Murder at the Mayfair Hotel

by C. J. Archer

“I… I’m not sure if it’s important.”

  “Tell us anyway.”

  Edith clasped her hands together in her lap. “I don’t want to get her into unnecessary trouble. But if it might be important…” She drew in a deep breath and seemed to decide that telling us was the best course. “After I came out of Mrs. Warrick’s room and spoke to the gentleman from the room opposite, I raced off to tell someone. I would have sought out Mr. Armitage, because I didn’t think Mr. Hobart would be in that early, and Mrs. Kettering frightens me. But I found her in the corridor on the third floor.”

  Harmony gasped. “On Mrs. Warrick’s floor.”

  Edith’s gaze connected with Harmony’s. “She usually checks the linen stock first thing in the morning.”

  Harmony nodded. “You’re right. She shouldn’t have been there.”

  No one said it out loud, but we were probably all thinking it. If Mrs. Kettering had poisoned Mrs. Warrick an hour beforehand, at six, she might have stayed in the vicinity to wait for the body to be discovered. It was a chilling thought, but not out of the realms of possibility. I’d read about murderers loitering near the scene of the crime to witness the response to their gruesome handiwork.

  Edith shivered again, and this time I did too.

  Victor checked the clock and pushed off from the wall where he’d been standing. He opened the door to see Mr. Armitage there.

  “Sorry, sir,” he said. “My shift’s about to start.”

  Mr. Armitage moved aside to let him pass then looked in on us. “Are you lost, Miss Fox? Or are you having another adventure?”

  I indicated the teacup beside Edith. “Harmony and Edith were kind enough to ask me in for a cup of tea.”

  “You do know you can get tea sent up to your room at any time. You simply have to talk into the speaking tube and someone in the kitchen will hear your order.”

  “Thank you, the device has been explained to me. But it’s lonely drinking tea in my room by myself. I’d rather have company.”

  He opened his mouth to say something but must have thought better of it. He simply nodded and walked off.

  Edith rose. “I’d best return to work.”

  I parted from the two maids outside the parlor and headed into the foyer, where I spotted Mr. Armitage striding towards the senior staff corridor. I raced after him, determined to have a word with him in Edith and Harmony’s favor. While I didn’t see anything wrong with having tea with them when they weren’t working, I wasn’t sure he saw it that way. He might be a stickler for societal rules and not want the staff mixing socially with the owner’s family. I didn’t want to get anyone into trouble, so if I could smooth down some ruffled feathers, I would.

  I rounded the corner just as the door to one of the private chambers closed. It wasn’t his, however. I was quite sure he’d pointed it out as belonging to Mrs. Kettering when he’d taken me on the tour. Why would he go into her room? Had he overheard us talking in the parlor and thought as we did—that Mrs. Kettering shouldn’t have been on the third floor on the morning Mrs. Warrick died?

  I was considering whether to wait for him to come out and confront him when Mrs. Kettering herself suddenly entered the corridor from the foyer. She walked past her office and paused upon seeing me.

  “Miss Fox,” she said curtly. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m looking for you, as it happens.”

  “My office is there.” She pointed behind her at the door labeled with her name.

  “So it is.”

  She scowled. “Is something the matter with your room?”

  “May we speak in your office?” I spoke loudly enough so that someone on the other side of her bedroom door could hear. If Mrs. Kettering were the killer then it was in both Mr. Armitage’s interest and mine that he not be caught.

  I followed Mrs. Kettering into her office and closed the door. She swept aside the keys and other tools of her trade attached to the chatelaine at her hip then sat.

  “What is it you wanted to say to me, Miss Fox?”

  I took my time. I hoped Mr. Armitage would leave immediately the coast was clear, but he might stay a few moments to look around. I scrambled to find a suitable topic to talk about.

  “Miss Fox?” she barked. “Is there something wrong with your room?”

  “No. It’s very nice, thank you.”

  “Is Harmony doing a poor job?”

  “No! Not at all. The room is very clean and tidy.”

  “Does she talk too much?”

  “Pardon?”

