by Merry Farmer
The hotel was a treasure trove of observations. In the scant fifteen minutes that Polly sat waiting, she saw a young woman in a staff uniform wander into the back garden, and minutes later, one of the hotel’s gentlemen guests. The two conversed in close proximity for a few moments. The gentleman slipped something into the maid’s apron pocket. The maid dashed off. Not more than five minutes later, a woman of middle years glided out into the garden and greeted the man with a kiss, taking his arm and strolling on toward the gate leading to the town. Polly made a note to find out the names of those involved.
She was about to search on through the garden for more gems when Mr. Throckmorton came striding in through the gate, looking entirely out of sorts. Fortunately for Polly, Flossie stepped out onto the front path before he could make it inside.
“Was your mission successful?” Flossie asked him, a bright smile on her face. A very bright smile.
Mr. Throckmorton sighed, removed his hat, and ran a hand through his hair. “It would all depend on your definition of successful.” He took a few more steps closer to her. “Lady Charlotte would like to host a night tour of the garden on Wednesday, provide tea for the ladies on Friday, and she asked where she could hire the musicians we had for the opening ball for the final soiree of her party.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?” Flossie asked, swaying toward him. “I can give Polly the contact for the musicians, if you’d like.”
Flossie turned her head to scan the garden, presumably searching for Polly. Polly ducked deeper behind the rose bush.
“That would save time, yes,” Mr. Throckmorton said. He didn’t sound pleased.
“What is wrong, sir?” Flossie asked him in the voice that she had always used for children and wounded animals. Polly arched a brow.
“I was hoping to see Lady E. while I was up there,” he answered. He’d used the familiar ‘Lady E’ to Flossie. Worth noting. “But she was coming down to Brynthwaite as I arrived. I met her on the road.”
“That’s something at least, sir.”
Polly pursed her lips. The comment was too free for jealousy. Perhaps she was wrong about her suspicions there.
“I had also hoped for an outright invitation to the Hall,” Mr. Throckmorton went on in a voice so quiet Polly had to strain to hear it.
“I’m sure there will be other opportunities, sir,” Flossie consoled him. “The house party is more than four weeks long. Lady Charlotte is probably concerned with settling her guests at the moment.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Mr. Throckmorton replied. He then reached out and brushed Flossie’s arm.
Polly would have sat bolt-upright, if she hadn’t thought the gesture would give her away. What a liberty! It was a wonder Flossie wasn’t quaking in her boots after a touch like that. The man clearly had wicked intentions toward her, a fact made even more evident by the spark in his eye as he smiled at her.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“I’m to go for a walk with Polly, if it’s all right with you, sir.”
“Perfectly all right,” he answered with a smile and walked on. After a few steps, he turned back to Flossie. “Were you able to research local equestrian clubs?”
“I started,” Flossie said. “There’s a preliminary list on your desk.”
Mr. Throckmorton nodded. “I shall make a businesswoman of you yet.”
He left, and Flossie beamed under the praise. She then stepped on to search the garden.
Polly slid off her seat and scooted as far to the left as she could before straightening and pretending she was just coming around the edge of the hotel.
“Oh, Flossie, there you are,” she smiled.
“Are you ready for a walk?” Flossie asked.
“Of course.”
Polly skipped to meet her, hooking her arm through Flossie’s and heading out through the front gate and down the steep path toward the lakeside. She steered the conversation to innocuous subjects to begin with, family, stale news that was already days old, the less interesting aspects of the house party. Flossie seemed content enough with that. She was the dearest of friends and so easy to please. Polly had loved her when they were girls and loved her now. It broke her heart to hear about her family’s troubles.
“Did you find the money to send to them?” she asked, wondering if there was anything she could do. Appeal to Elizabeth, perhaps.
“I’ve found what I could,” Flossie said.
She tensed. She blushed. There was a story behind the money. But Flossie had all the signs of being unwilling to part with that secret without prying. Money and family were not what Polly wanted to know right then, though.
