Murder at the Mayfair Hotel

by C. J. Archer

  She gave a slight shake of her head.

  “Why not, Edith?” When she didn’t answer, I said, “He tried to kill you. You owe him no loyalty.”

  “That wasn’t him. He wouldn’t do that.”

  “We have a witness,” the inspector said. “He saw a man matching Lawrence Conrad’s description push you.”

  “Who?”

  “Mr. Hookly’s real name,” I said. “You recall that I mentioned he was impersonating Mr. Hookly. I told you in the parlor that day that the real Mr. Hookly was dead. You weren’t surprised, so I suspected you knew.”

  She turned away from me. “I won’t say anything that’ll make him look guilty. He loves me, and I love him.”

  Behind me, the inspector shuffled his feet. I suspected he disliked leaving the questioning up to someone else, as used as he was to doing it himself.

  “He’s married,” I told her.

  Her lips parted then closed again and her throat moved with her swallow. I expected more tears but there were none and her voice was surprisingly steady when she spoke. “He must have stopped loving her. She can’t have been a good wife to him.”

  “If he stopped loving her, he would have told you all about her. He didn’t. Nor did he tell you his real name. And did he tell you he was a footman?”

  “You’re wrong, Miss Fox. He’s a gentleman. He just fell on hard times.”

  “He’s a footman. Mrs. Warrick recognized him. He used to work in her friend’s household.”

  She closed her eyes again.

  “Did he not tell you why he had to poison her?” I asked gently.

  “She was a previous lover who was going to kill him.”

  “She wasn’t his lover, Edith, and I doubt she threatened to kill him. He planned to murder her from the moment he realized she recognized him.”

  “We didn’t plan it!”

  Something at the back of mind told me she was lying, but I couldn’t place my finger on why I thought so. “He was kind to you, wasn’t he?”

  Edith nodded. “He gave me gifts and sweets, and he told me he was going to marry me just as soon as the money came through on the sale of his mine.”

  I hated taking away the one good thing in her life, but it had to be done. That good thing didn’t exist. It never had. “It was just an act, Edith. Not only was he married, but he flirted with me too before he knew I suspected him.”

  In hindsight, I wasn’t entirely sure if he didn’t know when I met him in the smoking room. It had been the same day that I’d mentioned my suspicions in front of Edith. It was possible she’d informed him and that was why he’d readily told me about the letter from Lord Addlington. He’d tried to divert my suspicions away from him.

  Tears slipped from beneath Edith’s closed eyelids again. My words were finally getting through to her. It was time to exert more pressure.

  “He’ll blame you,” I told her. “He’ll say you poisoned Mrs. Warrick and that he had nothing to do with it.”

  Her eyes opened. The inspector handed me his handkerchief and I dabbed her tears away. “It was me,” she said. “I gave her the poison.”

  My heart did a little flip in my chest. “You?”

  “He told me I had to do it because she wouldn’t accept a cup of tea from him. I had to do it, you understand. If I didn’t, she would have killed me first. Or him, or both of us.”

  I shook my head. “That’s not quite true, is it? They dined together in his room. If she didn’t trust him, she wouldn’t have gone there alone.”

  She swallowed heavily and eyed the inspector behind me.

  “Mrs. Warrick confronted Mr. Hookly that afternoon,” I said, thinking as I spoke. “Is that when he invited her to dine with him?”

  “He told me she wanted to resume their relationship, but because she was the jealous type, and he was worried about me, he couldn’t refuse right away. He was scared for me, you see. Scared she’d fly into a jealous rage if she found out about us.”

  That was not how their confrontation would have transpired, but I didn’t tell her. She was talking, and that was the main thing.

