Chapter 3

We set off again, retracing our steps down Piccadilly to Apsley House where we caught an omnibus to take us part of the way to St. Mary's Hospital in Paddington.

"Uncle Alfred tells me all has been calm at the hotel lately," Harry said as we settled on the seat.

"Calm but busy, particularly with Miss Hessing's engagement dinner last night. It almost ended in disaster, but thankfully all crises were averted before guests noticed. Speaking of your uncle, where was Mr. Hobart last night?"

"He wasn't at the dinner?"

"No. In fact, he's been absent quite a lot lately. It's very unlike him. Is there a reason?"

"Not that I know of." He frowned. "You're right, though. It is unusual. I'll ask next time I see him."

"Oh, no, please don't. It makes me feel like I'm spying for my uncle."

The rest of our journey threatened to be ruined by awkward silence, so I filled it with chatter about the engagement party instead, as well as Miss Hessing's ideas for her wedding day. If Harry found the topic dull, he was polite enough not to mention it and let me prattle on uninterrupted. By the time we alighted, I was even more parched than before.

We entered the handsome red-brick hospital building and asked for directions to Dr. Garside's rooms. A few minutes later, we found a man wearing a white coat peering into a microscope in a laboratory smaller than my sitting room. Harry cleared his throat. "Dr. Garside?"

"One moment," the doctor said, without looking up from his microscope. "Make yourself at home while I finish this."

Amongst the rows of bottles, racks of test tubes, and piles of papers, I spied some cups filled with water. "Do you mind if I take a sip? I'm dying of thirst." I reached for one.

"Don't drink that!" Dr. Garside plucked the cup from my grip.

"What is it?"

"Something that will make you very ill if you drink it." Dr. Garside set the cup back in line with the others. "I'm afraid I don't have any refreshments in here. I don't usually have visitors."

"You should have a warning label on those," Harry said tightly.

"As I said, I don't usually have visitors." Dr. Garside spoke just as tightly as he regarded Harry with a mixture of annoyance and faint recognition. "Have we met?" Based on his thinning hair and the creases around his eyes, I gauged him to be aged in his mid-forties. He was neatly attired, a green silk waistcoat and black bowtie showing underneath his laboratory coat, although the bowtie was a little crooked.

Harry reintroduced himself. Once the connection to the former Detective Inspector Hobart was established, Dr. Garside's face cleared. He smiled and extended his hand. "I remember now. We met at your father's farewell. You're a private detective."

"I am, and this is my associate, Miss Fox. Her current investigation is the reason for our visit."

Dr. Garside studied me anew, this time with all the attention he gave the object under his microscope. "A lady detective? Do you specialize in wayward husbands, Miss Fox?"

It was an obvious assumption, considering most female detectives tended to get lumped with cases that involved spying on, or catching out, philandering men. I tried not to let it annoy me. "I tend to find myself embroiled in murders."

"How fortunate!"

"Not for the victims."

Dr. Garside blinked. "Yes. Quite. I mean how fortunate for you to have interesting cases to investigate. I assume Mr. Armitage told you I can help identify the cause of death where it's not obvious, and that's why you're here? I ought to warn you, I need access to the cadaver for my work, and I doubt you brought one with you." He chuckled to himself. "Forgive me. It was a macabre little joke."

I removed the bottle from my bag. "We're hoping you can identify if there is poison in these seltzer salts and, if so, which one."

Dr. Garside's eyes brightened. He waggled his fingers as if he couldn't wait to wrap them around the bottle. "How intriguing! I do love a good poisoning."

I somehow kept a straight face as I watched him sniff the contents before distributing pea-sized amounts of the salts into test tubes. He then collected several bottles of liquid from the shelf and proceeded to drip three drops of one of the liquids onto the first batch of salts. Nothing happened.

"Do you know when the victim last ate or drank anything?" he asked as he dropped three drops of the second liquid into the second test tube. "Was it immediately before his death or much earlier?"

"Earlier. All the witnesses say he didn't have anything immediately before. When he did eat or drink, the others had the same thing. That's why I wanted the salts tested, as they're potentially the only thing that he had that the others didn't." I proceeded to tell him how the butler had seemed disoriented then collapsed and had a seizure before dying.

"Did he vomit? Froth at the mouth?"

"Not as far as I know."

"Was there discoloration around or inside his mouth? Or fingernails?"

"I'm afraid I don't know. I didn't see the body and the witnesses who did might not have noticed those things if they were present."

