Murder in the Drawing Room

by C. J. Archer

  International visitors were also increasing, eager to rub shoulders with titled noblemen. American heiresses and wealthy widows in particular were checking into the hotel every day. According to my cousin Floyd, some would stay for three or four months before returning home, hopefully just for a fleeting visit to pack up their belongings and return to England to marry the impoverished lord they’d snared. That was how Floyd described it, with a heavy dose of sarcasm in his voice.

  One of those Americans was now complaining in a loud voice to Peter. He’d been recently promoted from the front desk to the position of assistant manager and was still learning everything required of him. Peter was usually very good at placating annoyed guests, but from the way the woman’s pitch rose with every word, he was having no luck this time.

  “I want to speak to the owner!” she snapped. “If not him, then that Hobart fellow, the manager. I assume he still works here?”

  “He does, madam,” Peter said. “But I’m afraid Mr. Hobart and Sir Ronald are in a meeting.”

  “Then get them out of the meeting.”

  The young woman next to her said something to the older woman only to receive a scold for her efforts. The young woman shrank away, quite a feat considering she was taller than every woman in the foyer. They were clearly mother and daughter, going by the similarity in their appearances. Both were tall with sunken chins and narrow faces. But they sported quite different styles. The mother wore a bold moss-green gown, a pearl necklace, large emerald ring, and almost an entire spring garden of silk flowers and leaves on her wide-brimmed hat. Her daughter wore no jewels whatsoever and her outfit of off-white lace would have cost a great deal, but it was demure with its high collar. She also wore a simpler hat with just a large bow at the front and not a flower in sight.

  “Well?” the woman demanded. “Off you go. Fetch your superior. I want to speak to someone with authority.”

  Peter glanced around the foyer, his gaze desperate. Flossy and Aunt Lilian were nowhere to be seen. The lift must have been waiting on the ground floor and already taken them up to the fourth floor to their rooms. It was up to me to rescue poor Peter.

  Chapter 2

  With a look of relief, he introduced me to Mrs. and Miss Hessing from New York. Miss Hessing gave me a shy smile, but Mrs. Hessing looked me up and down, a deep vertical crevice forming between her brows.

  “The niece, you say?” She grunted. “You’re a little young to have any influence. Where is your uncle? I want to speak to Sir Ronald about our appalling treatment.”

  “Mrs. Hessing usually has one of the large suites on the fourth floor,” Peter said quickly. “But none become available until tomorrow. They will be accommodated in smaller rooms until then when we’ll move everything over as soon as possible.”

  “My secretary made the reservation weeks ago! Why wasn’t I told then?”

  “Our records show a letter was sent, explaining the situation. Perhaps your secretary failed to pass it on.”

  Mrs. Hessing pulled herself up to her considerable height. “This is my third year at the Mayfair and we plan to stay for ten weeks this time. Surely we have a right to expect the best treatment. Or has the Mayfair lost some of its shine?” She settled her stance and regarded Peter critically. “It wouldn’t surprise me, since Mr. Armitage no longer works here. He was always so accommodating, so welcoming. He was one of our favorites, was he not, Joan?”

  Miss Hessing muttered something under her breath and, rather astonishingly, blushed.

  “We’ll miss seeing his lovely smile as he greeted us of a morning.” Mrs. Hessing sighed. “Which hotel does he work for now?”

  “He left the hotel business altogether,” I said. “I assure you, Mr. Armitage couldn’t have accommodated you on the fourth floor tonight either.” Aware of the curtness of my tone, I forced myself to smile and my voice to soften. “I know nothing can make up for the inconvenience of staying in an inferior room tonight, but if you have no other plans, perhaps you could join the Bainbridge family at dinner this evening. We would greatly enjoy your company. It will give us an opportunity to tell you all about our new restaurant. We like to inform our favorite guests of exciting developments and even ask the most discerning for their opinion. I can see you are a lady of style. Your advice on décor would be greatly appreciated.”