  “He had to try to convince her to leave him alone but do it in a way that wouldn’t anger her,” Edith said in high voice. “He said if he couldn’t convince her over dinner then we’d have to do something more drastic or she’d never stop pursuing him.” She held my gaze. “He says she became angry with him when he told her about me. She said she’d kill me in the morning when I delivered the tea. We thought about it all night, but we knew the police would believe her and not us. The only thing we could do to stay safe and be together was to kill her before she killed me or him. So we decided to poison her by bringing her tea early. It wasn’t planned, you see. It was kill or be killed. That’s self-defense, isn’t it? The jury will let us go, won’t they?”

  “She just let you in?” the inspector said flatly. “Even though you weren’t due to bring her the tea until seven? Wasn’t she suspicious?”

  I shot him a glare over my shoulder.

  He pressed his lips together and stepped back.

  But his question brought my own doubt to the forefront again. Edith’s story didn’t ring true. Mrs. Warrick hadn’t threatened Mr. Hookly out of jealousy, although Edith might believe that. But she certainly didn’t believe the murder was a spur of the moment idea. Yet there was no way to prove it.

  The inspector sighed. “Constable, what time is it? I have to be back at the Yard by one.”

  The constable removed his pocket watch. But I didn’t hear his response. I’d got it! I knew when Edith had poisoned Mrs. Warrick, and I knew it had been planned.

  It was all about the time.

  “When did you change the clock, Edith?”

  Her lips parted.

  “The clock in Mrs. Warrick’s room,” I prompted. “Did you change it while she dined with Hookly? Is that when you let yourself into her room and moved the clock by her bed forward an hour?”

  Edith’s face crumpled. “The murder wasn’t planned,” she whispered.

  I touched her arm. “No more lies, Edith. It’s over.”

  “What about the clock, Miss Fox?” the inspector asked.

  “It had been changed the day before. The time had been put forward an hour.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Mrs. Warrick scolded Danny for bringing her hot chocolate late. It was eleven PM, the usual time for her chocolate to arrive, but she thought it was midnight because that’s what the clock in her room showed. The following morning, Edith brought Mrs. Warrick her cup of tea at the usual time of seven. But it wasn’t seven, it was really six. Her clock showed seven so she accepted Edith’s arrival at her door with the teacup without question. The poison was in that cup.” I turned to Edith, looking broken and fragile in her bruises and bandages. I felt sorry for her, but I couldn’t let her get away with murder. She had to take some responsibility, if not all.

  She gave a small nod.

  “But the witness saw you at seven,” the inspector said to Edith. “He saw you with a teacup then not even a minute later you emerged when Mrs. Warrick was dead. Did you change his clock too to fool him into thinking it was seven when it was actually six?”

  I shook my head. “It really was seven when he emerged from his room. At six, after Mrs. Warrick drank the poison and died, Edith changed the clock in her room back to the actual time and took the cup with her when she left and locked the door behind her. She returned at seven with another cup of tea, just as she did every morning during Mrs. Warrick’s stay. She made sure to bang on the wall or door of the room opposite to wake the guest. He emerged to see her and so bore witness to her being in Mrs. Warrick’s room for a mere minute before she came out, upset over the scene she’d just witnessed. Your tests on that teacup came back negative for poison and your doctor’s tests proved Mrs. Warrick was dead at least an hour before Edith was seen outside the room. You struck Edith off your list of suspects after that, even though she could have still done
it earlier, because you had no motive for her to poison Mrs. Warrick.”

  “She wasn’t struck off entirely,” the inspector muttered. “But you’re right. I could find no motive so I assumed her key had been stolen then returned to her without her knowledge. I wasn’t aware of her relationship with Conrad.”

  “Nor was I, when I confided my suspicions to her. It was Mr. Armitage who made the connection.”

  “Mrs. Kettering told him I was with one of the guests, didn’t she?” Edith asked.

  “She suspected you were.”

  “I hate her,” she bit off.

  I didn’t tell her the housekeeper’s own crimes. It seemed irrelevant now.

  “What did you do with the teacup that held the poison?” the inspector asked.

  “Threw it away in a lane.” Edith tried to sit up higher but hissed in pain. “So you see now that it was me who poisoned her, Inspector.”

