by C. J. Archer
Ten minutes later, they joined us. Victor repeated the conversation he’d had with the fishmonger, and Mr. Hobart immediately realized the chef was pocketing the ten percent difference.
He opened the filing cabinet drawer and flicked through the files. “He must have altered the copies of the contracts he gave to me.” He pulled out a file and scanned the pages. “This copy definitely stipulates twenty percent.”
Uncle Ronald accepted the file from Mr. Hobart. “It can be easily verified with the suppliers. Get onto it, Hobart. I want you to speak to every single food and beverage supplier and check the actual bulk purchasing discount against these copies. I’ll speak to Chef about the fishmonger.” He clapped Victor on the shoulder. “Good work, lad. You did well.”
“It was Mr. Armitage who realized, sir.”
I could have kissed Victor for mentioning Harry, saving me from doing it.
My uncle’s brow plunged with his scowl. He turned an icy glare onto me. It would seem he suspected I was somehow involved after all. “What’s he got to do with it?”
If I told him I’d been with Harry when we bumped into Victor, I’d be ordered not to leave the hotel without a chaperone in future.
Victor came to my rescue again. “I saw him outside, walking past, and he asked me why I looked troubled. I thought I’d just lost my job, and wasn’t thinking Chef was duplicitous. I hope I didn’t do anything wrong by the hotel.”
Uncle Ronald grunted. “You shouldn’t discuss hotel business with outsiders.”
“He’s hardly an outsider,” I said. “Mr. Armitage cares about the Mayfair.”
“Bah!”
“If this episode doesn’t prove it, what will?”
He had the good grace not to comment further, but a scowl continued to score his forehead. Perhaps I should have left it there, but I could not.
“Perhaps you should consider paying him a fee as a means of thanking him, Uncle. As a private detective—”
“Pay him! I never engaged his services in the first place, why should I pay him anything?”
“Because he did you a good turn. One that will save the hotel money. He didn’t have to point out the discrepancy to Victor, but as a private detective, I imagine he couldn’t let the chef get away with it. Paying him is only fair, and you are nothing if not fair, Uncle.”
I wasn’t sure appealing to his better nature would work, but it seemed coupling that with flattery did the trick. He gave a single nod and turned to Mr. Hobart. “See that your nephew receives a nominal amount.”
“Yes, sir, and thank you, on Harry’s behalf.”
My uncle grunted and jerked open the door. He strode out of the office towards the foyer.
I blew out a breath. “That went well. Thank you, Victor.”
“So, am I still employed?” he asked.
“You are,” Mr. Hobart said. “I suspect we’re going to need as many cooks as we can get. When Chef leaves, he’ll take several with him. I suggest you take the rest of the day off, however, to avoid him. Sir Ronald won’t dismiss him until after dinner.”
“Who’ll take his place?”
“That is a good question. But first things first.” He returned to the filing cabinet and pulled out another file. “I have to speak to the suppliers in person. It’ll take me all day tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow’s Sunday,” I pointed out. “They won’t be at work and nor should you.”
“I’ll be here. There’s too much to do.”
“Your job could be halved if Peter stepped into the role of assistant manager.”
I thought he might dislike my interfering, but he actually smiled. “As a matter of fact, I was going to speak to him today. I was just discussing it with Sir Ronald when we were fetched to come here, and he agreed that Peter should be appointed assistant manager. He’ll have a learning curve, of course, but he proved himself when he suggested one of the day porters move into the role of night porter. He even found a replacement to fill the daytime role.”
“I’m so pleased to hear it.”
“I’m not sure I would have given him due consideration if you hadn’t been so convinced he had it in him, Miss Fox.”
Victor and I left and headed for the staff parlor, collecting Goliath on the way. Frank and Peter remained at their stations, looking like puppies missing out on a treat. I’d hoped to find Harmony there. She sat in the corner, separate from the other maids, drinking tea and reading the latest novel I’d loaned her from the hotel library. The maids all stared at Victor. It would seem the gossip about his argument with the chef had reached them.
