Murder at the Mayfair Hotel

by C. J. Archer

  “The chef de cuisine calls it the heart of the hotel,” Harmony said with a nod at the short man, “but I think it should be called the bowels, seeing as it’s located in the basement and all the food is processed here.”

  “He’s the kitchen manager?” I asked. “We should speak with him.”

  She grasped my arm and held me back. “Lord, no. He’ll order us out.” She waited until he’d moved further into the kitchen, his back turned, then she beckoned to one of the other chefs. “Victor is one of the junior cooks. He’ll talk to us.”

  Victor’s soft features would have given him a baby-faced appearance if not for the white scar across his cheek. He sauntered over, carrying a large knife, and greeted Harmony with a curt nod. He gave me a very thorough inspection as Harmony introduced us and I too received a nod.

  “Were you working last night?” Harmony asked.

  Victor tossed the knife and caught it by the handle without taking his gaze off Harmony. “Aye.”

  “Miss Fox wants to ask you some questions.”

  He tossed the knife in the air again, catching it deftly, before repeating the motion over and over. He didn’t once look at the knife whereas I couldn’t take my gaze off it. “Who’re you, Miss Fox?” he asked in a Cockney accent.

  “Sir Ronald’s niece,” Harmony said through a clenched jaw. “Honestly, Victor, you should get out of the kitchen sometimes.”

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  Harmony thrust a hand on her hip. “Will you stop doing that?”

  “Doing what?”

  She indicated the knife as he tossed it again. “It’s very distracting.”

  “No, it ain’t. It’s calming. A properly made, well balanced knife is real soothing to handle.” He threw the knife up again, but this time caught it on the back of his hand, horizontally. It didn’t so much as wobble. “Want me to show you a trick?” he asked me. “Put your hand down on the table and spread your fingers wide.”

  Harmony gasped. “Do not show her that trick! Put your own fingers at risk if you want to show off.”

  Victor twirled the knife with his fingers then thrust it into the knife belt slung around his hips. Now that his hands were still, I could see the burn scars on his right and the missing tip of his index finger on the left. “So what do you want to know?”

  “Did you make the hot chocolate for Mrs. Warrick last night?” I asked.

  “Nope, that was Jack, but I was next to him the entire time.” He indicated another man by one of the stoves. “The police have already asked me this, but I’ll tell you too, Miss Fox. No one came near the pot and Jack ain’t the type to poison someone.”

  “Did anyone else go near Mrs. Warrick’s pot of chocolate after he filled it and before Danny collected it?”

  “Not that I saw, but I wasn’t watching the entire time. After Jack filled it, he wrote the name and room number on a card and placed it on a tray then left the tray on this table.” He indicated the table beside the door where a tray with a covered plate on it awaited collection.

  “Did you see anyone in or near the kitchen who shouldn’t have been there?” I asked.

  “Nope, but it’s busy in here. Anyone can walk in and out without being noticed.”

  “You! Go!” shouted someone in a French accent.

  I looked up to see the chef de cuisine striding towards us. “We just needed a word with Victor about Mrs. Warrick’s hot chocolate,” I assured him.

  Harmony tugged on my arm. “We should go.”

  “There was no poison in the chocolate!” the chef snapped. The other chefs looked up. The operatic one fell silent. The chatter, shouts and chopping ceased. The only sound came from the bubbling pots. “My kitchen does not have poison! I tell the policeman this, now I tell you, Miss Fock.”

  “Fox,” I said with as much sweetness as I could muster as the head chef bore down on us.

  “She’s Sir Ronald’s niece,” Harmony added.

  He withdrew a knife from his belt and charged forward, pointing the blade at me. “I do not care if she is queen of England! She does not belong here! There is no poison in my kitchen!”

  Harmony and I turned and fled. We raced up the stairs and didn’t stop until we reached the warren of service rooms on the ground floor.

  Harmony fell back against the wall, puffing, her hand on her stomach. “That was close.”

  “He wouldn’t really have stabbed us,” I assured her.

