by C. J. Archer
“Rightly so,” he said. “Rumford paid for Miss Westwood’s flat, but his wife stays at a hotel when she visits London.”
Harmony bristled. “And what’s wrong with the Mayfair? Why wouldn’t she prefer to stay here? There’s an army of staff at hand, an excellent dining room, and the location is superb.”
“You ought to write the advertising copy,” I said, smiling.
She sniffed. “The Mayfair doesn’t need to advertise.”
Victor glanced at the clock then drained his cup and rose. “Seems like you’ve got an extra suspect, Miss Fox. But how are you going to find Lady Rumford?”
“If she’s not staying here, there are few other places she’d be,” Harmony said.
Between them, they rattled off the names of four other suitable hotels where someone of Lady Rumford’s status would stay. I would have to visit them all individually and somehow find out if Lady Rumford had stayed there and if her visit coincided with Pearl’s death. When I told them I wasn’t looking forward to such a task, Harmony’s face lit up.
“Leave it with me,” she said, jumping to her feet. “I’ll put the boys to work on their afternoon off tomorrow.”
“The boys?” I asked.
“Peter, Goliath and Frank.”
“They get so little time off,” I said. “Don’t give them this extra task.”
“None of them have anything better to do. Well, Peter visits his parents, but Goliath and Frank are always looking for a distraction.” She was so enthused by her idea that she left ahead of Victor and me.
“Lucky you don’t have the afternoon off tomorrow,” I told him as we left together.
“I wouldn’t mind. I reckon Harmony would come with me to investigate.”
“Oh? Why do you think that?”
“Because I’d run some questions past her as practice and she’d think they were so bad she’d just have to help me.”
I smiled. “Would they be bad on purpose?”
He walked off, whistling.
The Nag’s Head was an unremarkable pub, befitting an unremarkable street. It was small, dark, and filled with men talking quietly or sitting alone, nursing tankards. Tucked away as it was in the mews, the patrons were the servants of the large townhouses nearby—footmen, coachmen and stable hands. Butlers wouldn’t deign to drink with their inferiors. There were only three women, all dressed in maid’s uniforms complete with mob caps, but without their aprons.
The man who must be Thomas Adams lifted his tankard in greeting when we entered. A cigarette burned in the ashtray in front of him. He picked it up, put it in his mouth, and shook Mr. Armitage’s hand. After a slight hesitation, he also shook mine.
We slipped onto the booth seat opposite him and I made the introductions. “Thank you for meeting us, Mr. Adams.”
Mr. Adams was a slightly built man aged in his early twenties. Like most footmen for great households, he was good looking and well-groomed with his dark hair parted down the middle and jaw cleanly shaved.
He drew on the cigarette and leaned back, his arm draped across the back of the seat. “Victor says you’re investigating the death of that actress,” he said in a Cockney accent. “I reckon you’ll be interested in what I have to say, but it’ll cost you.”
I placed my purse on the table. The coins inside jangled. “The amount depends on the information.”
He’d addressed his financial statement to Mr. Armitage but now he looked at me with renewed interest. His gaze raked over me and his lips stretched into a smile. “I see why Victor wants to help you.”
Mr. Armitage rested his forearms on the table. “Where was Lord Wrexham on Monday afternoon?”
“I don’t know but he wasn’t at the house. He rarely goes out, so that day was an exception.”
“That won’t earn you much.”
Mr. Adams drew on the cigarette and blew out a puff of smoke. “Lady Wrexham went out too, but she caught a cab, since his lordship had the brougham. She also doesn’t leave the house much usually, so something must have been important.”
“Is there a reason she rarely leaves?” I asked.
“She’s unwell. Doctors are always coming and going from the house, and her dressing table’s full of bottles of tonic and jars of creams, so the maid who cleans it tells me. His lordship’s got some lumps here.” He indicated his mouth. “He doesn’t go out because he doesn’t want to show his face. Some of the creams are for him, I expect. Doesn’t seem like they work.”