  “You did it for him,” he said. “He put the idea into your head, he gave you the poison, and the means to do it and cover it up later. He’s just as guilty, if not more so. You can argue in court that he lied to you and that his charismatic presence put you under his spell.”

  She seemed to consider this. “But he won’t hang, will he? Not when he didn’t do the poisoning.”

  “It’s not up to me to decide his fate.”

  She started to cry again. “I don’t want my words to lead to his death.”

  “The inspector will speak to you again before the trial,” I said before the inspector could answer. “Thank you for your help, Edith. You’ve been so brave in speaking to us today. Truly marvelous considering all you’ve been through. Everyone is very grateful.”

  Afterwards, when Detective Inspector Hobart and I were finally outside again, he turned to me. “That was a little thick at the end, wasn’t it?”

  “It was necessary if you want Edith to testify. The last thing you want is for her to retract her statement.”

  “Why would she?”

  I blinked up at the pale glow of the sun, trying to pierce through the gray clouds only to fail. “Edith did what Conrad wanted because he knew how to make her feel worthy. He made her feel good about herself after years of being overlooked. If you make her feel important, and that she is central to the investigation, then she might turn her attention to you. She might want to please you instead of him.”

  He looked up at the sun too then at me. “If that’s your way of asking me to go gently with her, then I will, if it’ll get her to testify at Conrad’s trial. I want him to be found guilty.”

  He didn’t mention Edith’s guilt, and I didn’t ask. It was impossible to know if a jury would sympathize and let her off or would consider her to be just as guilty as Conrad.

  I shook off the melancholia that had descended upon me when I first saw Edith lying bruised and battered in the bed. The horrid events were over and it was time to move forward. It was a new century after all, full of possibility. I couldn’t wait to see what it held for me.

  I smiled at the inspector. “You policemen might be good at detecting, but you’d be even better if you combined that with a knowledge of human nature.”

  “I understand something of human nature,” he said defensively. “Just not women.” He smiled. “Don’t tell Mrs. Hobart I said that.”

  I laughed. “If what you say is true, then it’s quite likely she’s already well aware.”

  He chuckled. “She’d like you, Miss Fox. You should come to tea.”

  My laughter faded. “I’m afraid she hasn’t forgiven me for getting your son dismissed. I can hardly blame her. I’d be furious with me too.”

  “She’ll come around. As a matter of fact, she invited you to join us for tea this afternoon.”

  I eyed him with suspicion. I doubted she’d invited me but it wasn’t polite to question him.

  “Harry will be there,” he added.

  “And you?”

  “I have a few things to finish at the Yard after hearing Edith’s confession, but the investigation is largely wrapped up now, so I can manage it.”

  At least there’d be one friendly face there, although I wasn’t entirely sure if the inspector had forgiven me yet, despite appearances to the contrary.

  “Three o’clock,” he said, walking off. “I’ll tell my wife to expect you.”

  “I thought she already was,” I called after him.

  Afternoon tea wasn’t as awkward as I thought it would be, mostly because Detective Inspector Hobart filled the silences by talking about the investigation. I thought Mrs. Hobart would object, but she listened to his account and even asked her own questions. She was probably used to him talking about his work. Or perhaps it gave her an excuse not to talk to me directly. She could hardly meet my gaze, after all.

  Mr. Armitage sat listening too, not saying much. It was difficult to know what to make of him today. Who was he? There were so many facets to his character, I was no longer sure if one of them was more dominant than the other, or if one or more were an act. He could be the charming assistant manager who made the guests feel at home, or the brooding fighter who’d tackled Conrad, or the unforgiving, argumentative fellow who wanted to punish me for getting him dismissed.

  Worse still, I didn’t know if I liked or disliked any or all three of those facets. Just when I thought I understood him, he changed. And just when I thought I liked him, he said something to make me dislike him, or vice versa.

  But not today. Today, he was contemplative as he let his father carry the conversation. That is, until I asked him how his hunt for work was progressing. It was the only way I could be sure to poke him into speaking. A more sensible woman would have chosen a less controversial topic, but I wasn’t always sensible and I really did want to know how he’d fared.