  “He wouldn’t stab you, but I’m fair game. He stabbed one of the cooks once, when the poor fellow dropped a pot of sauce on the floor. Chef later claimed it was an accident, but the other cooks weren’t convinced.” She pushed off from the wall. “Anyway, we got some answers from Victor.”

  “Not really. All we learned is that he saw no one out of place in the kitchen and didn’t think Jack put poison in Mrs. Warrick’s chocolate.”

  “That’s answers, isn’t it? So what shall we do next?”

  “If we truly want to know if Danny is telling the truth about seeing Mrs. Warrick alive when he delivered her chocolate, we ought to find out if she was at dinner first. One of the waiters will remember her.”

  “If they don’t, she would have given her name and room number. Mr. Chapman the steward will have that information in his book. We could sneak into his office—”

  “Harmony! We are not sneaking about the hotel. Besides, I’m not sure we should continue. You said yourself that Mr. Hobart doesn’t believe Danny did it. I’m sure his brother, the detective, will come to the same conclusion too, if he hasn’t already.”

  “You want to stop investigating?” she asked with a pout in her voice.

  “I think we ought to leave the detective work to Scotland Yard. I see no reason for them not to be thorough.”

  “But do you want to stop?”

  I bit the inside of my cheek. Harmony’s eyes were bright, eager. She was enjoying this endeavor. As was I. “We must stop,” I said. “We don’t want to get in the way of Inspector Hobart’s investigation.”

  She crossed her arms. “I thought you were like me, that you wanted answers. I thought you wanted to do something.”

  She was referring to wanting to help Danny, but I couldn’t help thinking about my suggestion to my uncle that I hoped to be of some use within the hotel. Even so, I saw no reason to continue with our separate investigation.

  “Inspector Hobart will find the killer, Harmony. Don’t worry about Danny.”

  She drummed her fingers on her arm and, for a moment, I thought she’d argue with me. Then she lowered her arms. “I suppose you’re right. I better return to work anyway before Mrs. Kettering catches me.”

  She headed off to the service lift while I returned to the foyer. I spotted Mr. Hobart disappearing into the corridor that housed the offices and private chambers of the senior staff. He walked with Mr. Chapman, the steward, at his side. Now was as good a time as any to ask the manager if there were some small task I could do for him.

  He opened the door to Mr. Armitage’s office and entered, Mr. Chapman at his heels. Beyond them I could just make out Mr. Armitage, Mrs. Kettering and the detective inspector, all crowded into the small space. Their Christmas luncheon had been as brief as ours, and they’d already returned to the hotel, if they’d even left. I felt sorry for both Mrs. Hobarts, not getting to spend the entire day with their husbands.

  I didn’t want to interrupt their interviews so I waited outside, my back to the corridor wall.

  The door closed but I could still hear the inspector’s voice asking where each of the senior staff had been yesterday afternoon and evening. It seemed he still didn’t trust that Danny spoke the truth about seeing Mrs. Warrick alive at eleven.

  They each answered, but it was Mr. Armitage’s response that had me pressing my ear to the door to hear better.

  “I dined in my office at about eight as I looked over the day’s accounts,” he told his father. “I finished around ten, retired to my rooms where I read for an hour
before falling asleep.”

  “And earlier?” Inspector Hobart asked.

  “I took Miss Fox for a tour of this level then spoke to Mr. Chapman in the dining room. Following that I spent some time in maintenance, assisting with the lift problem.”

  “Isn’t that a maintenance issue?”

  “I was idle and felt like doing something with my hands.”

  “And prior to your tour with Miss Fox?”

  Mr. Armitage paused. “I was in my office, going over today’s arrivals and departures. I heard a noise in the corridor and saw Miss Fox wandering about, looking lost.”

  The liar! He hadn’t been in his office when he saw me. He’d been coming out of Mr. Chapman’s office. Indeed, he’d done it furtively, opening the door a mere crack and peeking through before emerging. He was checking the coast was clear first. Clear of what? Or whom? Mr. Chapman?

