for it.
“Soon after our marriage, I wrote to your parents and offered them an allowance. It never felt right to me that Lilian should inherit it all. Your parents refused my offer.”
He offered no reason, thankfully. I suspected stubbornness and pride played large parts, but that didn’t mean I wanted this man to point it out.
“When you were born, I offered again,” he went on. “The granddaughter of a gentleman who’d been one of the nation’s wealthiest merchants shouldn’t be brought up in…reduced circumstances.”
I bristled. “We weren’t poor.”
He held up his hands. “My apologies. No, you weren’t poor by the average man’s standards. But you were by ours.” He indicated the walls surrounding us, with the rich wood paneling and the paintings in gilded frames. “Academia doesn’t pay well, unfortunately. Your father was a very clever man. The cleverest I’ve ever known. But sadly, our maker doesn’t distribute money along with brains. I knew there’d be little left over from his wages after the necessities had been paid for. Your parents agreed to a lesser amount than I offered—for your education and future dowry, so their letter stated. I’ve been paying that amount into a bank account in Cambridge ever since, but I am well aware that it isn’t enough for a young lady entering London society.” He tapped the ledger with a blunt finger. “Shall we agree to an extra five pounds a month?”
He was wrong, surely. It must be a lie to make himself look generous. There was an easy way to find out. “What amount was paid monthly?”
“Four pounds.”
“Which bank was it paid into?”
“The National Commercial on the first day of every month unless the first was a weekend or bank holiday then it was paid on the next business day. The manager’s name at the Cambridge branch is Mr. Arnold. I never met him, so I cannot describe him to you, but he has been the manager the entire time, so is likely my age or older.”
The allowance went into my account on the first of every month and it was indeed four pounds. Prior to my grandfather’s death, I had not been allowed to access it without his signature, but after his death, I was given full access. I’d always assumed my father set up the allowance in the event of his death; an event that had unfortunately come to pass. If Uncle Ronald were to be believed, it had been paid by him and from the day I was born.
“It will be easy enough for me to check,” I told him.
“Yes, it would.” He smiled, but there was a hint of sadness tugging at the corners of his eyes. “You remind me so much of your mother. You have her spirit.” He cleared his throat and reached for the pen again. “You have your father’s practical common sense, however, so I suspect you will accept the raise to your allowance without objection.”
It wasn’t a question, yet he didn’t immediately sign the letter. Reading it upside down, it was indeed a letter addressed to Mr. Arnold at the National Commercial bank, stipulating my allowance should be raised by the amount of five pounds a month and that I would henceforth be drawing on the funds from London.
“I have already informed Mr. Arnold of my relocation to London,” I said. “I met him for the first time prior to my departure. He’s older than you, has poor eyesight, and no hair on his head but an abundance on his face in the form of long gray whiskers.”
My uncle’s smile returned. He set the paper aside. “I’ll draft another and remove that paragraph. It’ll be sent by the last post of the day.”
“No.”
“What?”
“No, I don’t want an additional allowance. Not from you. I mean, not from anyone,” I added quickly. “Thank you, I appreciate the offer but the four pounds I already receive will suffice.”
“But…are you sure?”
If I was to make my own way here, I couldn’t rely on his money. Not more than I already was, anyway. Discovering that he had been paying my allowance all these years made me feel somewhat sick; I couldn’t stomach it if he more than doubled it.
“I’m sure, sir.”
He picked up the letter to the bank manager and appeared to be re-reading it when he suddenly screwed it up into a ball. “Call me Uncle Ronald.” He tossed the ball into a rubbish basket. “If you change your mind about the extra allowance, just come and see me.” He indicated the photograph of a newlywed couple in the oval frame on the corner of his desk. The man was a younger version of Uncle Ronald. “I want to assure you that your Aunt Lilian and I are very happy to have you with us. We hope you’ll be a steadying influence on Florence.”
“She has been very kind to me today,” I said.
“She’s a kind-hearted girl, if a little flighty at times. B
ut you seem sensible, steady, Cleopatra.”
“Call me Cleo. Everyone does.”
“There, you see? Sensible.”
His reasoning was lost on me, but I went along with it and nodded. “May I ask you some questions about my stay here?”