“I still think that you should ask Mr. Throckmorton for the money,” she began her game. “He seems quite taken with you, as if he would give you anything.”
Flossie blushed. So she was aware of Mr. Throckmorton’s partiality, was she?
“I wouldn’t dream of imposing on him like that,” her dear, good friend said.
“Still,” Polly feigned casualness, “it seems to me as though he was very forward with you just now.”
“Just now?” Flossie tensed.
Damn. She’d played her card wrong. “That is, I noticed him speaking to you as I came around the corner in the garden.”
“Oh.”
“I would watch out if I were you, Flossie, dear.”
“Watch out for what?” Strangely enough, Flossie relaxed at the warning.
“Well, a man with a reputation such as Mr. Throckmorton has can be dangerous.”
She watched Flossie. Still no dire reaction, no flushing, no gasps.
“I can’t imagine Mr. Throckmorton’s reputation has anything to do with it,” she said. “I am his employee.”
“Yes, but you know they say he is an absolute libertine.” Polly placed her piece and waited to see how Flossie would move.
Flossie laughed. “Half of the men in London have reputations as libertines, I’m sure.”
That was it? No curiosity? No pushing for more information? How could she treat the bait with so little interest?
Unless she was already aware of Mr. Throckmorton’s reputation. Unless she knew more about it than Polly herself did. It was entirely possible given how closely the two of them appeared to work together.
“Well, you know what the rumors say,” she prompted.
Flossie shrugged. “Rumors are just that. I’m sure the truth behind them is quite different.”
There. That pinch of compassion. It was a twin to the tone of voice she’d used when speaking with him before. Polly’s heart raced. Flossie did know something about Mr. Throckmorton. She must know a lot. Polly would have given anything, anything to know what information her dear friend had. Knowledge was power, and as far as she could see, Flossie might unwittingly be the most powerful person in town.
“I should probably get back,” Flossie said. “I have a mountain of work to do before supper.”
“Then we shall head straight back,” Polly agreed with a smile.
Damn. It would be harder to pull the truth out of Flossie than it was to find gold in an iron mine. Flossie had never been one for gossip. She’s always kept her secrets to herself. Polly still wasn’t certain she knew half of what her friend had to tell, but how she wished she did.
She tried not to feel a sense of defeat as she parted ways with Flossie at the hotel gate and continued on to Huntingdon Hall. She had discovered more than enough to sate Elizabeth’s thirst for gossip for the day. There was the information about Lawrence Smith and the tempting, if totally ridiculous, rumor about Dr. Pycroft and Alexandra. Polly wasn’t sure if Elizabeth would like that one or not. She was protective of her cousin. But if she didn’t enjoy it herself, perhaps there was a way Polly could use the story to her own advantage.
She reached the Hall as the majority of Lady Charlotte’s guests were wandering out to the lawn at the edge of the garden. Now there was a mine of treasure for her to work with. A dozen eligible b
achelors and nearly that many fine young ladies had just been invited to the Hall for a month of intrigue. It was enough to leave Polly fluttering with excitement. She strayed closer to the edge of the fun and surveyed the scene.
It was too soon for most of the games to begin to unfold, but there were a few opening moves already being made. A swarthy man of middle years was chatting animatedly with a plump brunette. Possibility there. Lady Charlotte was deeply engaged speaking with a man close to her own years. She called him Anthony at one point. Polly fit the pieces together. So that was Anthony Fretwell. That must mean the younger man standing next to him was his son George. And heavens above, the man was Adonis himself. Beautifully made, dazzling eyes, cunning smile.
Interesting. That smile was squarely directed at Lady Arabella Richmond. And Lady Arabella didn’t seem the least bit concerned at how obvious her appreciation was. There was definitely something there to watch out for.
Polly turned to go, but stopped when she caught sight of Alexandra striding across the lawn. Alexandra paused, seeing something. Polly twisted to see what it was.
George Fretwell.
