Chapter 18

Two days later, I finally got to enjoy afternoon tea with Flossy. Floyd hadn't told her why I'd postponed, and she was none the wiser that a murderer had briefly held me captive in the suite next to hers. She was once again her cheerful self, having gotten over her heartache after the maharaja's son's rejection. We didn't have an opportunity to discuss it alone as we sat with several of her friends, their mothers and Aunt Lilian at the table beside us.

As I popped the last macaron into my mouth, I felt as though I was being watched. I peered through the fronds of the potted palm next to me and saw Lady Whitchurch at another table with three other women. When she realized she'd been caught staring, she looked away.

I did not expect her to acknowledge me, so was surprised when she approached as we were both leaving. She made a small sign that she'd like to speak to me alone.

I drew away from the others. "Good afternoon, madam. I hope you enjoyed your afternoon tea."

She offered me a small, if somewhat anxious, smile. "I didn't know you came here."

"I live here. My uncle owns the hotel."

She pressed her fingers to her lips. "Oh! You never mentioned it."

"If you're concerned about what I learned during the course of my investigation, then let me assure you that your secrets are safe with me. My family and their friends are none the wiser and will remain so."

She lowered her hand to her stomach. "Thank you. Your discretion is appreciated." She caught my arm as I began to move off. "There's something else I want to thank you for. My mother-in-law is moving back to the country estate."

"I thought the dowager needed to be in London, close to her doctor."

"He told her that, but she's stubborn and does as she pleases." She gave me a wry look. "She's dying, and she'd rather do that there, in the place she considers her home, surrounded by the things she loves."

"But her family is here."

"As I said, surrounded by the things she loves."

Poor Lord Whitchurch. "Do you think I had something to do with her moving back there?"

"Quite possibly. You may not have realized it, but she was involved in a battle of wills with you. It was a case of who would give up first. Would you stop digging into the past, or would she be forced to offer up the family secrets? She lost." Lady Whitchurch smiled. "She hates to lose."

I considered asking her if she believed the dowager's claim that Rupert was dead, but decided not to. She seemed so happy that her mother-in-law was leaving her and her husband in peace; I didn't want to throw cold water on her contentment by suggesting the man she'd loathed, whom she'd almost been forced to marry against her will, might be alive. Of all the people I'd met throughout the investigation, Lord and Lady Whitchurch had not only been amongst the most innocent, they'd also been two of the most sincere.

She walked with me past Mr. Chapman, who politely thanked her and said he hoped to see her again soon while simultaneously managing to give me a glare. There wasn't a great deal of iciness in it, however. I'd seen him leave his office this morning with Harmony. She was clearly involving him in the wedding arrangements, and I knew she'd make sure he was doing the parts that he loved to do, while she continued with the rest.

Lady Whitchurch eyed her friends, waiting for her in the foyer. "Have you seen the Campbells lately, Miss Fox?"

"No." Two days ago wasn't lately, surely. "Why?"

"Lady Campbell was supposed to join me here today, but she sent a message to say she wasn't feeling up to it. She's been quite out of sorts this last day or two. I can't think why. It can't be the death of her butler, or she'd mention it. Never mind. I'll call on her tomorrow. She'll be so surprised when I tell her you're related to the Bainbridges of the Mayfair Hotel." She thanked me again and left to join her friends.

I walked back to Flossy. The moment I was within earshot, she and her friends wanted to know who I'd been speaking to.

"Lady Whitchurch," I said.

Cora Druitt-Poore's eyes widened. "The one whose brother-in-law went missing years ago?"

"Wasn't he her former fiancé?" Felicity Digby asked with a smirk and waggle of her eyebrows.

Aunt Lilian's friend, Mrs. Mannering, told the girls to hush. "How do you know Lady Whitchurch, Miss Fox?"

I was saved from answering by Peter trying to get my attention. I made my excuses and joined him at the post desk. "You want to see me?"

"Not me, Mrs. Short. She's in her office."

I knocked on her door then entered upon her summons. "Peter said you wished to see me."

"I have something for you from my sister." She opened her desk drawer and removed an envelope. "Your fee."

I'd already made up my mind I wouldn't accept it. It wasn't right. Mrs. Turner and the other staff needed the money more. They could ill afford to pay me. "Please, give it back to her. I can't accept it."

She hesitated, staring at me as if trying to get my measure, then lowered the envelope to her desk. "She won't take it back. Nor should she. She employed you to do a task and you performed it. This belongs to you." Mrs. Short offered me the envelope again.

"Do you know The Female Servants Benevolent Society on Southampton Row?"

"I do."

"Would you mind donating it to them, please? I'd prefer not to do it myself. There's someone staying in one of their rooms who I'd rather not see."

She picked up her pen and concentrated on her roster chart. "That'll be much appreciated, I'm sure, although I can't say it's good of you to think of them." This last part, she added in a mutter.

I wasn't sure if she'd wanted me to hear it or not. "I suspect I won't like the answer, but do tell me why you think that, Mrs. Short."

