Murder at the Piccadilly Playhouse Read online

  “I do, as it happens.” He smiled one of his winning smiles when my face fell.

  I quickly rallied, however. This could work in my favor. “That’s marvelous. You’ll need a partner to help with the case load.”

  “It’s hardly a load yet, but hopefully it will lead to more clients.”

  “I’m sure it will. You ought to prepare for that eventuality now.”

  “By having a partner?” He shook his head. “I’ll learn to walk before I run. Besides, I don’t want a partner.”

  “You will when the right partner comes along.”

  He leaned back in the chair and regarded me. “Miss Fox, do you have someone in mind?”

  “I do, as it happens.”

  “Please inform him I’m not looking for a partner. If I find I need help as I get more cases, I’ll contact you for his details and I’ll interview him. I can’t promise anything, however, since I don’t know his qualifications.”

  “She’s very qualified. She solved a murder.”

  “She?” He laughed, but it quickly faded. “Are you putting yourself forward as an employee?”

  “No. As a partner.”

  He laughed again, then stopped, then barked another laugh for good measure. I shifted in my chair, willing my face not to flame. Unfortunately it betrayed me.

  I gathered my wits about me and forged ahead. I was here now, and it was too late to turn back. “Why do you find it so amusing? You can’t possibly know anyone more qualified than me who is willing to work with you for no pay until the client settles the account.”

  He tilted his head to the side and studied me. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Would I subject myself to your humiliating reaction if I weren’t?”

  He gave the smallest wince and put up his hands. “I’m sorry. My reaction was uncalled for.” It was nice to see that he could still act the gentleman in my presence. He did spoil it somewhat when his lips twitched as he tried not to smile. “Please allow me to explain why I can’t accept you as a partner, even if I were looking for one. First of all, we don’t get along.”

  “We could if you forgave me for getting you dismissed from the hotel.”

  “I have forgiven you for that. I have not forgiven you for putting my uncle through the distress of losing a job that’s very dear to his heart.”

  It was my turn to wince. I regretted every moment of the meeting in my uncle’s office when he’d dismissed both Mr. Hobart and Mr. Armitage for keeping the secret of Mr. Armitage’s arrest. “I helped get him re-employed by putting in a good word with my uncle.” It sounded pathetic. I swallowed and looked down at my lap.

  Mr. Armitage sighed. “And for another thing, your family would not approve.”

  I lifted my gaze to his. “That’s for me to worry about.”

  “I don’t want my fledgling business blacklisted by a man as powerful as Sir Ronald Bainbridge. Not when I plan to use his hotel as a source for my clients, at least initially. And finally, I will never have a partner.”

  “Then let me be an associate.”

  “No.”

  “But you already have ‘Associates’ painted on the door. Why put it there if you don’t plan to hire staff?”

  “I do plan on it, just not yet. There isn’t enough work. And may I point out again, that I wouldn’t hire you.”

  I chose to ignore the latter part of that statement and latch onto the former. “There will be enough work when I tell you about a potential case for a paying client. That will mean two cases. You can’t possibly work them both at the same time.”

  He simply smiled, but there was a brightness to his warm eyes now that hadn’t been there before. I’d piqued his interest. “What’s the case?” he asked.

  “I’m not telling you unless you hire me.”

  “Blackmail, Miss Fox?” He clicked his tongue. “What would your family say?”

  “My uncle would congratulate me on sticking to the course I’ve mapped out. He is a businessman, after all.”

  He watched me from beneath those long dark lashes of his, the warmth in his eyes having vanished. It was difficult to know what he was thinking. The steady gaze unnerved me, and I lowered mine to the desk. It was a very clean surface. There were no notes, no files, just a blank notepad, pencils, pens and ink.

  I lifted my gaze to see him still studying me. I tried not to show how much it disarmed me. “There isn’t a case, is there?”

  He blinked, breaking the spell. “Pardon?”

