Murder in the Drawing Room

by C. J. Archer

I rolled my eyes. “Aside from learning that Mr. Warrington is most likely the second man in those negatives, which means he prefers men, I also learned something else today when I confronted the photographer.”

  “You did what?”

  “Mr. Sharp was somewhat reluctant to speak to me, but he gave up some information when I mentioned that I would inform the police about his extra source of income.”

  Harry groaned again. “You should have collected me so we could do it together. It could have been dangerous.”

  “He’s an old man and his assistant is barely more than a child. In fact, Jeffrey was more helpful than Mr. Sharp. He told me Mrs. Warrington called her lover Xavier. He has red-gold hair and sideburns. That doesn’t fit Mr. Henderson at all.”

  “Unless the description is a false one. Highly likely considering you were threatening him. He had to give you enough to get rid of you without compromising his customer.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. “Did you see Mr. Henderson’s hand? Did it have a mark on it?”

  “He wasn’t there.”

  “I don’t think he’s her lover anyway. I think it’s someone with more to gain with Mr. Warrington out of the picture.” I explained my theory that the lover, Xavier, would want to make a widow of Mrs. Warrington so he could marry her and gain her wealth for himself, as well as avoid the scandal of her divorce. “If he wanted to marry Mrs. Warrington and required her reputation to be intact, he must have some standing in the community.”

  Harry rubbed his jaw. “That narrows down our suspects.”

  His sarcasm was warranted. We were further away from the truth than ever. Indeed, by excluding Mr. Henderson, we’d struck our main suspect off the list. We had to start all over again to find Mrs. Warrington’s lover.

  Harry reached into his inside jacket pocket. “I almost forgot. Warrington gave me this letter. He received it late yesterday in the mail.”

  Two things immediately struck me about the handwritten note. It was unsigned and it was written on what was probably personalized stationery but with the identifying information at the top torn off. I read it and had to re-read it again to make sure I hadn’t misunderstood. The letter demanded a thousand pounds be left at the foot of the Albert Memorial in Kensington Gardens at midnight tonight. It was an extraordinary amount of money. If Mr. Warrington didn’t pay, the anonymous author threatened to go to the press with information that could ruin him. It did not specify what that information was.

  “It’s different to the other threatening letters he received,” I said. “The sender isn’t demanding he let the bill go through parliament. He or she wants money.”

  “So it’s unlikely that it’s from Mrs. Parker,” Harry finished.

  “Mr. Warrington must be worried.”

  “Actually he’s not, because he thinks he knows who wrote it. He recognized the handwriting from letters his wife received and kept. Warrington showed them to me and I agree they’re written by the same hand.”

  “Whose?”

  “Her brother, Trickelbank. Not only that, he wrote this on hotel stationery.” It certainly appeared to be the same thickness as the Mayfair’s paper, but without the identifying hotel’s emblem of an M inside a circle, it was impossible to tell. “Warrington wants me to deal with it on his behalf.”

  “How?”

  “He didn’t offer a suggestion, but insisted he won’t be paying a penny to the blackmailer.”

  “He wants you to threaten Mr. Trickelbank, doesn’t he? But what if he doesn’t go away quietly? What if he insists on going to the newspapers with what he knows about their marriage? Does Mr. Warrington expect you to beat the brother into submission?”

  He picked up the letter. “I’ll speak to Trickelbank. Once he knows that Warrington knows he sent this, he’ll back down.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “Are you worried about me?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re younger, taller and broader than Mr. Trickelbank.”

  He smiled smugly. “Thank you.”

  “It wasn’t meant as a compliment.” Perhaps I should have just admitted that I was worried. After all, we didn’t know a thing about Mr. Trickelbank. He could be a murderer.

  “I’ll come with you,” I said.

  He rose. “No.”

  “We’re partners.”

  “We are not partners.” He collected our coats from the stand and handed me mine. “We’re working together on the murder, not this.”

