Chapter 5

Sir Ian and Lady Campbell were both at home. I'd spent a mere two minutes in their company before wishing I'd not sent Harry on his way. He was very good at charming people and I badly needed someone to charm them. It was clear from the moment I introduced myself and mentioned the reason for my visit that I was going to fail miserably. Lady Campbell stiffened and her lips pinched into a thin line, while Sir Ian asked me to leave.

"We have no need of your services," he said with a haughty jut of his chin. "The footman will see you out."

Davey had remained by the door, awaiting further instruction. He now indicated I should walk ahead of him out of the drawing room. There was nothing of the cheeky fellow I'd met below stairs the day before. He was quite subdued and upright.

"You don't understand," I said to the Campbells. "I'm not touting for business. I've already been hired by others to look into Mr. Hardy's death."

"Who hired you?" Sir Ian demanded.

"I'm not at liberty to say."

He took a step toward me, his face and neck turning pinker by the second. They matched his bulbous nose. "I demand you tell me!"

"You can't make such a demand."

"I most certainly can. Hardy was our butler." When I didn't respond, a vein in his neck began to throb. "This is outrageous! Hardy's death was not suspicious and that's the end of it."

"All I want is a list of Mr. Hardy's references. I'd like to know where he worked before he came here."

"You can't have it."

"Why not?"

Lady Campbell made a subtle motion to stop her husband's tirade. He dutifully shut his mouth and took a step back. Lady Campbell regarded me with an icy gaze. Where her husband was all bluster and bluntness, her anger was cold and sharp and far more intimidating. She sat on the sofa in a dress of black and cream that showed off her lush bosom and tiny waist. The hourglass figure was unusual on women her age and somehow made her more intimidating. I stayed silent as I waited for her to speak.

"What did you same your name is?"

"Cleopatra Fox."

She didn't seem to recognize me from yesterday, thankfully. I had no doubt she'd immediately complain to my aunt after this meeting if she had.

"Miss Fox, as my husband has explained, the police concluded that Hardy's death was the result of natural causes. Your inquiries are not only unnecessary, they are also upsetting. We are in mourning. Kindly inform your client that there is no need for an investigation."

I didn't believe they would be mourning a butler who'd only worked for them for a month, but I kept my mouth shut. "That may be the case, but I'd like to know for certain—"

"We are telling you, there is no need for an investigation. Now, if you don't leave, Davey will throw you out."

The footman swallowed heavily.

"If you come back, we'll press charges for trespass. Is that clear?"

"Very." I walked toward Davey, but turned back to her. "Are you blocking my investigation because you're protecting the Whitchurches?"

The mention of their friends startled both Sir Ian and Lady Campbell. She suddenly stood, revealing a threadbare patch on the sofa cushion that she'd been hiding with her skirts. Now that I'd seen it, I noticed other signs of wear and tear on the furniture. They were all old, solid pieces with beautiful carvings and intricate inlays of different woods. But they were scratched and stained, the lamp shades had faded, and the chairs didn't match. It was as if they'd once belonged to different sets in different rooms but the other pieces had been thrown away or lost over the years and these were all that were left. It was the sort of furniture found in an ancestral country manor. Too good to throw out, but too costly to restore to its former glory. It seemed the Campbells used the dining room to impress their guests, but left the other rooms to gradually lose their luster.

"What have the Whitchurches got to do with anything?" Sir Ian demanded.

"Mr. Hardy behaved oddly after he learned they were coming here, and on the evening they dined with you, they recognized him."

I was a little concerned that they'd realize Davey had given me that information, but it didn't seem to occur to them that he was my source. They were blinded by their anger, or perhaps they'd forgotten that servants were capable of making observations.

"How did the Whitchurches know Mr. Hardy?" I persisted.

"You should go, Miss Fox," Lady Campbell snapped.

Sir Ian clicked his fingers at Davey.

I saved Davey the trouble of manhandling me and left of my own accord. At the front door, I whispered that I'd like to speak to Mrs. Turner. I left, but instead of walking down the street, I trotted down the stairs to the basement service area and knocked.

The maid, Betty, opened the door. "Miss Fox! Weren't you just upstairs?"

Davey came up behind her, a little short of breath. He must have run from upstairs after closing the front door. "That was a trial by fire. You all right, Miss Fox?"

"I'm made of sturdy stuff, Davey, but thank you. May I come in? I'd like to speak to Mrs. Turner."

Betty led the way along the corridor while Davey brought up the rear.

"I reckon you'll need a nice cup of tea after that. Or something stronger."

"I'm all right, thank you."

"What happened?" Betty asked.