  Mrs. Hessing’s frostiness melted into a smile that attempted to be self-deprecating but failed when she said, “My friends do say I have a unique sense of style.”

  Beside her, Miss Hessing drew in a rallying breath.

  “I suppose we will make do for one night.” Mrs. Hessing turned to Peter. “See that our things are moved while we’re out tomorrow morning. We leave at ten-fifteen sharp.”

  Peter assured her and even gave a little bow before mother and daughter strode towards the lift.

  “Are all the American guests like her?” I asked.

  Peter blew out a breath. “Most are very nice, generous too. Mrs. Hessing is rather a unique individual.”

  “As is her style, so her friends—and that hat—say.”

  Peter chuckled. “They come every year since Miss Hessing came of age. She’s searching for a titled English husband. The moment she catches one, they’ll no longer need a hotel. They’ll stay at his estate, I suspect.”

  “I wonder if Mrs. Hessing will live with them or return to New York.”

  “If she plans to live here too, maybe that’s why Miss Hessing hasn’t secured a husband yet.”

  I laughed. “You are wicked sometimes, Peter.”

  He watched the lift door open and Floyd step out with his friend, Jonathon. “The daughter seems pleasant enough, although it’s hard to tell. She fades away beside her mother.”

  Floyd greeted the Hessings and introduced Jonathon. The lift operator held the door open while they exchanged pleasantries then the men walked off. Mrs. Hessing rapped her knuckles on her daughter’s arm and said something to her. They watched the men for a few moments more then stepped into the lift.

  I was about to leave too, but hesitated. “Did you notice Miss Hessing blush when Mr. Armitage’s name was mentioned. Why do you think that is?”

  “He probably paid her more attention than she’s ever had from a man before. He was good like that, always making sure he spoke to the quiet ones as much as the loud. It made them feel special. I’ve got to remember to do that.”

  He spoke in the past tense, as if Harry Armitage no longer charmed women. I knew first-hand that he still did. Not because he employed that charm on me. Quite the opposite. I seemed to bring out the ill-tempered side of him. Rather, I’d seen him gather information from reluctant or shy female suspects. He had a way of making them feel as though they mattered.

  I nodded a greeting at my cousin and his friend, expecting them to bypass us and head for the front door. Floyd started in that direction but had to divert his course when Jonathon approached me.

  Peter melted away before I could ask him if he knew my uncle’s plans for the evening. Now that I’d invited the Hessings to dine with us, I didn’t want to be left alone with them with only Flossy to assist me. My aunt wouldn’t feel up to joining us and Floyd wouldn’t be in if his father was not.

  “Good morning, Cleo,” Jonathon said, all smiles. He had the careless good looks of an idle youth with too much money and not enough responsibility. He’d gone to Oxford with Floyd, but he seemed to have no occupation and no cares. I suspected he would inherit wealth one day without having to lift a finger.

  Floyd, however, had to work for the hotel, although he spent a great deal of his time out with his friends. My uncle grumbled and berated him for being lazy, but didn’t give him more to do.

  “It’s afternoon, actually,” I said. “Have you two just risen?” Sometimes Jonathon stayed overnight, sleeping on the sofa in Floyd’s room. Sometimes they didn’t come home at all until dawn. The night porter was given strict instructions not to breathe a word to Uncle Ronald on those occasions.

&nbs
p; “We’ve been up for hours,” Floyd said with a wink. “Now we’re going out for lunch.”

  “Want to join us?” Jonathon asked.

  Floyd gave his friend a curious look, but Jonathon didn’t seem to notice. He smiled back at me, his blue eyes twinkling. With his blond hair flopping over his forehead, he would have passed for a sweet youth, but the small scar on his cheek added a measure of ruggedness that enhanced his good looks. I suspected the women loved the effect.

  Not me, however. At least, not to the extent that I wanted to accept his lunch invitation. I didn’t want to give Jonathon a reason to expect more than conversation and a friendly smile from me.

  “Not today,” I said and turned to Floyd. “Is Uncle Ronald dining in the hotel tonight?”