He eyed the purse. I was about to remove some coins when Mr. Armitage placed his hand over mine to stay it.
“That wasn’t worth much,” he told Mr. Adams.
Mr. Adams leaned forward and blew smoke at me. “What I tell you next is going to be worth a quid.”
“It had better be good for that amount,” I said, removing a sovereign from my purse.
“Oh, it is, Miss. It’s real good.”
Chapter 8
Mr. Adams took the sovereign and sat back, pocketing the coin. He plugged the cigarette back into his mouth and took a long drag. With a tilt of his head, he blew the smoke towards the ceiling.
“We don’t have all night,” Mr. Armitage snapped.
Mr. Adams smiled. “Pearl Westwood came to the house a few weeks back.”
Both Mr. Armitage and I leaned forward.
Mr. Adams drew on his cigarette. “Thought that would get your attention.” Smoke billowed out of his nostrils like an angry dragon. “I can’t remember when it was exactly, but it was between Christmas and New Year.”
“Did she call on Lord or Lady Wrexham?” I asked.
“Lord. She spoke to him in his office.”
“What did Lady Wrexham think of that?”
“I don’t know. Want me to ask her for you?”
“Yes please.” He gave a sneering laugh. “Oh. You were joking.”
He tapped the cigarette end and ash fell into the tray. “She might not have known Miss Westwood was there.”
Mr. Armitage sat back with a shake of his head. “We spoke to one of the maids this morning and she didn’t mention Miss Westwood’s visit. Even if she wasn’t there at the time, it would have caused a sensation among the servants. She would have heard about it later.”
“You calling me a liar?”
Mr. Armitage held the footman’s gaze.
Mr. Adams grunted. “The butler threatened me with dismissal if I spoke about it. Only him, me and maybe the housekeeper knew. The only reason I knew is because I opened the door for Miss Westwood and I recognized her immediately. I saw her on the stage once at the Playhouse. Real pretty she was. Real pretty.” He sniffed. “’Course, she was little more than a whore.”
“So she didn’t regularly call at the house?” I asked. “Not even when they were together, over two years ago?”
He shook his head as he stubbed out the cigarette butt in the ashtray. “I don’t know about back then. I only got this job two years ago and Miss Westwood’s never visited except this one time. Before that, me and Victor were busy avoiding coppers.”
“How long did she stay?” Mr. Armitage asked.
“No more than ten minutes.”
“How did she seem?”
“Hard to say. She didn’t speak to me. Didn’t even look at me.” His jaw firmed and his top lip curled into a sneer. “She thought she was better than us. Maybe that’s what got her killed. She ignored the wrong person and they murdered her.” He wagged a finger at me. “You can have that opinion for free.”
“The only opinion I’d like from you is the one about Lord and Lady Wrexham,” I said. “What are they like?”
“He’s all right, compared to some toffs.” He removed a tin cigarette case from his inside pocket and flipped it open. “It’s Lady Wrexham you got to watch out for. She acts all pious and good, but she’s got a temper. She’s thrown things at his lordship, twice. Once it was a vase, and the second time a little statue of a dog. Lucky for him, she’s got bad aim.”
“What d
id they argue about?” Mr. Armitage asked.
Mr. Adams shrugged. “Don’t know. That’s the thing. They always argue in low voices so as we can’t hear. I reckon it’s a skill they learn in the cradle in them big houses.” He removed a cigarette and reached for the box of matches beside the ashtray. “Anything else? Only I’ve got to get back soon and I’d like to enjoy this in peace.”
I rose and thanked him. Mr. Armitage rose but did not say a word. Once outside, I clasped the collar of my coat tight at my throat as the cold wind whipped along the street. It had grown dark while we were in the pub, but the street lamps were all lit and I was surprised by how many there were. The gentlemen of Belgravia didn’t want their expensive coaches damaged because the lighting in their mews was poor.
“I cannot believe he and Victor were friends,” I said. “What a revolting man.”
“You’re a terrible negotiator,” Mr. Armitage said. “He would have settled for less.”