“Ah, Alexandra, you’re home.” Lady Charlotte noticed her as well and waved her over. “Look who’s come to see you.”
Alexandra flushed. The woman was always so composed that it bordered on disdainful, but if Polly wasn’t mistaken, she fell to pieces. With one look.
“George,” she whispered, then pushed herself on to meet the blond god who had been smiling at Lady Arabella so keenly just a moment ago.
Well, well. It seemed as though the threads she’d spun between the good doctors of Brynthwaite might end up being snapped by a real entanglement. It was almost too good to be true. And the house party had only just begun.
Episode Six - An Investigation of Motives
Flossie
“Flossie,” Jason shouted from his office. “Are you certain this invoice is correct?”
Flossie let out a breath and lowered herself from where she had been standing on tip-toe at the top of a step-stool, taking inventory in the closet next to Jason’s office. She leaned back and said, “Which invoice, sir?”
She scanned the shelf of lightbulbs, finishing her count silently, even though her lips moved. A bump and rumble from the other side of the wall told her Jason had gotten up from his desk. She was halfway through marking the number of boxes of lightbulbs on the clipboard she held when he appeared in the doorway, a piece of paper in each hand. He frowned back and forth between the two.
“This invoice from Crompton & Co, the electrical provider,” he said, marching into the room. “It’s exorbitant.”
“They do have to send the power here from miles away, sir,” she said.
Jason stepped closer to give her a hand as she stepped off the stool and moved to peer over his shoulder at the invoice. The total was large enough to lift her eyebrows clean to her hairline.
“Electricity isn’t this expensive in London,” he complained, handing the invoice over to Flossie. He rubbed his face as he did.
Flossie glanced between Jason and the invoice. She didn’t like what she saw on both accounts. The expense was one thing, but Jason was wound tighter than a top. After weeks of being easy and confident, it was a concerning set-back.
“Does the hotel have the finances to pay the invoice, sir?” she asked, ready to flinch if the answer wasn’t a positive one.
Jason blew out a breath and rubbed his forehead. “I have the finances to pay for it, if that’s what you mean,” he said, jaw tight. “I was hoping to invest that money, though. In something other than an electric bill.”
“How much money do you have, sir?” she asked, a mischievous grin tweaking the corner of her mouth.
His tension flashed to teasing as wicked as hers. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“That much, eh?” The air between them sparked. She prayed that Samuel wouldn’t choose that moment to peek behind him into the storeroom or that no one would barge in, looking for a lightbulb.
“Oh yes,” he said with mock solemnity.
She shook her head and thrust the invoice back at him. “Best pay that then, sir.”
In a flash, their saucy banter ended, and Jason let out a long, frustrated breath. “The trouble is, most of my wealth is tied up in investments. They pay reasonable returns, enough for me to keep all the hotels running with a little to spare on the side. I can’t dip into those funds to pay operating expenses for The Dragon’s Head. I need something to present Lady Elizabeth with.”
Flossie pressed her lips together and chose to ignore the last bit of the comment. She folded her clipboard under her arm and headed out of the storeroom.
“You’ll either have to raise the rate for rooms, or,” she paused to think for a moment as Jason followed her to the space behind the front desk, “or restrict the lighting in the garden to certain days or hours.”
From his place behind the desk, Samuel narrowed his eyes at Flossie. He’d just finished saying goodbye to a pair of hotel guests, and apparently felt he had nothing better to do than feed his bitterness over the trust Jason placed in Flossie.
Jason sighed. “I like the electric garden. It seems a shame to have gone through all the trouble to install it only to keep the lights turned off.”
“But it’s a beautiful garden on its own, sir,” she tried to bolster him. “So well designed.”
“Yes, well, perhaps I should hire out my services designing gardens to earn the extra money,” he drawled.
“You would do quite well at it, sir,” she said, edging around the desk and into the lobby. “If you put your mind to it, there’s no telling what you can accomplish.”