She put down the pen and leveled her gaze with mine. "Giving money to the poor is only a kind deed when a person can ill afford it. Otherwise, it's one's duty."

Clearly, she thought I was an heiress, too. "Good day to you, Mrs. Short." I turned to go, but stopped at the door. "Do you know, when I first met Mrs. Turner, I only saw the physical resemblance between the two of you and I thought how alike you were? But now that I've got to know her a little, I see that you're very different."

She picked up her pen again. "Thank you for noticing."

Perhaps it was just as well that she didn't understand the insult in my comment.

My uncle hailed me as he emerged from Mr. Hobart's office. "Good to see you taking an interest in the hotel affairs, Cleopatra." He nodded at Mrs. Short's office, then glanced over his shoulder at Mr. Hobart's. He caught my elbow and drew me away, out of earshot. "Come and see me later. I've got your fee for you on my desk."

"Fee?"

"For helping me with Hobart."

It took a great effort, but I managed to refrain from rolling my eyes. "You know I didn't investigate, Uncle, and as much as I'd like to take your money for doing nothing, I can't."

"Your morals do you credit. You may not have investigated Hobart, but you did help. You encouraged me to speak to him. We just had a good chat, as it happens."

"Wonderful! I'm so pleased. So… is everything all right?"

"Quite well, for now, and a little while longer. He was considering retiring, but changed his mind."

What a relief! I'd been so worried imagining all the terrible things that could be causing Mr. Hobart's absences, illness being chief among them. "That is good news."

"Indeed. He was spending his lunches and some evenings talking to his bank manager and lawyers about selling his house and moving to the seaside."

"That sounds very pleasant. Why did he change his mind?"

"His wife decided against the idea. She said she didn't want him under her feet just yet, and that he'd be bored away from the hotel. Apparently, her sister-in-law had something to do with it. Her husband has recently retired and he's trying his wife's patience."

I couldn't help laughing. I could picture Harry's mother getting annoyed with D.I. Hobart for getting in her way. He was a man who needed to be active, and being at home all the time was going to be a trial for them both.

"I told Hobart that he can't retire until Peter is ready." Uncle Ronald gazed out to the foyer where Peter stood chatting with a guest. "He's some way off from that, I'm afraid. If only Armitage hadn't left. He could step into Hobart's shoes at a moment's notice." He sighed, then shrugged. "I told Hobart to take a holiday instead."

It seemed he'd conveniently overlooked the fact that he'd dismissed Harry. It was pointless to correct him. "That's an excellent idea. I'm sure a week or two will do him wonders."

"Just as long as he waits until after we return from our family holiday in Brighton. The hotel will need him in my absence." He patted my arm and headed off to speak to some guests he recognized in the foyer.

I was considering whether to follow him or speak to Mr. Hobart when my mind was made up for me. My name was whispered from behind.

"Cleo, a word."

I spun around to see Harry standing there with Detective Sergeant Forrester. They must have arrived in the senior staff corridor via the service lift at the end. "Did you come in through the kitchen entrance?"

"I thought it best to avoid the front door."

"Very wise." I eyed D.S. Forrester, who was looking guilty for sneaking in. "You haven't been banned, only Harry."

"I feel conspicuous," he said, indicating his plain suit.

"You grow accustomed to it," Harry told him. "Don't worry, we're just going to my uncle's office. Is he in there, Cleo?"

"I believe so. Wait here." I knocked on the door then, when Mr. Hobart invited me in, I signaled to Harry and D.S. Forrester to follow me.

We slipped inside before anyone saw and closed the door.

Mr. Hobart blinked in surprise. "Harry! What are you doing here?"

Harry introduced D.S. Forrester. "We need to speak to Cleo. Can we use your office?"

Mr. Hobart stood and indicated his chair. "Please do. I'll walk the floor for a little while."

Harry took the chair his uncle vacated, while the detective and I occupied the guest chairs. Harry looked comfortable in the manager's seat. It ought to have been his one day. It would have been, if I hadn't changed the course of his life. Sometimes, when I allowed myself to dwell on my mistakes, the magnitude of that one haunted me.

"Are you all right, Cleo?" Harry asked. "You look a little peaky."

"I'm fine."

Even so, D.S. Forrester poured a glass of water for me from the jug on the sideboard. He handed it to me with a smile.

Harry narrowed his gaze as he watched on.

"Thank you, Detective," I said, returning the smile.

"Please, call me Monty."

"Then you must call me Cleo."

Harry cleared his throat. "Forrester telephoned me to give me some news. I thought you should hear it, since it's about your investigation." He indicated that Monty should take over.

