Murder at the Mayfair Hotel Page 4

  I took my letters downstairs and asked at the front desk what to do with them.

  Peter the clerk pointed at a counter diagonally opposite. “The post desk appears to be unmanned at the moment. You could leave them on the counter or wait. He has probably just stepped away for a few moments.”

  I decided to wait by the counter rather than leave the letters unattended. It gave me an opportunity to explore this side of the foyer. Next to the post desk was a billiard room where two gentlemen played. On the other side of the billiard room was a corridor with several doors leading off it. Some were offices, labeled for the manager, assistant manager, steward and housekeeper, while others were unlabeled. A potted plant occupied the space between the manager and assistant manager’s offices, but otherwise the corridor was clearly not meant for guests to venture down, given its utilitarian appearance. The dimmer lighting, lack of marble and other adornment meant the foyer sparkled by comparison.

  I was about to return to the post desk when the door to the steward’s office opened an inch. Someone peered through the gap then the door opened wider. Mr. Armitage the assistant manager emerged.

  “Good evening, Miss Fox,” he said cheerfully as he locked the door behind him and pocketed the key. “Are you lost?” His friendliness was at odds with his furtive peek through the gap.

  “Merely being nosy. I wanted to see what was down here. I’m sorry, am I not supposed to be here?”

  “You can go wherever you want. The entire hotel is available for family to explore.” He hesitated then checked his pocket watch. “Would you like a tour?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Then let’s begin here.” He pointed to each of the labeled doors. “These are the offices for the senior staff. You won’t often find us in them, however, since we’re usually attending to matters within the hotel. Beyond them is a service lift, usually used by the porters, and our private chambers.”

  “You live here?”

  “Only the unmarried senior staff do. That’s myself, Mr. Chapman the steward, and Mrs. Kettering the housekeeper.” He put a hand to the side of his mouth and whispered, “She’s actually Miss Kettering, but housekeepers are always called Mrs, so I’m told. Apparently it gives them the appearance of authority.”

  I laughed softly. “I won’t tell anyone. And the manager?”

  “Mr. Hobart lives with his wife off-site.”

  I cupped the side of my mouth with a hand as he had done and lowered my voice. “You can call him Uncle in front of me. I don’t mind.”

  His lips tilted with a disarming lopsided smile. “My uncle has already left for the day. My aunt likes him home for dinner.”

  “So you’re in charge in the evenings?”

  “Sir Ronald is in charge. I’m merely his lackey.”

  “I can’t see you being anyone’s lackey.” It just slipped out without me thinking. I hardly knew Mr. Armitage, but I suspected my observation was correct.

  “I admit that asking me nicely rather than ordering me does get better results. Something most people here understand.”

  We left the corridor and returned to the foyer. A staff member stood behind the post desk so I gave him my letters and he promised to see they made the last collection of the day. Then Mr. Armitage continued with his tour, taking me to another sitting room, smaller than the one I’d taken tea in, as well as pointing out the luggage room, a small parlor used by staff, the vestibule leading to the dining room where diners could wait for their friends in comfortable chairs, and finally the dining room itself. Waiters wove between tables, setting places for dinner, while Mr. Chapman the steward rearranged a vase of flowers. He pinched off a rosebud and poked the stem through his buttonhole.

  “That’s all the areas the guests are allowed access to, but I want to show you everything on this level and below,” Mr. Armitage said. “Do you have time?”

  “An abundance of it .I’m not dining with my family until eight.”

  “Including your aunt?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t she join us?”

  He watched me and I watched him back, waiting for an explanation. None came. A small crease appeared between his brows, however, as if my confusion confused him in turn.

  “No reason,” he said simply. “Sometimes she suffers from headaches. I assumed your aunt and uncle’s letters had informed you. Or that your cousin’s letters would. Miss Bainbridge seems like she would blurt out all sorts of secrets to her only cousin.”

  “We’ve never exchanged letters,” I said.

  His brows arched. “Never?”

  I shook my head. “My aunt and uncle were estranged from my parents.”

  “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

  “You weren’t to know.”

  “I feel as though I’ve stumbled my way through this conversation and thrust my nose in where it shouldn’t be.”

  “Call it even, given I was lurking in the staff corridor.”

  He laughed softly and led the way past tables to the corner of the dining room. “So you’ve come to London to live with people you don’t know?” he asked as he pushed open a door.

  I nodded and almost told him more, about my grandfather’s debts, my dire financial situation, and the reason my mother fell out with her family. Part of me wanted to tell him. But it wasn’t something one blurted out to a man one hardly knew, particularly given he was an employee of the uncle supporting me.

  “That’s very brave,” he said. “I hope your family are kind to you.”

  What an odd thing to say. “Thank you.”

  “And if they’re not, just come and see me.”

  “Oh? You’ll box their ears on my behalf?”

  He brushed past me to lead the way. “Are you mad?” he teased. “I’ll lose my position as assistant manager. They might demote me to porter. I was a porter in my first year here, and I swear my shoulders became more stooped with all the carrying. I’m sure they still are.”