"The police believe it was natural causes, if that helps," Harry said.

Dr. Garside added droplets to the last test tube. Nothing happened. I thought that was the end of his experiments, but he then proceeded to use a pair of tongs to hold each test tube over a Bunsen burner. He muttered to himself then finally stood back, hands on hips.

"Based on your witness reports, I can inform you he didn't die of arsenic, antimony, mercury, or cyanide poisoning. Without doing an autopsy, I can only guess, but it's very likely your victim may have consumed hyoscine in the hours leading up to his death. It also goes by the name of scopolamine and is found in the seeds and leaves of henbane. If taken in small doses, it can actually be beneficial. The medical profession uses it to treat motion sickness, stomach complaints and even alcoholism. Larger doses, however, can kill. The victim will convulse, then lose consciousness, and finally suffer respiratory failure. If the fully grown male victim had any underlying conditions, like a weak heart, then as little as a quarter of a grain could be fatal. It's imperative that a patient taking a tonic or powder containing hyoscine hydrobromide ingests only the dose prescribed by their doctor."

I indicated the series of test tubes. Some of the seltzer had changed color or fizzed, while others looked the same. "Which one of these shows you that it"s hyoscine?"

"None." He handed me the bottle of seltzer salts. "This doesn't contain anything other than bicarbonate of soda. Not only would a dose of the seltzer not have killed him, it wouldn't have cured him of anything either."

I tucked the bottle into my bag. "Thank you, Doctor. I'm sorry about almost drinking your experiment earlier."

"That's not an experiment. It's fluid from the brain and spinal cord of a recently deceased male."

I must have looked like I was about to be sick because Harry hastily thanked the doctor then steered me out of the laboratory, through the hospital and outside. The fresh air helped to settle my stomach, although it was warm and I was still thirsty. When Harry suggested we find a teashop, I gratefully agreed.

The brief walk did me good and my stomach made the most unladylike rumble of hunger as we sat at a table covered with a pretty blue-and-yellow checkered tablecloth. We ordered tea and sandwiches and fell into a discussion about poisons, keeping our voices low so as not to alarm our nearest neighbors.

"Without doing an autopsy, it's impossible to know whether Mr. Hardy was poisoned or died of natural causes," I said.

"Dr. Garside seemed quite sure that if the victim was poisoned, it was with hyoscine," Harry said. "The question is, how was it administered?"

"If at all."

His lips curved at the edges with his small smile. "But you don't believe he did. I can tell from the dint between your brows."

I pressed my finger to the space between my brows in an attempt to smooth out the dint. I wished I wasn't so easy to read, particularly by him. "I would be inclined to think he did die of natural causes if it wasn't for the forced lock on the lockbox and the fact his room had clearly been searched. Not to mention the other staff noticed Mr. Hardy seemed altered when meeting the Campbells' friends. Not the ones on the night of the murder, but the couple who dined there a few nights earlier, the Whitchurches. They all said he became more thoughtful and somewhat distracted."

"Tell me what you know about them. It might help to toss out ideas as to why the sight of them unnerved him."

"It wasn't the sight of Lord and Lady Whitchurch that brought about a change in him. It was the mention of their name when Lady Campbell informed him the Whitchurches were coming to dinner. He clearly knew them or knew of them. According to the footman, they recognized Mr. Hardy at dinner, although he thinks they couldn't place him."

Harry frowned. "Whitchurch? That name rings a bell."

"Were they guests at the hotel?"

He slowly shook his head. "I don't think so…" He continued to frown as we ate our sandwiches and sipped our tea. Every suggestion I made as to how the name could be familiar to him was met with another shake of his head.

Until I suggested that he might not have met them at all, but heard someone else mention them. He clicked his fingers. "You're right." He picked up his teacup. "Finish your sandwiches. I need to telephone my father."

* * *

Harry promisedto telephone me after he'd talked to his father. He'd not been able to give me any other information about the Whitchurches except to say the name reminded him of an old case of Inspector Hobart's. It must have made an impact on Harry at the time for him to recall the name years later.

I returned to the hotel well before it was time to dress for afternoon tea. I informed Goliath and Frank about my new case, then repeated the information for Peter's sake, who told me that Mrs. Short had asked him to send me to her office when I returned. Once there, I again gave a report on the investigation so far. I had a question for her, too.

"What do you know of the Campbells, Mrs. Short? Your sister is inclined to protect her employers, but I believe you will give me an honest answer. Do they treat their staff well?"