  The detective inspector sounded as though he was about to dismiss the group so I hurried away. I didn’t want to be caught eavesdropping. I didn’t want Mr. Armitage or anyone else offering me polite smiles and innocuous conversation. I needed time to think about what I’d heard, and consider what possible reason Mr. Armitage could have for lying.

  But there was only one explanation I could come up with—he was hiding something.

  I ought to inform the inspector. In ordinary circumstances, I would do just that. But Mr. Armitage was the inspector’s son. If Mr. Armitage turned out to be the murderer, Hobart would cover it up. It wasn’t just the lie about his whereabouts before he met me that concerned me. There was also Mrs. Warrick’s muttered words as she stepped into the lift—she’d recognized someone. Someone who shouldn’t be in the hotel.

  And she’d been staring directly at Mr. Armitage as she said it.

  Chapter 4

  I climbed the stairs to retire to my room and think, but by the time I reached the fourth floor, there was only one thought in my mind and I couldn’t shake it. If Mr. Armitage was the killer, Detective Inspector Hobart would protect his son. He might even look for an innocent man to blame instead.

  A hollowness settled in the pit of my stomach. I liked Mr. Armitage. I liked his uncle, Mr. Hobart, too. But both men were hotel employees and I was their employer’s niece. Of course they’d been friendly towards me. Even if I didn’t deserve their kindness, they’d bestow it upon me anyway. So if I couldn’t trust their outward manner, why should I trust them at all?

  It seemed I’d been too hasty in telling Harmony that I wouldn’t conduct a separate investigation. I ought to find her and inform her of my decision to resume. She would be the only one I’d inform, however. The fewer people who knew I doubted the inspector’s impartiality, the better.

  “Cleo! I’m so glad I found you.” Flossy waved at me from further along the corridor. “I’m in need of good company. Father is in a lather over the murder.” She whispered the word as if speaking it aloud made it more horrid. “Poor Floyd is taking the brunt of his anger since Mr. Hobart has been busy helping Inspector Hobart. Mother is resting and I’m in desperate need of an outing, but I can’t go shopping so we’ll have to settle for a walk.”

  Now that I’d made my decision to investigate the murder, all I wanted to do was get on with it. At the top of my list was to talk to the guests who’d been near Mr. Armitage when Mrs. Warrick uttered her damning statement. Unfortunately I couldn’t think of an excuse and Flossy hustled me towards my room.

  “Get a coat, hat and gloves,” she said. “I’ve already got mine.”

  I did as ordered and locked the door again. “Do you know all the guests currently staying in the hotel?” I asked her as we waited for the lift.

  “Good lord, Cleo, there are so many! We’re not terribly busy, admittedly, but there must be…” Her lips moved as she did calculations in her head. “Tons. Too many to know individually. Why?”

  “I was curious. Do you know who would know them all?”

  “Mr. Hobart and Mr. Armitage. Father once scolded Floyd for not doing as the managers did and study the reservations book each night to learn the names of the guests arriving the following day. Peter would know too, of course, but after each guest checks in.” The lift arrived, its floor perfectly level with the corridor. John opened the door and smiled. “John knows all the guests too, of course,” Flossy added.

  “Only those who travel by my ascending room,” he said, patting the door as if it were a loyal pet. “Not those who take the stairs.” This last he said with a pointed look in my direction as he pushed the lever.

  “I like the exercise,” I muttered.

  “Was there a guest in particular you wanted to know about?” Flossy gave her hands a little clap. “Oh, I know! There’s a dashing foreign count staying on level two. You ought to know he’s married, Cleo. Not that he’s here with his wife.” She winked.

  I had no idea how to interpret the wink, but John smiled. I felt as though I were being left out of a joke.

  “Did either of you notice the gentlemen standing near Mr. Armitage yesterday when we got into the lift?” I didn’t want to mention Mrs. Warrick’s name in case it led either of them to suspect I was investigating her murder.

