Murder at the Piccadilly Playhouse Page 9

  He crouched down to relock the door. At the same time, a door further along the corridor opened and Floyd all but fell out of his suite along with two women in bare feet, their hair in disarray and their clothing askew. One of the girls giggled and Floyd shushed her with a finger to his lips.

  Then he spotted me standing beside Victor, still crouched in front of Lord Rumford’s door.

  Chapter 6

  I froze. Floyd froze. The girls did too, but only after they giggled again.

  Victor was the only one who moved. He finished locking the door and stood. With a tug on his cap, he bid me goodnight and departed level four via the stairs.

  Floyd finally came to life. He spoke to the girls in whispers and they disappeared back into the suite, returning a moment later with coats and shoes. When they stopped at the lift, and one of them went to push the button to summon it, he ushered them towards the stairwell instead.

  Once they were gone, he returned to his door and, after making eye contact with me, disappeared inside.

  I slunk into my room and leaned back against the door, eyes closed. How was I going to explain what I’d been doing to my cousin?

  Harmony listened to the story of our nocturnal encounter with a glowering frown. My hair forgotten, she shook her head at my reflection in the mirror.

  “Victor should have been keeping watch.”

  “It’s not his fault. I was already in the corridor, and he’d started re-locking the door, when Floyd emerged. It was completely unavoidable.”

  She resumed brushing my hair and asked me if I’d found anything in Lord Rumford’s belongings.

  “Nothing to indicate he was either going to keep Pearl around longer or break off their arrangement soon,” I said. “He’s very careful. There weren’t even any letters from Pearl amongst his things.”

  “So what will you do next?”

  “I still have the keys to Pearl’s flat. There were some letters from Lord Rumford in her dressing table that I didn’t read the first time. I’ll go back and look through them for an insight into their relationship over these last few weeks.”

  She pinned up sections of my hair in silence, seemingly lost in thought. It was only once she’d finished, and I was admiring her handiwork in the mirror, that she revealed what she was thinking. And it was nothing to do with our investigation.

  “Were the girls whores?”

  I turned to look at her properly. She was utterly serious. Indeed, she looked somewhat concerned. “I don’t know, but they certainly weren’t well-bred ladies who’d escaped their chaperones for the evening.”

  She shook her head. “Sir Ronald won’t like it. It’s one thing for the guests to bring their mistresses here, but it’s quite another for a family member to do it. This is the Bainbridge family home.”

  “I suspect Floyd doesn’t plan on my uncle or aunt finding out.” I opened the dressing table drawer and looked for my tan leather gloves. “Has my cousin done this sort of thing before?”

  “Not that I’m aware. You’d have to ask the footmen and doormen. They know more about what goes on here at night than anyone.”

  Harmony left and I followed soon after with the keys to Pearl’s flat in my purse. Just as I locked my door, Floyd emerged from his room. In a repeat performance of last night, we both froze.

  Floyd was the first to move. He pocketed his key and joined me. He glanced around and, seeing no one in the corridor, leaned closer. “About last night.”

  I suddenly felt hot and cold all at once. Floyd may have had whores in his room, but he was a young man, and young men were allowed their indiscretions. I was in a guest’s room with one of the cooks beside me. My predicament was much worse, particularly if seen through the eyes of my uncle.

  “Yes?” I whispered.

  “I will agree to mind my business if you agree to mind yours.”

  I let out a long breath. “I think it serves both our interests not to mention what we saw to anyone.”

  He looked relieved. “Good, good. So do I need to get all cousinly and worry about what you were up to in Rumford’s room with that fellow?”

  So he hadn’t recognized Victor as a hotel employee. That was a relief. I didn’t want to get him into trouble. “It’s part of my investigation into Pearl Westwood’s death.”

  He frowned. “Your what?”

  I put my finger to my lips and shushed him, just as he had shushed the girls last night. With a little wave, I hurried off to the stairwell, leaving him staring after me.

