by C. J. Archer
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
“You weren’t to know.”
“I feel as though I’ve stumbled my way through this conversation and thrust my nose in where it shouldn’t be.”
“Call it even, given I was lurking in the staff corridor.”
He laughed softly and led the way past tables to the corner of the dining room. “So you’ve come to London to live with people you don’t know?” he asked as he pushed open a door.
I nodded and almost told him more, about my grandfather’s debts, my dire financial situation, and the reason my mother fell out with her family. Part of me wanted to tell him. But it wasn’t something one blurted out to a man one hardly knew, particularly given he was an employee of the uncle supporting me.
“That’s very brave,” he said. “I hope your family are kind to you.”
What an odd thing to say. “Thank you.”
“And if they’re not, just come and see me.”
“Oh? You’ll box their ears on my behalf?”
He brushed past me to lead the way. “Are you mad?” he teased. “I’ll lose my position as assistant manager. They might demote me to porter. I was a porter in my first year here, and I swear my shoulders became more stooped with all the carrying. I’m sure they still are.”
I was quite sure they were not. His shoulders looked impressively wide within his well-made suit. “Very rounded,” I said with mock seriousness. “Such a pity. You would be at least another two inches taller if only you weren’t so stooped. It must be such a trial, being so short now.” Mr. Armitage may not have been as tall as the porter, but he wasn’t much shorter. My nose only reached the middle of his chest.
“So you agree, there will be no fisticuffs between myself and your uncle or cousin. When I said come and see me if your family are unkind, it was because I have the key to the cellar. You can drown your sorrows in fine wine.”
I laughed. “Is it all very fine?”
He grinned. “The most expensive money can buy. Apparently that makes it the best.”
The rest of our tour took in the service rooms including a still room, an enormous kitchen in the basement that we quickly left before we got in the way of the busy chefs, another service lift, the scullery, pantry, and finally the cellar, filled with rows and rows of wine bottles.
“This could drown a lot of sorrows,” I said.
“It would be a shame if it came to that.” His deeply melodic voice rumbled in the confines of the thick stone walls.
I glanced at him and caught him watching me from beneath lowered lashes. He quickly looked away.
“I’d better return to work,” he said, switching off the cellar light. “Can you make your own way from the dining room? I have to speak to the steward about Christmas luncheon.”
***
My aunt’s headache had not vanished by the time the rest of us sat down for dinner. We were given the best table, positioned at one end of the grand dining room. The large space looked different with people seated at the tables, although it was only half full and the tables were set well apart. When Mr. Armitage had given me the tour, the lights had blazed from the three large chandeliers hanging from the high ornate ceiling, but now the lighting was not so bright. Even so, the silver cutlery and crystal glassware sparkled. There was just enough light to read the menu. Each dish was written in French, but thankfully an English translation accompanied it.
“So what do you think of your new home?” asked my cousin Floyd.
He was the same age as me, and Flossy had been right when she said we looked alike. Our hair was a similar shade of light brown, and we both had high cheekbones and green eyes. It was difficult to tell what his character was like yet. The dinner was subdued and quite formal so far. Even Flossy’s vibrancy had been turned down like a gas flame. I blamed their father.
Uncle Ronald had said very little to us since sitting down. He seemed pre-occupied with something and gave his children and me very little attention.
“The hotel is beautiful,” I said to Floyd. “Every room is a piece of art in itself. There is something different to admire in each. The foyer is very grand and looks wonderfully festive with the Christmas tree in the middle.”
A slow smile stretched Uncle Ronald’s moustache, proving he had been listening after all.
“Everyone has been nice to me,” I added.
“Of course they have. You’re the owner’s niece.” Floyd tempered the spiteful comment with a smile that transformed his face from handsome to mischievous.
“Hopefully they’ll be less reserved around me once they know me better,” I said.
Flossy looked appalled. “You don’t want the staff knowing you too well. They already gossip about us too much.”
My chest pinched as I recalled what I’d told Mr. Armitage about not knowing my family. But the feeling of panic dissipated just as quickly. Not only would the assistant manager be unlikely to gossip about his employer, he didn’t seem like the type to take joy in the exchange of titillating information.
Floyd leaned closer to his sister. “Perhaps Cleo wants people to like her for her character, not because she can have them dismissed.”
“Why would she want anyone dismissed? They all do such a splendid job. They wouldn’t be here if they didn’t.”
Floyd rolled his eyes. Neither his sister nor father saw it.
Our soup course arrived along with a group of carolers from the nearby boys’ home who sang Christmas carols before being led out by their teacher. When the musicians resumed their regular playing, we resumed our conversation. We chatted easily enough about Cambridge and my life there, and about the features of the hotel that I needed to know. It seemed nothing was off limits to me. I could go where I pleased.
“The staff don’t live here?” I asked. Mr. Armitage had mentioned only the senior staff lived on the ground floor. He hadn’t spoken about the rest.
“Unmarried staff were moved off-site into residence halls years ago,” Uncle Ronald told me. “They used to be accommodated on the top floor prior to that, but installing the lifts meant those rooms could be renovated and turned into guest rooms. Five flights of stairs was a little too much to ask of the guests.”