  Neither could recall the gentlemen, and I decided to try Peter. Unfortunately he was busy at the main counter where four guests stood. Goliath and three other porters waited nearby with luggage, and Mr. Armitage and Mr. Hobart spoke to the guests. Peter looked worried as he accepted the key off a gentleman.

  “Oh no,” Flossy muttered. “It has started.”

  “What has?” I asked.

  “The exodus. Father’s fears are being realized. We managed to get through luncheon before word about the murder got out, but it seems it’s out now.”

  We headed to the luggage counter to collect umbrellas. “I wouldn’t go outside, Miss Bainbridge,” said Goliath as we passed him. “The newspapermen are like hungry pigs.”

  The front door was suddenly pushed open and a cacophony of voices surged through along with a figure drenched from head to toe. The door closed behind him, but not before I saw Frank the doorman trying to urge a cluster of men to move along.

  The newcomer’s sharp gaze settled on Flossy and me. He strode towards us, leaving a trail of drips behind on the tiles. “Excuse me, ladies, can I have a word? What can you tell me about the murder that took place here last night? Did you know the victim?” He reached into his inside coat pocket and whipped out a pencil and notepad.

  Flossy shrank away from him. “Leave me alone!”

  Mr. Armitage approached, his face set hard, dark eyes flashing. “Get out or you’ll be thrown out.”

  The man put his hands up in surrender. “I’m just trying to make a living, same as you.”

  “You are not the same as me. Leave.”

  The towering form of Goliath overshadowed us. “Want help, Mr. Armitage?”

  “It’s under control, thank you, Goliath. This man was just leaving.” Mr. Armitage grabbed the lapel of the journalist’s coat and forced him towards the door.

  Goliath opened it and Mr. Armitage pushed the man through. He stumbled into the other journalists.

  “I think Frank could do with your help,” Mr. Armitage said to Goliath.

  Goliath touched his forehead in acknowledgement and joined Frank outside. “Move along!” Frank’s voice boomed.

  “Are you all right?” Mr. Armitage asked us. His gaze quickly danced over Flossy and lingered a little longer on me.

  I dipped my head, suddenly feeling guilty for thinking him involved in the murder. Surely he couldn’t have done it. He seemed far too honorable. But why had he lied to his own father when he’d questioned him about his movements yesterday afternoon?

  “Yes, thank you,” Flossy said with a tilt of her chin at the door. “Horrible people, journalists.”

  “They’re just doing their job,” Mr. Armitage said.

  Flossy seemed a little put out to have her opinion brushed off, but he didn’t notice. He watched the guests at the cou
nter, his features still set, fists clenched at his sides. The smooth man who’d greeted me the day before was nowhere in sight.

  “Are they all due to leave today?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “They’re frightened,” I said.

  Flossy shivered and rubbed her arms. “I don’t blame them.”

  I put my arm around her. “We’ll be all right. The killer chose Mrs. Warrick for a reason, and now that she has been silenced, he has no reason to strike again.”

  She leaned into me. “Thank you, Cleo. You’re probably right. It must be such a comfort being so sensible all the time.”

  I smiled, despite myself. “Some say comforting, others say dull.” I looked up to see Mr. Armitage giving me a strange look. The tightness of his features had softened somewhat, but his eyes were still dark beneath the lowered lids.

  He strode off to assist his uncle, attempting to talk the guests out of their early departure.

  “I don’t feel like going for a walk now,” Flossy muttered.

  “I don’t particularly want to pass those journalists either,” I admitted. “Besides, it’s raining.”

  She sighed. “I have an hour before I ought to get ready.”

  “Are we dining together again?” I asked, not quite sure if it was a regular event for the family.

  “Oh, I am sorry, Cleo, I forgot to tell you.” She nibbled on her lower lip and frowned prettily. “I’m dining out with Mother and Father tonight. Friends of my parents came to London for Christmas and this was the only evening they had free. It was arranged ages ago, probably before we even knew you were coming. Mother and Father want me to marry their son, you see. They’ve been trying to throw me into his path for a while now, but haven’t managed it until this invitation arrived.”