Murder in the Drawing Room

by C. J. Archer

  I didn’t want my uncle to see me if he happened to pass, so I picked up the telephone and bobbed down out of sight behind the counter, stretching the cord as far as it could go. I plucked the receiver off the cradle and asked the operator to put me through to the Hobarts’. I’d remembered their number by heart, as well as a few other common numbers in London. Although I’d never used a telephone before moving into the hotel, I was beginning to wonder how the world ever functioned without the service. The device was a marvel.

  When Detective Inspector Hobart’s gruff voice came through the earpiece, I realized too late that I’d probably disturbed their family dinner. His wife would have another reason to dislike me when she found out I was on the other end. At this rate, I might never win her over.

  “It’s Cleopatra Fox,” I said down the line. “Something has occurred to me. Something that relates to our investigation. You might be able to answer it for me.”

  “You aren’t calling to speak to Harry?”

  “Yes, that too. But I also wanted to ask you about Mrs. Warrington’s will. Do you know if she had one, and who benefited from her death?”

  “It’s not my investigation, so I don’t know. I can find out for you.”

  “Would you? That would be marvelous, thank you.”

  “Harry’s here and wants to talk.”

  There was some noise at their end and some muffled voices then Harry came on the line. “My father just told me you asked about the will. He then scolded me for not being curious about the beneficiaries from the beginning, considering Mrs. Warrington is a wealthy woman.”

  “It’s an amateur’s mistake,” I agreed. “What did you discover from the club’s manager?”

  “Warrington can’t be our man. The manager checked his book and said Warrington arrived at nine-forty and signed out at midnight. He arrived in his own conveyance so the coachman can confirm the time. Warrington was also seen throughout the evening by the manager himself as he passed through the main gaming room.”

  “So it’s not him. Damnation. I was convinced.”

  “As was I, but I was thinking about it on the way home, and have another theory. What if Warrington asked Drummond to kill her? Or what if he wasn’t asked, but Drummond took the task upon himself because he could see how it would benefit his lover to have his wife out of the way?”

  I shifted my weight on my haunches as my legs began to ache. “It’s a possibility. If Drummond loves Warrington, he might do anything for him. They could have worked together or he could have acted on his own. What do you propose we do about it?”

  “Cleo?” My uncle’s voice sounded very close. “Cleo, are you there?”

  My heart leapt into my throat. He was on the other side of the counter. If he came around to this side, he’d see me crouching, clutching the telephone. He’d know I was avoiding him.

  “Cleo!” he snapped.

  Chapter 14

  I returned the telephone earpiece to its cradle, not even daring to whisper a hasty goodbye to Harry first. I remained in a crouched position, as close to the counter as possible, and tried to think of an excuse if I were discovered. I could claim to be searching for spare stationery, but the telephone would give me away.

  “Cleo?” Uncle Ronald’s voice came from the end of the counter. He was about to look behind it. When he did, he’d see me.

  I closed my eyes.

  “I think I just saw Miss Fox heading towards the dining room,” Phillip said. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t realize she’d gone.”

  “Thank you, Phillip.”

  The sound of retreating footsteps was music to my ears. I blew out a breath.

  “It’s safe to come out now,” Phillip said. “He’s gone.”

  I stood and returned the telephone to its position on the counter. “Thank you, Phillip. It’s not that I’m hiding from my uncle, you understand. It’s just that I needed some privacy.”

  Phillip clasped his hands at his back and rocked on his heels. “It’s none of my business who you’re telephoning, Miss Fox.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Don’t worry, I’m always discreet.”

  “Always?”

  “Mr. Bainbridge has made it clear to me that I mustn’t talk about the family’s comings and goings, even to other members of the family.”

  If Floyd had told him that, then Floyd had more to hide than me. I knew my cousin went out a lot in the evenings, and not always with his father’s approval, but perhaps it was more often than I realized.

  I thanked Phillip and headed to the dining room where I found my uncle seated at the family table. He was speaking to a guest, thankfully, or I would have walked out again. The last person I wanted to be alone with was my uncle.