"Sir Ian and Lady C blew their hats off when Miss Fox here asked to see Hardy's references. I've never seen them like that. I'm surprised you didn't hear him from down here."

"They don't usually lose their tempers?" I asked.

They both shook their heads.

Mrs. Turner emerged from her office upon hearing our voices. Davey told her what had just occurred in the drawing room.

"All because Miss Fox here wanted to see Hardy's records." He shook his head. "Real angry they were. Real angry. I hope I don't have to see them before they cool down."

Betty pressed a hand to her stomach and glanced anxiously up the staircase.

One of the service bells rang and Davey grumbled under his breath.

"Buck up," Mrs. Turner said crisply. "Remember, they're not angry with you." She watched him go then invited me into her office. "Please sit, Miss Fox."

I declined the offer. "I only need to ask you one thing. I really do need to see Mr. Hardy's references. There's a possibility he used to work for the Whitchurches during a difficult time in their household, twenty-two years ago."

"Is that when the current Lord Whitchurch's brother died?"

"Their maid died. The brother went missing."

Her eyes widened. "I see."

"You told me Lady Campbell keeps employee records in her writing desk. You refused last time to get Mr. Hardy's for me, but will you reconsider now?"

She'd remained standing, too, and now clutched the back of the chair. "You want me to steal it?"

"Borrow. You can put it back after I've looked at it."

She regarded me levelly. "No, Miss Fox. I draw the line there. I won't break her ladyship's trust in such a way. If I'm caught…" She shook her head vigorously. "And don't ask Davey or any of the other staff, either. I won't place them in such a position. You'll have to find another way."

Another way was already forming in my head, so I didn't persist. I removed Mr. Hardy's bottle of seltzer salts from my bag. "There are no traces of poison in this."

She frowned as she accepted the bottle. "Then how was it administered?"

"If it was, it was some other way."

She tucked the bottle into her skirt pocket. "I still can't believe he died of natural causes. I just can't."

I gave her a sympathetic look but didn't tell her she may have to come to terms with it. "Does anyone else in the household take a medicinal tonic or powder, something that's ingested, not rubbed onto the skin?"

"No. Fit as a fiddle, all of us."

As I walked back to the hotel, I couldn't help wondering why the Campbells had become so cross over my request. Were they trying to protect themselves or the Whitchurches?

I dearly wanted to discuss it with Harry.

Instead, I headed home.

* * *

The hotel'sstaff parlor became a makeshift meeting room when I needed to discuss my investigations with the staff members who occasionally helped me. My presence was accepted by most, although there was always a flurry of movement when I entered of an afternoon. The cooks who'd put their feet up on tables or spare chairs would lower them to the floor, the maids pretended they hadn't been gossiping, and the footmen and waiters sometimes sprang up and stood to attention until I told them not to mind me.

My own group of friends no longer bothered to make a fuss. My arrival in the parlor didn't even warrant a greeting from Frank. He was too busy grumbling about a guest who'd moaned about the sun being too hot as she left the hotel.

"What did she expect me to do about it?" he whined.

"She probably wasn't expecting you to do anything," Harmony told him. "She may have simply wanted to complain, and you happened to be there."

Goliath stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankles. "Of all people, you should understand the need to complain, Frank."

Frank nudged Goliath's foot. "Move those big clown feet before someone trips over them."

Peter had just poured a cup of tea for himself, but handed it to me instead. "Welcome to Bedlam, Miss Fox."

I gratefully accepted the cup. "There's never a dull moment when you're all together. I'm glad everyone is here, actually. I want to discuss my latest case." Although I encompassed them all, it was to Victor that my gaze drifted.

His chef's uniform was unstained, meaning he hadn't started his shift yet. When he worked the dinner shift, he usually finished about eleven. That was perfect timing. Sensing my interest, he lazily arched his brows in question. Seated close beside him, Harmony sat up a little straighter. An observant onlooker would know by now they were in a relationship, even though they hadn't declared it. I wasn't sure when they would. My attempt to find out more from Harmony was always met with a wall of silence.

Peter poured himself another cup from the teapot warming on the portable stove and joined our little circle. "Harmony told us about the butler. It's good of you to investigate, Miss Fox. Not everyone would bother for a servant."

"Those who work in them fancy houses are hard done by," Frank said with a shake of his head. "They're not treated with the same amount of respect by their employers as the Bainbridges treat us."

Goliath scoffed. "Two weeks ago you were about to go on strike in sympathy with Cobbit over the future of the mews staff. You did nothing but complain about Sir Ronald, then."

Frank sniffed. "That was a one-off. And anyway, Sir Ronald capitulated to our demands. Few employers would."

