Chapter 15

Harry returned to his office, leaving me to visit Detective Sergeant Forrester on my own. He claimed he didn't want to step on my toes, since it was my case. I hadn't been sure the detective would meet with me without his former colleague's son present, but Forrester listened intently to the entire story, and even came up with a better suggestion. He agreed the new information about Rupert's escape was relevant, even though the case was an old one, but he would ask for assistance beyond the New York police. Given that the Pinkerton Agency were the ones who reported to the dowager that her son was indeed deceased, he said he'd go to the same source in the hope it would save time. He was a thorough and clever detective. It was no wonder he and D.I. Hobart had become friends, despite the generational age gap.

I returned home, feeling a little restless. Perhaps I'd suggest a picnic, since we had no luncheon engagement. The day was growing warm, however, and I didn't expect Flossy to agree. She loathed the heat.

I smiled at Frank as he opened the door for me. He frowned, which was not unusual for Frank. His warning, however, was. "I'd look out if I were you, Miss Fox."

"Look out for what?" I tried to think of all the things Uncle Ronald could be cross with me about, but gave up. There were quite a few.

Before Frank could respond, Mr. Chapman swooped on me. "A word, Miss Fox."

Frank muttered an apology as he slipped back outside and closed the door.

"Have you been waiting for me?" As I asked it, I glanced behind Mr. Chapman to Peter, hovering not far away. He nodded grimly. "I can see you have something you'd like to get off your chest, so I think it's best if we do this in private."

Mr. Chapman led the way to the staff corridor, but didn't get as far as his office before rounding on me. "What is the meaning of this?" he hissed.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

"You had Sir Ronald give the Hessing-Liddicoat wedding reception to Mr. Bainbridge."

"I did no such thing! If he has asked Floyd to do it—"

"He has."

"Then it was my uncle's decision. No one makes up his mind for him, especially me."

"You have influence over him, more than everyone else except Lady Bainbridge."

"Rubbish."

He pointed a finger at me. "You may not have told him directly to give it to Mr. Bainbridge, but you must have had a hand in it. He never changes his mind once it's made up. There's always a reason."

"Perhaps the reason is that he knew Floyd would do a better job of it. With Harmony's assistance, I assume."

"Ha! I knew this was for her benefit. You wanted Miss Cotton to coordinate the event because she's your friend, so you whispered in your uncle's ear." As if he realized how mad he looked and sounded, he cleared his throat and lowered his voice. "You shouldn't have interfered, Miss Fox."

"I didn't," I ground out. "In fact, I told Miss Hessing to come and speak to you about her wishes for the wedding feast. Her wishes being that you listen to her mother in all things. I tried to help you, Mr. Chapman. Why do you continually think I want to thwart you?"

He tugged on his cuffs, his throat moving with his hard swallow. It would seem I'd got through to him.

He might look a little sheepish for accusing me, but he wasn't prepared to apologize. "Well," he said huffily, "it's too late now." Mr. Chapman pushed past me and headed back along the senior staff corridor.

"Too late for what?" I called after him.

He turned left into the restaurant, where the luncheon service would begin in another hour. With the staff setting tables, it was too public to continue our argument in there.

I drew in a deep breath and returned to the foyer. Mr. Hobart and Peter were in conversation with a large group of guests, although Peter's concerned gaze followed me.

Goliath, pushing a luggage trolley, stopped suddenly before we collided. "What did the floor do to you, Miss Fox?" He chuckled.

I frowned. "Pardon?"

He pointed at my parasol. I'd not noticed that I was using it as a walking stick, stabbing the end into the floor tiles with each step. I tucked it under my arm.

"Have you seen my uncle?"

"He has been upstairs all morning."

I thanked him and continued on. I took the staircase to the fourth floor, even though John was on the ground floor, waiting for passengers. I wasn't in the right mood for idle chatter with him as we rode up slowly in the lift.

I was a little out of breath when I arrived, and purposely slowed my steps before I expired. It was quite warm on the fourth floor. Modern luxury hotels kept cool in summer using advanced ventilation systems that sucked in the outside air, which was then cooled by passing it over blocks of ice before sending it into each room, but the Mayfair was an old building that was once a family-owned mansion. It would require an enormous renovation to install such a sophisticated mechanism.