  “It’s most likely the same investigation.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Harry—”

  “Cleo, you are not speaking to Trickelbank and that’s final. It doesn’t require two of us. Besides, he knows you and will lodge a complaint about you to your uncle. He isn’t aware of my connection to the hotel.”

  He had a point. My uncle already had enough reasons to lecture me. I didn’t need another. “Very well. I’ll walk with you to the hotel and then we’ll enter separately.”

  He held the office door open for me. “I’ll go through the staff entrance.”

  “No. You have official business to conduct at the hotel on behalf of Mr. Warrington. You have a right to use the front entrance.”

  He gave no response as he locked the office door behind him and I suspected he was just avoiding an argument. However, he did do as I suggested and entered the hotel through the front. I waited outside, speaking to Frank to pass the time, then followed a few minutes later.

  Harry stood at the check-in counter, talking to Peter. Upon seeing me, Peter jerked his head, beckoning me.

  “Harmony is looking for you,” he said. “She’s in the parlor. Goliath and Victor are there too.”

  “They’ll want an update on the investigation. I’ll go now.”

  Harry frowned. “They all want an update?”

  “Of course. They help sometimes so need to be kept informed about developments. Peter too, and Frank.”

  “It doesn’t take us away from our duties here,” Peter said quickly.

  “Even so, don’t tell your uncle,” I told Harry.

  He put up his hands. “The hotel business has nothing to do with me anymore.” He leaned a hip against the counter and folded his arms, regarding me with an air of amusement. “You should be the one with ‘associates’ on your door, not me.”

  “Or you could just add my name to your door. We are partners, after all.”

  He bent to my level. It was rather disconcerting being eye to eye with him without a desk separating us, and I struggled to hold my nerve and not blink or look away. “We are not partners and my business name won’t be changing. I bought a thousand cards that all say Armitage and Associates, not Armitage and Fox.” He straightened. “After this case, we will return to the way things were.”

  “Oh Harry,” I said, instilling as much mock sympathy into my tone as possible. “You are naïve if you think anything will be the same after this.” I strode off without waiting to see his reaction.

  I opened the door to the staff parlor and almost bumped into Harmony about to leave.

  “I thought you were never going to return,” she grumbled as she resumed her seat between Victor and Goliath.

  The three of them were alone in the staff parlor, and Goliath was sound asleep stretched out across eight chairs pushed together to accommodate his length. His feet still extended over the end. With him sleeping, it meant Victor and Harmony had been virtually on their own in here. Considering Victor liked teasing Harmony, and Harmony didn’t take it all that well, I wondered what they’d been talking about. Or if they’d been talking at all.

  I was convinced the teasing and prickly banter meant they liked one another, but I didn’t think they’d reached the kissing stage of their relationship. It was much too soon and there was a great deal more flirting to be had.

  Neither of their faces gave anything away, but they did avoid looking at one another. I wasn’t sure what that meant, however. They cou
ld have been arguing or kissing—either was possible with those two.

  Goliath yawned and stretched, but did not sit up. “Did I miss anything?”

  “Miss Fox is about to update us on the investigation,” Harmony told him.

  I poured myself a cup of tea and sat with a sigh, savoring the first sip before I reported everything Harry and I had learned so far. It sounded significant when laid out like that, but unfortunately it all resulted in very little.

  Harmony pouted. “So that’s it?”

  “Did you expect more?”

  She lifted a shoulder.

  “What is it, Harmony?” I asked.

  “Nothing.”

  I appealed to Victor, hoping he would be able to decipher her.

  “She’s disappointed you don’t need her help,” he told me.

  “Oh, I see. I am sorry, Harmony, but Mr. Armitage and I have it in hand. Events are moving rather quickly and coming back here to fetch you would have delayed things.”

  “Is there nothing we can do?” she asked.

  “Actually there is, but I just need Victor.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “Why just him?”

  “I think the task is better suited to his talents.”

  “It involves cooking?”

  “It involves speaking to a dubious character with a tendency for violence. And while I do think you are quite capable of many things, I don’t think you can get answers from thugs.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” Victor said with a bland look on his face. “That tongue of hers is a sharp instrument designed for cutting a fellow down to size.”