  I was quite sure they were not. His shoulders looked impressively wide within his well-made suit. “Very rounded,” I said with mock seriousness. “Such a pity. You would be at least another two inches taller if only you weren’t so stooped. It must be such a trial, being so short now.” Mr. Armitage may not have been as tall as the porter, but he wasn’t much shorter. My nose only reached the middle of his chest.

  “So you agree, there will be no fisticuffs between myself and your uncle or cousin. When I said come and see me if your family are unkind, it was because I have the key to the cellar. You can drown your sorrows in fine wine.”

  I laughed. “Is it all very fine?”

  He grinned. “The most expensive money can buy. Apparently that makes it the best.”

  The rest of our tour took in the service rooms including a still room, an enormous kitchen in the basement that we quickly left before we got in the way of the busy chefs, another service lift, the scullery, pantry, and finally the cellar, filled with rows and rows of wine bottles.

  “This could drown a lot of sorrows,” I said.

  “It would be a shame if it came to that.” His deeply melodic voice rumbled in the confines of the thick stone walls.

  I glanced at him and caught him watching me from beneath lowered lashes. He quickly looked away.

  “I’d better return to work,” he said, switching off the cellar light. “Can you make your own way from the dining room? I have to speak to the steward about Christmas luncheon.”

  My aunt’s headache had not vanished by the time the rest of us sat down for dinner. We were given the best table, positioned at one end of the grand dining room. The large space looked different with people seated at the tables, although it was only half full and the tables were set well apart. When Mr. Armitage had given me the tour, the lights had blazed from the three large chandeliers hanging from the high ornate ceiling, but now the lighting was not so bright. Even so, the silver cutlery and crystal glassware sparkled. There was just enough light to read the menu. Each dish was writ
ten in French, but thankfully an English translation accompanied it.

  “So what do you think of your new home?” asked my cousin Floyd.

  He was the same age as me, and Flossy had been right when she said we looked alike. Our hair was a similar shade of light brown, and we both had high cheekbones and green eyes. It was difficult to tell what his character was like yet. The dinner was subdued and quite formal so far. Even Flossy’s vibrancy had been turned down like a gas flame. I blamed their father.

  Uncle Ronald had said very little to us since sitting down. He seemed pre-occupied with something and gave his children and me very little attention.

  “The hotel is beautiful,” I said to Floyd. “Every room is a piece of art in itself. There is something different to admire in each. The foyer is very grand and looks wonderfully festive with the Christmas tree in the middle.”

  A slow smile stretched Uncle Ronald’s moustache, proving he had been listening after all.

  “Everyone has been nice to me,” I added.

  “Of course they have. You’re the owner’s niece.” Floyd tempered the spiteful comment with a smile that transformed his face from handsome to mischievous.

  “Hopefully they’ll be less reserved around me once they know me better,” I said.

  Flossy looked appalled. “You don’t want the staff knowing you too well. They already gossip about us too much.”

  My chest pinched as I recalled what I’d told Mr. Armitage about not knowing my family. But the feeling of panic dissipated just as quickly. Not only would the assistant manager be unlikely to gossip about his employer, he didn’t seem like the type to take joy in the exchange of titillating information.

  Floyd leaned closer to his sister. “Perhaps Cleo wants people to like her for her character, not because she can have them dismissed.”

  “Why would she want anyone dismissed? They all do such a splendid job. They wouldn’t be here if they didn’t.”

  Floyd rolled his eyes. Neither his sister nor father saw it.

  Our soup course arrived along with a group of carolers from the nearby boys’ home who sang Christmas carols before being led out by their teacher. When the musicians resumed their regular playing, we resumed our conversation. We chatted easily enough about Cambridge and my life there, and about the features of the hotel that I needed to know. It seemed nothing was off limits to me. I could go where I pleased.

  “The staff don’t live here?” I asked. Mr. Armitage had mentioned only the senior staff lived on the ground floor. He hadn’t spoken about the rest.

  “Unmarried staff were moved off-site into residence halls years ago,” Uncle Ronald told me. “They used to be accommodated on the top floor prior to that, but installing the lifts meant those rooms could be renovated and turned into guest rooms. Five flights of stairs was a little too much to ask of the guests.”

  But not the staff, apparently.

  Flossy pulled a face. “It used to be exhausting going up to our rooms on the fourth floor.”

  “You can’t possibly remember that,” her brother said. “You were very young when the lifts were put in.”

  “Old enough to remember. Anyway, the fifth floor now has some of the best rooms. Not as good as the fourth floor suites, naturally, but the guests like the view.”

  “Except for Mrs. Cavendish-Dyer,” Floyd said, reaching for his wineglass again. “The old bat isn’t satisfied with anything.”

  “Floyd,” Uncle Ronald bit off. “Don’t speak that way about a guest.”

  “No one can hear me, and Cleo is family.” Floyd drained his glass and beckoned a waiter standing nearby to refill it.

  Uncle Ronald didn’t take his hard glare off his son, but Floyd pretended not to notice. He raised his refilled glass in salute to me.

  “The ball,” Flossy said suddenly and rather loudly. “You must both convince Cleo to attend and to wear something other than black. An exception to the rules of mourning should be made for balls, don’t you think?”