She hesitated, then expelled a resigned sigh. "My sister won't like me telling you this. She'll assume it has no bearing on the case, but I think you ought to know everything. The Campbells have paid the staff their wages late on occasion. They've also let one of the maids go, as well as the coachman and groom, after they sold their horse and equipage."

So they were poor by the standards of their class. The sumptuousness of the dining room had belied their reduced circumstances. "Mrs. Turner mentioned Sir Ian's father lost the country estate some years ago."

"It seems the money from its sale may have run out."

It did indeed seem to be the case. "Thank you, Mrs. Short. If you think of anything else your sister may have told you that may be relevant, please inform me."

"One more thing, Miss Fox." She wouldn't immediately meet my gaze, but when she finally did, she held it as directly as always. "If my sister can't raise the funds to pay you, I would like to contribute something to your fee."

The way she worded it should have been a warning. "What would you like to contribute?"

"I'll allow Miss Cotton to continue to breakfast with you in your suite of a morning."

I stared at her, my mouth ajar. Should I deny it? Say nothing? Call her a blackmailer?

She spoke again before I'd made my decision. "I know she breakfasts with you, and I've been considering whether to put an end to it. If the other maids find out, it might cause jealousy. They'll think she gets special treatment from me because of her friendship with you. But I'll allow her to continue until someone discovers you, at which point I must insist that you end the practice."

I was still a little stunned, so only managed to say, "I see."

"Miss Fox…" She sighed. "I hesitate to say this, because I don't think you'll understand, but, if I were you, I'd consider ending the breakfasts anyway. You may think you're doing something nice for Miss Cotton, but all you're really doing is giving her false hope. She believes she's special because she has your ear, that you can help her rise above her station, but we both know she can't be anything other than a maid at this point in time. Perhaps one day she will be housekeeper here, when I am gone, but that's all a girl like her can hope for."

It wasn't often that my temper surfaced, but at that moment, it boiled up and spilled over. I couldn't contain it any more than I could hold back a sneeze. "Harmony is my friend, it's true, but it isn't our friendship that will see her take on more responsibility here. It's her intelligence, diligence and dedication. She acquitted herself superbly when she organized the opening of the restaurant. She doesn't need my friendship to help her, because it's clear to all who know her that she is extremely competent and capable. Indeed, she has asked me not to help her." I strode for the door, only to stop before opening it. "And why shouldn't she, or any of your maids, wish to take on a different role? What is wrong with aspiring to be something else?"

"Because very, very few women can ever fulfil their dreams, Miss Fox. You are privileged enough to be able to afford to dream. Girls like Miss Cotton and the rest of the maids cannot."

"You don't know my situation at all, Mrs. Short. Do not presume." I stormed out of her office before I said something I'd later regret. Despite my anger, she was right about one thing: I might not be wealthy, like she seemed to think, but I had a privileged life compared to the maids. I had an education and all the advantages that came with being the niece of Sir Ronald Bainbridge. I never had to worry about paying rent or going hungry. If I wanted to climb the ladder of society, I only had to marry the right man, as unpalatable as that option was to me.

Maids and other service staff could rarely move up to the next rung of the ladder, however. There was only the same rung, or lower. I couldn't name a single maid who'd risen beyond the position of housekeeper. While the senior position came with more responsibility and pay than a maid's, it wasn't what Harmony aspired to.

My temper had cooled a little by the time I came across Flossy emerging from the lift. She looked like she'd been crying. John, the lift operator, looked relieved that he no longer had to be enclosed in a small space alone with her. He must have been worried that she'd spill all of her woes out to him. Perhaps she already had.

"Flossy, what is it?" I caught her by the arms and tried to peer into her eyes, but she wouldn't lift her chin. "What's wrong?"

"It's Mother." She fished a handkerchief from the inside of her sleeve. "She's being beastly."

"What did she say?"

"She called me silly for not liking that fellow she made me sit next to at dinner last night. Apparently, she thought he'd be a good match for me, but he was frightfully dull, not to mention he had a lazy eye that wandered about independent of the other one. When I told her my reasons for talking to you most of the night instead of him, she got very cross and said I'd never find a husband if I set such impossibly high standards. But Cleo, if I lower them, who knows what sort of man she'll marry me off to."

Three guests approached to take the lift, so I steered Flossy away. "Don't take it to heart. Her illness is making her say things she doesn't mean."