He frowned, huffed, and turned abruptly to march back into his office…which was a dead giveaway that he found her comment too engaging to continue interacting with her in front of another member of staff.
Flossie waited until she was around the corner and halfway down the hall to the housekeeping storeroom to laugh. She shook her head at herself. When had her life become so…so happy? It seemed like such a betrayal on one level, what with her family’s troubles. Betsy continued to send her tidings of home that left her anxious and ready to hop on the next train to Lincolnshire for a visit. Only, when she had suggested as much in a letter, Betsy had been effusive in her refusal to let Flossie interrupt her busy and productive life for something that she should very well be handling herself. Besides, if Flossie was being honest, she didn’t want to leave Jason’s side.
She arched an eyebrow and sighed over the thought, focusing on her work. Three weeks after the opening, and The Dragon’s Head was running like clockwork. The staff had settled into their jobs, and aside from Samuel, everyone was pleased with what they were doing. Flossie was able to run through the inventory in short order, then head back to the lobby.
“The garden rooms are cleaned and set right,” Dora told her as they crossed paths near the foot of the stairs. “I’ll let Samuel know that any new guests coming in can be shown straight to their rooms.”
“Thank you, Dora,” Flossie replied with a bright smile.
Dora nodded and continued on to the desk as Flossie headed across the hall toward the dining room and the kitchen. She was stopped along the way by a boy in a postal uniform scrambling through the door.
“Urgent telegram for Mr. Throckmorton,” he said, eyes wide.
Flossie changed direction and went to him. “I can take that.”
The boy seemed happy to be rid of the sealed envelope. He handed it over, then nodded and turned to run out again. Flossie grinned and shook her head, then headed toward Jason’s office. She opened the envelope and tugged out the telegram as she went.
To Jason Throckmorton, Dragon’s Head Hotel. Regret to report suicide of Evelyn Chambers in Royal Arms this morning.
Flossie gasped.
At the same time, Samuel snapped, “Oy, you can’t go reading the boss’s private telegrams like that.”
Stunned over what
she had just read, Flossie glanced up at him, eyes wide.
Samuel misinterpreted her expression and broke into a sly grin. “See, I’ve got you now, I have. Mr. Throckmorton!” He twisted and marched into the doorway of Jason’s office. “Mr. Throckmorton, Flossie has opened a private telegram, addressed to you.”
Ignoring Samuel’s tattling, Flossie rushed across the lobby and around the desk.
“What is this whining all about?” Jason barked, appearing in the doorway as Flossie reached it.
“Flossie is opening telegrams,” Samuel gloated. “Private telegrams.”
Jason stared at him as though he were a fly that had landed in his wine. “So? It’s her job to open hotel correspondence.”
Samuel’s smugness deflated to irritation. “Not hand-delivered telegrams, sealed and addressed to you, sir. What if it’s personal?”
The argument was already lost. Jason took one look at Flossie’s expression and said, “What is it? What’s happened?”
Flossie glanced sideways at Samuel, then said. “There’s been some trouble at your London hotel.”
“Which one?”
“The Royal Arms.”
She handed him the telegram. As his eyes scanned the page, his pinched annoyance shifted to stark horror.
“Dear God,” he muttered. He looked up, meeting Flossie’s eyes. The dangerous tension she’d seen in him earlier blossomed to panic. He darted a glance to Samuel. “Come into my office, Flossie. I need to dictate a reply.”
“Yes, sir.”
She half-curtsied, and when he stepped back to let her go in first, shutting the door behind them to block Samuel out, she knew it was serious.
“Do you know who she is, sir?” Flossie asked, keeping her voice low.
Jason’s guilty look was all the answer she needed. He crossed to his desk and sat down heavily.
“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea,” he said. “I was not her only…friend. In fact, we only transacted business a few times. She was well-mannered, sophisticated, and professional, and she catered to an exclusive set. As such, I allowed her to use the Royal Arms for an occasional liaison when her usual apartments were unavailable.”