"I wouldn't tell my uncle to his face that he capitulated," I said. "He remembers it differently."

Frank opened his mouth to continue, but Peter got in first. "Tell us about the case, Miss Fox. Harmony says the victim may not have been murdered, after all."

"I'm not sure yet. One particular poison, hyoscine, causes death in a manner consistent with witness reports of Mr. Hardy's death. But just how he may have ingested it, I don't know. The housekeeper thought it was in his seltzer salts, but I had them tested and they were harmless. However, there has been an interesting development that could link Mr. Hardy's death to another, much older, murder investigation." I told them about the Whitchurches' maid, and the subsequent disappearance of the prime suspect, the eldest son and heir.

"So the younger son inherited instead?" Goliath asked. "Lucky devil."

"Hardly," Peter said. "He lost his brother."

"But gained a title and all the benefits that go with it."

Arthur certainly had gained from Rupert's disappearance. I wondered if he was the only one. "I have an inkling that looking into the maid's murder will help solve what happened to Mr. Hardy. It's just an inkling, mind."

No one seemed to think it unusual that I wanted to continue based on so little evidence of a crime having been committed. They knew me well enough to know I needed to do something productive with my time.

"Will you call on the Whitchurches?" Victor asked. "It's unlikely they'll offer assistance."

I removed the list from my bag. "D.I. Hobart was able to get his hands on this list of witnesses. I'll try to interview each of them again."

"Our Mr. Hobart's brother?" Frank asked. "You speak to him?"

"Harry put me in touch with his father."

"Armitage? I've seen you with him outside." He shook his head. "Sir Ronald won't like it if he finds out you two still spend time together."

Harmony narrowed her gaze at him. "Which he won't."

Frank put his hands in the air. "Not from me. I don't mind the fellow." That was an improvement. Being a Bainbridge man, Frank had taken against Harry after my uncle dismissed him, even though he didn't know the reason for it. It seemed Harry's involvement in brokering peace between my uncle and the mews staff hadn't gone unnoticed or unappreciated by Frank.

"Uncle Ronald doesn't mind if Harry and I see one another," I said. "He says we can investigate together."

"Then you'd better not see Armitage between investigations," Frank said. "You don't want to give anyone the wrong idea."

"By anyone, do you mean only my uncle?"

"No, I mean everyone, including Armitage himself."

"Frank," I said on a sigh. "Harry and I are just friends."

He merely grunted. Goliath and Peter exchanged glances, while Harmony studied her fingernails.

Victor got to his feet and collected the empty cups. "I have to start my shift soon."

I finished my tea and passed him the cup. "Before you go, I need to ask you to do something." I lowered my voice further so that the staff who were not part of our group couldn't hear. "I need to find the link between Mr. Hardy and the Whitchurches. If he did know them at the time of Charlotte's murder, then I'll have a clear path forward."

"You think Hardy is the key to finding Charlotte's murderer after all these years, and the Whitchurches killed him to keep him quiet?"

"Blimey," Goliath muttered. "Is that what you think, Miss Fox?"

"It's one theory," I said. "But I'm not sure it holds water. Why would they worry that Hardy would go to the police now, when he's had years to do it?" I shook my head, trying to shake loose more theories, but they wouldn't come. "Whether that is the link or not, I have to know for sure. I need to see Hardy's references and find out where he worked before becoming butler for the Campbells. On reflection, I think it's extremely unlikely he listed the Whitchurches as his former employers when he applied for the position. Lady Campbell would have asked her friend, Lady Whitchurch, about him if he had, however we've learned that Lady Whitchurch was surprised to see him serving them dinner."

"You want Victor to break into the house and look for the references?" Harmony asked.

I chewed on my lip and glanced between her and Victor. I wasn't sure which one I needed approval from. She might worry about his safety and forbid it. From the look on her face, I could see she was imagining all the things that could go wrong.

She hesitated too long, however. "I'll do it," Victor said.

Harmony stayed quiet, which I took as her assent.

"Thank you, Victor. Perhaps take Goliath with you as a lookout."

Frank snorted. "He'll stand out like an elephant at a tea party. Take me. I'm good at blending in."

"That's because you're unremarkable," Goliath said, getting to his feet. "Come on, we've got to get back."

The men filed out while I stayed to gauge Harmony's thoughts. She made no comment about my request, however, and seemed more concerned with what I was wearing that evening to a ball I needed to attend with my family.

"I know you wore the blue dress with the white trim three weeks ago, but it does look very fetching on you, so I think you should wear it again." She tilted her head to the side and studied me. "May I try something different with your hair?"

