Murder at the Mayfair Hotel

by C. J. Archer

  The manager looked a little uncomfortable by this change in his assistant, though not cross. More awkward than anything, as if he hadn’t quite made up his mind how to act in front of me. It seemed none of us were sure where I fitted into the hotel’s community.

  Mr. Armitage strode off towards Mrs. Cavendish-Dyer, and Mr. Hobart departed too, so I made my way to the sitting room. It was a large airy space, filled with comfortable chairs, sofas and tables. A three-piece ensemble played in the corner, the sound soft enough that conversations could still be had but loud enough that one group couldn’t eavesdrop on another. The décor was lighter than the foyer, with no burgundy or black vases in sight. It was mostly cream with some gold and more splashes of pink from the roses in the white marble vases. It was the epitome of elegance. Grandmama would have loved it, although she would have felt out of place. Grandpapa would have liked the two rooms off the sitting room. The door to one was labeled LIBRARY and the other labeled WRITING ROOM. My father would have liked those rooms too. My most vivid memories of him were with his nose in a book in his study.

  A waiter dressed in crisp white waist apron greeted me and guided me to a spare seat in the bay window. It looked out over the side street with a bookshop opposite. My father would definitely have liked this place. My mother even more so. She would have taken the hotel’s elegant grandness in her stride. It was easy when one was born into luxury as she had been.

  “May I bring you a cup of tea?” the waiter asked. “Sponge cake?”

  I was about to enthusiastically agree. My stomach felt hollow after not eating anything since breakfast in Cambridge. “Just a cup of tea,” I said, however. Until I spoke to my uncle, I didn’t know what he expected me to pay for out of my allowance and what was free.

  I eyed another passing waiter carrying a tray with slices of cream sponge cake and cups of tea. The cake did look delicious, but no doubt it was expensive in a hotel like this. I needed to save every bit of my allowance if I was to become independent.

  The waiter brought over the tea on a tray and asked me for my room number.

  “I don’t have a room yet. The housekeeper is having it made up now.” I bit the inside of my lip, considering how to proceed. I didn’t want to boast that I was the hotel owner’s niece, yet I didn’t want to cause the waiter embarrassment as I’d caused Peter.

  I was saved by a pretty young woman with strawberry blonde hair and a delicate spray of freckles across her pug nose. Her blue eyes were the color of a summer sky and matched her dress.

  “Is it you?” she asked in a girlish voice. “Are you my cousin Cleopatra? Mr. Hobart said I’d find her here and you are the only female sitting alone.”

  “I am. You must be Florence.” I stood but was almost knocked off my feet by her enthusiastic hug.

  She drew away and caught both my hands in hers. “I am so thrilled to finally meet you!”

  It was a relief to receive such a warm welcome. Until this moment, I hadn’t realized how worried I’d been about seeing my relatives. If the rest of the family were as friendly as Florence, perhaps the knot in my chest would finally loosen. It might be too much to ask, however. From the way this girl’s parents had treated my mother after she married my father, I was quite sure their reception would be different.

  “Do sit down and enjoy your tea, Cleopatra. Gregory, would you mind bringing me a cup too? And a slice of cake each, of course. The sponge here is the airiest in London,” she added as Gregory headed off. “Now, Cleopatra, tell me all about yourself. I want to know everything.”

  “Call me Cleo,” I said. “Cleopatra is such a mouthful.”

  “And you must call me Flossy.” She reached across the space and patted my knee. “We are so alike, you and I, are we not? I could see the family resemblance immediately. You have my brother’s coloring and he takes after mother, so I suspect you must take after your mother.” She suddenly gasped. “Oh dear, I forgot. My condolences on the death of your parents and grandparents. I know your parents’ deaths occurred many years ago and your grandfather was last year—”

  “Three years ago, actually.”

  “But your grandmother’s is very recent.” She patted my knee again. “It must still feel raw.”