I opened the door to my suite only to pause upon seeing a folded piece of paper on the floor that had obviously been slipped under my door. It was from Uncle Ronald, summoning me to his office immediately upon my return.

It was clear from the stern way he greeted me that he was cross. Just how cross wasn't as easy to determine. He didn't bellow, which was a good sign. If he was boiling with rage, it would be obvious. He wasn't very good at hiding his emotions.

"You wanted to see me, Uncle?"

He indicated I should sit, then, with more force than each move required, slotted his pen into the stand and flipped the inkpot lid closed. "Cleopatra. Your aunt and I are aware that you're not our daughter or ward, and that you came to us after a liberal upbringing that has shaped you into a young woman with…different ideas to ours. As such, my wife has pointed out that I must be patient with you." As if to illustrate how frustrating this was, he stretched his fingers wide before clasping his hands on the desk in front of him. "I have allowed you to indulge your whim to investigate; I haven't forbidden you to see Armitage when investigating, against my better judgement."

I bit my tongue so hard I drew blood.

"I let you roam around the city on your own, even after dark, something which I should remind you is very unwise. London is not Cambridge."

"It was dusk when I returned, not nighttime," I felt compelled to point out.

"But I draw the line at you breaking and entering into the offices of the senior staff, even if it is for an investigation."

So this was what Mr. Chapman meant by being too late. He'd already informed my uncle that I'd searched his office. I didn't think mentioning the office door wasn't locked would change anything, so I kept my mouth closed.

"I thought you were investigating Hobart's disappearances," he went on.

"Mr. Hobart doesn't disappear during work hours."

"He wasn't there the night of Miss Hessing's engagement dinner. He should have been there."

"Uncle, if you are unhappy with his work, tell him."

He suddenly thumped the desk with his fist, making my nerves jump. "I asked you to look into it!"

I pressed a hand to my rapidly beating heart. "And I told you I wouldn't."

He stroked his thumb and forefinger over his moustache three times before he regained some composure. "My apologies for shouting. However, I think I made it clear that your first priority should always be to the hotel."

"Perhaps I didn't explain myself very well, Uncle, so let me do so now. I adore my family, and my home here at the Mayfair. I appreciate everything you and Aunt Lilian have done for me. But my first priority is to myself and that includes my conscience. Mr. Hobart is a friend, and I won't spy on him. Not even for you or the betterment of the hotel."

To my surprise, he said nothing. He studied the papers on his desk as if he were contemplating picking one up and pretending to work.

"May I go now?" I asked.

"No." His gaze lifted to mine. The anger had almost entirely faded, thankfully. The only good thing about his temper was that it was quickly over. "There is still the matter of Chapman's office. He mentioned you were looking for information about someone called Mrs. Campbell."

"Lady Campbell, and her husband, Sir Ian." I breathed a sigh of relief to be heading down a path I could manage better. "I've been investigating the death of their butler. When I saw Lady Campbell take afternoon tea here, I watched her closely. Before she left, Mr. Chapman tried to speak to her and I wanted to know why."

"Then why not ask him?"

"He wouldn't have told me."

"Then ask me."

"Would you have told me?"

"Of course! You're family, Cleopatra, and family have privileges that staff don't. You have access to information about guests. As long as you keep it to yourself and don't tell anyone, including investigation assistants, then I have no issue with telling you something you need to know." He plucked out his pen from the stand. "Next time you have a question about one of our guests or a regular diner, come to me. There's no need to sneak into the staff's offices. Now, should I be worried that a murderess has been taking tea in our sitting room?"

I smiled, more from relief than amusement. "Lady Campbell is most likely innocent. She hasn't got a motive to kill the butler."

"Not unless he was going to tell the world they're in financial difficulty. That's why Chapman wanted to speak to her. She has a line of credit with us so she can take afternoon tea from time to time with her friends. She and Sir Ian pay a sum off each month, but they're three months in arrears. Chapman wanted to speak to her about it that day you saw her here."

"I had surmised they were in some difficulty, but I don't think their butler was about to let anyone know it, if he even knew it himself. Of course, there could be a motive that I've missed," I added with a frown. The thought was troubling. "I know so little about Mr. Hardy's private life. I don't even know if he had a lover, for example."