  Unfortunately, the guest walked off as I sat. Uncle Ronald sat beside me.

  “Phillip says you’re looking for me,” I said before he could speak. “He apologizes for sending you in here, but he thought he saw me. I was in the senior staff corridor, hoping to see Mrs. Short, but she wasn’t there.”

  “Is there a problem with your maid?”

  “No! Not at all. My maid is excellent.”

  “Then what—?”

  “Oh look. Here’s Flossy and Aunt Lilian. And Floyd is just behind them too. How marvelous.”

  We greeted them and resumed our seats. The ever-present waiters wasted no time asking us for our orders. Once we were alone again, my uncle fixed a glare on me. It would seem I wasn’t going to be let off the hook so easily.

  “I was looking for you earlier, Cleo, because I wanted to ask you where you’ve been all day.” The hard line of his jaw was a sign of his determination to get an answer.

  I doubted claiming I was at the museum would suffice. Like Flossy, he didn’t believe a woman would spend day after day wandering around museums and libraries. One of these days I wanted to prove them both wrong, but not today.

  I was at an utter loss to explain my whereabouts, however. Tell the truth and I’d be in trouble twice over—for spending the day with Harry and for conducting a murder investigation. But no believable lies presented themselves either. My mind had gone utterly blank.

  “Well?” he barked.

  “Cleo was shopping with me,” Flossy said quickly. “We got measured at the dressmaker’s and looked for gloves and hats, but I didn’t find anything I liked.”

  “You shopped all day?” he asked.

  “We stopped at a teashop on Bond Street in the afternoon and lost track of time.”

  “What did you buy?”

  “Nothing, in the end. But it was an enjoyable day out, nevertheless.”

  “Did you go with them, Lilian?”

  “I had a headache,” my aunt said without looking up from the table.

  Uncle Ronald’s frown deepened. “The girls need a chaperone.”

  “Cleo is my chaperone,” Flossy said. “She doesn’t need one at her age.”

  “Doesn’t she?” he bit off. “I beg to differ.”

  My uncle needed to be distracted from this line of questioning before he gave a directive I wouldn’t like. The best way to distract him was to get him talking about something that would make him forget about me. Once I realized that, the rest was easy.

  “Can you show me the architect’s plans for the restaurant after dinner, Uncle?”

  If he thought the sudden change of topic jarring, he gave no indication. He eagerly agreed then dove into a discussion about the restaurant with enthusiasm. His entire demeanor changed and he was happy to answer our questions. Everyone joined in, even my aunt and Flossy. I doubted they were as interested as they made out, but it was as if they’d decided to rally around me by presenting a united force. Uncle Ronald seemed entirely oblivious to it.

  The rest of the evening went smoothly enough, but no one felt like lingering at the dinner table once we’d finished our three courses. As promised, I went with my uncle to his office to look over the plans. Floyd came too, and I shot him a grateful smile when he said he was interested. The
last thing I wanted was to be alone with Uncle Ronald. At least Floyd could help deflect him from making any rash decisions, like demanding I be chaperoned whenever I left the hotel.

  After a suitable amount of time looking over the plans, I yawned and announced I was ready to retire. Floyd walked me out, but we only got as far as his suite. His friend Jonathon leaned against the wall near the door, his legs crossed at the ankles. He straightened upon seeing us.

  “Good evening, Miss Fox.” He removed his hat and bowed. His blond hair flopped over his forehead and he flipped it back with a toss of his head as he straightened. I wondered if he knew how boyish the movement made him look. He probably wouldn’t like hearing that. Most young men didn’t like to be told they seemed younger than they are.

  “Don’t I get a greeting too?” Floyd asked.

  Jonathon bowed to his friend, flourishing his hat in an elaborate sweep. When he straightened, he leaned conspiratorially towards me. “Your cousin is the jealous type.”

  Floyd rolled his eyes. “Pay him no heed, Cleo. Jonathon is a scoundrel.”