“Of course. I imagine you have several.”
I cleared my throat. “I don’t want you to think me ungrateful for the offer.” I indicated the rubbish basket. “I am very grateful. However, I need to know what things cost here. Are there menus with prices on them?”
He frowned. “You’re not expected to pay for anything. All hotel amenities are free for family.”
He couldn’t possibly understand me. “What about tea and cake in the sitting room? And breakfast and dinner?”
He smiled. “All free.”
“What?” I blurted out. “All of it?”
He chuckled, producing a fan of wrinkles from the corners of his eyes. “Even dessert. I don’t expect you to pay for food, Cleo. As your uncle, I’m supporting you.”
“So…it’s not coming out of my allowance?”
“Your allowance is yours to do with as you wish. Spend it on hats and shoes, or save it. I don’t care. As I said earlier, the inheritance ought to have been shared between your mother and your aunt upon their parents’ deaths. It never sat well with me that your mother received nothing. While I can’t afford to give you her entire half, I can give you a little every month. I think that fair, don’t you?”
I blinked hard. This conversation was not going as I expected. Ever since I could recall, my grandparents had told me that my Uncle Ronald was greedy, that he’d married my aunt for her inheritance. To be honest, they didn’t really know him. After all, they knew him about as well as I did—and that was not at all.
“Thank you.” It sounded rather weak, so I said it again, just to be sure he understood I was truly grateful. “I don’t wish to be a burden on you for long, however. I want to be useful.”
“Useful?”
“I’d like to find a role for myself within the hotel.”
He waved off the suggestion. “You don’t have to work, Cleo. Work is for those who need the money. You don’t. Not anymore.”
“Is there nothing I can do? Some task, no matter how small? I’m good with mathematics, but I quite like people too and am happy to help the manager. Or the steward, perhaps, although I know very little about restaurants.”
He gave a stiff shake of his head. “Bainbridge women don’t work.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from retorting that I was a Fox not a Bainbridge. My uncle’s thinking was no different to my father’s or that of most other men and many women too, and I shouldn’t let it rankle. Yet it did.
“Well then, let me assure you I won’t be a burden on you for longer than necessary,” I said. “I plan to move out of the hotel one day.”
“Of course. When you marry, you’ll want to make your own home. That’s only natural.”
“I don’t plan to marry.”
He made a scoffing sound in the back of his throat. “Of course you will, my dear. A pretty girl such as yourself will find a husband. There are many eligible bachelors coming through the hotel. You will have your pick of gentlemen, both English and foreign.”
I bit the inside of my cheek again. I was going to have quite the sore spot there soon. “Thank you, but I really don’t intend to marry.”
“But—”
“I will work. If not here in the hotel, then elsewhere. I don’t yet know what I will do, but I’m sure something will crop up. Perhaps I’ll be an authoress or teacher, or a private secretary to a lady. Perhaps all three,” I added with more cheerfulness than I felt. He was looking at me as if I had grown horns so I found myself wanting to drive the point home. “I’m an independent woman, Uncle, and I plan to stay that way. As I see it, there is only one way to remain independent and that is to find work. I can’t accept your allowance forever.”
He continued to stare at me with the same look on his face that was part horrified, part fascinated.
“Of course I will honor your rules while I live here,” I went on. “I hope you won’t find me to be a burden or come to regret your decision to allow me to stay.”
He quickly got to his feet as I rose, and rounded the desk. “No, no, I don’t think I will. Indeed, I think we shall get along quite well.” He took my hand and gave it a shake and a pat, as if he couldn’t decide whether to treat me as a business associate or a niece.
“Do you know when my aunt will be available to see me?” I asked.
He glanced at the clock on the low bookshelf. “My wife suffers from headaches. I believe she is suffering from one today. If she feels better, she’ll summon you.”
I waited in my rooms for the summons, but it never came. Flossy arrived, bearing a verbal invitation to dine with the family at eight, then left to get ready even though it was only five.