  “If I open the drawers of that filing cabinet, I’ll find it empty except for the lease agreement to this office. Is that correct?”

  It was his turn to look away.

  “You don’t have a case yet, do you?” I pressed.

  He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. I’d dented his masculine pride by calling out his white lie, but to his credit, he wasn’t going to let that defeat him. “Two can play that game, Miss Fox.”

  “What game?”

  “The guessing game.”

  So I was right. He had lied about having a case. “And what are you going to guess about me?” Perhaps he’d used his powers of deduction and realized I couldn’t possibly be as wealthy as my Bainbridge family, considering I’d arrived at the hotel dressed in the out-of-date clothes of an ordinary woman.

  He crossed his arms and sat back with a satisfied look on his face. “Your client resides at the hotel. Or perhaps the hotel itself is the client.”

  “How do—” I cut myself off, but his smile widened. “What makes you think that?”

  “You’re new to London and have no friends here outside your family and their circle. Your entire life revolves around the hotel. Where else would you have learned of a case requiring an investigation?”

  I remained still so as not to give anything away.

  That only made him smile more. “Since I’m right, I don’t need you to bring me the case, Miss Fox. I simply need to ask my uncle. He knows everything that’s going on at the Mayfair.”

  I gasped. “You’d steal my case from me?”

  “It’s not stealing. You can’t investigate it. You’re not a private detective. I am.”

  “Anyone can be a private detective, including women. One doesn’t need a license or even an office.” I stood. “And your uncle doesn’t know about this situation. If he did, he would have done something before now.”

  I strode to the door, opened it and left without so much as a goodbye. The man didn’t deserve it. The fleeting glimpse I’d caught of the disappointment on his face before closing the door was satisfying, and probably explained why my anger quickly dissolved. By the time I’d reached the street, it had gone altogether and reason returned.

  Mr. Armitage was right. I wasn’t a private detective. I couldn’t ask for money from Mr. Hobart to investigate the beak-nosed man’s presence in the hotel. Indeed, I wasn’t even sure if there was something illicit going on at all.

  I glanced along the street just as a gust of wind blew a newspaper sheet into my skirts. I kicked it away and watched it turn end over end before running out of steam outside a leather shop. This really wasn’t the best address for a detective agency hoping to attract a well-to-do clientele.

  I sighed. Mr. Armitage needed the money more than me. He needed this career to work more than I did. I had a lovely roof over my head and an income from my allowance. He had nothing, and that was thanks to me. I owed him this first case.

  I turned back to the door just as it burst open and Mr. Armitage rushed out. He barreled into me, and I was only saved from being knocked off my feet by his two strong hands gripping my arms.

  “Miss Fox!” He was as surprised to bump into me as I was at being bumped into. “You’re still here.”

  “Yes,” I said, somewhat breathless. “Yes,” I said again, louder.

  His thumbs skimmed over my arms before he released me. “I’m sorry. Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

  “I’m fine, thank you. I can see you’
re in a hurry, so I’ll be quick. I have something to say, which is why I haven’t left.”

  He adjusted his tie and stretched his neck out of his collar. “Let me speak first, please. I’m not on my way out.” He cleared his throat. “I wanted to catch you, as it happens.”

  “Oh?”

  He glanced up at the gray sky. “I, uh—I wanted to apologize for my behavior in there. I don’t know why, but you bring out the worst in me. I’m not usually so…”

  “Unkind? Arrogant? Condescending?”

  He laughed softly. “I was going to say ungentlemanly.”

  “There’s no need to apologize. I’m just as much to blame. It seems you bring out the worst in me too.”

  He indicated the door behind him. “That’s your worst?”

  “I don’t usually storm out of offices when I don’t get my way. I like to think I’ve grown out of such childish petulance.”

  He gave me a tight smile. “Well then. I’m glad we cleared the air. Good day, Miss Fox.” He turned to go inside.

