Murder at the Mayfair Hotel Page 14

  I gasped. “Was he a burglar before he became a cook?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know, but he’s a suspicious character.”

  “Tell him to meet me outside the hotel at midnight but don’t let the doorman see him.”

  I dined alone with Flossy at eight. Floyd dined at a club, Uncle Ronald ate at his desk, and Aunt Lilian didn’t want to leave her room. Flossy was pleased to have company and we played cards after dinner until eleven.

  Just before midnight, I donned coat, hat and gloves in my room, and collected an umbrella from the night porter. Frank and Goliath were not on duty, so I was able to slip away and meet Victor without anyone asking where I was going. He waited for me in the shadows, well away from the hotel’s lights.

  “Harmony says you want me to unlock a door for you,” Victor said as we trudged along the pavement. “Want to tell me what building that door belongs to?”

  “A home for boys on Dean Street.”

  “I know it. Why there?”

  “All I can tell you is that it might give us a clue about one of our suspects.”

  Victor hunched into his coat, the collar flipped up to protect his neck from the icy breeze. With his hat pulled low, the light from the streetlamps didn’t reach his face and I couldn’t even make out the scar. Even so, if I’d been walking towards him at this hour alone, I would have crossed the street to avoid him.

  To be fair, he didn’t exude menace. I would have crossed the street to avoid any man if I walked London’s streets alone on a winter’s night. But there was a nefariousness about Victor that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Harmony was right; he was a suspicious character.

  Perhaps it was his affinity for knives. He didn’t wear them on a belt around his waist tonight. He’d changed out of his chef’s whites too. He must have been home and returned to meet me.

  “How long have you worked at The Mayfair?” I asked.

  “Two years.”

  “And where were you before that?”

  “You ask a lot of questions.”

  “I’m hearing that often lately.”

  The collar hid his mouth, but the creases around his eyes drew together as if he smiled. “Be careful, Miss Fox. Some people don’t like it when you ask questions.”

  “Is that a threat, Victor?”

  “A warning. If I were threatening you, you wouldn’t need to ask. You’d just know.”

  “Understood.”

  We passed through Piccadilly Circus, notably quieter compared to that afternoon but not altogether without life. Hackneys and private carriages still drove past, though there were no pedestrians. The shops were closed, the nearby theaters shut for the break between Christmas and New Year, and few people had a reason to be out in mid-winter at midnight.

  The blurred lights of the streetlamps tried valiantly to pierce the descending fog, but it was a hopeless cause. It seemed to thicken with every step we took, and by the time we reached Dean Street, our footsteps echoed in the cold, dense air.

  “Why do you trust me?” Victor suddenly asked. “It’s not usual to walk with a man you hardly know in the middle of the night.”

  “Harmony trusted you enough to recommend you, and I trust Harmony.”

  He made no comment, just kept up the pace until we reached the orphanage. “Cover me,” he said, crouching.

  I put up my umbrella which I’d brought to use as a weapon in case we were set upon by thieves, and used it and my body to shield him. “Can you see?” I asked.

  “I don’t need to see. It’s done by feel and sound.”

  “How interesting. Perhaps one day you can teach me.”

  He looked up at me. “I said feel and sound.”

  “Sorry,” I whispered.

  I watched as he inserted two long pin-like instruments into the lock.

  Then he suddenly glanced up at me again. “Keep watch.”

  I scanned the street, but there was no one about. After one or two minutes, Victor stood and turned the doorknob. The door opened.

  I lowered my umbrella and followed him in only to bump into his back. I gave him the umbrella then pulled out a small candlestick and holder from the pack slung over my shoulder, and a box of matches. I lit the candle and tiptoed to the office door. It was also locked.

  Victor crouched again and had it unlocked quickly. Inside the office, the cabinet drawer marked A was not locked. The files were sorted alphabetically by surname, as I’d expected when I’d seen the drawer labels earlier. For common surnames, like Adams, the files were then sub-sorted by first name. Each child had only a single page dedicated to them. It was somewhat sad to think that a life could be summed up by a page of notes. Indeed, many were not even a full page.