  “Yesterday was New Year’s Day and everything was closed,” he said. “I haven’t progressed very far since the last time we spoke on the subject.”

  “I saw an advertisement in this morning’s newspaper for a bookkeeper. You’re good with numbers and have experience with the hotel’s books.”

  “How do you know what I’m good at?” he asked mildly.

  “Your uncle told me.”

  “I asked him, and he said he’s never spoken about my private business to you.”

  Oh, that wasn’t fair. Mr. Hobart had told me a little about Mr. Armitage, although not about his abilities with numbers.

  Mr. Armitage gave me an earnest, somewhat mocking, frown. “Did you somehow discover that I was once apprenticed to a bookkeeper? Perhaps my file from the orphanage fell out of the cabinet and into your pocket.”

  Ohhhh. It seemed the vicar had guessed what I’d done after finding the piece of paper slipped under the orphanage door. I couldn’t admit to the crime. Not in front of the detective inspector. I didn’t want to get Victor into trouble. “Don’t be ridiculous. I was with the reverend the entire time when I was in the boys’ home. I would have had to break in during the night and where would I learn to do that?”

  His frown turned to a scowl. He clearly didn’t believe me innocent but he couldn’t prove I’d broken in, either.

  “You have a fanciful imagination, Mr. Armitage. Perhaps you should be a novelist.”

  “Or a journalist,” he added with a hard edge. “Since they make up a lot of what they report on.”

  “Not all of them,” his father said, thoughtfully. “Some are good at uncovering things. You should consider it, Harry.”

  Mr. Armitage set down his teacup. “I might as well tell you both,” he said to his parents. “I wanted to think about it some more first, but Miss Fox has forced my hand, as she has a habit of doing.”

  “You can’t blame me for this too,” I said.

  He ignored me. “I’ve decided to become a private detective.”

  His mother pressed a hand to her throat. “No, Harry.”

  His father shook his head. “They’re a nuisance.”

  “Until the police force changes its criter
ia and allows for the recruitment of reformed felons, this is my best option. Besides, I’ll be one of the respectable ones.”

  “There’s no such thing,” the inspector growled. “They trawl for clients in the most unseemly places.”

  “I won’t have to trawl. I’ll have Uncle Alfred put it about among the hotel guests that I’m available. I’m known to be reliable and discreet among that set. I’ve kept their secrets for years and I’ll continue to do so. Once they’re aware that I’m available for investigative work, they’ll come to me instead of an unknown person advertising in the papers.”

  The inspector seemed to lose some of his bluster, but he hadn’t given in yet. “Private detectives get their information from lowlifes and by tricking their suspects into confessions.”

  “How is that different to what you do?” Mr. Armitage asked.

  The inspector set down his teacup with a thud. “I have the law on my side.” He shook his head. “Think about it, Harry.”

  “I have. I’ll use my savings to set myself up.” He turned to his mother. “I want to do this. I’ve realized I like investigating, and I’m quite good at it.”

  “Modest too,” I muttered into my teacup.

  Mr. Armitage’s jaw hardened. “Did you say something, Miss Fox?”

  “I said it was me who discovered the murderer.”

  He gave me a tight smile. “I found the silverware thief.”

  “I believe I discovered the final piece of that puzzle.”

  “You helped, Miss Fox.”

  I smiled back. “I’m rather good at helping, aren’t I? And didn’t we just agree a few days ago that we make an excellent team?”

  His gaze narrowed. “What are you getting at?”

  I softened my smile and turned it onto his mother. “I think the private detective business is a wonderful notion. While Mr. Armitage made an excellent assistant manager, he needed to step out from his uncle’s shadow. And, if I’m honest, he always struck me as someone who shouldn’t be taking orders. He should be the one to give them, and if he begins his own business and hires assistants, then he’ll be manager of his own empire, not someone else’s.”