Murder at the Mayfair Hotel

by C. J. Archer

  Murder At The Mayfair Hotel

  A Cleopatra Fox Mystery, Book 1

  C.J. Archer

  www.cjarcher.com

  Contents

  About This Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  A Message From The Author

  Also by C.J. Archer

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2020 by C.J. Archer

  Visit C.J. at www.cjarcher.com

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  About This Book

  It was the most fashionable place to stay in London, until murder made a reservation. Solve the puzzle in this new mystery from USA Today bestselling author of the Glass and Steele series.

  December 1899. After the death of her beloved grandmother, Cleopatra Fox moves into the luxury hotel owned by her estranged uncle in the hopes of putting hardship and loneliness behind her. But the poisoning of a guest throws her new life, and the hotel, into chaos.

  Cleo quickly realizes no one can be trusted, not Scotland Yard and especially not the hotel’s charming assistant manager. With the New Year’s Eve ball approaching fast and the hotel’s reputation hanging by a thread, Cleo must find the killer before the ball, and the hotel itself, are ruined. But catching a murderer proves just as difficult as navigating the hotel’s hierarchy and the peculiarities of her family.

  Can Cleo find the killer before the new century begins? Or will someone get away with murder?

  Chapter 1

  London, December 1899

  Moving into a luxury hotel in the world’s most dynamic city was just the tonic I needed. If I had to live with relatives I hardly knew, what better place than The Mayfair Hotel? From the look of its magnificent façade, I wouldn’t have to worry about bumping into them at every turn.

  I planted a hand on my hat and tipped my head back to take it all in. Like most old mansions, it was both elegant and imposing; a grand dame that inspired admiration and awe in equal measure. The top of the fifth level appeared to butt against the dense gray clouds, and I counted seven arches spanning the width of the ground floor.

  I headed for the central arch, sheltered by a burgundy canopy printed with the hotel’s emblem of an M inside a circle. I recognized it from the stationery my aunt used for her infrequent letters.

  “Miss,” said one of the two doormen. “Miss, can you hear me?”

  “I’m sorry, were you speaking to me?” I asked.

  The doorman regarded me down his nose. “Are you sure you’re at the right place?”

  “Is this The Mayfair Hotel?”

  “It is.”

  “Then I am at the right place.” I frowned. “Why would you think I’m not?”

  His gaze held mine a moment longer than necessary. He was assessing me, no doubt trying to determine how a young woman alone could afford to stay in a luxury hotel when she wore a black cloak with frayed cuffs and a hat that was at least two seasons out of fashion.

  I did not look away.

  “Would you like to put down your luggage? I’ll have it sent to your room with your trunk.” The doorman gave a pointed look at my battered brown leather bag, his mouth turned down in distaste.

  The bag had belonged to my grandfather. Thinking about him brought tears to my eyes, but I breathed through my sorrow until they disappeared. He may have died three years ago, but I’d thought about him a lot this last month.

  “Miss?” The word came out as an irritated hiss.

  I clutched the bag tighter. “Thank you, but I’ll keep it with me.”

  The doorman signaled to an extraordinarily tall porter dressed in a smart red jacket and a rimless hat. The porter picked up my trunk and hat box and placed them on a trolley. Another doorman opened the door for him to push it through. I adjusted my grip on my bag and hurried after the porter.

  I stopped in the foyer, suddenly out of breath, not from the exertion of a few steps, but from the spectacular sight. I didn’t know where to look first; there was so much to take in, and the space was vast. A Christmas tree festooned with glass baubles, garlands and candles stood proudly in the center of the tiled floor. It reached an impressive height but still fell short of the crystal chandelier suspended above it. Three chandeliers hung in the wide foyer, all ablaze with what appeared to be electric bulbs. The bright light staved off the mid-afternoon gloom and reflected on the shiny tiled floor. Several armchairs in burgundy leather were positioned here and there. Two of them were occupied by elegantly dressed ladies chatting amiably to one another. Roses arranged in large black vases trimmed with gold added a splash of pink to the foyer’s cream, black and burgundy color scheme. Considering roses were not in season, the displays were even more impressive.

  The tall porter cleared his throat. He stood with my luggage at a counter behind which another man stood, smiling patiently.

  “Would miss like to check in?” he asked.

  I approached the counter. “Yes. Or no. I’m not quite sure.”

  “Perhaps I can assist you to make up your mind. The Mayfair Hotel is a boutique family-owned establishment of one hundred well-appointed rooms. We pride ourselves on our friendly service, family values, and modern amenities.”

  The porter’s head turned to the front desk clerk and an eyebrow arched ever so slightly. The clerk kept his gaze on me and his smile didn’t waver, but I suspected he knew the porter silently challenged his spiel. I couldn’t determine which of the points made by the clerk was in question. Perhaps it was all three. From what my paternal grandparents had told me of my mother’s relatives, family values were in short supply here.

  “The Mayfair offers all the comforts of home and more,” the clerk went on.

  A small laugh bubbled out of me. I couldn’t help it. If he’d known my previous home was smaller than the hotel’s foyer, he would have found it amusing too. But he did not. The smile disappeared and a blush infused his cheeks. He looked to the porter, who merely blinked at me.