  “Wait a moment. I want to tell you about the case.”

  “You mean your case.”

  I shook my head. “It’s yours now. That’s if it is a case at all. I’m not yet sure if there is something requiring investigation, but you can talk to your uncle to see what he thinks. I promise not to interfere. The investigation is entirely yours.”

  “Why the change of heart?”

  He might get offended if I told him I felt sorry for him. Since I couldn’t come up with a different reason quickly, I ignored his question altogether. “Let’s talk about it in your office.”

  “I have a better idea. Luigi brews great coffee.”

  He opened the door to the Roma Café and the delicious smell of roasting beans enveloped me. The two men sitting on stools at the counter looked up. Both had the craggy faces of men well past middle-age with the swarthy complexion of Italians. They nodded at Mr. Armitage, who nodded back.

  The man behind the counter threw his hands in the air and smiled broadly. “Harry! Come in, come in.” His Cockney accent was at odds with an appearance that was as tanned as the two customers. He was much younger, however. I guessed him to be no more than thirty-five.

  Mr. Armitage introduced him as Luigi, the café owner. Luigi reached across the counter and clasped my hand between both of his. “Bella signora. Benvenuti nel mio caffè.”

  “Grazie, signore. Il caffè ha un profumo delizioso.”

  Luigi and his two companions stared at me. “You speak Italian?”

  “Just enough to get by as a tourist in Italy.”

  “Have you been?”

  The notion that I could ever afford to go to Italy seemed so absurd that I laughed. “No.”

  He sighed. “I ain’t been either, but I will one day.” He indicated the table in the window laid out with a red and white checked tablecloth. “Take a seat and I’ll bring you the best coffee you’ve ever tasted.”

  Mr. Armitage pulled out the chair for me. “Did your mother teach you Italian?”

  “My father.”

  “I thought he was a professor of mathematics.”

  I was surprised he knew that much. We’d not talked in great depth about our parents. “He was, but he had a lot of other interests. He taught me a little Italian, among other things.” It was fortunate I’d remembered as much as I did. My education in foreign languages had mostly ended with my parents’ deaths. I’d tried to continue alone but found it too difficult when there was no one to converse with.

  “You had an unusual upbringing.”

  I blinked at his comment. My upbringing had been ordinary compared to his. “Only if by unusual you mean cerebral. If there’s one thing my parents had in common it was their love of learning about anything and everything. They instilled that love in me, and my grandparents continued my education after my parents’ deaths. I’m afraid I’ve spent much of my life with my nose in a book or attending lectures.”

  “At the university?”

  “Occasionally, and only those women were allowed to attend. I also belonged to several societies and women’s institutes that had guest lecturers presenting on all manner of subjects."

  “I would have liked to attend university,” he said. “But I needed to work and the hotel was as good a place as any.” There was no bitterness in his tone, no regret, merely a statement of fact.

  “What would you have studied?”

  He thought about it a moment. “Engineering. Ever since watching Tower Bridge being built I’ve been fascinated by construction.”

  Luigi deposited two cups of coffee in the smallest cups I’d ever seen outside of a doll’s house. I closed my eyes and breathed in the aroma. When I opened them again, Mr. Armitage was watching me, a curious expression on his face.

  “I wonder if this is what Italy smells like,” I said.

  Mr. Armitage picked up his cup. “You should travel there one day and find out.”

  “If only it were that easy. Now, about the case.” I sipped. “I do hope it comes to fruition, for your sake. But I also hope it doesn’t. You see, it involves your replacement, Mr. Hirst.”

  Mr. Armitage lowered his cup with a frown. “What about him?”

  I told him how I’d seen Mr. Hirst talking with a fellow who didn’t seem to belong in the hotel. “He told Uncle Ronald it was Mr. Clitheroe, a guest, but my uncle seemed unconvinced, although he didn’t press the point. Later, I got a better look at the fellow and it struck me that he was not dressed the way a gentleman guest would usually be in the evening. Even more strangely, after having a word with the night porter, the night porter didn’t open the door for him.”

