Murder at the Mayfair Hotel Page 13

  “May I ask why you followed Mr. Duffield into the office of The Evening News?” Mr. Hobart asked.

  “I know my uncle doesn’t want the police to question the guests about the murder, and I felt that directive too limiting, so I decided to follow Mr. Duffield when I saw him leave this morning.”

  His lips twitched. It would seem my attempts at investigation amused him. “If my brother thinks the guests ought to be questioned, he will do it, directive or no directive.”

  “Oh. Well, that is a relief.”

  “But why Mr. Duffield? Why not one of the other guests?”

  “He struck me as suspicious. He wears old clothes yet he stays at a luxury hotel. I found it odd.”

  “Your investigative skills are excellent,” he said. “My brother would be impressed.”

  “Will you inform him of what I told you about Mr. Duffield?”

  “If it becomes relevant, but I don’t see how Mr. Duffield’s tendency to gossip could be linked to Mrs. Warrick’s murder. For now, I will tell only Sir Ronald.”

  “I do think you ought to tell the detective inspector. Let him decide if it’s important enough to question Mr. Duffield about the murder. Perhaps he can find a link between him and Mrs. Warrick. Perhaps she knew him.”

  “Perhaps she did.” He gave me a wan smile. I suspected he was still thinking about informing my uncle of Mr. Duffield’s betrayal, and wasn’t looking forward to it.

  “Would you mind if I told Uncle Ronald about the source of the information for that nasty article?” I asked. “It is my information to pass on, after all. I can’t let you have all the accolades.”

  “I’ll tell him it came from you.”

  I winked and he chuckled at his misunderstanding my intention. “I would be grateful if you informed him. Perhaps he won’t be so eager to berate the messenger if the message is delivered by his favorite niece.”

  “Considering I’m his only niece, there is no contest. Does he have a temper?”

  He hesitated and was saved from answering by the arrival of Mrs. Kettering.

  I headed upstairs and knocked on my uncle’s office door. He bade me to enter, but did not look up from his desk. “What is it?” he asked.

  “I wanted to tell you something that I learned about one of the guests,” I said.

  “Cleo! I am sorry, I thought it was Hobart. Please, sit. Would you like some tea?” He pointed at a teapot and cups on a tray on the sideboard next to the decanter.

  He looked harried, his eyes tired. A stack of newspapers made a tower on the corner of his desk. Beside the stack was a folded copy of The Evening News.

  “That would be lovely,” I said. “Don’t get up. I’ll pour.” I was parched after my brisk walks to and from Fleet Street. I handed Uncle Ronald a cup and sat with my own.

  “You look as though you needed that,” he said after I took a large gulp.

  “I’ve been out and about.” I took another sip then put the cup on the desk. “Indeed, that’s why I wanted to talk to you. I paid a visit to the office of The Evening News.”

  “Filthy rag,” he muttered into his cup.

  “It bothered me greatly to learn that they’d published such awful things about the hotel.”

  “So you visited their office and gave them what for?”

  “Not quite. I can’t blame them for writing something that will sell the most copies. The real culprit here is the one who passed on the information about your, er, strident measures to ensure guests come to the ball. I wanted to find out who could have done such a thing.”

  “Since it could only be someone with very particular knowledge.” He was about to take another sip but suddenly lowered the cup to the desk. “Do you mean to tell me you asked them point blank who it was?”

  “Not quite. I watched the office from across the street and my patience was rewarded when Mr. Duffield entered the building.”

  “Duffield! You know him?”

  “He and I dined together the other night. It was…not an entirely pleasant experience.”

  He frowned. “Why would you dine with Duffield?”

  I dismissed his question with a small wave. That produced an even deeper frown, and I suspected my uncle wasn’t used to being dismissed. “I thought Mr. Duffield’s presence at the newspaper office too coincidental, so I waited until he left then went inside and spoke to the editor I’d seen him speak to. He claimed Mr. Duffield passes on gossip about people in his circle in exchange for money.”