  Her jaw dropped as she swung around to face him. “Are you saying I’m cruel?”

  “You have a certain way with words.”

  “I am not cruel. I’ve merely learned to stand up for myself. One has to when one doesn’t look like everybody else.” She sniffed. “If you don’t like the way I speak to you, why are you always in here when I am?”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t say I don’t like it. Your sharp tongue doesn’t bother me in the least. I like a strong woman with opinions. Makes life more interesting.”

  Goliath chuckled, earning himself a glare from Harmony.

  “To the matter at hand,” I said in an attempt to rein in the conversation before it ended in an argument. “Victor, there is a man connected to one of our suspects who may be persuaded to tell us what he knows about her.”

  I told him about Bob Ricketts, the local thug of Camden Town, who we’d seen accepting money from Mrs. Parker. I asked him to see what he could learn from the fellow.

  Victor nodded without hesitation, but Harmony was affronted on his behalf. “You can’t ask him to do that! It could be dangerous.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Victor assured her. “But thanks for worrying about me.” He winked at her then stood and swaggered out of the parlor.

  Harmony clicked her tongue. “That’s not why I’m worried,” she assured Goliath and me. “It’s the hotel I’m worried about. The kitchen, to be specific. We can’t afford to lose any cooks loyal to the hotel, and if Victor does something illegal and is caught, he’ll lose his position here, even if the police let him go.”

  “What do you mean by cooks loyal to the hotel? Are some leaving?”

  “Not yet, but they will. Chef says he’ll walk out if the new restaurant goes ahead and take those loyal to him with him. Victor said the kitchen is divided into two—those who’ll follow the chef and those who want to stay at the Mayfair.”

  Goliath scratched his head, messing up his hair. “They’re mad if they leave good employment for a chef who may not be able to get them work where he goes.”

  “I’m sure it won’t come to that,” I said. “The chef is trying to throw his weight around. When he realizes my uncle won’t stand for it, he’ll back down. My uncle won’t give up his plans for expansion.”

  Goliath stood and picked up his porter’s hat from the table. “Don’t be so sure. French chefs of his quality aren’t easy to find in London. He can walk into a dozen other restaurants and demand his own terms. Plenty would be happy to bend over backwards for him.”

  “My uncle is a stubborn man.”

  “But he’d do anything for the hotel,” Harmony pointed out. “Even if it means swallowing his pride and giving the chef what he wants. Goliath’s right. You can’t operate a restaurant in a luxury hotel without a quality chef overseeing it.”

  With the hotel’s troubles on my mind, I returned to the foyer and absently headed in the direction of the front desk where Peter was still working, even though it was past time for him to leave for the day. His gaze darted between Harry and Mr. Trickelbank, having a heated discussion. Or, rather, Harry was standing there while Mr. Trickelbank spat at him in loud whispers. Other guests were beginning to stare and poor Peter attempted to politely and quietly get Mr. Trickelbank’s attention.

  I hurried over. “Is something the matter?”

  Mr. Trickelbank took one look at me, and curled his top lip in a sneer. “This is none of your affair, Miss Fox. I wish to make a complaint to the manager about this fellow.” He flicked a finger at Harry. “But this idiot servant won’t fetch him.” He thrust his chin at Peter.

  Peter’s mouth snapped shut and his lips pursed. As a front-of-house clerk, he was used to dealing with frustrated guests when something went wrong, but this was a little different to the usual complaint. The subject of the complaint had been his superior a little over a month ago. Poor Peter wasn’t quite sure what to do.

  “He is neither an idiot nor a servant,” Harry said, his jaw hardly moving. “Furthermore, Peter has told you that Mr. Hobart is not present. Kindly refrain from your tirade and simply answer my questions then we can both be on our way.”

  Mr. Trickelbank’s fists closed at his sides. “I am not answering your bloody questions!”