Uncle Ronald looked at me fondly. "You're clever, Cleopatra. I doubt you've overlooked anything. But it's true that employers don't know everything that goes on in our staff's private lives." He sighed, no doubt thinking about Mr. Hobart and his frequent disappearances.

I needed to steer the conversation away from that topic before he became cross again. "Speaking of Mr. Chapman, he thinks I told you to take the planning of the Hessing-Liddicoat wedding off him and give it to Floyd."

"Ah, well, it was Miss Hessing herself who asked that of me. I can't deny a guest's wishes, especially not one with a mother like hers. Besides, she had an excellent point. The restaurant opening was a triumph and the engagement dinner was a little disappointing. I have no doubt Floyd will make the wedding reception an event to remember."

I leaned forward, expectant, but he didn't mention Harmony's involvement.

"Do you want me to set Chapman straight?" he asked.

"No, it's all right. I think he believed me when I told him I didn't suggest it to you, and I don't want him thinking I ran to you to complain about him. I want him to think I fight my own battles."

"I'm sure he knows, Cleopatra," he said gently. "It's an admirable trait of yours."

He smiled fondly, then suddenly concentrated on his paperwork. He attempted to write something but found the pen nib dry. He flipped open the inkpot lid as I rose to leave.

"Wait. Take this down to Mrs. Short, will you?" He signed his name on the bottom of a note then passed it to me. "It's a directive to free Miss Cotton from her maid's duties until the wedding is over."

I smiled to myself as I flapped it to hasten the ink to dry.

"Then would you mind informing Florence that Miss Cotton may not have time to do her hair for the next few weeks? She's going to be busy helping Floyd, and you know how upset Florence will be to lose her favorite maid. You're better at calming her than me."

I was feeling quite thrilled for Harmony's sake, so I dared make a quip. "You mean I'm better at fighting your battles as well as my own?"

He laughed lightly. "When it comes to my children, yes, you are. Now, off with you. I have work to do and you have an investigation that requires your attention."

If only it did. The problem was, moving forward required putting pressure on Betty to urge her to confess, but I didn't have the heart for it. She had enough burdens already. I didn't want to add another.

* * *

As I expected,Flossy didn't want to go out for a picnic. She lay sprawled on the sofa in her sitting room with a damp cloth across her forehead and her eyes closed. An electric fan whirred in the corner, but it merely pushed warm air around.

"It's much too hot, Cleo," she whined. "I can't face walking anywhere at the moment."

"It's nicer outside than up here." I crossed to the window and looked down at the groups picnicking beneath shady trees in Green Park. "If we go to Hyde Park, we could dangle our toes in the Serpentine."

"But it's such a long walk to Hyde Park and the hotel coaches won't be able to take us at short notice. They're always busy on days like this."

"We could take a cab."

She wrinkled her nose. "No, thank you."

"The walk wouldn't feel so arduous if we removed our corsets—"

"Cleo!" She sat bolt upright, causing the damp cloth to fall onto her lap. "That's too daring, even for you." She reached out a hand to me. "Let's have the kitchen send up ice cream."

I was about to speak into the brass tube that connected her room to the kitchen when there was a knock at the door.

"Floss, let me in," came Floyd's voice.

I opened the door, and he stumbled inside. "You look dreadful, Floyd."

"Good morning to you too, cousin." He attempted to do up a cufflink, but gave up and thrust out his wrist to me.

I did up both cufflinks but drew the line at fixing his shirt. I pointed my finger at the buttons. "You missed one. And you're missing your tie."

"I know that."

"And you need a shave, and your hair is…interesting."

He licked his palm and smoothed it over the hair behind one ear, but it was the side that was already plastered to his head. It was the other that stuck out.

Flossy called to us to join her in the sitting room. "If you're going to have a conversation, then have it here where I can hear you."

"I was just telling Floyd how awful he looks," I said when we joined her.

She wrinkled her nose at her brother. "Why have you come to my suite smelling like a drunken chimney in need of a bath?"

"Interesting imagery, Sis." He flopped onto an armchair and sank into the cushion. "I'm hiding."

"From Father?"

"From Harmony. She's due to return to my suite in a few moments, after I sent her away almost…" He removed his watch from his waistcoat pocket and checked the time. "…thirty minutes ago."

"Why did you send her away?" I asked.

"I'd just woken up and wasn't ready for our meeting."