  Uncle Ronald’s moustache twitched with the movement of his mouth as he thought. “Thank you for informing me,” he said after a moment.

  “What will you do about it?”

  “Nothing.” He picked up his teacup.

  “Why not?”

  “Duffield is a guest here. I don’t want to embarrass him by confronting him. If it got out, it would affect our reputation.”

  “But what if he provides the newspaper with further gossip about the hotel?”

  He smiled over the rim of the cup. “He won’t have that opportunity again. Not about The Mayfair.”

  Silence was one way of solving the problem, I supposed. Indeed, it was probably the best way for the hotel. Mr. Duffield might not be wealthy, but he did have friends in society who were. I was rather glad I hadn’t confronted Mr. Duffield myself as he left the newspaper’s office.

  “There’s one more thing,” I said. “It’s regarding the murder. Have the police informed you of any developments today?”

  “None.”

  “What about the results of their tests for poison in the items they took away from Mrs. Warrick’s room?”

  He shook his head. “They are keeping the results close to their chest.” He sighed heavily and looked as though he was about to tell me something, but thought better of it.

  “Uncle? Is there something you wish to say? Perhaps if you share it, the burden will lighten.”

  “That’s kind of you, Cleo.” He squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I’m merely concerned that one of the staff may be found guilty after all.”

  “I understand. You don’t want to think that you could have hired a murderer.”

  “We’re like a family here. It would be a betrayal.” He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his jaw. “I’ve never had any trouble from them, so why now?”

  “It could be one of the guests.”

  His gaze snapped to mine. “I don’t want you to worry, Cleo. The Mayfair Hotel is a London icon. It’ll take more than this to shake us.”

  I smiled, although I hadn’t been terribly worried about the hotel’s future until now. He didn’t sound very convincing. “I’m sure the ball will be a sensation.”

  His gaze softened. “Thank you, Cleo.”

  I rose and headed for the door.

  “And Cleo?” I turned around to see my uncle looking small and insignificant beside the stack of newspapers. “I appreciate what you did today in Fleet Street. I know I ought to tell you not to spy, but I find I can’t. You were very brave, and very loyal. Thank you.”

  “I’m glad I could help. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.” I left, feeling pleased with my efforts. Now that he’d seen what I could do, perhaps he’d consider me for a more permanent role within the hotel.

  Flossy wanted to go shopping again, but I declined, claiming tiredness. I had no plans to rest, however. I wanted to think about the investigation so far, and how to proceed. While I’d learned some interesting things about my suspects, I needed to know more, particularly how they were connected to Mrs. Warrick, if at all. I would have liked to discuss it with Harmony, but one of the footmen said the maids had all finished. Some would return later to assist ladies who hadn’t brought their own maid, but he didn’t know if Harmony was one of them.

  I had a good collection of notes beside both Mr. Hookly and Mr. Duffield’s names, but very little against Mr. Armitage. All I knew was that he was adopted as a teen. I considered asking Mr. Hobart about his nephew but discarded the id
ea. It would be too obvious.

  I also considered telling Mr. Armitage about my own parents’ deaths as a way of getting him to open up about becoming an orphan, but discarded that idea just as quickly. Not only would it dredge up my painful memories, it was also a low act to use my misfortune as a tool to encourage him to trust me. I’d rather rummage through his office for clues. His bedchamber might reveal evidence of a more personal nature, but I couldn’t bring myself to break into it. Not only was it also a low act, but I’d have no excuse if I was caught. At least if I was discovered in his office I could claim I was looking for some hotel stationery.

  I ventured downstairs in the hope of seeing Mr. Armitage leave his office. I was rewarded after only a few minutes. But instead of speaking to a guest or staff member as he usually did, he left the hotel altogether.

  After a quick word with Frank and Goliath at the front door, he strode off along Piccadilly. I made up my mind in an instant. Despite having no coat, hat or gloves, I decided to follow. I’d been rewarded with answers when I followed Mr. Duffield; hopefully I’d have equal good fortune by following Mr. Armitage.