Harmony closed the book upon seeing us. “It’s about time. I’ve been worried sick.”
“You don’t have to worry about me,” Victor said as he poured cups of tea.
“Not you; Miss Fox.”
Considering she didn’t know I’d confronted Mr. Warrington at his club, she had no reason to worry about me. I suspected she’d been concerned for Victor, but didn’t like admitting it.
I accepted a teacup from him. “You don’t have to worry about me, either. Mr. Warrington has been arrested for the murder.”
“Blimey,” Goliath blurted out. “So you won’t be earning your fee, Miss Fox?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Victor perched on the edge of the table, cradling his cup of tea in both hands. Harmony watched him from beneath lowered lids. I suspected she was desperate to ask him questions about his argument with Chef, but didn’t want to appear too interested.
I remained silent, concentrating on my tea. Victor did too, looking as though he didn’t have a care in the world. His carefree manner was in stark contrast to Harmony’s fidgeting. She couldn’t sit still, and her thumb stroked the teacup handle as if trying to scrub off a speck.
In the end, it was Goliath who broke the silence. “Why is everyone looking at Vic?”
“Ain’t you ‘eard?” one of the other maids asked. “Chef dismissed him.”
“Bloody hell,” Goliath muttered. “What’d you do?”
Victor merely shrugged. “Told him his Hollandaise sauce is too runny.”
Goliath and the maids stared at him, speechless. Harmony, however, didn’t believe him. She arched her brows at me, requesting the truth. I merely shrugged. My uncle wouldn’t want the staff knowing he’d been cheated by the chef, and I would respect his wish for discretion.
I finished my tea then returned to my room to put my feet up and read a book until dinner. I planned to eat in my room alone, but a message from my aunt arrived, requesting my presence along with Flossy’s in her suite.
Despite the informality, I knew my aunt would expect me to wear something moderately elegant, so I changed into an evening dress of black silk with gray diamonds embroidered on the sleeves and a panel of chiffon covering my decolletage. She greeted me in her sitting room, taking both my hands in hers, and gave a nod of approval for my choice of outfit.
“You look pretty, Cleo, even when you’re not trying.”
“You flatter me, Aunt, but Flossy is the true beauty in this room.” My cousin did look lovely in violet velvet with buttercup yellow swirls embroidered across the bodice and hem. Unlike me, she dressed as formally as she would if we were dining with guests in the restaurant.
We ordered our meals through the brass speaking tube which ran all the way to the kitchen. At the other end, a junior cook would write our order down and pass it on to the chef and his cooks. Tomorrow, the kitchen would be in chaos without its leader, but tonight, all would be as it had been, and we could be assured our meals would arrive in a timely manner.
Aunt Lilian had made sure to sit beside me on the sofa, and she now took my hand in her trembling one. She regarded me through bloodshot eyes. “Cleo, what did you say to Edward Caldicott during dinner on Wednesday night?”
I glanced at Flossy but she was no help. She looked as confused as me. “I don’t recall. Why?”
“He’s leaving on his Grand Tour after all.”
&nbs
p; “Good for him. I’m glad he decided not to abandon his travel plans.”
Her fingers tightened around mine. “He was all set not to go when he thought—” She cut herself off and nibbled her lower lip.
“When he thought what?” When she tried to let go of my hand, I placed my other one over hers, trapping it. “When he thought I was interested in him? Considering I never gave him any reason to hope, he should not have altered his plans.”
“You seemed to enjoy his company.”
“I do, on occasion. But it’s a great leap from enjoying a man’s company to hoping there could be something more than friendship.”
“Is it?” She turned to face me fully, taking a few moments to gather her thoughts. I allowed her the time, even though I didn’t want to hear what she had to say. I knew I wouldn’t like it. “Cleo, Edward is a fine young man with prospects. He comes from a good family and is even quite handsome. There is no gossip about him, nasty or otherwise, and nobody can think of a reason not to like him.”
It was the blandest endorsement any fellow had ever received, and I almost laughed. I refrained, however, not wanting to disrespect my aunt. When she wasn’t under the influence of her tonic, her mind became addled.