Flossy glanced between her brother and me, realizing I knew what he meant. She must feel left out. "What meeting? What's going on?"

"Father has asked me to organize the Hessing-Liddicoat wedding, with Harmony's assistance, of course. She wanted to get the ball rolling this morning and make a list of things to do, but I'm not ready. I haven't even had breakfast." He looked around the suite, perhaps hoping to find some leftovers the maid hadn't cleared away.

"I don't know why she bothers involving you at all," Flossy said. "She did the restaurant opening all on her own."

"She did not!" He sniffed. "I had an important role. Perhaps the most important role."

"You made a guest list, Floyd," I said with a roll of my eyes.

"If the most important and fashionable people hadn't come, it would have been a disaster, and you know it, Cleo. Don't worry. I gave Harmony the credit she was due, and I will do so again when this wedding turns out to be a bloody marvel." Spotting a jug and cups on a side table, he waved a lazy hand in their direction. "Be a good girl and pour me a glass, will you?"

I wasn't sure whether he was asking Flossy or me, but since we were both seated as far from the jug as he was, neither of us was going to indulge him. Flossy ignored him and I told him to fetch it himself.

He merely sighed.

Flossy lay down, then suddenly sat up again. "Does this mean Harmony won't be able to do my hair anymore?"

A knock on the door postponed that drama. Since neither of my cousins rose, I answered it. Harmony stood there in a skirt, blouse and waistcoat ensemble that suited her better than the maid's dress.

"You look smart," I said.

She flattened her hand over her stomach. "Thank you. Is Mr. Bainbridge here? He isn't in his room, and we're supposed to have a meeting."

"He's here," I said, loudly so that Floyd could also hear. "He's avoiding you."

"I am not!" he called back. When Harmony and I joined them, he said it again. "I couldn't do up my cufflinks and I didn't want to meet you looking like a wastrel who'd just got out of bed."

Harmony took in his missing tie and messy hair. Although she didn't say a word, Floyd looked like a boy who'd been scolded by his teacher. He cleared his throat and attempted to flatten his hair again. It didn't make a difference.

"Harmony," Flossy began, "last time you helped Floyd, you managed to find time to do my hair of an evening. Will you be able to do that again?"

"I'm sure I can, Miss Bainbridge."

"And Cleo's."

"Of course."

"Harmony is going to be very busy," I told her. "We can't expect her to be at our beck and call."

"It's only our hair, Cleo. We'll have the other maids fix our outfits for us if needed. Thank you, Harmony. You're wonderful. And you're going to do an excellent job with the wedding, I just know it. I can't wait to see what the ballroom will look like."

"Thank you, Miss Bainbridge."

"Yes," Floyd added, "thank you, Floss. I think we're going to do a marvelous job of it."

Flossy snorted. "Stop pretending you'll have anything to do with it, Floyd. Everyone knows Harmony will be the driving force of the entire thing. All you'll need to do is be present in the meetings with Mrs. Hessing. She's such a snob that she'll insist on having a Bainbridge in charge so she can boast about it to her friends. I'm sure that's the only reason Father is including you at all."

Floyd was so taken aback by her insult that he was rendered quite speechless.

Harmony quickly spoke before he could recover and begin a duel with Flossy where insults were the weapon of choice. "I've set up a lunchtime meeting with Mrs. Hessing in the small sitting room at two, which will give you and I enough time to discuss our thoughts beforehand. Shall we return to your suite to work, sir?"

Floyd removed his watch again and flipped the cover open. "Excellent plan. I'll have tea sent up. I'm parched." He rose to leave, but the gold of his watch flashed in the sunlight coming through the window, catching my eye.

"May I see your watch?" I asked, taking the device before he could pocket it.

The gold chain was short, so I had to step closer to take a proper look. The watch's case was engraved with an elaborate swirl that included his initials. Inside the cover, the watchmaker had engraved Floyd's date of birth.

"If you're going to steal it, you should wait until I'm not wearing it," Floyd said, sounding amused.

"Is it a clue?" Harmony asked.

"A clue for what?" Flossy said.

I briefly told her about Mr. Hardy, including the tiepin and watch I'd found hidden in his shoe. I mentioned that the tiepin was a gift, but I wasn't sure about the watch, and I'd wondered if he'd stolen it. "If he had, shouldn't it have an engraving like yours, Floyd? The initials of the man it once belonged to, or of the person who gave it to him. But it was quite plain."