  “Miss Fox, you have no coat!” Frank cried as I passed him.

  “It’s not too cold and I won’t be gone long,” I assured him without stopping.

  I kept Mr. Armitage in sight but did not get too close. He walked at a steady, unhurried pace into the chaotic throng of Piccadilly Circus. I dodged pedestrians, carts and conveyances of all shapes and sizes, and despite being almost run down, I managed to spot him heading along Shaftsbury Avenue. If he hadn’t been so tall, I might have lost him altogether.

  From there he entered Dean Street and stopped outside a handsome building. He entered without knocking.

  According to the bronze plaque beside the door, it was St Andrew’s Home and Club for Working Boys, and its patron was a lord. Could Mr. Armitage have lived at this institution when he was younger? Had it given him a roof over his head when he’d needed it most? If so, it could provide me with answers about my suspect.

  I continued on until I reached a lamp post where I waited and watched. The walk had been brisk enough to keep me warm, but now that I’d stopped, the cold seeped through my clothing to my skin. I blew into my hands but it did little to thaw them.

  I had no watch and lost track of the time. Mr. Armitage could have been inside for fifteen minutes or forty-five. I was immeasurably glad when he emerged and walked off in the other direction to me, back the way we’d come. I was also very glad to enter the building. There was no fireplace or heating grate in the hall but at least it was warmer than outside.

  I’d had between fifteen and forty-five minutes to think of something to say, but even so, I found myself hesitating when a vicar greeted me. I hadn’t expected to lie to a man of God. I wasn’t sure I could go through with it.

  “May I help you?” he asked.

  He had a friendly face with small round spectacles that drew attention to his kind eyes. I cringed just thinking about what I was about to do.

  But do it I must. A murder had been committed and Mr. Armitage was a suspect.

  “I couldn’t help but notice Mr. Armitage leave here,” I said.

  “You know Harry?” The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepened with his smile.

  “I work with him at the hotel.”

  “Ah.”

  “Is this where he grew up?”

  The vicar’s eyes shuttered. “You’d have to ask him that.”

  If Mr. Armitage hadn’t lived at the orphanage, wouldn’t the vicar have said as much? It was a flimsy clue to latch onto, but latch on I did.

  “It’s just that he’s very proud and I do so want to donate to the institution that took care of my friend. My very good friend.”

  The vicar’s brows rose. “A donation? Come with me, and we’ll discuss the particulars.”

  He took me through to a large office with a wide desk and filing cabinets lining one wall. The cabinet drawers were labeled with letters of the alphabet. The vicar asked me to take a seat as he cleared away two teacups. Mr. Armitage had probably sat in this very room a few minutes ago and shared a cup of tea with the vicar. I wondered what they’d talked about.

  Somewhere in the building a bell clanged and feet trampled over floorboards.

  The vicar cringed. “My apologies, Miss…”

  “Miss Smith.”

  “My apologies for the noise, Miss Smith. The boys are moving between classes.” He extended his hand. “The Reverend Collin Belfour, at your service. I’m the vicar at St Andrew’s, and I work here most days to give the boys an ecclesiastical education. Teachers give them a more practical one, arming them with the skills they’ll need in service or industry.”

  “That’s very commendable.”

  He sat and I took the moment to quickly scan the contents of his desk to glean a clue as to what he and Mr. Armitage had been discussing. The desk was neat with a Bible opened to the book of Genesis. Beside it was a page of written notes. Beside that was a small pouch. The vicar picked up the pouch and dropped it into the top drawer of his desk. Coins jangled.

  “Tell me about the donation,” the vicar said.

  “Mr. Armitage recently did a good turn for some of the staff at the hotel and we want to thank him. He’s too proud to accept money, so we thought we could make a donation to a charity close to his heart. What could be closer than the orphanage that took care of him?”