  I swallowed the lump threatening to clog my throat. Raw wasn’t a strong enough word to describe the overwhelming sense of loss I’d felt all month. There was a measure of trepidation mixed with the grief, too. Ever since learning I had to leave my home in Cambridge and move in with an uncle and aunt I’d met only once—and at my parents’ funerals at that—I’d been anxious. Flossy’s enthusiastic greeting and sympathetic gaze went some way to easing my mind, but it wouldn’t be completely at ease until I’d gauged my uncle and aunt’s reactions to my presence and dependency.

  “Thank you, Flossy,” I said. “You’re very kind. Everyone here has been kind so far.” Except the doorman. The wicked part of me was quite looking forward to seeing his face when he learned I lived here now.

  “You clearly haven’t met everyone then.” She wrinkled her nose. “The housekeeper, Mrs. Kettering, is the devil incarnate. I think even Father’s afraid of her. Obviously you met Mr. Hobart, the manager. If Father is the head of the hotel, Mr. Hobart is its heart. He’s been here from the beginning. The Mayfair couldn’t run without him at the helm. He knows everything there is to know about this place, and probably some things there aren’t to know.” She pulled a face. “That doesn’t make sense, but you know what I mean. Ah, our cake.”

  Gregory handed us plates with slices of sponge and poured a cup of tea for Flossy before quietly melting away. There was no mention of room numbers.

  Flossy murmured her approval of the cake as she took her first bite. “I adore the sponge here. I could eat a slice a day, but of course I mustn’t. Just on special occasions such as this.”

  This was information I needed to know if I were to live here. “Is there a restriction on how often family can partake of the afternoon tea?”

  She giggled into her hand. “No, silly. You can come in here and eat cake to your heart’s content. I only mean I can’t have a slice every day or I’ll get fat. You won’t have to worry, of course. You’re so slim! How do you manage such a tiny waist?”

  “I don’t eat cake as good as this every day,” I said.

  Flossy giggled again then finished the rest of her slice before setting the plate down and picking up her teacup. “Mr. Hobart mentioned you’d met his nephew.”

  “Have I?”

  “Harry Armitage.”

  “I didn’t realize Mr. Armitage was his nephew. Neither of them mentioned it.”

  “They would have eventually. They like to act professionally in the presence of guests, so they refer to each other as mister this and mister that, but all the staff know. Harry has worked here for years, not always as assistant to his uncle, though. He’s devilishly handsome, don’t you think? All the maids are in love with him.”

  “Are they?”

  She set down her teacup and clasped her hands. “Isn’t this lovely? I’ve always wanted a sister; someone to share all my secrets with, go shopping together… We’re going to have so much fun, Cleo. It’s wonderful that you made it in time for Christmas. Oh, and I can’t wait to show you off at the ball.”

  “Ball?”

  “Our New Year’s Eve ball.” She tilted her head to the side. “Mother didn’t tell you, did she?”

  “Our correspondence has been very brief.”

  “I’m sure it has.” Her ominous tone was the first sign of seriousness she’d displayed. The spark also briefly left her eyes, but it quickly returned again as she cast aside whatever bothered her. “I do hope you have something to wear to the ball. There isn’t enough time to get a proper gown made.”

  “I don’t own any ball gowns,” I said with an apologetic shrug.

  Her assessing gaze took in my simple dress and her nose wrinkled ever so slightly. She was probably wondering how someone so plainly clothed could have anythi
ng remotely pretty in her luggage. She would be right. I didn’t own anything as fine as the silk dress trimmed with white lace that she wore. Like all the ladies in the hotel sitting room, her clothes were in the latest style. My mourning outfit might be well made, but it was certainly not in the current fashion.

  “I have several ball gowns,” she said. “You can wear one of mine. We’ll have one of the maids take it in to fit you. We’re a similar height but our figures are quite different.” She thrust out her considerable bosom, just in case I hadn’t noticed it.

  “That’s kind of you, but unless it’s in black, I’ll have to decline.”

  “Yes, of course, you’re in mourning.” She studied my outfit again. “I’m sure one night off from black won’t matter, will it? Ah, here’s Mr. Armitage, come to solve our dilemma.” She smiled up at the assistant manager as he approached.