But not the staff, apparently.
Flossy pulled a face. “It used to be exhausting going up to our rooms on the fourth floor.”
“You can’t possibly remember that,” her brother said. “You were very young when the lifts were put in.”
“Old enough to remember. Anyway, the fifth floor now has some of the best rooms. Not as good as the fourth floor suites, naturally, but the guests like the view.”
“Except for Mrs. Cavendish-Dyer,” Floyd said, reaching for his wineglass again. “The old bat isn’t satisfied with anything.”
“Floyd,” Uncle Ronald bit off. “Don’t speak that way about a guest.”
“No one can hear me, and Cleo is family.” Floyd drained his glass and beckoned a waiter standing nearby to refill it.
Uncle Ronald didn’t take his hard glare off his son, but Floyd pretended not to notice. He raised his refilled glass in salute to me.
“The ball,” Flossy said suddenly and rather loudly. “You must both convince Cleo to attend and to wear something other than black. An exception to the rules of mourning should be made for balls, don’t you think?”
Her breezy chatter didn’t hide the fact that her father and brother were waging a silent battle with one another, but it did lead them to call a truce. Both men turned to me and, taking Flossy’s side, tried to convince me to attend the New Year’s Eve ball.
“Perhaps I’ll defer to my aunt on this matter,” I told them. “I’m sure she’ll be able to guide me.” As a means to shutting down the conversation, it was successful. But mention of my aunt brought a taut silence and everyone gave their desserts a great deal of attention.
Uncle Ronald went to speak to Mr. Armitage after dinner while Floyd, Flossy and I waited for the lift. Once his father was
out of sight, however, Floyd broke away.
“Well then, I’m off.” He turned, blew us both a kiss as he walked backwards, beckoning one of the porters to fetch him his cloak.
Flossy clicked her tongue. “I wish he’d take me with him, but he flatly refuses.”
“Where does he go?” I asked.
“Out with his friends. I’m not sure where, but at least it’s out. Living here can be so stifling. Father never lets me go anywhere.”
I watched her retreating brother as the porter handed him his cloak and hat. He looked like a man with a world of opportunity at his fingertips. Given he was wealthy and male, he had no reason to think otherwise.
“Father doesn’t like Floyd going out all the time, but he tolerates it. Some of Floyd’s friends are the sons of very influential people, many of whom are our guests when they come to London.” Flossy pressed the Call button again and looked up. “It must be stuck. This wouldn’t happen if we installed a new one.”
I waited a few more moments then gave up. “Shall we take the stairs?”
Flossy wrinkled her little pug nose. “I’ll wait. John will have it fixed soon.”
I didn’t want to wait and headed up the stairs, only to stop on what I guessed to be the landing between the second and third floors when I heard a woman’s raised voice coming from somewhere above. I peered up the stairwell and could just make out two women talking far above.
“You should not be here,” the woman scolded.
“Sorry, Mrs. Kettering.” I had to strain to hear the younger voice. If we hadn’t been standing in a stairwell, I suspected her voice wouldn’t have carried.
“You should be on the second,” Mrs. Kettering said. “Why were you on the fifth?”
“I lost count.”
“You can’t count to two?”
“No, Mrs. Kettering. I mean, yes, I can, I just got confused.”
Silence, then, “I know your kind, Edith,” Mrs. Kettering went on, her voice a guttural snarl. “If I catch you somewhere you ought not to be again, you will be dismissed. Is that clear?”
I imagined the girl named Edith cowering beneath the housekeeper’s glare as she muttered something I couldn’t hear.
“Go and turn down the beds on level two,” Mrs. Kettering snapped. “It’s getting late.”
Blazes! They were coming my way and we would pass one another on the stairs. I stepped heavily to warn them I was there and gave a smile and a nod as I passed the maid named Edith and then Mrs. Kettering, some steps behind. One set of footsteps continued on but the second set stopped. I could feel Mrs. Kettering’s glare on my back, but I kept going. I preferred to meet her officially another time, when she wasn’t so riled and I wasn’t feeling guilty for eavesdropping.
I exited the staircase on level four. There was no sign of Flossy as I headed along the corridor. I stopped abruptly outside my door. It was ajar. Who would enter my room while I was at dinner? Indeed, who had a key, for I was quite certain I’d locked it?
I pushed the door open wider. A woman hummed, the sound coming from the bedroom. I tiptoed through the sitting room to the bedroom door and let out a pent-up breath. A maid plumped up a pillow. She stopped humming when she spotted me.
She smiled broadly. “Good evening, Miss Fox. I wasn’t sure if you wanted your bed turned down, since I haven’t received your instructions yet, so I took the liberty of doing so anyway. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Thank you, that’s very kind, but there’s no need.”
Her large black eyes blinked back at me. “Are you sure? It’s no trouble. I do all the rooms on this floor when it’s my evening. All of the family want their beds turned down.”
“Then by all means you should do mine too. Thank you…”
“Harmony.” She beamed again and continued plumping. “How has your first day at The Mayfair been?”
“Very pleasant, thank you. All the staff seem nice.”