  There was only one Harry Armitage. A quick calculation in my head confirmed that the date of birth written on the file matched the age I assumed Mr. Armitage to be. I folded up the piece of paper and pocketed it before returning to Victor, keeping watch at the office door.

  I closed the door softly behind me, turned and froze. A boy of about twelve stood in the doorway to an adjoining room, a large piece of pie halfway to his mouth. He stood just as frozen as he stared wide-eyed back at us.

  Victor put his finger to his lips to shush the lad then blew out my candle. He led the way back outside, closed the front door, then grabbed my elbow and hustled me down Dean Street.

  I didn’t dare look back until we reached the corner. “No one seems to be following us,” I said. “But if that boy raises the alarm, we could still be caught.”

  “He won’t,” Victor said.

  “How can you be certain?”

  “Thieves don’t snitch on each other.”

  I was about to protest about being called a thief when I remembered the piece of paper in my pocket. “Let’s hurry back to the hotel. He might change his mind.”

  “And explain why he was raiding the kitchen? Unlikely.”

  Even so, we walked quickly. Once we reached the hotel, Victor remained in the shadows until I was safely within the arc cast by The Mayfair’s welcoming lights. The doorman greeted me by name and opened the door for me. I’d wager gossip about my nocturnal outing would be all over the hotel by morning, but hopefully only among the staff. I didn’t have to answer to them. I did have to answer to my uncle, however.

  I raced up to my suite and flattened the piece of paper on the desk. I quickly read it then re-read it, hardly believing the words. This couldn’t be possible. The Harry Armitage I knew couldn’t be the same one as the boy in this file. My uncle would not have employed him.

  Unless he didn’t know that Mr. Armitage had been arrested as a thief.

  According to the file, Harry Armitage had been placed at the orphanage aged eleven when his parents died. My gut twisted in pain for that boy. It was very close to the age I’d been when my parents died, and I clearly remembered how awful it had been. I’d had loving grandparents to take care of me, however. Harry Armitage had no one. He’d gone to live with strangers.

  The file noted that he was clever, particularly with numbers, and well behaved. He’d been taken aside and given a rudimentary education in bookkeeping. After a year, he was considered well-equipped for a life of work and a factory owner hired him to assist the bookkeeper at his factory.

  The rest was written in a different colored ink but by the same hand. It was dated another year later. At aged thirteen, Harry Armitage had been arrested for theft and served a three-month sentence. The arresting police sergeant and his wife had subsequently taken Harry in upon his release.

  My first thought was that it was a very light sentence. My second was, why? Why had the thirteen-year-old boy gone from promising bookkeeper in good employment to thief?

  And if he were a thief, could he also be capable of murder, particularly if he wanted to keep that part of his life a secret?

  Chapter 8

  I could tell by the way Harmony brushed my hair that something bothered her. She raked the brush through with vigorous
strokes then thumped it down on the dressing table.

  “You don’t have to do my hair if you don’t want to,” I said. “I’m capable of doing it myself.”

  “I want to.”

  “Then can you be a little gentler? I’d like some hair left when you’ve finished.”

  Hand on hip, she regarded me in the mirror’s reflection. “When I told you to ask Victor to open a locked door for you, I wasn’t expecting you to leave the hotel in the middle of the night.”

  “Ah. So you heard about that.”

  “The whole hotel heard!”

  I spun around in the chair. “My uncle?”

  “I don’t think anyone would have told the Bainbridges. We don’t talk to them as freely as we do each other.”

  I turned back to the mirror. “Does anyone know that I went out with Victor?”

  “No, but you probably should have let on that you met him. Everyone thinks you went out alone. A lady can’t do that without everyone thinking the worst of her.”

  “I don’t care what the staff think. I know what I was doing, and it wasn’t what you’re implying. Just as long as my uncle doesn’t hear of it. I’d rather not incur his wrath this early in our acquaintance.”