  The vicar clasped his hands and rubbed his thumbs together, frowning. Clearly he wanted the donation, but he didn’t want to break a confidence. “A donation would be very welcome,” he said. “Would you like to look around and see the good work we do here?”

  “Only if Mr. Armitage was here as a boy.”

  “Have you considered asking him?”

  “You know how proud he is. He doesn’t like talking about his past.”

  He chewed on the inside of his lip.

  “Perhaps if you left the room for several minutes, I could look through the cabinet drawer labeled A, and if I happened to find Mr. Armitage’s details, I could discover what I need to know. You wouldn’t be breaking any rules yourself.”

  “Miss Smith! I am shocked!”

  I stumbled through an apology and rose quickly. My face heated beneath his scowl as I backed towards the door. “I feel awful for misreading the situation,” I said. I truly did feel awful, but I wasn’t sorry for making the suggestion. It had to be done while there was a slim chance that it would work.

  I almost ran out of the office, however, unable to face the vicar’s scowl.

  “I’ll still welcome your donation,” he called out when I reached the front door.

  I fled into the street only to find it was raining. With no umbrella or coat, I got thoroughly wet as I hurried back to the hotel.

  Frank gasped when he saw me. “Miss Fox! You’re half drowned.”

  “It’s just a little water.”

  “You really should have taken an umbrella.”

  “Thank you,” I said wryly. “I’ll do so next time.”

  He signaled to Goliath. The porter hurried over, frowning at me. “You went out without a coat?” He clicked his tongue.

  I gave them both tight smiles. “Yes, I went out without a coat and umbrella.”

  “And gloves,” Frank said.

  “And hat,” Goliath added.

  I glared at them. I wasn’t in the mood for their scowls and lectures. I just wanted to get inside and dry off.

  “You should have a nice warm bath,” Frank said as I passed him. “Have one of the footmen bring up a cup of tea for you from the kitchen while it’s filling. There’s nothing quite as soothing as drinking tea while soaking in a warm bath.”

  Goliath screwed his face up. “When’ve you done that? Our bathrooms are communal in the men’s staff quarters,” he told me. “No one’s going to bring this idiot a cup of tea while he takes a bath.”

  Frank bristled. I thought it was because Goliath called him an i
diot, but it turned out he was offended for other reasons. “I’ve worked places other than here. Places where I can sneak off for a long bath when the master and mistress aren’t home.”

  I headed inside before I froze to death. I planned to race up the stairs before anyone saw me, but unfortunately I had to pass Mr. Armitage and he missed nothing.

  He eyed me up and down.

  “I left in a hurry and the rain caught me unawares,” I said before he could lecture me too. “If you’ll excuse me, I don’t want to drip on the floor any more than necessary.”

  “I’m on my way to the kitchen now. Shall I send up a cup of tea and cake?”

  I blinked at him. I’d expected censure or mocking not kindness. “Thank you, that’s very thoughtful.”

  “And a maid to fix your hair.” He walked off.

  Well! I must look bedraggled and my hair frightful, but there was no need to point it out. Just when I began to like Mr. Armitage again, he did or said something to remind me why that was a mistake.

  I spent my bath time thinking about the filing cabinets in the vicar’s office at the orphanage. While I was quite sure Mr. Armitage had lived there as a youth, I wanted to know more. What had he been like? Had he shown a tendency for violence? It might point to signs of guilt if he had. All of that information would be kept in his file, and that would be kept in the cabinet. The only way I could read it was to sneak in.

  Harmony helped fix my hair after my bath. She asked me how the investigation was going but I gave her little information. “It’s too early to know,” I told her. “I do need some help, however. I need to unlock a locked door without a key. Do you know how?”

  She regarded me, one hand on hip. “I’m not a burglar, Miss Fox.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting that you were.” I sighed. “I’m sorry, Harmony. I can see how you misconstrued my meaning.”

  She lowered her hand and continued to pin my hair in place. “Ask Victor.”