“He is a fine man,” I agreed. “But it would be cruel to give him hope that we could be more than friends.”
She clicked her tongue and withdrew her hand. “I know you say you won’t marry, but that’s because you haven’t seen enough of the world. You don’t know how it is for spinsters. While you’re young and pretty, the world is a wonderful place. But as you age and your friends marry, they move on. Life will become terribly lonely if you don’t have a husband and children to share it with.”
“Except heiresses,” Flossy said. “Everyone wants to be friends with an heiress. They don’t have to marry if they don’t wish to.”
“Cleo is not an heiress.”
Her words dropped like bombs, followed by a silence so dense it rang in my ears. My aunt and cousin knew that I should have been an heiress, if my grandparents hadn’t excluded my mother from their will.
“Nor do I wish to be,” I said cheerfully. “I wouldn’t want people to be my friend simply because I was wealthy. Now, who would like to play cards while we wait for dinner?”
After attending church with my aunt and cousin the following morning, I was stopped by Mr. Hobart in the foyer. He waited for Flossy and Aunt Lilian to be out of earshot before he pressed an envelope into my hand.
“I meant to take this home with me last night and give it to Harry at dinner but forgot,” he said. “It’s Sir Ronald’s payment. Would you mind taking it to him this afternoon? I’m too busy. He said he’ll be going into his office after lunch.”
I was about to tell him Harry didn’t want to see me anymore, but changed my mind. Just because Harry was worried about what my uncle would do didn’t mean I had to give in too. I was concerned, of course, but I was also determined to maintain our friendship. We would simply have to careful never to be seen together.
I ate sandwiches with my family in my aunt and uncle’s suite. It was not our usual Sunday lunch affair, but the chef had been dismissed after last night’s shift so only a little more than half of the cooks had come in this morning. The dining room was closed to encourage guests to eat a light luncheon in their rooms or dine elsewhere. My uncle assured us the remaining cooks could be relied upon to make sure dinner was up to the usual standards of the Mayfair, but from the worried look on Floyd’s face, I had doubts.
I made my excuses after lunch and retired to my room where I waited a suitable period of time before sneaking out. The foyer was quiet, but I couldn’t avoid the staff on duty. I ordered Goliath and Frank not to tell my family I’d gone out if asked, then hurried off towards Soho.
Harry was in his office, reading correspondence. His coat, jacket and hat hung on the coat stand by the door, and his tie was a little crooked. I resisted the urge to straighten it.
His gaze narrowed upon seeing me. “I thought I made it clear you weren’t to come here again.”
“You did, and I chose to ignore you.”
“That’s not wise.”
“Wisdom has nothing to do with it.” I sat and withdrew the envelope of money from my bag. “My uncle is being unreasonable, so I’ve decided to do as I please. I’ll be discreet, of course. It’s in no one’s best interests to antagonize him.” I slid the envelope across the desk towards him.
“Because you’ll lose your allowance,” he said flatly. “Why is Sir Ronald paying you an allowance anyway? What happened to your mother’s inheritance?” The moment it was said, he regretted it. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me. It’s none of my business. It seems I’ve grown used to interrogating suspects and forgot who you were.”
“It’s all right. I don’t mind telling you.” To my surprise, it was the truth. I wanted him to know. “There was no inheritance. My maternal grandparents didn’t like my mother’s choice of husband so they cut her off. Aunt Lilian inherited their entire fortune. When I came to live here, I learned that my uncle had been paying me a small allowance ever since my parents died.”
Harry rubbed his finger over his lower lip as he regarded me, his gaze assessing. Or, rather, reassessing. My admission had just challenged every assumption he’d made about me.
My pride wouldn’t allow me to tell him that my paternal grandparents had refused to accept more and that without the little we had received, we would have been destitute. I couldn’t bring myself to tell Harry, or anyone, that everything I owned was thanks to my uncle’s generosity. But I could see from the pity in his eyes that he knew.
I stood abruptly and indicated the envelope. “That’s your fee for discovering the chef’s deception.”