  A couple approaching the desk quickly diverted their course away from us, the gentleman’s hand at the lady’s lower back. With a flare of her nostrils, she glared over her shoulder at Mr. Trickelbank.

  “Please keep your voice down, sir,” I said.

  “If you won’t fetch the manager, then get Sir Ronald Bainbridge. This fellow ought to be thrown out, and if you are not prepared to do it, I’ll see what Sir Ronald thinks.”

  The last thing we wanted was my uncle down here. Harry was treading a precarious line. I tried to catch his attention, but he wouldn’t look at me. He simply gazed back at Mr. Trickelbank with a composure that inflamed Mr. Trickelbank even more. In my experience, men who couldn’t control their tempers loathed men in complete control of theirs.

  Peter cleared his throat to get our attention. “I believe Sir Ronald is also busy, sir. Would you like me to see if Mr. Floyd Bainbridge is in the hotel?”

  Mr. Trickelbank scoffed.

  “Perhaps I can help,” I said. “As a representative of the Bainbridge family—”

  “Anyone would be better than you,” Mr. Trickelbank snarled. “Even that brainless cousin of yours.”

  “I can assure you, if you refer to either of Sir Ronald’s children as brainless to his face, he won’t be inclined to help you.”

  “And I am inclined to stay elsewhere in future. This hotel has too many nosy people.”

  “Perhaps you should,” I said sweetly. “Perhaps you’d like to complete your stay this time at another hotel, seeing as the Mayfair is not to your liking.”

  The muscles in his face twitched with indignation at not being begged to stay. No doubt he’d expected me to apologize and do anything to keep him here. But the Mayfair didn’t need an angry guest spraying his venomous accusations around the place. It was better to lose one customer who could never be pleased rather than risk more being infected by his vitriol.

  “If it wasn’t for the funeral tomorrow, I would,” he said, his temper somewhat cooler. “But it’s late in the day now, and I’ll be leaving as soon as the funeral is over. I won’t be spending a moment longer here than I have to.”
/>   “I think that’s best.” I smiled for the benefit of the other guests nearby.

  Mr. Trickelbank strode off towards the lift. I wanted to talk to Peter to see if he was all right, but a guest commanded his attention. I moved away from the front desk with Harry.

  “Nicely done,” he said. “It’s a pity your uncle and mine didn’t witness that.”

  “Why?”

  One corner of his mouth lifted. “No reason.”

  “What did you say that got him so incensed?”

  “I simply asked him if he sent the blackmail letter to Warrington.”

  “Then what did you expect? He had to make a scene to avoid answering. Couldn’t you have been subtler?”

  He gave me an arched look. “I can be subtle, but in this instance I thought direct was the only way.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” I sighed. “Poor Peter. That was a terribly cruel thing for Mr. Trickelbank to say.”

  “You should talk to him. Lifting the spirits of the staff after a bruising encounter with a guest is an important skill.” He tugged on the brim of his hat in farewell and walked off.

  “Skill for what?” I called after him.

  He turned and, walking backwards towards the door, gave me a smile and a shrug, then faced forward again. There was a spring in his step as the doorman opened the door for him. Harry didn’t leave, however. He stopped to have a conversation with him.

  I turned to Peter and watched as he completed his end-of-day tasks. He didn’t look quite so harried now as he closed the reservations book and placed it in a drawer behind the counter, but he wasn’t his usual happy self either. Harry was right. Peter needed cheering up.

  “Sorry, Miss Fox,” he said as he locked a metal box and placed it on a shelf under the counter. “I didn’t have the authority to do anything.”

  “You do, Peter. In Mr. Hobart’s absence, you are the most senior member of the front-of-house staff. Mr. Armitage is not a guest here, so you have every right to ask him to leave if he is upsetting someone.”

  “But then he wouldn’t get the answers he needed to solve the case.”

  “I don’t think Mr. Trickelbank was going to offer him answers.”

  He disappeared into the storeroom behind him and reappeared carrying his coat and hat. “If Mr. Armitage was in the wrong, why didn’t you throw him out?” he asked.