  “He is. Why?”

  “Mrs. Hessing was upset that her usual room wasn’t available until tomorrow. To appease her, I asked her to join us for dinner. Will you be there too?”

  Jonathon hooted a laugh. “Of course he will be. But you’d better watch out, my friend. That Hessing woman has her eye on you. If you’re not careful, you’ll find yourself married by the time she leaves England.”

  “Me? Ha!” Floyd clapped his friend on the shoulder. “You’re the one the mother covets for her daughter.”

  “The daughter? No, I meant the mother.”

  Floyd rolled his eyes. “Very amusing. But I wouldn’t be so confident of escaping her clutches if I were you.” He gave his friend a smug smile. “I’m not in line to inherit a title. You are, and that makes you far more attractive.”

  “True.” Jonathon jerked his head, flicking his hair out of his eyes. “Does that make you want to join us for lunch, Cleo?”

  A bubble of laughter rose up. “No.”

  He sighed theatrically. “So you’re condemning me to an afternoon of dull conversation with this lout. That’s cruel.”

  Floyd shoved his hand in his jacket pocket. “If you’re finished flirting with my cousin, I’d like to join the others before they order without us.”

  Jonathon grinned at me before slapping his hat on his head and following Floyd out of the hotel.

  I smiled all the way up the stairs until I reached Uncle Ronald’s office. I could have sent one of the hotel footmen to deliver a message, but it had been some time since I’d been alone with my uncle and it was probably about time that I talked to him. If nothing else, it would break the ice that had formed after he’d warned me to stay away from Harry Armitage. Uncle Ronald had taken a firm dislike to Harry after he’d learned about his criminal record. It didn’t matter that Harry had been a child living on the street at the time. In my uncle’s book, Harry was not to be trusted as assistant manager or as a friend to his niece. He’d been fired from his position and warned to stay away from both me and the hotel.

  Harry obliged. I did not. Since my uncle paid me a generous allowance each month, I agreed to attend family outings and gave my opinion on his plans for the hotel when asked, but I would not allow him to choose my friends for me.

  Fortunately, he seemed to want to forget about our argument once he’d calmed down. While I knew the issue simmered below the surface, ready to boil over at the first sign of provocation, it was better for everyone that we moved on as quickly as possible. My uncle was a stubborn, proud man, so it suited his nature to pretend the argument never happened. I also suspected I was the first person in the family to stand up to him and he wasn’t quite sure what to do about it.

  I sat in his office and waited while he finished what he was doing. Uncle Ronald gave the papers spread out before him his full attention. He may be the descendent of nobility, but perching on a minor branch of the family tree meant he’d not inherited a title. He had inherited a London mansion, however. Armed with a strong work ethic and his wife’s fortune, he’d turned that mansion into a luxury Hotel. I couldn’t help but admire his business acumen.

  When he finally slotted his pen into the stand, he sat back and placed his clasped hands over his stomach. He gave me his full attention, as if I were as important as his paperwork. That put me quite high up in his estimation.

  “Did you enjoy your morning at the dressmaker’s?” he asked.

  “It was very pleasant, thank you.”

  “How many new gowns have you ordered?”

  Was he asking because he was worried about the cost? It was difficult to tell. “Only the number Aunt Lilian thought best.”

  He twiddled his thumbs. “A very diplomatic answer. I’m sure Lilian ordered you as many as she did for Florence. We both want our niece to look her best this season, after all.”

  I thanked him for his generosity which softened his features.

  “You and Florence will be very popular at all the parties, I’m sure.” He sat forward and stroked his moustache, pinning me to the seat with his steely stare. “You will be attending quite a number of events, so your aunt tells me. And I’m sure you’ll be…amenable.”

  My heart stilled. “Amenable?”

  He waved his hand. “You’ll dance, of course, and make new friends.”

  So that was the price of his generosity—my cooperation.