  I pressed my lips together until my smile flattened. “I’m sorry for my outburst. I’m sure the hotel is wonderful. I am very impressed with what I’ve seen so far, and the service is excellent.”

  The porter puffed out his chest and the smile returned to the clerk’s face.

  “However, you don’t need to sell the hotel’s qualities to me any further. I won’t be going to one of your competitors. I have no choice but to stay here.”

  A small crease connected the clerk’s dark brows. “No choice?”

  “I am Miss Fox.”

  The clerk glanced down at his reservation book. “Did you telephone ahead? I recall a Miss Fox…”

  “Miss Cleopatra Fox,” I clarified.

  He flipped the page and ran his finger down the first column. “No Miss Foxes here. Perhaps there has been a mistake. A very rare mistake, you understand. This sort of thing almost never happens.” His frown returned. “Although your name certainly rings a bell.” His gaze slipped past me and he stood straighter. “Mr. Armitage, sir, would you mind offering your assistance in the matter of Miss Fox. It seems she telephoned ahead and made a reservation, however I have no record of it.”

  I turn
ed to see a dashing figure dressed in formal black coat with tails. He was tall with dark hair brushed back off a face that an admirer would call chiseled and a detractor call sharp. I couldn’t imagine he had too many detractors, however. Certainly not of the female variety, and particularly when he gave them his full attention, as he did now to me.

  “Miss Fox.” He held out his hand and I shook it. “I’m delighted to meet you. We’ve been expecting you.”

  The clerk frowned down at his reservation book again, only to emit a soft “Ah”. He’d realized why my name sounded familiar yet wasn’t in the book. It seemed he’d forgotten about my arrival. Mr. Armitage had not.

  “I’m Harry Armitage, the assistant manager. Welcome to The Mayfair Hotel.”

  “Thank you. It seems my arrival has confused your staff. I am sorry,” I said to the clerk. “I was about to tell you that I don’t have a reservation because I’ve come to live here, but you summoned Mr. Armitage before I had the chance. I hope you forgive me.”

  The clerk blushed again. “Yes, Miss Fox, you are certainly forgiven. In my defense, I’d like to point out that you’re a day early.”

  “No, I wrote that I would arrive today, Christmas Eve.”

  “I was told Christmas Day.” The clerk’s gaze flicked to Mr. Armitage.

  Mr. Armitage signaled for a second porter to join us. “Please inform Mrs. Kettering that Miss Fox has arrived. There appears to have been a mistake and she is a day early.”

  “Actually, I’m on time,” I said as the second porter disappeared into the wing of the foyer. “I wrote to my aunt that I would arrive on the twenty-fourth.”

  “Your aunt?” the clerk asked. “Lady Bainbridge? Well then.”

  I waited for more, but the clerk merely blushed again as Mr. Armitage turned the full force of a stern glare onto him.

  “Thank you, Peter, you have a guest waiting,” Mr. Armitage said.

  Peter the clerk nodded quickly then turned on his smile for the next guest. I stepped aside so he could serve the newcomer.

  Mr. Armitage instructed the tall porter to take my trunk and hat box up to my room. I passed him my bag, feeling somewhat foolish now for refusing to do so outside. It wasn’t going to be stolen in a place like this. The porter headed off with my things, but not to the nearby stairs. He disappeared around the corner at the far end of the foyer. If my things were to be taken up to my room, why did the porter not take the stairs?

  “May I offer my deepest condolences on the loss of your grandmother,” Mr. Armitage said.

  The warmth in his eyes and voice almost undid me, then and there. I muttered my thanks and quickly looked away, determined not to cry in the middle of the hotel foyer. It helped to change the subject.

  “Why did Peter not seem surprised by my aunt’s mistake about my arrival?”

  The assistant manager blinked, caught unawares by my question. “I’m very sorry for the mix up. You won’t find us usually so flustered.”

  “You don’t appear flustered, Mr. Armitage. You seem quite composed.”

  “This is my flustered face.”

  I laughed softly. His face hadn’t changed in the least. He still smiled and regarded me as if I were the most important person in the foyer. His smile widened just a little, however.

  I leaned in conspiratorially. “Nice avoidance tactic.”

  He tilted his head to the side, all innocence. But there was no innocence in his dark eyes. He’d deliberately tried to use his handsome face and charms to distract me from my pursuit of an answer. I suspected it worked on most women. It wouldn’t work on me.

  “It’s quite all right,” I said. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t wish to. My aunt is married to your employer, and I wouldn’t want you to jeopardize your position by gossiping about her.”

  He drew himself up to an even more impressive height. “My position wouldn’t be jeopardized. It’s my principles I prefer not to compromise. I don’t gossip, Miss Fox. I’m sorry if that frustrates you.”

  “As I said, it’s quite all right. I’ll get to know my aunt soon enough and will be able to make my own judgements about her.”

  “I’m sure you will,” he said with a sharp edge to his tone.

  I sighed. This wasn’t going at all well. I wished I’d kept my mouth shut. In my defense, I wasn’t ordinarily so prickly, but it had been a long day—a long month—and part of me wanted to see Mr. Armitage’s smooth façade crack just a little.