  “I’m happy to help in any way I can, Miss Bainbridge,” he said, using the formal politeness I thought he reserved just for guests. Despite having known one another for years, there was no casual familiarity between them.

  “It’s all right for Cleo to take one night off from wearing mourning, isn’t it? Her grandmother died a month ago, and Cleo is quite young, after all. It ought to be a sin for someone so young to be in full mourning for anything longer than a week or two. You agree with me that she ought to wear something nice to the ball, don’t you?”

  Mr. Armitage had a tightrope to walk. Disagreeing with Flossy would likely upset his employer’s daughter, but disagreeing with me would go against societal rules. I was rather looking forward to seeing him traverse it and gave him my full attention.

  His gaze slid sideways to me before returning to Flossy. “I believe six to nine months is the usual mourning period for a woman for her grandparent, but you’re right, Miss Bainbridge. It would be unfortunate to see someone as young as Miss Fox in full black at a ball.”

  Flossy beamed. “So you agree.”

  “I think the decision should be left to Miss Fox.”

  I felt like applauding him. He’d navigated the tightrope perfectly.

  “The point is moot anyway,” I said. “I won’t be attending. It wouldn’t be right.”

  “But she died a month ago!” Flossy declared.

  Mr. Armitage gave the fleetest of winces.

  Flossy didn’t seem to notice. Her cherry pink lips formed a pout and a crease connected her brows. “Do give it some thought, Cleo. Nobody will mind, certainly not your grandmother.”

  I pressed my lips together to suppress a smile. I found it harder and harder to take Flossy seriously, although I didn’t think she was trying to be amusing. She was right in that Grandmama would have encouraged me to attend a ball, even one thrown by people she despised. She would also most likely be bellowing with laughter right now, listening to Flossy bumble her way through the conversation without realizing she was bumbling.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mr. Armitage watching me with the most curious expression on his face. I couldn’t quite make out what it meant. It certainly wasn’t a negative one. Indeed, I quite liked it when he looked at me like that, with something akin to surprise.

  “Your room is ready, Miss Fox,” he said when he realized I was watching him. “I’ll show you the way.”

  “I’ll take her,” Flossy said, rising. “I’m sure you have lots of other tasks on your plate.”

  Mr. Armitage bowed. “As you wish, Miss Bainbridge.” He handed me a key. “Room four eleven. I hope you like it, Miss Fox. All the rooms on that side have a nice view over Green Park.”

  “He’s very efficient,” Flossy said as we walked out of the sitting room behind him. We both watched as Mr. Armitage joined a gentleman near the Christmas tree who appeared to be asking him something.

  Flossy stopped alongside a sliding wooden door where a woman wearing a cloak trimmed with fur also stood. She didn’t appear to notice us as she peered in Mr. Armitage’s direction. After a moment, she lifted a pair of spectacles hanging around her neck and peered through the lenses.

  “How odd,” she murmured, frowning. “So very strange to see him here.”

  I waited for Flossy to say something, but it seemed she didn’t know the woman. Flossy pressed a button beside the door and a distant bell rang.

  “He looks so different, so much older,” the woman went on. “It has been several years. Ten at least.” She shook her head and her frown deepened. “He shouldn’t be here.”

  My curiosity almost got the better of me, but I refrained from asking her why Mr. Armitage shouldn’t be here. Indeed, she might not have been referring to him at all. There were another two gentlemen in the vicinity.

  The door slid open before I gave in to curiosity, revealing a short man with a pencil-thin moustache dressed in the same uniform as the porters. He stood inside a room no larger than a wardrobe. At the back was a bench seat upholstered in burgundy velvet with a large letter M inside a circle, embroidered in gold thread. Mirrors on all the walls made the tight space appear larger than it was. This was no ordinary room, I realized. This was a lift to take us up to the higher floors. I’d never been in one before and wanted to know how it worked, but I once again forced my curiosity down. I didn’t want to seem unworldly in front of my cousin.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Bainbridge,” the lift operator said to Flossy. “Level four?”