  Harmony twisted a section of my hair and checked the effect in the mirror. Satisfied, she proceeded to stick pins into it. Fortunately her temper had cooled and she didn’t stab my scalp. “Next time you have to go out at night alone, wear a disguise so the doorman doesn’t recognize you.”

  “He wouldn’t let me back in if I didn’t show my face. Or if he did, the night porter would accost me in the foyer.”

  “Then just don’t go out. You can’t have nasty gossip attached to you.”

  I sighed. I wasn’t going to win, even if I reminded her that a murderer needed to be caught.

  “So where did you go?” she asked.

  “I’d rather not tell you until I have more answers. I don’t want to implicate an innocent person.”

  “I can just ask Victor.”

  I hadn’t sworn Victor to silence, but I hoped he would also be discreet. I suspected Harmony could be quite determined when she wanted to be, however.

  “I’m not sure if we discovered anything important anyway,” I went on. “It was probably nothing.”

  She finished my hair and left to begin her cleaning duties while I ate breakfast, delivered by one of the footmen. He eyed me with a narrowed gaze as he passed me the tray and did not wish me a good morning as he had done the day before. It would seem my reputation was thoroughly ruined, at least as far as the staff were concerned.

  I nibbled the toast but left the boiled eggs untouched. I was still reeling from the news that Mr. Armitage had been arrested for theft as a boy. If Mrs. Warrick knew him back then, and knew of the arrest, she would certainly be surprised to see him at a luxury hotel in a position of responsibility, surrounded by wealthy guests. If she told my uncle, Mr. Armitage would lose his job and reputation. Stopping her seemed like a very strong motive for murder to me.

  What I needed to do now was find that connection between Mrs. Warrick and a young Harry Armitage. Perhaps she knew the factory where he had worked before running away. Perhaps she was a patroness of the orphanage, or she could even have been the victim of his thieving. I could check none of those things easily, however. I was at a loss for what to do next.

  I ventured downstairs since I was unlikely to find answers to my questions on my breakfast tray. I greeted Peter with a smile. He responded stiffly without meeting my gaze.

  First Harmony and now Peter thought poorly of me. Despite my earlier statement that I didn’t care, I found I did care what they thought of me. I cared very much.

  “I was following up a clue,” I told Peter. “That’s why I was out late last night. And Victor went with me. If you don’t believe me, ask him. I wasn’t doing anything of the nature you are all thinking. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Miss Fox.”

  “Kindly inform the rest of the staff. Only leave out the part about me investigating the murder and meeting Victor. I don’t want to get him into trouble.”

  “I knew it,” came Goliath’s voice.

  I jumped. I hadn’t seen him approach. For a big man, he had a light step.

  “I knew it was something innocent,” he went on. “I’ll be sure everyone is made aware that you had a good reason for going out.”

  “What good reason?” Peter asked.

  Goliath tapped the side of his nose. “I’ll think of something.”

  A porter emerged from the manager’s corridor and approached. “Mr. Hobart wishes to see you, Miss Fox.”

  “Oh dear.” He’d heard too and wanted to lecture me about fragile female reputations. Given what I’d learned about Mr. Armitage, I wasn’t keen to see either man, but I doubted I was in any physical danger from them this morning. They didn’t know that I’d been investigating the murder.

  I entered the manager’s corridor and approached Mr. Hobart’s door when movement in Mr. Chapman’s office caught my eye. It was Mr. Armitage searching through the pockets of a coat hanging on the stand. He’d angled himself so he could see the door and he quickly withdrew his hand from the pocket and brushed down the jacket sleeve. He didn’t fool me, however.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Looking for Mr. Chapman,” he said, joining me. “There was some dust on his jacket so I brushed it off. We’re very particular about presentation here.”

  It was the most ridiculous excuse I’d ever heard, but I wouldn’t let him think I didn’t believe him. If he were the murderer, I must not let him know I suspected him.