“But he gave us excellent information. I think it was worth it.”
He huffed a humorless laugh. “Don’t get into business without hiring someone else to handle the transactions or you’ll find your customers taking advantage.”
“Thank you for the unwanted advice. So what do you think of the information? I think Pearl needed money and asked Lord Wrexham for it. According to Mrs. Larsen, Pearl was fine on Christmas Day. She seemed her usual carefree self and had no financial troubles. But within days, something changed, and Pearl hoped Wrexham could help her.”
“But why call on her former lover and ask for money? Why not ask her current lover, Rumford?”
“She felt ashamed?”
Mr. Armitage didn’t seem convinced. “By all accounts, she hadn’t seen Wrexham in years. Why go to him in her time of need? And so brazenly too when Lady Wrexham was at home.”
“It’s certainly odd timing,” I agreed. “It could have ended disastrously if Lady Wrexham threw her out.” Pearl must have been quite desperate. Or perhaps she didn’t care.
“Just because Pearl and Wrexham ended their liaison, doesn’t mean she stopped caring about him, or he her,” Mr. Armitage said thoughtfully. “Her arrangement with Rumford could have been entirely financial, on Pearl’s part, but her heart remained with Wrexham.”
My own heart sank and it occurred to me that I had to speak to Lord Rumford again. I needed to know if he knew about Pearl’s visit to Lord Wrexham. If he did, he could be a suspect, after all. Except for the fact that this investigation was entirely his idea.
We walked on in silence, each lost in our own thoughts. I finally broke it as we turned onto Piccadilly. “We need to speak to both Lord and Lady Wrexham, but not together. We have to find out why Pearl visited, and we need to know where both of them were the afternoon of her death because apparently neither was at home.”
“You need to do that,” Mr. Armitage said.
“Pardon?”
“Not ‘we.’ You. This is your investigation, not mine. My part is finished.”
I stopped, but Mr. Armitage kept going. I had to hurry to catch up to him. “But…why did you come with me today if you don’t plan to continue helping?”
“I didn’t want you visiting the servants alone. Considering the sort of fellow Adams turned out to be, I’m glad I went along.”
“That’s very gallant of you.”
“Not at all. My uncle would have throttled me if he found out.”
I watched his profile. The jaw might be firm, but I was quite sure I detected the hint of a smile. “You’ve come this far, you might as well continue to help me.”
“No, Miss Fox.”
“Why not? Do you have another case?”
“Not yet.”
“Then what could you possibly have to do that’s more important?”
“I was thinking about designing a pamphlet announcing my agency’s services.”
He could do that in his spare time. It wouldn’t take long. He was searching for excuses, and coming up with terrible ones. “You’re just proud.”
He looked down at me, his face quite serious. “Pride isn’t a bad thing, Miss Fox.”
“It is when it gets in the way.”
“In the way of what?”
Of us becoming friends, I wanted to say. But instead, I said, “Of you taking on your first case, albeit a shared one.”
“Pride has nothing to do with it, Miss Fox.” He looked away and added in a mutter, “Believe me.”
I sighed. I couldn’t think of what to say to get through to him. The damsel in distress card might get him agreeing to help, but I didn’t want to play it. My pride was stopping me from doing that.
We walked the rest of the way to the hotel in awkward silence. He entered the building with me, but only to meet his uncle who was waiting in the foyer, hat and umbrella in hand. Mr. Hobart had been speaking to Mr. Hirst but broke away on our arrival to greet us. Mr. Hirst frowned at the exchange.
“Ready, Uncle?” Mr. Armitage asked.
Mr. Hobart put his hat on his head. “Ready. You must be looking forward to a home cooked meal.”
“I’ve dined with my parents three nights this week. Didn’t my father tell you?”
“We don’t live in each other’s pockets.” It was said somewhat defensively.
Mr. Armitage warred with a smile that his uncle didn’t see. “Good evening, Miss Fox, and good luck. I hope you get the answers you’re after.”
I bade them good evening and turned to go as they left the hotel. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Mr. Hirst’s frown deepen.