  “I am not! Well, not anymore. I’ve changed my ways.”

  Floyd snorted.

  Jonathon winced. “I plan to change my ways. All I need is the love of a good woman to help me.”

  “You’ll always be a scoundrel, my friend.”

  Jonathon winced again, but this time there was no theatrics or grand statements accompanying it. I suspected he was genuinely hurt by Floyd’s comment.

  I had seen Jonathon regularly at the hotel in recent weeks. He was Floyd’s closest friend. When they weren’t playing cards in Floyd’s suite, they were attending parties or their club. They moved in illustrious circles, so Flossy told me. Illustrious and fast.

  I’d thought him too forward when I first met him, but I quite liked him now that he’d stopped trying to impress me. His good looks were only enhanced by the small scar on his cheek. It gave him a ruggedness, which I sometimes wondered if he knew. He certainly knew he was handsome. Like most handsome men, Jonathon was confident in his appeal to women, and that gave him a general air of confidence in every aspect of life. Harry was the same.

  “Are you two going out tonight?” I asked, careful to keep my voice low.

  “We are,” Floyd said. He offered no more information and I didn’t inquire further. It was best if I didn’t know; I wouldn’t have to lie if asked.

  Jonathon cleared his throat. “I thought we should stay at the hotel for a while. We could play cards, just the three of us, and Flossy too, of course.”

  Floyd’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he regarded his friend. Then his gaze slid to me.

  “Actually I’m very tired,” I said. “Another time, perhaps.”

  Jonathon’s face fell for a moment before he bowed again. “Another time. Goodnight, Miss Fox.”

  Although I wanted to walk quickly back to my suite, I maintained a steady pace. When I reached my door, I glanced back. They were both gone.

  I left the hotel early the following morning to avoid my relatives. I headed to Harry’s office. Although we hadn’t agreed to meet there, it was the most logical place.

  I called in at the café first and ordered two cups of coffee to take up. Luigi was quite busy serving coffees to five customers, all of them Italians who seemed to know one another. The two regular customers were there, stuck to their stools. Did they go home at night or sleep where they sat?

  Luigi informed me that Harry already had a coffee so he gave me only one cup. I took it up the stairs to the office, not bothering to knock.

  Harry sat in the chair, the fingers of both hands holding the coffee cup. He didn’t appear to be doing anything, just thinking. I sat on the chair opposite.

  “Good morning,” I began. “Have you had any more thoughts about Drummond?”

  He sat forward and set the cup down, his movements careful, deliberate. He looked up through his lashes at me with the same measured effort. “What happened last night?”

  “The telephone line went dead.” I didn’t want to tell him about my uncle looking for me to interrogate me. Harry might feel the need to end our friendship to make life easier for me at the hotel. I didn’t want to end it.

  The arched look he gave me was filled with skepticism. “I heard your name being said in the distance. It sounded like Sir Ronald.”

  “You must have been mistaken.”

  “Cleo—”

  “Can we discuss the investigation? The more I think about Mr. Drummond, the more I’m certain he must be the killer. He either colluded with Mr. Warrington or took matters into his own hands. Either way, love makes people do things they usually wouldn’t, particularly when backed into a corner.”

  Harry heaved a sigh. “And Warrington was backed into a corner. He couldn’t go ahead with the divorce or his wife would tell the newspapers about his proclivities.”

  “And he didn’t want to raise another man’s child as his own,” I finished. “So the question is, how do we prove it?”

  “Speak to him.”

  “Speak to them both,” I said.

  A knock sounded on the door and Harry invited the newcomer inside. To our utter surprise, it was Mr. Drummond himself. He removed his hat and nodded at each of us as his hands worried the hat brim.

  Harry invited him to sit. As he did, Harry indicated that I should join him on the other side of the desk. Perhaps he did it as a safety measure, to keep me out of reach of a potential murderer. I did it because of the symbolism. On the visitor’s side of the desk, it looked as though I were a guest too. Standing on the same side of the desk as Harry, it signaled that I was as much involved in the investigation as he was.