Aunt Lilian had been taking a tonic containing cocaine for her nerves for some time. While it initially gave her renewed energy, when it wore off, she became lethargic and suffered debilitating headaches. She'd become addicted to it, needing more of it more often to give her the same benefits. We'd tried convincing her to stop taking it, but she refused, saying she needed it to get through the whirl of social engagements. Lately, her moods had changed again. Usually so kind and thoughtful, she now snapped at her loved ones and had become short with those around her.

"What's even worse is that Father is also in a dreadful mood because Mother is," Flossy went on. "I wouldn't go near his office if I were you, Cleo."

"I won't, but I am going upstairs. Are you coming?"

She shook her head. "I need some fresh air."

I took the stairs to the fourth floor rather than wait for the lift. I glanced at my uncle's office door, then walked in the other direction, to my suite. I passed Floyd emerging from his rooms.

"There you are," he said. "Come with me." He signaled for me to follow him, then strode off.

I stayed put. "To where?"

"My father's office."

"Why does he want to see me?"

He stopped. "He doesn't, but I think you should speak to him."

"Flossy told me to avoid him."

"You can't avoid him, so it's best to get it over with."

"Get what over with?"

"Hobart." With that cryptic response he knocked on Uncle Ronald's office door, then opened it. "After you, Cousin."

Sometimes, the best way to counter someone's ill temper is to attack it with positivity and brightness. I smiled. "Good afternoon, Uncle. I've just been outside for a walk. It's a glorious summer day out there."

He grunted. "Glad some of us have the time for walks. I've got work to do." He picked up a ledger then dropped it on the desk with a loud bang. A pencil rolled across the surface and tumbled to the floor.

I picked it up and returned it to the desk. "Don't you have an assistant to take some of the load from you?"

"He's busy. Besides, this is a reporting issue. Hobart should be taking care of it, but he's busy, too. Usually he does his reports at home if he doesn't get them done here, but lately he's been shirking."

"Is it shirking not to work out of hours? If he has so much to do that he needs to take work home, then perhaps he needs more help."

"He has an assistant," Uncle Ronald growled. "Anyway, this has never been a problem before. He never complained about taking work home. He simply did it. This lackadaisical attitude of his is becoming a problem."

"It's hardly lackadaisical to refuse to take work home," I said tightly.

"He should have been at the hotel last night for the engagement party. And he leaves right on time lately, not a moment later, and he takes an entire hour off for lunch. He used to work through the day without stopping."

I glanced at Floyd, standing a little behind me, but he remained silent. I suspected he didn't want his father's attention to turn to him. He appeared to be waiting for his father to say something, however.

"Floyd, why did you insist I come in here to speak to Uncle Ronald?"

Uncle Ronald frowned. "Why indeed? Afraid to talk to me alone, son?"

Floyd cleared his throat. "I thought Cleo might have an answer for you about Hobart's change of attitude. If not, she could find out, given they're on friendly terms."

I narrowed my gaze at him. "I don't have any answers for you. Perhaps Mr. Hobart simply needs a rest. When was the last time he had a holiday?"

Father and son both shrugged.

"There you are. Perhaps he's tired."

"Then why not just say so and ask for some time off?" Uncle Ronald snapped. He had a point. "I know what's going on with him," he went on. "I don't need you to find out for me, Cleopatra. I can make an educated guess. I have it on good authority that the Carlton Hotel is in need of a new manager. Hobart must be considering the position."

"Steady on," Floyd declared. "Hobart would never leave the Mayfair. He's been here longer than I've been alive. He's part of the furniture."

"Perhaps that attitude explains why he's considering leaving, if indeed he is," I pointed out. "You take him for granted."

Uncle Ronald narrowed his gaze at me. "So, you do think he's leaving?"

"I'm simply saying you should treat him with the respect he deserves. Don't give him so much work that he needs to take it home of an evening, and don't expect him to work through lunch or stay late."

Uncle Ronald stroked his moustache with his thumb and forefinger and grumbled a protest under his breath. Finally, he got to the point. "It's not just Hobart. I feel as though I can't trust any of the staff lately. Ever since Armitage left—"

"You dismissed him."

"The business with Armitage, then the former housekeeper, and lately Cobbit's unrest…it feels as though the staff are mutinying." He stabbed his stubby finger on the ledger's cover. "The problem is, there's no loyalty anymore."

"They will be loyal if they're treated with respect," I pointed out.