  Pearl’s flat was as cold as ice. I wondered what Lord Rumford would do with it now. Did it have too many memories of happy times spent with Pearl and he wanted to sell it because he could never step foot in it again? Or would he keep it for his next mistress?

  I sat at the escritoire with the stack of letters in front of me and huddled into my coat for warmth. I set aside the ones I’d already read and steeled myself for some very personal reading.

  By the time I reached the end of the stack, my face was hot. Some of the things the couple had written to each other made me feel as naive as a school girl for never having even contemplated such things, let alone read about them. Lord Rumford certainly hadn’t been shy in voicing his desires to his lover.

  The letters talked mostly of what he wanted to do to Pearl when they next met, and very little about their plans for the future. There was one mention of the holiday in a letter dated December fifth, with Lord Rumford saying he couldn’t wait to see Pearl living as carefree as the local French ladies in Nice. I had no idea what that meant.

  I bundled up the letters and slipped them back into the drawer. I was glad there was no evidence in them of their relationship cooling. I didn’t want to think that Lord Rumford might be responsible for Pearl’s death, even inadvertently by making her want to end it all. It meant I was no better off than before, however.

  I closed the drawer a little too hard and the escritoire shook. A pen fell out of the holder and rolled onto the floor before I could catch it. I bent to pick it up and was about to straighten when I spotted a piece of paper under the glass display cabinet filled with ceramic knick-knacks.

  Down on hands and knees, I reached underneath and pulled it out. It wasn’t a piece of paper but a photograph. The table full of framed photographs was nearby. Pearl must have dropped this one when she’d removed it from a frame and never retrieved it. It was quite dusty and must have been under the cabinet for some time.

  I blew off the dust and held it to the window to get a better look. A couple stared back at me. I recognized Pearl instantly. She was dressed in evening clothes and sported a large necklace at her throat. She rested her hand on the shoulder of the gentleman beside her in a pose that was almost identical to the photograph on display where she stood beside Lord Rumford. But this man wasn’t Rumford. At first I thought I didn’t know him, but on closer inspection, I recognized the man from the cemetery. He had no warts on his face, however. Indeed, he was handsome, although somewhat older than Pearl.

  I tucked the photograph into my purse and locked up the flat. When I reached the hotel, Frank, standing on the pavement, greeted me with a smile.

  “How was your morning, Miss Fox?”

  “Somewhat productive. And yours?”

  He seemed surprised that I would ask. “Very good, miss, very good. I can’t complain.” He looked past me as a carriage pulled up. “Sir Lawrence Caldicott. Excuse me, Miss Fox.”

  Frank approached the carriage with the distinctive red coachman’s seat and wheels. He opened the door and welcomed Sir Lawrence to the hotel. “Mr. Hobart will greet you in the foyer, sir, and take you up to Sir Ronald’s office.”

  The gentleman hardly acknowledged Frank as he moved past him into the hotel. When Frank closed the door, I rejoined him.

  “You still here, Miss Fox?” he asked. “Best to go inside before the weather turns.”

  I indicated the carriage, pulling away from the curb. “How did you know that was Sir Lawrence Caldicott’
s vehicle?”

  He frowned at the carriage as the coachman drove it into the small gap between two hackneys, earning himself an angry shout from the driver of the rear one. “I’m familiar with the vehicle, I suppose. But I was also told to expect Sir Lawrence today. Mr. Hobart likes to keep me informed if important people are due to arrive. Sir Lawrence works at a bank and does business here with Sir Ronald from time to time.”

  “But you would know that vehicle even if you weren’t expecting him?”

  “I suppose I would. It’s the red wheels. Not too many have them. Why?”

  It was a wild shot in the dark, but I had to take it. The Mayfair Hotel hosted many wealthy guests and I suspected the gentleman with the blemishes on his face was well-off. There was a chance he’d walked through these very doors, and Frank had welcomed him. “Do you know of a brougham with dark green doors?”