  “I asked if Harmony talks too much.” She clicked her tongue. “The girl tends to prattle on uninvited. She’s too clever for her own good, that’s the problem.”

  “It doesn’t sound like a problem to me.”

  She regarded me down her nose. “Cleverness in a maid is a curse, Miss Fox. It gives them airs and false expectations. You wouldn’t understand.”

  I stiffened. I wasn’t sure if I was more offended on Harmony’s behalf or my own. “Considering you don’t know anything about me, I don’t know how you can make that assumption.”

  Her lips pinched as if she were holding in her retort.

  “And I wouldn’t think that being clever would give one either airs or false expectations,” I went on. “A quick mind will make one very aware of the world and one’s situation in it, for good or ill.” I stood. If Mr. Armitage wasn’t yet out of her room then it was his problem. I wasn’t enduring Mrs. Kettering’s company another moment.

  I opened the door and strode out. Insufferable woman. A brisk walk in the fresh air outside might soothe my temper. My coat and gloves were upstairs so it would be a very brief and very cold walk. I headed for the front door but was intercepted by Mr. Armitage. It would seem he’d left Mrs. Kettering’s room as soon as he could.

  “A word please, Miss Fox.”

  “That is an excellent idea. You have some explaining to do. I’ve just endured a conversation with Mrs. Kettering on your behalf. Now I know why the maids call her a dragon.”

  He rubbed a hand over his jaw and indicated we should talk in the smoking room. It was empty, but I was very aware that someone could walk in at any moment.

  “You diverted her away for me,” he said.

  “She was about to walk in on you.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s a good question. Why were you in her room?”

  “That’s none of your affair, and my question was why did you help me?”

  I shrugged, not wanting to explain that I was investigating the murder. If he were the killer, it would alert him to the fact and put a target on my head. Indeed, if he were the killer, I ought not be alone with him.

  “I have to meet my cousin,” I said, edging closer to the door.

  He followed. “I suppose I owe you thanks.”

  “It was nothing.” I turned to go, but he caught my arm. Instinctively, I jerked free. My heart pounded in my chest and my skin prickled as I stared up at him.

  He stared back. “There’s a murderer in the hotel, Miss Fox. I suggest you be careful and not sneak about.” He opened the door and waited for me to leave.

  I brushed past him, only to stop. We were mere inches apart. I was very aware of his superior height and those broad shoulders, the strong cheekbones and jaw. Despite our close proximity, I felt braver, most likely because we were now in full view of Peter, the guests and porters in the foyer.

  “I wasn’t the one sneaking, Mr. Armitage. Good day.”

  Chapter 6

  My dramatic exit from the smoking room lost steam when I realized Mr. Armitage didn’t follow me. My pace slowed, and I looked around the foyer for inspiration in how to proceed with the investigation. Peter stood alone at the front desk and I was about to approach him and ask if he’d learned anything about the addresses of Mr. Duffield and Mr. Hookly when an errand boy arrived carrying a rectangular box of considerable size.

  “Delivery for Mr. Hookly,” he told the post desk attendant named Terence.
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  “Another one?” Terence said. “Mr. Hookly must be your best customer.”

  “My master salivates when he sees Mr. Hookly coming through the door.”

  I waited for the errand boy to leave then I approached the counter.

  “Good morning, Miss Fox,” said Terence. “Have you more letters this morning?”

  “Not today. I couldn’t help but overhear. Is that package for Mr. Hookly?”

  “It is.”

  “How fortuitous. I’m on my way to see him now, as it happens. May I deliver it for you?”

  He looked as though he would protest but thought better of it. I suspected he didn’t want to tell me it was against hotel policy to give mail into the wrong hands. Being the owner’s niece had some advantages. “It’s very irregular, but I’m sure you can be trusted to deliver it safely.”

  He passed me the box and I hurried off with it, taking the stairs rather than the lift to avoid awkward questions from John. The parcel wasn’t heavy but it was large, and by the time I reached my room, I was eager to set it down.