After dressing for dinner, I knocked on Lord Rumford’s door, hoping to catch him before he left. A gentleman of his standing would have an invitation to dine with friends or at a club, so I suspected he wouldn’t leave quite this early. It was only seven-thirty.
He answered the door in his evening suit of stiff shirt and collar, with a white bow tie and waistcoat. “You’ve found her killer?”
“Not yet, I’m afraid. I needed to check something with you.”
He did not invite me in, which was quite all right with me. Without Harmony or another chaperone, it would not be appropriate. What I had to say would be brief anyway.
“Actually I have two questions. Both might be a little painful for you to answer, but I hope you understand that I have to ask them.”
“Of course,” he said carefully. “If you think they’ll help.”
“According to witnesses, Pearl called on Lord Wrexham just after Christmas.”
His jaw went slack. “Oh.”
“Did you know?”
He shook his head.
“Do you know why she would see him?”
Another shake of his head, but this one was more thoughtful. “I don’t understand.” He glanced down the corridor then met my gaze. “I’m not such a fool to think she loved me. Not the way I loved her. I do like to think she cared for me, however, and certainly more than she cared for Wrexham.”
“You knew they were together before she took up with you?”
“It was common knowledge in certain circles. The thing is, Pearl told me he was somewhat mean and selfish. He gave her gifts, of course, but nothing extravagant. He didn’t put her up in her own place, and didn’t care that she lived in a god-awful room in the worst part of the city. He never visited her there, of course. They went to hotels to be alone. That’s ultimately why Pearl left him.”
“Do you know how Lord Wrexham took the rejection?”
“She didn’t say.”
I almost told him it was Lord Wrexham I’d seen at Pearl’s funeral but decided against it. “What about Lady Wrexham? Do you know what she thought of her husband’s relationship with Pearl?”
He gave me a cynical smile. “She probably accepted it as well as any man’s wife would.”
It was the perfect lead-in to my next question, but my mouth suddenly went dry. I didn’t want to ask it. This man was old enough to be my father; he was a distinguished lord. And I was going
to ask him a very personal question.
But it had to be asked. “Do you know if Lady Rumford is in London?”
“My wife?” he blurted out. “Of course she’s not. Why would she be?”
“I don’t know, but I heard a rumor that she was seen at the opera a few nights ago. I’m sorry, but I had to check. The witness must have been mistaken.”
He no longer seemed to be listening. The moment I mentioned when she’d been seen, the crease across his forehead deepened. He stared down at the floor between us.
“That’s all,” I said. “Goodnight, my lord. Enjoy your evening.”
He rallied, his gaze refocusing. “Actually I’m dining with you and your family. I was at a loose end and Sir Ronald was kind enough to invite me.”
I smiled. “Then I’ll see you down there.”
“May I escort you?” He checked his pocket watch. “I’ll collect you at eight.”
“I’d be delighted.”
At precisely eight, Lord Rumford knocked on my door. With a warm smile, he offered me his arm. We waited at the lift together and were soon joined by Flossy, who gave me a suspicious look.
Downstairs in the dining room, we were greeted by Mr. Chapman who bowed at his lordship before indicating the family table. Uncle Ronald and Floyd were already there, although neither were seated. They spoke to two other men. Or, rather, my uncle spoke and Floyd looked on. The two men departed upon our arrival.
My uncle gave Lord Rumford an enthusiastic greeting, but once again, I was given the oddest look. Floyd merely smirked and winked at me when no one was looking.
Uncle Ronald gave my aunt’s excuses for not joining us, then the men fell into conversation about my uncle’s plans for the hotel’s expansion. I listened until Flossy caught my gaze. She mouthed something at me, but I couldn’t work out what. Caught on the opposite side of the table to one another, we would have to endure the men’s conversation all night.
The sommelier arrived and poured the wine while Richard explained the evening’s menu, for Lord Rumford’s sake. Once they departed, my uncle resumed telling his lordship about the new restaurant he wanted to build.