  Frank scratched his sideburns. “Green doors are unusual, certainly, but not that rare. I reckon I can think of three, off the top of my head.” He stuck out his thumb. “Mr. Unley has one.” He put up his forefinger. “Lord Hatfield.” His third finger joined the others. “And the Mallorys.”

  I opened my purse and pulled out the photograph. “Is he one of the gentlemen you just mentioned?”

  He began to shake his head, but stopped. “He’s not, but he looks familiar. I can’t think of his name, but I haven’t seen him here in a long time. I don’t know what color doors his carriage has, either. You should ask Mr. Hobart or Mr. Armitage.” He clicked his fingers. “Sorry, force of habit mentioning him in the same breath as his uncle. Ask Mr. Hobart. He’s got a good eye for faces.”

  I spent the next half hour chasing Mr. Hobart around the hotel. Peter told me he was in Mr. Chapman’s office, but when I got there, Mr. Chapman said I’d just missed him and he’d gone to the kitchen. The kitchen staff said he’d already left and was with Mrs. Short, but Mrs. Short hadn’t see him yet and suspected he’d been waylaid by a guest.

  I gave up and headed out again. The walk to Mr. Armitage’s office did me good and allowed me to gather my thoughts. Not that there were many to gather, but I at least felt as though I was making progress.

  Mr. Armitage’s office door was locked but there was a handwritten note pinned to it that said he could be found in the Roma Café next door. I entered the café and was greeted with a hearty welcome from Luigi and nods from each of the two old men sitting on stools at the counter. They were the same men as last time.

  “What a pleasant surprise!” Luigi said, throwing his arms wide. “It’s good to see you, Bella. Come, sit with Harry and I’ll bring you coffee.”

  Mr. Armitage watched me approach with a scowl. He’d been reading the newspaper but he now folded it up and tossed it onto a nearby table. “Let me guess,” he said. “The beak-nosed man is stealing jewels from the guests’ rooms.”

  “No, and I don’t think you should joke about it. It might very well be true.” I sat and placed my purse on my lap. “I see you’re working hard.”

  “I don’t have any work yet, so I might as well come here for the company and coffee.”

  I eyed the elderly men on the stools and Luigi grinding the beans behind the counter. “You were reading the newspaper, keeping your own company. And what if someone comes to your office and finds you not there?”

  “That’s what the sign is for.”

  “It’s not very professional.”

  “Is there a point to your visit, Miss Fox, or are you just here to find fault with me?”

  I tilted my head to the side and gave him an arched look. “It’s very difficult to find fault with you, Mr. Armitage.”

  He blinked rapidly back at me and his mouth opened and closed without uttering a word. It seemed I’d caught him off-guard.

  “And well you know it,” I added.

  He laughed softly. “I knew you complimenting me was too good to be true.”

  I smiled back, pleased with his reaction. There weren’t many ways to disarm him, but I was learning how to crack his frosty façade whenever he put it up. I still had some way to go before he’d forgive me completely, however, and treat me with the same open friendliness from before the debacle that saw him dismissed from the hotel.

  “I need your help, as it happens,” I said.

  His gaze narrowed. “Is this your way of getting me to agree to share the murder investigation?”

  “Of course not. I’m not offering to share with you anymore. You made it quite clear that you were offended by the idea.”

  His gaze narrowed further. “So…?”

  “So I’ve come to ask for your help but am not giving you a thing for it in return. Except my company over a cup of Luigi’s excellent coffee, of course,” I added with a smile for Luigi as he set a cup down in front of me.

  “Excellent coffee? Ah, Bella, you make me a very happy man to hear you say that. Very happy indeed.”

  “I’ll even pay for the coffees today,” I said to Mr. Armitage, once Luigi left us alone. “So what do you think? Will you help me?”

  He sighed and sat forward. “How can I resist such an offer? So how can I help?”

  I removed the photograph from my purse and slid it across the table to him. “Do you know this man?”