  At my desk, I studied the return address. It was from Bentley and Sons on Saville Row. I untied the string then carefully opened the box, making sure not to damage it. Beneath the paper was a gray silk waistcoat with silver buttons and matching tie. Beneath those was a formal frock coat. The card accompanying the items stated the shirt and trousers would arrive soon, and that payment of the account was due at Mr. Hookly’s earliest convenience. The figure was a staggering amount. It must be for more than this suit. Although well made from the finest fabrics, it wouldn’t cost one tenth of the figure on the card.

  I returned the items and card to the box, retied the string, and headed downstairs again. “He wasn’t in his room, after all,” I told Terence.

  He gave me an uncertain look as he accepted the parcel.

  I was about to return upstairs when Peter hailed me from the front desk. “I found the addresses for you, Miss Fox.”

  “Excellent. Thank you, Peter.”

  He handed me a piece of paper with three addresses written on it. He pointed to the first one. “This is the address Mrs. Warrick wrote in the reservation book. The next one is for Mr. Hookly. He lives in Berkshire.”

  “That matches what he told me.”

  “The last one is for Mr. Duffield, and look. It’s also in Lincolnshire.”

  “The same as Mrs. Warrick.” They could very well know each other if they were neighbors. I didn’t know the county, however. The two addresses could be nowhere near one another. I said as much to Peter.

  “That’s what I wondered too, so I took the liberty of consulting with Terry.” He nodded at Terence, sorting letters into the mail slots behind the post desk. “He has postal directories and maps from all over the country. It turns out that Mr. Duffield lives twenty-five miles from Mrs. Warrick, just outside of Grantham.”

  “Thank you, Peter. You’ve been most helpful.”

  “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”

  “There is, as it happens. May I use your telephone?” I pointed to the brass device at the edge of the desk.

  He looked uneasy. “It’s supposed to be for receiving reservations only.”

  I spotted Mr. Hobart heading away from his office. “Never mind.”

  I intercepted the manager and asked if I could use the telephone in his office. “My friend in Cambridge is supposed to be sending my other trunk, but it hasn’t arrived yet. I want to ask her if she dispatched it.”

  “Of course,” he said. “My office door is unlocked. Help yourself.”

  I’d never used a telephone but I’d seen the staff at my local post office and some shops make and receive calls. Mr. Hobart’s handsome brass candlestick shaped telephone sat on the corner of his desk. I plucked the receiver off the hook and asked the switchboard operator to connect me to the exchange in Grantham, Lincolnshire. The Grantham switchboard operator then informed me that Hambly Hall had a telephone and she proceeded to connect me.

  The call was answered moments later. “I have a message for Mr. Duffield of this address,” I said.

  “The Duffields no longer live at Hambly Hall,” came the voice down the line.

  I moved closer to the mouthpiece. “The message is for Mr. Maurice Duffield, grandson of the earl of Hambly. I was informed that this was his address.”

  “The family sold the Hall two years ago. Mr. Maurice Duffield moved into a cottage in the village.”

  Mr. Duffield had lied. He no longer lived on the family estate. Indeed, the estate had been sold. It confirmed my suspicions that he was experiencing reduced circumstances. He’d not wanted the hotel to know, however.

  Did Mrs. Warrick know, and that’s why she noted that he ought not be here, because he couldn’t afford the expense of The Mayfair? The more I thought about it, the more certain I was that it was him she recognized that day in the foyer. They were both members of Lincolnshire society, after all.

  I ate luncheon in the dining room with Flossy, Floyd and Aunt Lilian. My aunt looked a little pale, her eyes flat, as she waited for her food to arrive. Perhaps the previous night’s dinner had taken its toll.

  “He was as dull as I remembered,” Flossy said when I asked her how it went.

  I eyed her mother, but Aunt Lilian made no comment, and Flossy went on unchecked.

  “All he wanted to talk about was a newly discovered Egyptian tomb.” She pulled a face. “What sort of gentleman thinks mummified remains make suitable dinnertime conversation with a lady he’s supposed to be courting?”