He blinked slowly. “Fee?”
“I should go.”
He beat me to the door, yet again. I ought to learn to quicken my pace when leaving his office. “Cleo, wait.”
I looked up at him and fell into the dark pools of his eyes. “Yes?” I murmured.
“I…” He cleared his throat and shifted his focus to a point on the wall above my head. “I told my father how the photographer, Sharp, has been illegally selling pornographic photographs without obtaining the consent of the customer. He said he’d look into it and have the studio shut down if there’s enough proof.”
I blew out a measured breath and clutched my bag tightly in both hands. “Good.”
He dragged his hand through his hair and over the back of his neck. I wasn’t sure if he had more to say, so I waited. He rested his hand on the doorknob but didn’t open the door.
“Cleo…”
“Yes?”
“Goodbye.”
“No, Harry, it’s not goodbye. How can it be when we’re partners?”
His features relaxed into a smile. My heart warmed to see it. “Partners? Last time I checked, your name wasn’t on the door.”
“Give it time.” I glanced pointedly at the doorknob.
He opened the door and I left. “Don’t come knocking on my door anymore,” he called after me. “I won’t let you in.”
I glanced over my shoulder to see him leaning a shoulder against the doorframe, his head almost skimming the top. His lips tilted with his crooked smile. He looked more handsome in that casual pose, dressed in his shirt and waistcoat, than any man had a right to be.
“I always just walk in anyway.”
He laughed lightly. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Thank you. You’re quite unbelievable yourself.”
* * *
Available 7th June 2022 :
MURDER AT THE DRESSMAKER’S SALON
The 4th Cleopatra Fox Mystery
Read on for an excerpt of MURDER AT THE DRESSMAKER’S SALON
Excerpt of Murder at the Dressmaker’s Salon
About MURDER AT THE DRESSMAKER’S SALON
As fashion designer to London’s elite, she had an eye for detail and a flare for the dramatic. But there�
�s nothing stylish about her cold-blooded murder.
With the social season just around the corner, the women in Cleo’s family are having new outfits made by the most sought-after designer in the city. Madame Poitiers is bold, self-absorbed and very much not French, despite her claims.
When Cleo stumbles on her dead body in the salon, she is in a unique position to gather clues and speak to witnesses. But she doesn’t expect to find Harry Armitage’s business card in Madame’s possession. What is the alluring private detective’s connection to the victim? And why is he avoiding Cleo?
As she peeks behind the veil of lies, Cleo uncovers the secrets Madame Poitiers tried to hide. But which secret led to her murder? And which one of the suspects turned the fashion icon into a fashion victim?
CHAPTER 1
Flossy flitted around Maison de Poitiers like a butterfly in a cottage garden, her attention seized by one delicate fabric or gown after another. The smile hadn’t left her face since we entered and she didn’t mind that we had to wait for Madame Poitiers and her assistant to finish serving another customer.
The dressmaker had asked us to take a seat and begged our forgiveness for the delay before turning back to the sour-faced woman who looked displeased that we’d occupied Madame Poitiers’ attention for a moment. Aunt Lilian and I sat on one of the blush-pink velvet sofas and watched Flossy lovingly stroke a pale blue silk muslin dress with roses painted on the skirt and a cloud of chiffon gathered at the bosom.
“Isn’t this one positively beautiful,” Flossy cooed.
The sour-faced woman’s lips pursed harder. She needn’t be so annoyed. Her daughter had the undivided attention of Madame Poitiers’ assistant in the adjoining change room.
“And of course it is the latest fashion in Paris,” Madame Poitiers was telling the woman in a strong French accent. “I return to my home city at every opportunity and meet other designers. We exchange ideas, but of course I keep the best ones to myself.” Madame Poitiers smiled as if she’d made a joke, but the woman didn’t respond. She appeared not to be listening. That didn’t stop Madame Poitiers from prattling on. “I source only the finest fabrics, and employ only the most talented seamstresses and embroiderers. Ah! She is ready. Oh, what a vision!”