“So you haven’t met Mrs. Kettering yet.”
I laughed and she smiled back, although looked confused by my reaction. “I overheard her scolding a maid just now in the stairwell,” I said. “She was supposed to be turning down beds on the second floor but had met Mrs. Kettering on the fifth.”
“That would be Edith on level two tonight. If she was on level five, she probably deserved a scolding.” Harmony frowned. “What was she doing all the way up there? And what was Mrs. Kettering doing, I wonder?” She smoothed down the turned edge of the bed cover then straightened. She was tall, probably about my age, with a slender figure and black hair pulled severely into an arrangement beneath her white cap. A few springy curls had escaped and brushed her forehead. From time to time, she pushed them away with the back of her hand.
I wasn’t sure what to do while Harmony went about her work of turning down the bed so I sat at the desk and pretended to write a letter. After a few minutes, the maid cleared her throat. I turned to see her standing in the doorway to the bedroom.
“Would you like me to unpack your things?” she asked.
“I’ve already unpacked.”
“Then I’ll put your bag away for you.”
“That’s all right. It needs to go up high. I’ll ask one of the men to do it.”
Instead of returning to the bedroom, she headed for the front door. “We don’t need men.”
She left the suite and returned a moment later with a step ladder. She opened the door of the floor-to-ceiling wardrobe and set the ladder in place then hefted my empty bag and hat box up to the top shelf.
“The trunk can be stored elsewhere in the hotel,” she said, stepping down. “You won’t be needing it.” She dusted off her hands and folded up the ladder. “Anything else? Do you require something to eat?”
“I just ate.”
“A cup of chocolate? Our chefs make the most delicious hot chocolate.” Her eyes half-closed in pleasure. “I’ve tried it twice when there was some left over.”
“Perhaps later. Flossy told me I can use the speaking tube and order what I want and a footman will deliver it from the kitchen.” I pointed at the brass mouthpiece.
“You can, but I thought since I’m here I might as well be useful.” She carried the ladder through to the sitting room and looked around. After a moment, she leaned the ladder against the edge of the desk and assembled the papers I’d left scattered about. She set them down in a neat stack and flipped the lid closed on the inkwell.
She turned to me and smiled. “Anything else?”
“All is in order, thank you, Harmony.”
“Do you have any mending? I’m very good with a needle and thread.”
“No mending.”
“Would you like me to air out your clothes for the morning?”
“I’ll be wearing this again.”
Her smile slipped a little. “But it’s Christmas Day. Do you have something special to wear?”
“I’ll put some ribbons in my hair.”
“Oh. Well then, perhaps I could help you undress and put on your night clothes.”
“I can do it myself, thank you.”
“What about your hair?” She stepped closer and, thanks to her height, inspected my arrangement from above.
“I can also do my hair myself,” I assured her. “It’s not complicated.”
She sighed.
“I appreciate your offer, Harmony, but there’s really no need to fuss. I’m used to taking care of myself. I’ve never had a maid before.”
“You haven’t? But you’re a Bainbridge.”
“Actually, I’m a Fox. We’re the Bainbridges’ poor relations.” I attempted a laugh but it fell flat when Harmony gave me a blank look. I supposed her notion of poor and mine were quite different, and it wasn’t fair of me to call myself that when I was living in a luxury hotel where she worked.
“I just want to be of use,” she said before I could change the subject. “We don’t have many guests at the moment, and I find myself idle most evenings back at the residence hall. I
like to do a little sewing or spot cleaning while we maids chat until bedtime. Some guests require my assistance of an evening, but most ladies bring their own maids. It’ll be busy closer to the ball, of course, but until then…” She shrugged and her darting gaze looked around the room again. Suddenly her face brightened. “I could fix your hair in the morning. Something a little more elaborate.”
I touched my hair. Elaborate had never really been something I could manage on my own, and my grandmother hadn’t been any help. She preferred old fashioned simple styles. Fortunately I rarely attended events that required complicated arrangements.
“Please say yes,” Harmony said. “I can come in after my early duties are accomplished and before I have to clean the rooms.”
“You work long hours.”
“I have two half days off a week, which is more than most maids at country manors. Well? Shall I do your hair each morning? Your cousin has hers done, and Lady Bainbridge too, when she leaves her room.”
“Very well. But only if you don’t have too much work to do. I don’t want to add to your burden.”
She smiled and picked up the ladder. “I’ll see you at eight tomorrow, Christmas morning. Goodnight, Miss Fox. I hope your first night in your new home won’t feel too strange.”
I smiled back. “Thank you, Harmony. I think I’m going to like it here.”
***
It was closer to eight-thirty when Harmony knocked on my door in the morning. She rushed in, a little out of breath, her dark eyes huge.
“I’m sorry for my lateness,” she said, a hand to her stomach.
“You look flustered. Is everything all right?”
She shook her head. “Something terrible has happened. Mrs. Warrick from room three-two-four died overnight.”
“How awful. What did she die of?”
“That’s the terrible thing. They’re saying she was murdered.”
***
You can read a longer excerpt on CJ’s website.
MURDER AT THE MAYFAIR HOTEL is available from December 1st 2020.
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