  “Was James or Phillip on duty?”

  “James. This morning I asked your uncle for a description of Mr. Clitheroe. The man I’d seen the night before had a very prominent nose, you see. Your uncle said Mr. Clitheroe’s was merely somewhat prominent.” At Mr. Armitage’s shrug, I added, “You’re right, I could be seeing suspicious behavior where there is none. I’m sure Mr. Hirst wouldn’t lie. He has an excellent reputation, after all.”

  “And yet he was eager to join the Mayfair even though it wasn’t a promotion.”

  “Perhaps he simply wanted to gain experience under a different owner and manager.”

  Mr. Armitage tapped the side of the cup with his finger then suddenly picked it up. “Finish your coffee, and I’ll accompany you back to the hotel. I’ll question my uncle first and see if there is a potential case here.”

  “Have him point out the guest named Clitheroe to me. I’ll know immediately if he was the same man or not.” I opened my purse to pay for coffee, but Mr. Armitage refused.

  “You gave me the case, Miss Fox. The least I can do is pay for your coffee.”

  The walk to the hotel was brisk, and I was a little out of breath by the time we reached it. But instead of going through the front door, Mr. Armitage merely greeted Frank and kept on walking.

  I raced after him. “Where are you going?”

  “Down here.” He pointed to the side street. “I prefer to use the staff entrance.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m not a hotel guest.”

  I followed him when he turned into the side street.

  He stopped. “You can’t come this way.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re not staff.”

  “That’s ridiculous. You once said family can go wherever they wish in the hotel.”

  He crossed his arms and arched his brows at me. “The staff will feel uncomfortable if you use their entrance.”

  “But the staff like me.” I winced at the whine in my voice.

  He gave me a benign smile, as if to say the staff were being polite as their employment depended upon it. I sighed. He was probably right.

  “Thank you for your help so far, but this is my investigation now.” He lowered his arms and continued on. “Goodbye, Miss Fox,” he tossed over his shoulder.

  I trudged b
ack the way I’d come, entering the hotel through the front door, which Frank held open for me. “You like me, don’t you, Frank?” I asked.

  “Of course I do, Miss Fox,” he said smoothly.

  “You’re not just saying that because I’m Sir Ronald’s niece.”

  “Not at all. You’re one of my favorite people.”

  I sighed and headed inside. If Frank had instilled a little more sincerity into his response, I might have believed him.

  I paused in the foyer, but decided not to go in search of Mr. Hobart. Mr. Armitage was right and it was his investigation now. I’d done my part.

  I went in search of Flossy instead and found her coming out of her parents’ suite. She looked troubled.

  “Is something the matter?” I asked.

  “My mother’s headache is dreadful today. I knew last night would be too much for her. She shouldn’t have had that second dose of tonic.”

  “I don’t understand. Doesn’t the tonic make her feel better, not worse?”

  “It does, temporarily, and then the headaches return, crueler than ever.”

  She looked so sad. Flossy was such a bright, happy spirit that I hated seeing her like this. I clasped her hand and squeezed. “Is there anything I can do?”

  She gave me a weak smile. “No, thank you, Cleo.”

  “Perhaps I can sit with her later. We can have a quiet talk while you go out for some air, with a maid as chaperone, of course.”

  She nibbled her lower lip and glanced at her mother’s door. “I suppose I could go to the dressmaker’s and milliner’s on Bond Street.”

  “I’m sure the air on Bond Street will do you some good.”

  “It will, won’t it?” She kissed my cheek. “Thank you, Cleo.”

  Harmony emerged from the stairwell and jerked her head towards the door to my suite. I excused myself and joined her there. She slipped into my suite behind me.

  “We’re in luck,” she announced with a level of excitement I’d usually associate with Flossy, not Harmony. “Miss Westwood was murdered.”