  “The cad!” Floyd declared. “Want me to call him out for you?”

  Flossy gave him a withering glare. “I don’t see why I have to marry and you don’t. You’re older.”

  “I’m not a girl. I have plenty of time for my ideal wife to present herself.”

  Flossy sniffed. “Your ideal woman is a figment of your imagination. And if she did exist, she’d run a mile when she met you, if she knew what was good for her. Honestly, the way you behave these days, no respectable lady would want to be associated with you.”

  Floyd pinched her. She winced and rubbed her arm, then they both glanced at their mother. Aunt Lilian continued to stare out of the window, her gaze unfocused.

  “So you are courting?” I asked Flossy.

  “No. He’s not for me.”

  Aunt Lilian turned to her daughter, proving she was listening after all. “He would be a very good match for you.”

  “Why? Because his family is rich?”

  “Don’t be vulgar.”

  “Well, we’re rich, so I don’t need to marry him.” Flossy crossed her arms.

  “The hotel could always use an injection of funds,” Floyd said. “Particularly now.”

  Flossy lowered her arms and leaned in. “Are things very bad?” she asked quietly.

  “I don’t think it’s dire, but the bad publicity surrounding the murder won’t help.”

  “If it’s not dire, then it will all work out. It always does.”

  “You could help by reining in your spending,” Floyd said.

  She screwed up her nose. “You first.”

  His gaze slid to his mother, but she seemed to have stopped listening again.

  “And anyway,” Flossy went on, “we have to look our best for the ball. Not only do we have to surpass last year’s spectacle, but it’s the last ball of the century. We can’t ring in nineteen-hundred wearing last year’s gowns or jewels. Everyone will notice, and the gossip will only lead to speculation that the hotel is in difficulty and we can’t have that. It would be humiliating.”

  Floyd snorted. “Spoken like the Flossy I know.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Aunt Lilian rubbed her temples. “Stop it, both of you. You know talk about financial matters gives me a headache.”

  Brother and sister called a ceasefire over luncheon, but not all discussion of the ball ended. Both Flossy and Floyd begged me to attend.
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br />   “We simply have to show off our cousin,” Flossy declared.

  “My friends are all dying to meet you,” Floyd added.

  I blinked at him. “You told them about me?”

  “You seem surprised that my bachelor friends would be interested in hearing about my attractive cousin from Cambridge.”

  I laughed, despite myself. “Can I expect my dance card to be full or did you give a balanced picture and tell them my bad traits?”

  “What bad traits?” he asked in mock seriousness.

  “Floyd’s friends are very shallow,” Flossy said. “As long as you’re pretty and fun, they won’t care that you’re—” She stopped dead, her lips pursed to utter the P in poor. “That you’re educated,” she said quickly.

  Floyd rolled his eyes.

  Flossy tossed her red-gold curls. “Anyway, you have to go to the ball, Cleo. Mother thinks so too. Mother? Don’t you think Cleo should come to the ball?”

  Aunt Lilian roused and smiled at me. “Of course. You’ll be most welcome.” Her smile turned wistful. “Your mother would approve.”

  The sadness in her eyes brought a lump to my throat. It was easy to forget that I’d known my mother for only ten years, yet Aunt Lilian had known her much longer. The bond between sisters was strong, I’d been told, and it was natural she’d still think about her all these years later.

  But if she’d been fond of my mother, why sever the connection? Had Uncle Ronald insisted? Or did Aunt Lilian come to regret their estrangement only after my mother’s death?

  “I’ll think about it,” was all I said.

  “But it’s in five days!” Flossy cried. “We’ll need time to have one of my gowns adjusted.”

  “Surely it’ll only take a maid an afternoon,” Floyd said.

  Flossy clicked her tongue. “Oh Floyd, honestly. You’re so male.”

  He appealed to me. I shrugged. “It doesn’t seem right for me to go,” I told them both.

  Flossy didn’t respond as she picked up her sandwich. She studied it for some time, turning it this way and that, a small frown connecting her brows. Then she suddenly put it down again. She turned bright eyes onto her mother.