  Harry gave up his chair for me. Instead of dragging around one of the guest chairs, he stood at my side.

  “How can we help you?” he asked.

  Mr. Drummond continued to fidget with his hat, now in his lap. “I came to find out how far away you are from catching the killer.”

  “I’ll be making a report to Mr. Warrington when the time comes,” Harry said.

  Mr. Drummond licked his lips and drew in a deep breath. “The thing is, I’m worried about him. While the killer is still out there, he’s in danger.” If he was lying, it was very convincing.

  “Has something happened?” I asked.

  “Someone followed us last night. We were on our way out and it was dark. We changed our minds and decided to stay in instead. But we can’t go on like this.”

  “Did you see the person?” Harry asked.

  “No.”

  “Then why do you think you were followed?”

  “Oh, I thought you were asking if I saw them personally. I didn’t, but Warrington did. He thinks it was a woman. In fact, he’s sure of it.”

  I wanted to exchange glances with Harry but kept my gaze forward. Harry remained silent, and I was sure he was thinking the same as me. To get answers, one had to ask the right questions. It was time to ask Mr. Drummond for the truth.

  “Are you sure Mr. Warrington saw a woman following you?” I asked. “Or did he make that up, just like he made up the stabbing in the lane?”

  Mr. Drummond’s mouth dropped open. “What the devil? That’s a serious accusation, Miss Fox.” He appealed to Harry, but received no support from that quarter.

  Harry opened the wall safe behind the Tower Bridge sketch and removed the glass plate negatives I’d stolen from Mr. Drummond. “We believe you might like these back.”

  Mr. Drummond grasped at them and hugged them to his chest. He lowered his gaze to the desk and swallowed hard.

  “Let us tell you what we know,” Harry said. “We know that you and Warrington are lovers.”

  Mr. Drummond looked up, his face crimson. “It…it’s not him in these negatives! It’s someone else.”

  “We know it’s both of you.”

  “But you can only see my face, not his.”

  I tilted my head to the side. “Mr. Drummond, you are at his house all the time. We
’ve seen you together. We can see that you are in love.”

  He adjusted his hold on the negatives. “Please, please, don’t tell anyone. If people knew, it would ruin him. Ruin us both. But he has more to lose than me, with his career.”

  “We will only tell the police if it becomes necessary,” I said, my voice gentle. I felt sorry for him, even though I knew I shouldn’t. He was probably a murderer.

  “You would do anything for him,” Harry pressed.

  Mr. Drummond cleared his throat. “I’ve lied for him, it’s true. Our entire lives are a lie. That’s why I couldn’t leave these in the hands of that snake as he asked me to do. I had to retrieve them.”

  “The negatives?”

  He nodded. “We argued about it. When he told me he’d learned that the photographer sells copies of these sorts of images to purveyors of pornographic material, I knew I had to get them back. Warrington wanted me to leave well enough alone, telling me there was no point and that it would cost a fortune. I told him I had to get them back. I had to. It’s fine for him. His face isn’t visible. Mine is. One look at these and the entire world will know. I might not be a member of parliament, but I have a family. It would destroy my parents and siblings, and I’d probably lose my position as permanent secretary. Anyway, I can’t bear to think of others looking at them.” He managed to lift his gaze to meet mine, but I got the feeling he was forcing himself to be brave and face me. “What do these negatives have to do with your accusation?”

  “It proves that you love him and will go to great lengths to please him, even if that means doing something that goes against your better judgement.” I nodded at the negatives. “Posing for those, for one thing, and going along with the story about the stabbing in the lane.”

  “Bertie was stabbed. I’ve seen the injury myself.”

  “It’s easy enough to stab your own hand,” Harry pointed out. “The wound is superficial.”

  Mr. Drummond’s face drained of color as our accusation sank in. “My god,” he murmured. “You think he faked his injury to make it seem as though he was the intended target that night, not Isobel.”