"Did it have a silversmith's mark?" Floyd asked. "Or a watchmaker's?"

"I didn't look that closely, and I can't check now. It and the tiepin were stolen from me."

"That's a suspicious coincidence," Harmony said.

I frowned but didn't have the opportunity to explore that line of thought further as Floyd made another valid point.

"Good quality silver watches aren't common. You could go to the best watchmakers and describe it to them, and they might remember who they sold it to. It would be time consuming, but if you're at a loss and you think it's important, it might be worth it."

I had a better idea. "There was a box of receipts in Mr. Hardy's office. If he did purchase it, the watchmaker's receipt might be among them. If not, then I'll assume he stole it and send some friends out to as many watchmakers as possible in the city to make inquiries."

"What friends?" he asked.

I tucked the watch back into his waistcoat pocket, then stood on my toes to kiss his cheek. "Well done, Floyd."

He gave his sister a smug smile. "See, I am good for something."

"Yes, dearest brother. You're good for ordering ice cream for me from the kitchen before you leave."

* * *

Mrs. Turner'schange of heart bothered me. Her sudden opposition to me continuing with the investigation was quite aggressive. Perhaps her reasons were financial, and she realized she couldn't afford to pay me, and when I'd continued to investigate, she'd become annoyed with me. It was understandable. I had been persistent.

But I suspected her reasons weren't financial, that something else lay at the root. I wasn't yet sure what.

For now, the reason didn't matter. The fact remained that none of the Campbells' staff would allow me to enter the house, let alone Mr. Hardy's office. Harry was known to them all now, too, and would be in the same boat. His charms wouldn't be of any use. Even so, I went to his office to ask his advice.

He wasn't there.

I headed to the Campbells' residence on my own. By the time I arrived, I'd decided the only way I could get in unobserved was through the back door, accessed via the rear courtyard. There were no outdoor staff, and of the few staff they did have, only two had a good reason to be in the courtyard. Davey, to carry deliveries in, and Betty, to hang up washing. The back door was also closer to Mr. Hardy's office. Indeed, I wouldn't need to pass any other rooms to get to it.

I entered the courtyard off the mews and crept to the rear door of the house. Finding it unlocked, I slipped inside and tiptoed down the stairs to the basement. The house was quiet except for Birdy humming tunelessly in the kitchen.

I tried the handle of Mr. Hardy's office door, but as I expected, it was locked. I removed my lock-picking tools and got to work as quickly as I could. Fortunately, it was a simple mechanism. Moments later, I entered the office and closed the door softly behind me.

The box of receipts was in the same place, in one of the desk drawers. I rifled through the bills of sale from vintners, tailors, and haberdashers, all of whom Mr. Hardy would have engaged on behalf of the Campbells. If the watch was purchased for Mr. Hardy, not Sir Ian, there was a possibility the receipt would be in his own room. I'd not seen it there when I'd gone through his belongings on the day Mrs. Turner engaged my services, but as the pile in the box grew smaller, my hope of finding it in his office faded.

Just as I was about to give up, I found it near the bottom. According to the handwritten receipt, Mason and Sons had sold a watch matching the description of the one I'd found in Mr. Hardy's shoe three weeks before he died for the sum of twenty pounds. It wasn't an enormous amount, but it would have been out of reach on a butler's wages, especially one who was supposedly inexpensive to employ due to his limp. Mr. Hardy's name appeared on the receipt, written in the same hand as the watch's description. The watchmaker had definitely sold it to him, then. Mr. Hardy hadn't stolen it, nor had he received it as a gift.

So where had he gotten the money to buy it? Was he blackmailing the Whitchurches, after all? Or someone else? Or had he inherited money?

Even more curious, why store it in his shoe and not the lockbox?

The more I considered those questions, the more I realized I didn't know enough about Mr. Hardy. Did he have anyone in his life who may have left him an inheritance? A former employer, perhaps, or a friend? There were no personal letters or photographs in his bedchamber or office, and the other staff hadn't known of anyone.

I returned the box to the drawer and rounded the desk. As I reached for the door handle, it began to turn. Someone was entering from the other side.

I was trapped.