  Her breezy chatter didn’t hide the fact that her father and brother were waging a silent battle with one another, but it did lead them to call a truce. Both men turned to me and, taking Flossy’s side, tried to convince me to attend the New Year’s Eve ball.

  “Perhaps I’ll defer to my aunt on this matter,” I told them. “I’m sure she’ll be able to guide me.” As a means to shutting down the conversation, it was successful. But mention of my aunt brought a taut silence and everyone gave their desserts a great deal of attention.

  Uncle Ronald went to speak to Mr. Armitage after dinner while Floyd, Flossy and I waited for the lift. Once his father was out of sight, however, Floyd broke away.

  “Well then, I’m off.” He turned, blew us both a kiss as he walked backwards, beckoning one of the porters to fetch him his cloak.

  Flossy clicked her tongue. “I wish he’d take me with him, but he flatly refuses.”

  “Where does he go?” I asked.

  “Out with his friends. I’m not sure where, but at least it’s out. Living here can be so stifling. Father never lets me go anywhere.”

  I watched her retreating brother as the porter handed him his cloak and hat. He looked like a man with a world of opportunity at his fingertips. Given he was wealthy and male, he had no reason to think otherwise.

  “Father doesn’t like Floyd going out all the time, but he tolerates it. Some of Floyd’s friends are the sons of very influential people, many of whom are our guests when they come to London.” Flossy pressed the Call button again and looked up. “It must be stuck. This wouldn’t happen if we installed a new one.”

  I waited a few more moments then gave up. “Shall we take the stairs?”

  Flossy wrinkled her little pug nose. “I’ll wait. John will have it fixed soon.”

  I didn’t want to wait and headed up the stairs, only to stop on what I guessed to be the landing between the second and third floors when I heard a woman’s raised voice coming from somewhere above. I peered up the stairwell and could just make out two women talking far above.

  “You should not be here,” the woman scolded.

  “Sorry, Mrs. Kettering.” I had to strain to hear the younger voice. If we hadn’t been standing in a stairwell, I suspected her voice wouldn’t have carried.

  “You should be on the second,” Mrs. Kettering said. “Why were you on the fifth?”

  “I lost count.”

  “You can’t count to two?”

  “No, Mrs. Kettering. I mean, yes, I can, I just got confused.”

  Silence, then, “I know your kind, Edith,” Mrs. Kettering went on, her voice a guttural snarl. “If I catch you somewhere you ought not to be again, you will be dismissed. Is that clear?”

  I imagined the girl named Edith cowering beneath the housekeeper’s glare as she muttered something I couldn’t hear.

  “Go and turn down the beds on level two,” Mrs. Kettering snapped. “It’s getting late.”

  Blazes! They were coming my way and we would pass one another on the stairs. I stepped heavily to warn them I was there and gave a smile and a nod as I passed the maid named Edith and then Mrs. Kettering, some steps behind. One set of footsteps continued on but the second set stopped. I could feel Mrs. Kettering’s glare on my back, but I kept going. I preferred to meet her officially another time, when she wasn’t so riled and I wasn’t feeling guilty for eavesdropping.

  I exited the staircase on level four. There was no sign of Flossy as I headed along the corridor. I stopped abruptly outside my door. It was ajar. Who would enter my room while I was at dinner? Indeed, who had a key, for I was quite certain I’d locked it?

  I pushed the door open wider. A woman hummed, the sound coming from the bedroom. I tiptoed through the sitting room to the bedroom door and let out a pent-up breath. A maid plumped up a pillow. She stopped humming when she spotted me.

  She smiled broadly. “Good evening, Miss Fox. I wasn’t sure if you wanted your bed turned down, since I haven’t received your instructio
ns yet, so I took the liberty of doing so anyway. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Thank you, that’s very kind, but there’s no need.”

  Her large black eyes blinked back at me. “Are you sure? It’s no trouble. I do all the rooms on this floor when it’s my evening. All of the family want their beds turned down.”

  “Then by all means you should do mine too. Thank you…”

  “Harmony.” She beamed again and continued plumping. “How has your first day at The Mayfair been?”

  “Very pleasant, thank you. All the staff seem nice.”

  “So you haven’t met Mrs. Kettering yet.”

  I laughed and she smiled back, although looked confused by my reaction. “I overheard her scolding a maid just now in the stairwell,” I said. “She was supposed to be turning down beds on the second floor but had met Mrs. Kettering on the fifth.”

  “That would be Edith on level two tonight. If she was on level five, she probably deserved a scolding.” Harmony frowned. “What was she doing all the way up there? And what was Mrs. Kettering doing, I wonder?” She smoothed down the turned edge of the bed cover then straightened. She was tall, probably about my age, with a slender figure and black hair pulled severely into an arrangement beneath her white cap. A few springy curls had escaped and brushed her forehead. From time to time, she pushed them away with the back of her hand.

  I wasn’t sure what to do while Harmony went about her work of turning down the bed so I sat at the desk and pretended to write a letter. After a few minutes, the maid cleared her throat. I turned to see her standing in the doorway to the bedroom.

  “Would you like me to unpack your things?” she asked.

  “I’ve already unpacked.”