  “Yes please, John.” She introduced us as she ushered me into the lift.

  John welcomed me with a friendly smile and rested his gloved hand on the door. “We have room for one more, madam.”

  The woman lowered her spectacles and, still frowning, entered the lift. “Level three.”

  He closed the door and pushed the lever attached to the circular device on the wall. The room rose and my stomach lurched, more from the anxiety of the strange sensation than the speed at which we ascended. The lift was so slow I could have climbed the stairs faster.

  John eased off the lever and we stopped at level three, where the woman got out, then we continued up to the fourth floor. I expelled a breath once my feet were firmly set on the corridor’s carpet.

  “Thank you, John,” I said.

  “My pleasure, Miss Fox. And don’t worry. Everyone finds it a bit unnerving their first time.” He winked and closed the door.

  Flossy had already moved off, and I rushed to catch up to her. “This level contains the hotel’s suites rather than single rooms,” she said with the direct manner of a tour guide at a historical monument. “Each suite has a bathroom as well as a sitting room. Some have more than one bedroom, to accommodate families, and dressing rooms. The entire floor is reserved for our family and distinguished guests. We don’t have any staying at the moment, but some should arrive shortly for the ball. Father has invited several important people.” She strode down the long corridor, pointing out the door to her parents’ suite, then her brother’s, her own and finally, mine. “Here we are, room four-eleven.”

  I unlocked the door and entered. Despite the open curtains it was rather gloomy until Flossy flipped a brass switch on the wall by the door.

  “Electric lighting!” I squinted up at the bulb but had to quickly avert my gaze away from the brightness. “How marvelous.”

  “The entire hotel has been electrified.” She frowned at the word. “Electricalled? Electrically wired? Anyway, all the rooms have a little switch like this to turn on the central bulb. We had it installed a few years ago—at enormous cost, so my father likes to remind me whenever I ask him to increase my allowance.”

  It would have indeed cost a fortune to install electricity throughout the hotel. Few homes had converted from gas lighting, although many streetlamps were now electric, as well as some underground trains, public spaces and buildings. I supposed the hotel had to modernize if it was going to tout itself as a luxurious place to stay.

  “So, what do you think of your room?” Flossy asked.

  The suite was as elegant as I expected it to be, based on what I’d seen
of the hotel so far. Not only was the bedroom three times the size of the one I’d had in Cambridge, but the sitting room was enormous too, and the bathroom was very modern with a large bath.

  The rooms contained everything I’d need, from a fully stocked writing desk, sofa, armchairs, dressing table, and a bed in which three people could comfortably sleep. More pink roses cheered the rooms in white vases edged with gold. My luggage, waiting beside the wardrobe doors, looked out of place amidst all the grandeur.

  I passed a hand over the warm wood of the desk and looked out the window. Mr. Armitage had been wrong. The view wasn’t simply nice; it was spectacular. I could look through the window over Green Park all day, even with its winter-bare trees.

  Flossy joined me. “There’s hot and cold running water in the bathroom, but I’m afraid that’s where the modern amenities begin and end.” She glanced at the lamp. “Well, that and the electric lights. I wish we could have telephones in our rooms. Father has one in his office, of course, as does the reception and Mr. Hobart’s office, but we’re quite behind the times here compared to newer hotels. I once asked Father when the family’s suites would get telephones and he ranted and raved for a full twenty minutes about my laziness. He said if I wanted to stay in touch with friends, I ought to write or visit.” She ran her fingers along the windowsill as if checking for dust. They came away clean. “He’s so miserly and quite the bear at times. Just wait and see. You’ll meet him soon. Anyway, you have to make do with the speaking tube.” She pointed at the brass mouthpiece on the wall. “It connects to the kitchen. If you want something sent up, just ask for it. Breakfast must be ordered the night before, but if you forget, you can simply go to the dining room in the morning.”

  Again I wondered what I must pay for, but I would leave those questions for my uncle. I suspected Flossy wouldn’t have a clue.