  It took all of my resolve to feign innocence, however. Now that I strongly suspected Mr. Armitage of the murder, I couldn’t help seeing him in a different light. The charm was all a façade. It was a very convincing façade, and one that he knew how to employ with maximum effect, but I’d seen it slip occasionally. When he thought I doubted his father’s ability as a detective, for one, and when he thought me a woman of ill repute when he caught me in the smoking room.

  And now.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “I’d like a word. Please step into my office.”

  “No!”

  He blinked at my outburst.

  “I mean, not right now,” I said quickly.

  “If you won’t step into my office, then I’ll say what I have to say out here.” He placed his hands at his back. “It’s about Sir Ronald, as it happens, and the fact that he doesn’t yet know what you got up to last night.”

  I wasn’t sure whether to groan or roll my eyes. What I did, however, was blush which only made it worse. I wasn’t guilty. Well, I was guilty of leaving the hotel in the middle of the night, but I had not been alone.

  “If you have a secret paramour, that’s your affair,” he went on. “But meet him in the open. Don’t sneak away. The staff see everything and they talk, and I doubt you want your secret exposed to your family by one of the staff.”

  It galled that he was accusing me of secret liaisons when I’d just caught him rummaging through another man’s coat. Not to mention the secret of his arrest. I suspected my uncle would care more about that than my supposed illicit love affair.

  “I think I’ve heard enough,” I said through clenched teeth. “Good day, Mr. Armitage.”

  I went to walk off but he grabbed my elbow. He relaxed his grip instantly and I pulled free, but I rounded on him and gave him what I hoped was a glare of defiance.

  He glared right back, not in the least concerned that I was the niece of his employer. “How could you do something so foolish?” he went on. The charming façade had slipped away altogether, revealing someone more formidable and earnest beneath. “If he was worthy, he would court you properly. Is there something wrong with him? Is he beneath the Bainbridges?”

  I barked a harsh laugh. “Good lord, this has gone too far. Let me make myself clear, Mr. Armitage. I do not have a secret lover. I went out for r
easons which I don’t have to divulge to you or anyone else. If my uncle discovers it, so be it. I will deal with the consequences.”

  The glare vanished, but his frown remained. “Are you in trouble?”

  “I don’t even know what sort of trouble you could be referring to that would require me to leave in the middle of the night. The truth is quite dull, I’m afraid. I couldn’t sleep and I was feeling a little melancholy. I decided to go for a walk to clear my head. I was gone less than thirty minutes. Satisfied?”

  A muscle in his jaw bunched. “It was just some friendly advice, Miss Fox. London is dangerous at night. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

  “Please don’t concern yourself on my account,” I bit off.

  He drew in a deep breath and looked to the ceiling, no doubt searching it for some patience. I was well aware how trying the conversation must be from his point of view, but I couldn’t tell him anything that would ease his mind, and I did not like to be patronized.

  I turned and walked off, but the heat of his glare on my back remained with me as I passed into the foyer. I hadn’t forgotten that Mr. Hobart wanted to speak to me, but I was in no mood for his lecture. It could wait.

  Goliath must have already spoken to the other porters and the staff manning each of the desks because they no longer looked at me like I’d committed a sin. They greeted me as they had done since my arrival, with a friendly “good morning” and a nod or smile.

  It occurred to me, as I headed into the vestibule behind the foyer, that Mr. Armitage could have been trying to distract me from what he’d been doing in Mr. Chapman’s office. If so, the deflection hadn’t worked. While I couldn’t think of a reason why the murderer of Mrs. Warrick needed to search the pockets of one of the other staff, that didn’t mean there wasn’t a connection. I just hadn’t found it yet. But find it I must. The police, headed by Mr. Armitage’s own father, wouldn’t arrest him without solid proof.

  As I hoped, I found Mr. Chapman in the dining room, addressing the waiters. I waited until he dismissed them and they dispersed around the dining room to set the tables for luncheon.