  He studied the photograph and nodded. “It’s Lord Wrexham.” He passed the photograph back. “He and Miss Westwood were lovers?”

  “I think so. What do you know about him?”

  “Very little. He came to the New Year’s Eve ball two years in a row, but that was at least two years ago. He was never a guest at the hotel. That either means he stayed at another hotel when he was in London or he has his own townhouse. I’m going to assume the latter. If he’s a regular guest at another hotel, he’s less likely to come to the Mayfair’s ball, although it’s not unheard of.”

  I studied the couple in the photograph again. Pearl looked so fresh faced and beautiful and Lord Wrexham’s skin was clear. “Did Lord Wrexham have lesions when you saw him?”

  He frowned. “No. Does he now?”

  I told him about seeing him at Pearl’s funeral and indicated where on his face he sported warts or sores. “I’m surprised he hasn’t grown a beard to cover them up.”

  He sipped his coffee thoughtfully. I studied him over the rim of my cup, and allowed myself to be distracted from the task at hand by his handsome face. Good looks didn’t last, so Mrs. Larsen told me. Beauty might not last forever, but it certainly helped a woman in Pearl’s line of work get ahead, although I wasn’t sure it mattered as much for men. In my experience, powerful and wealthy men got what they wanted. Sometimes the clever and enterprising ones did too. It didn’t matter what they looked like. Being handsome was more likely to make a man complacent in his youth and enjoy the attention too much, but it rarely had a long-term effect.

  Mr. Armitage was not the usual sort of man, however. He might not be powerful and wealthy, but he was enterprising and clever. His good looks could be an asset in gaining business from wealthy women if he coupled it with his charm.

  “I wonder when they were together,” he said, setting down his cup. “Before Pearl was with Rumford or during?”

  “And was he upset enough to kill her out of jealousy,” I added.

  “What will you do now?”

  “Question Lord Wrexham, I suppose.”

  He humphed.

  “You have something to say?”

  “Good luck with your questioning.”

  “Thank you.” I finished my coffee and rose. “And thank you for your help.”

  He stood too and buttoned his jacket. “My uncle could have answered these questions for you.”

  “I couldn’t find him. I did try. I would certainly rather speak to him in the warmth of the hotel than come all the way over here in the cold.”

  He smirked.

  I decided not to ask him why he was smirking, as I suspected that was what he wanted me to do. What I needed was another reason to call on Mr. Armitage that would conv
ince him I had to come here and not wait for Mr. Hobart. “There was one other thing, as it happens, and this is something I couldn’t ask your uncle. It’s a somewhat awkward matter. Also, your uncle is not at the hotel overnight, but you were when you lived there.”

  “Are you going to say something to make me blush, Miss Fox?”

  “That depends on how delicate your sensibilities are.” I glanced towards the counter where Luigi spoke in Italian to the two customers. I lowered my voice so they couldn’t overhear. “Did my cousin Floyd often bring back…women to his suite without my uncle’s knowledge?”

  Mr. Armitage leaned down a little and matched his tone to mine. “You hesitated before saying women. Are you not sure?”

  “I was about to say whores, but decided to give them the benefit of the doubt.”

  “Whores?”

  “Overt ones, not the elegant mistresses like Pearl or the one on that Russian count’s arm.”

  “Ah.” He straightened. “While I can’t be certain of everything your cousin got up to in private, I’m sure he didn’t entertain women of any description in his suite. I would have heard about it if he had.”

  It was my turn to humph. “Surely the footmen and night porter didn’t tell you all the comings and goings.”

  “Of course they did.”

  I rolled my eyes. “All managers think their staff confide in them.”

  “In my case, they did. You might find it hard to believe, but they actually liked and respected me. I had a good relationship with the staff.”

  I thanked Luigi and smiled at his customers who nodded back. Mr. Armitage followed me outside to the pavement. He hadn’t finished with me yet.

  “Is Floyd’s nocturnal adventures relevant to anything?” he asked.

  “No.”