  What if I refused the gowns or refused to attend all the parties? Would he get angry and throw me out? The contrarian in me wanted to try it and see. The sensible part of me did not. I liked living at the hotel. I had a comfortable life and friends among the staff. My two cousins treated me like a sister, which was more than I’d ever hoped for. I didn’t want to be thrown out. Not for refusing some beautiful gowns that I wasn’t even paying for. I wasn’t the sort of person who cut off her nose to spite her face.

  “I like to dance,” I assured him. “And I enjoy intelligent conversation. If I can’t find the latter, I’ll resort to the former.” There. It was acquiescence but not a promise to court young men of his choosing.

  “Speaking of friends, I’m glad to see you’ve cut ties with some old ones,” he went on.

  He meant Harry. I kept my features schooled and my mouth shut. I simply met his gaze across the desk.

  He held it for a moment before looking away. He pushed the ink stand a few inches back and cleared his throat. “If you go shopping with Florence, be sure to have the bills sent here. No doubt she’ll take you to the finest shops.”

  My heart lifted. Not because I wanted to go shopping, but by not mentioning my aunt, it meant he expected Flossy and me to go out alone and unchaperoned. While we’d done it in the past, my frequent mysterious absences from the hotel during investigations had raised his ire. He’d even hinted that he would assign one of the hotel maids as my chaperone. Thankfully he’d never followed through with the threat. It was yet another sign that he believed I’d put my acquaintance with Harry behind me.

  Perhaps I had, but not because I wanted to. Harry’s response to the letters I’d sent had been short and formal, without a hint of familiarity. Knowing the predicament I would be in if my uncle discovered we were still friends meant he was reluctant to see me. I could have gone to his office to see him, but I had stayed away. I simply had no reason to go.

  But staying away wasn’t easy.

  “I wanted to let you know that the Hessings from America have arrived,” I said.

  “Ah, the indomitable Mrs. Hessing and her unfortunate daughter.”

  “Unfortunate?”

  “To have an overbearing mother dragging her half way across the world to find a husband she has no hope of catching.”

  “She might have hope,” I said, taking offence on Miss Hessing’s behalf.

  “You haven’t been a part of the social scene here for long so you don’t know what it’s like. If Florence couldn’t find herself a husband after being out for an entire year, what hope does a meek girl like Miss Hessing have when there are a dozen American heiresses also in London? Her lack of character wouldn’t matter if she were a beauty, but unfortunately I’ve heard her compared to a horse by Floyd’s friends.” He shrugged. “Her mother brings her back again and again, attach
ing more and more money to the hook in the hope of catching a duke or, at the very least, a baron. She should have settled for the plain Mister who showed some interest last year. Could have saved herself a fortune.”

  And her poor daughter the humiliation.

  “Her usual room wasn’t available until tomorrow so I invited her to dine with us tonight,” I said. “I hope that’s all right. I couldn’t think of any other way to placate her.”

  His smile began slowly then grew wider and warmer. “It was precisely the right thing to do, Cleo. Thank you.” He spoke softly. “You have a good head for the hotel business. It’s a pity you’re not a man. You’d make an excellent assistant manager.”

  I bit my tongue but it was no use. It wouldn’t remain silent. “You hired a female chef.” There were no women employed as head cooks in any of the exclusive London restaurants, so it had come as a surprise when my uncle hired her. Even though Mrs. Poole’s reputation was exemplary, she’d not been in charge of a kitchen quite as large as the Mayfair’s before.

  “Elizabeth Poole is an exception. She’s the most sought after private chef in all England. She has cooked for princes and dukes. Her cuisine is delicious and the presentation artistic. She teaches cookery classes, writes for cooking journals, and has a reputation second only to Escoffier.” His eyes brightened when he spoke about her many achievements. “She is also not here on a permanent basis, as she likes to remind me. There’s a task for you, Cleo. See if you can convince her to stay on. I don’t want to continue the search for another chef when I have an excellent one already working for me.”

  It seemed to me that Mrs. Poole had quite a lucrative career and didn’t need to work at the Mayfair. “It’s fortunate you two are old friends.”