The detective removed a notepad from his inside jacket pocket and flipped it to a page with a series of notes written in an untidy hand. "I haven't yet heard back from the New York police, but I did receive a telegram from a Pinkerton agent, after I sent the agency a message. This particular agent was hired by the Dowager Lady Whitchurch to find her son, Rupert. The agent confirmed that his investigation led him to discover that a man named Rupert Whitby died after being struck by a train on April twenty-ninth this year. Witnesses claimed he was drunk and fell off the station platform. At the dowager's request, the Pinkerton agent made further inquiries and discovered that Rupert Whitby had indeed sent letters to England on a regular basis from his local post office. He also had a photograph in his possession of a younger version of himself standing beside a horse in front of an English country manor. Someone had written ‘Rupert and Midnight at Deensbury House' on the reverse of the photograph." Monty closed the notebook. "Deensbury is the name of the Whitchurch's country estate."

"So Rupert is dead," I murmured.

"The dowager spoke the truth," Harry said. "I wasn't sure I believed her until now."

"It certainly draws a line under that mystery. Thank you, Monty. What will happen now?"

"I've sent a report to my superior. He'll most likely officially close the case without making further inquiries. I also have news about the death of Hardy, the Campbells' butler. Based on your evidence and the capture of Davey, the investigation has been re-opened. Yesterday, the body was exhumed, and tests were run on it, as well as the bottle of Cure-All tonic you gave me. The tonic contained hyoscine hydrobromide. Traces of the substance were also found in the body, more than should be there if he'd simply taken a normal dose. His heart also showed early signs of disease. The excessive dose of hyoscine most likely caused it to fail altogether."

"Then Davey may have told the truth when he said he didn't want to kill Mr. Hardy, merely frighten him by making him unwell."

"It might be enough to save Davey from the noose," Harry said. "Although he'll spend a number of years in prison. That's two cases solved, Cleo. Well done." He rose and extended his hand to the detective. "Thank you, Forrester."

"I should be the one thanking Miss Fox. I mean Cleo." He smiled sheepishly at me. "You make me look good to my superiors."

Harry had been about to open the office door, but paused. "Cleo should be credited with solving those cases."

"She is! I do credit her! Sir." Poor Monty hastily said his goodbyes and hurried out of the office under Harry's watchful gaze.

"Harry," I chided. "Did you have to come across quite so gruff? You frightened him."

"He's a policeman. He shouldn't be so easily frightened." I went to exit the office, but he put his hand out to stop me. "I haven't finished with you yet."

I crossed my arms over my chest and arched my brows pointedly at the doorway. He stepped aside so that I could pass if I wanted to. I ought to leave without listening to him. What if he kissed me again? But I got the feeling he wanted to speak to me, not kiss me. "Go on then."

"Why didn't you tell me Davey was here?"

"Oh. You heard about that. There was no point. He was apprehended quickly and taken to Scotland Yard by Victor and that was the end of it."

"You should have told me."

"Why? What would it have achieved?"

"Nothing, but I'd still like to know. I was involved in the investigation, for one thing. But mostly because we're friends and, as your friend, I want to hear about things that happen to you. We are friends, aren't we, Cleo?"

Was it a trap? Would I somehow stumble into admitting that I had feelings for him if I answered him truthfully? I spent so long considering my answer that he gave up with a shake of his head. He stormed out of the office only to return a moment later before I'd had a chance to move.

His temper had gone off the boil, but it still simmered as he regarded me with a searing intensity that had my insides melting. "When I heard, I was worried. That's why I wanted to know."

"And that's precisely why I didn't tell you. I knew you'd worry and it would have been needless because it was over quickly and I was in no danger."

"Even so, I want to know, and I want to hear it from you, not third hand from Forrester. From you, Cleo, face to face, where I can see that you're fine. It will ease the worry."

"That makes sense, I suppose. I'm sorry. Next time, I'll tell you in person or telephone you."

"Good." He frowned. "But don't let there be a next time." He made no move to go. I could tell he was warring with himself about something else. Perhaps now the kiss would come.

My stomach fluttered, part in panic, part with desire. Each emotion grappled with the other until panic came out on top. "You should leave via the front door."

"I plan to." He still didn't move, however. He did not attempt to touch me, but the look he gave me was as thrilling and terrifying as any touch or kiss. "I am a patient man, Cleo."

He walked off before I could say another word, leaving me staring at his straight back and broad shoulders, my nerves shredded.

I drew in a deep breath as I smoothed my hand over my still-fluttering stomach. Then, with a toss of my head and a determined stride, I followed a few feet behind him. I watched as he crossed the foyer to say goodbye to Mr. Hobart. He greeted Goliath, had a few words with Peter, then shook the hand of a guest he must have known from his time working at the hotel. He even nodded at Uncle Ronald.

My uncle nodded back. He did not throw him out nor storm up to him. There was no fury in his gaze. For once, I couldn't read his thoughts.

After Harry exited the hotel, Uncle Ronald approached me. "Was he here to see you, Cleopatra?"

"We had a case to discuss. It's finished now."

"So you won't have any need to see him again."

"No."

"Until the next time you work together, that is."

I didn't say so, but I wasn't sure there should be a next time. Harry was too much of a temptation. If I was going to move beyond desire and forget about him, I'd have to do a better job of avoiding him.