He went on as if I hadn't spoken. "As to Hobart, I thought I knew him. I thought we had a mutual understanding. But now…I'm no longer certain of his loyalty."

Floyd finally stepped forward. "I have a suggestion. Why don't you investigate him, Cleo?"

I spluttered a laugh. When I realized he was serious, the laugh turned to a protest. "I am not spying on Mr. Hobart for you, Floyd. Or for you, Uncle."

"Father will pay you."

"Is this why you hauled me in here?"

He dug his hands into his trouser pockets and rocked back on his heels, but the innocent look wouldn't work on me.

"Honestly, Floyd. If you want to know what's on Mr. Hobart's mind, why not ask him?"

When his response was to glance at his father, I turned back to my uncle.

"Hobart may not give a direct answer," Uncle Ronald said. "Cleopatra, I won't ask you to investigate him if you don't want to."

"Good, because I won't."

"Give it more thought. You're part of this family, and your loyalty should be with us and the hotel, not the staff."

He may not be asking me to investigate, but he was doing something even more unpalatable. He was using emotional blackmail in an attempt to coerce me.

I wasn't going to be persuaded, but I wasn't going to burn my bridges either. Fortunately, sometimes my temper could be reined in before it did any damage. "The needs of the family, the hotel and the staff are closely entwined. What benefits one, benefits the other two. Look how well the situation turned out with Cobbit and the grooms. I'm sure this situation will resolve just as well for everyone." There. It wasn't an agreement to investigate, but it wasn't an outright refusal either.

Uncle Ronald grunted, then opened the ledger and picked up a pencil. He concentrated on his work, dismissing Floyd and me with a flick of his finger.

I hurried out ahead of Floyd, not wanting to speak to him lest he asked me again to investigate Mr. Hobart. As I passed the door to my aunt and uncle's suite, I slowed. I wanted to ask Aunt Lilian about the Campbells, but the timing didn't feel right. If she was still in a sour mood, it was best to leave her alone. Besides, my own mood was positively black.

I returned to my suite and tried to read a book while I waited for Harmony to come as prearranged to do my hair. The moment she entered, I couldn't help blurting out what Uncle Ronald and Floyd had asked me to do. It wasn't until afterward that I regretted it. While she and I were friends, my uncle wouldn't want me discussing hotel business with anyone outside the family.

Harmony's response was to order me to sit at my dressing table, face the mirror, and tell her how I wanted my hair done for afternoon tea. She understood that I'd simply needed to vent my problems. I wasn't looking for answers.

I did feel better and was able to change the topic. I told her what Harry and I had learned today. At the mention of his name, her hands stilled.

"You're blushing," she said.

"I am not! It's hot in here." I picked up a fan from my dressing table and flapped it in front of my face.

She smiled and continued to arrange my hair.

Once that task was finished, she helped me dress in a pink-and-green tea gown with lace sleeves and more lace across my décolletage, then sent me on my way with a spray of Guerlain. I met my aunt and Flossy in the corridor, waiting for the lift.

Flossy gave me a knowing look and a subtle glance at her mother.

Aunt Lilian put out her hands to me and pecked my cheek. She looked flushed, her eyes brilliant and huge in her gaunt face. I didn't need to employ any detective skills to know she'd had a dose of her tonic to get her through afternoon tea. "My dearest niece, how pretty you look! Doesn't she look lovely, Florence?"

"She does," Flossy said.

"My two lovely girls, what beauties you are." She squeezed my hands before turning to the lift door. She tapped her foot on the carpet. "What's taking John so long?"

Flossy and I exchanged disappointed glances.

Downstairs, I caught sight of Mr. Hobart in the foyer. He must have been watching the lift doors and waiting, because he approached. For a moment, I thought he'd caught wind of my earlier meeting with Uncle Ronald and Floyd, but his announcement eased my conscience.

"Miss Fox, you have a telephone call. You may take it in my office." As he walked beside me, he whispered, "It's Harry." He peeled away to speak to a new guest looking lost near the entrance.

In his office, I picked up the telephone receiver and leaned forward to speak into the mouthpiece. "Hello, Harry."

His voice crackled over the line. "I spoke to my father and he confirmed my suspicion. I had heard him speak about the Whitchurches years ago. They were caught up in an investigation that he couldn't solve. It bothers him still, and he was very keen to hear more when I mentioned their link to your current investigation."

"What crime was he investigating back then?"

"Murder."