I sat at the desk and wrote letters, both to Mr. Arnold the banker and a friend in Cambridge with whom I’d stored another trunk of clothes. I’d only brought black outfits with me and my underthings. The second trunk I’d left behind, assuming I wouldn’t need other clothes for some time. But Flossy’s reasoning had taken root, and there might come a day in the not too distant future when I’d want to wear colors again. I had a gray dress with white trim that looked fetching. Gray would be acceptable to wear soon. As Flossy said, young women weren’t expected to wear full black for long.
I took my letters downstairs and asked at the front desk what to do with them.
Peter the clerk pointed at a counter diagonally opposite. “The post desk appears to be unmanned at the moment. You could leave them on the counter or wait. He has probably just stepped away for a few moments.”
I decided to wait by the counter rather than leave the letters unattended. It gave me an opportunity to explore this side of the foyer. Next to the post desk was a billiard room where two gentlemen played. On the other side of the billiard room was a corridor with several doors leading off it. Some were offices, labeled for the manager, assistant manager, steward and housekeeper, while others were unlabeled. A potted plant occupied the space between the manager and assistant manager’s offices, but otherwise the corridor was clearly not meant for guests to venture down, given its utilitarian appearance. The dimmer lighting, lack of marble and other adornment meant the foyer sparkled by comparison.
I was about to return to the post desk when the door to the steward’s office opened an inch. Someone peered through the gap then the door opened wider. Mr. Armitage the assistant manager emerged.
“Good evening, Miss Fox,” he said cheerfully as he locked the door behind him and pocketed the key. “Are you lost?” His friendliness was at odds with his furtive peek through the gap.
“Merely being nosy. I wanted to see what was down here. I’m sorry, am I not supposed to be here?”
“You can go wherever you want. The entire hotel is available for family to explore.” He hesitated then checked his pocket watch. “Would you like a tour?”
“Yes, please.”
“Then let’s begin here.” He pointed to each of the labeled doors. “These are the offices for the senior staff. You won’t often find us in them, however, since we’re usually attending to matters within the hotel. Beyond them is a service lift, usually used by the porters, and our private chambers.”
“You live here?”
“Only the unmarried senior staff do. That’s myself, Mr. Chapman the steward, and Mrs. Kettering the housekeeper.” He put a hand to the side of his mouth and whispered, “She’s actually Miss Kettering, but housekeepers are always called Mrs, so I’m told. Apparently it gives them the appearance of authority.”
I laughed softly. “I won’t tell anyone. And the manager?”
“Mr. Hobart lives with his wife off-site.”
I cupped the side of my mouth with a hand as he had done and lowered my voice. “You can call him Uncle in front of me.
I don’t mind.”
His lips tilted with a disarming lopsided smile. “My uncle has already left for the day. My aunt likes him home for dinner.”
“So you’re in charge in the evenings?”
“Sir Ronald is in charge. I’m merely his lackey.”
“I can’t see you being anyone’s lackey.” It just slipped out without me thinking. I hardly knew Mr. Armitage, but I suspected my observation was correct.
“I admit that asking me nicely rather than ordering me does get better results. Something most people here understand.”
We left the corridor and returned to the foyer. A staff member stood behind the post desk so I gave him my letters and he promised to see they made the last collection of the day. Then Mr. Armitage continued with his tour, taking me to another sitting room, smaller than the one I’d taken tea in, as well as pointing out the luggage room, a small parlor used by staff, the vestibule leading to the dining room where diners could wait for their friends in comfortable chairs, and finally the dining room itself. Waiters wove between tables, setting places for dinner, while Mr. Chapman the steward rearranged a vase of flowers. He pinched off a rosebud and poked the stem through his buttonhole.
“That’s all the areas the guests are allowed access to, but I want to show you everything on this level and below,” Mr. Armitage said. “Do you have time?”
“An abundance of it .I’m not dining with my family until eight.”
“Including your aunt?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t she join us?”
He watched me and I watched him back, waiting for an explanation. None came. A small crease appeared between his brows, however, as if my confusion confused him in turn.
“No reason,” he said simply. “Sometimes she suffers from headaches. I assumed your aunt and uncle’s letters had informed you. Or that your cousin’s letters would. Miss Bainbridge seems like she would blurt out all sorts of secrets to her only cousin.”
“We’ve never exchanged letters,” I said.
His brows arched. “Never?”
I shook my head. “My aunt and uncle were estranged from my parents.”