  “We’ve got off on the wrong foot,” I said. “I’m sorry. Perhaps I wrote the wrong date in my letter to my aunt. It certainly is of no consequence to me that I wasn’t expected until tomorrow, but I feel awful that your staff have been put out. I do hope Mrs. Kettering isn’t too inconvenienced. I’ll apologize to her and to Peter again too.”

  My speech seemed to have achieved the desired effect of thawing the frostiness in Mr. Armitage’s gaze. “Don’t worry about Mrs. Kettering. The head of housekeeping is the most efficient woman I’ve ever met. Her maids might curse you, however—entirely under their breath, of course.” He leaned down and lowered his voice. “Mrs. Kettering is a task master, so they tell me.” He straightened. “As to Peter, it’s almost impossible to get off on the wrong foot with him. He’s the friendliest member of staff. That’s why he’s on the front desk.”

  Mr. Armitage’s gaze moved past the couple checking in at the desk to another desk further afield where a staff member attended to a tall woman with a large hat trimmed with every type of trim imaginable, from lace and velvet to ribbon and feather. The long feathers fluttered as her head bobbed. The entire effect was of a hen pecking at the poor man.

  Mr. Armitage emitted a small, almost imperceptible sigh.

  “Is there a problem?” I asked.

  “Not at all,” he said, suddenly giving me his attention again.

  “It’s all right, Mr. Armitage. You don’t have to treat me like a guest. If I am to make my way here, I’d like to be treated as one of the family, as someone with a purpose. I don’t yet know what role I can do, but I ought to learn as much about hotel life as I can so that I may find that role.”

  He stared at me for several moments, his lips slightly ajar as if he’d been about to say something but the words had suddenly escaped him, or he’d thought better of speaking them.

  “You might as well tell me which are the difficult guests and what can be done about them,” I went on. “I assume family members are called upon from time to time to assuage them.”

  “I, uh, I see. Assuaging guests is the role of myself and the manager, not the owner’s niece.”

  “That’s a shame. I’m quite good with people. For some reason, they seem to trust me.”

  That smile returned, but this time it wasn’t the practiced one of an assistant manager of a luxury hotel. It was more genuine, and softer. “I don’t doubt it.”

  I would have asked him what he meant, but a passerby caught his attention. “Mr. Hobart, do you have a moment?”

  Mr. Hobart was dressed in a tailcoat too and wore the same practiced smile the assistant manager had used to greet me. That was where the similarities between them ended. Where Mr. Armitage was tall and dark, Mr. Hobart was balding, shorter and older. I guessed him to be in his late fifties, whereas Mr. Armitage could be no older thirty, and perhaps younger. Mr. Hobart had a friendly face, with bright blue eyes that sparkled and a web of red veins across rosy cheeks.

  “Allow me to introduce you to Miss Cleopatra Fox,” Mr. Armitage said.

  There was no confusion in Mr. Hobart’s demeanor. He knew my name instantly. He gave a brief bow, and when he straightened, his smile was kind. “Delighted to meet you, Miss Fox. Welcome to The Mayfair Hotel. I see you’ve met Harry already.”

  “Mr. Armitage has been very kind clearing up the confusion surrounding my arrival date.”

  “I’m very sorry you weren’t met at the station. Sir Ronald wanted one of the porters to meet you in a hotel conveyance and assist with your luggage. He’l
l be disappointed you had to make your own way here.”

  “It wasn’t terribly difficult. The cab driver knew the way.”

  Too late, I realized that wasn’t what the manager meant. He meant that my uncle wanted me to be met at the station because I was representing his family now, and a Bainbridge lady shouldn’t have to catch a hackney cab from the station and organize such mundane things like porters herself. She had staff to do that for her. I could practically hear my grandparents’ voices saying as much. In our household, the Bainbridge snobbery was legendary.

  The more I thought about it, the more I realized that was why the staff were so concerned about such a trifling matter as my early arrival. They were worried my uncle might hear that my room wasn’t ready or that I wasn’t greeted properly. I also now understood the odd look Mr. Armitage had given me when I’d mentioned finding myself a role within the hotel. It was likely my aunt and cousin Florence had no role here except a decorative one.

  Even more reason for me to be of use. I needed a task, something that would not only stave off the boredom, but also take the burden of supporting me off my uncle’s shoulders. I didn’t want to owe him a thing.

  “I’m sure Lady Bainbridge will be delighted to see you,” Mr. Hobart went on. “Harry, if you’d be so good as to inform her ladyship of Miss Fox’s arrival. Miss Fox, would you care to wait in the main sitting room just through there until your room is ready?” He indicated the door at one end of the foyer. “One of the waiters will be happy to serve you refreshments.”

  I thanked him and went to move off but Harry did not. “I think I’d better see to Mrs. Cavendish-Dyer.” He nodded at the woman with the elaborate hat, still pecking at the young man. “You’d better speak to Lady Bainbridge, sir. She prefers you anyway.” He flashed a quick grin that seemed quite at odds with his formal smoothness. Perhaps he’d already decided to drop the façade in front of me, considering I wasn’t a guest.