"I'm in your expert hands, Harmony. As for the gown, I think everyone has ceased to notice who wears the same ones. Nobody could possibly wear a different one to every single ball. Their frequency has become ridiculous at this point and I, for one, am quite sick of them."

"They are good for information gathering," she said with a wicked smile.

She had a good point. While she helped me dress and did my hair, we tossed around ideas for ways I could subtly find out more about the Campbells and Whitchurches.

* * *

My first targetfor the evening wasn't the friends of Lady Campbell or Lady Whitchurch, but my aunt. She was excitable after having taken her tonic, and I wanted to question her before her good mood faded and she became sulky and riddled with pain. Upon entering the ballroom, she spied a cluster of her friends and looked as though she'd forge a path to them. I wrapped both my hands around her arm to keep her at my side. Her muscles twitched beneath my grip.

"May I ask you something, Aunt?"

She looked at me, although her enlarged pupils seemed to peer right through me. "Of course, Cleo, dear. Is it about the maharaja's son?"

"Who?"

She nodded to where Flossy had cornered a young man I recognized from the hotel. He'd been a guest with his father in April, before heading off to Oxford University for the term. Flossy seemed quite taken with him this evening. His expression was more reserved and I couldn't tell if he liked her company or would prefer to chat with his chums.

"It's not about him," I said.

"He's very handsome." Aunt Lilian shifted from foot to foot. "Shall I go and help her, do you think? She's likely to say something silly and put him off. I hear he's very intelligent and she can be a little foolish. Oh, wouldn't it be wonderful if they married!"

"I think he's moving back to India when his education is complete. Flossy wouldn't like the heat."

Aunt Lilian waved off my concern. "Ronald can find him a position here in London. He's very well-connected. There he is now, looking quite dashing and not at all troubled. Have you noticed that about him lately, Cleo? How troubled he is? He's not himself. When I ask him what the matter is, he won't tell me. I don't know why. He used to tell me everything." She sighed. "That's the way with marriages, I suppose. After a while, they become stale. A couple who once talked all the time stop talking. I never thought it would happen to us, but here we are."

"I don't think your marriage is stale."

"He married me for my money, you know. There. I've shocked you, haven't I?"

"I—"

"Don't pity me, Cleo. I married him because his family is nobility, albeit a minor branch." She giggled behind her fan. "At some point, we grew to love and respect one another. I'm not quite sure when it happened. He was so full of energy and ideas that one couldn't help admiring him." She lowered the fan. "He adored your mother more than me, however, but she had no interest in him. She'd met your father by then and nobody could compare in her eyes."

Good lord, I needed to stop her before she told me something she'd later regret. "Aunt, what did Mr. Chapman want with Lady Campbell yesterday?"

Her gaze darted around the room, although I wondered how much she was taking in. "Hmmm?"

"At afternoon tea, Mr. Chapman tried to speak to Lady Campbell, then he approached you. What did he want?"

She fluttered her hand in the air, wriggling her fingers. "I don't recall now, Cleo. Hotel business, I should imagine."

"Yes, but—"

"Enjoy your night, my dear. Dance with all the handsome men you can. Oh, to be young again." She strode off, the feathers in her headpiece bouncing with each step.

I sighed and went to join Flossy, only to be waylaid by a gentleman wanting to add his name to my dance card. I politely agreed and secretly wondered if he knew the Campbells or Whitchurches. I'd find out when we danced the waltz.

I was waylaid a second time by a more welcome interruption, Miss Hessing. I'd hardly spoken to her since the engagement dinner, and she was eager to relive every minor detail with me.

"My mother says the food wasn't what she ordered, nor the flowers, but I didn't notice. Did you, Miss Fox?"

I didn't want to ruin her memory of the dinner, so I simply smiled. "I thought the evening was wonderful. I had a lovely time. Did you?"

"Oh yes, it was heavenly. Although Mother disagrees. She's a little annoyed, as it happens." She stopped herself and bit her lower lip. "I shouldn't be discussing this with you."

"You can confide in me, Miss Hessing. We're friends."

"I suppose so. It's just that Mother can be cruel. Perhaps forewarned is forearmed, as they say."

"That sounds ominous."

She looked around and, seeing her mother deep in conversation with her friends, leaned closer to me. "She's thinking of having the wedding reception at the Savoy."

"The Savoy!"

At my exclamation, heads turned toward us, including Uncle Ronald's.

I took Miss Hessing's hand and led her to a quiet corner of the room. "What do you mean she wants to hold the reception at the Savoy? The Mayfair is her favorite hotel. She always stays with us when she comes to London."

"Oh yes, she adores it. Rest assured, she doesn't think it inferior to the Savoy or any other London hotel. The staff are wonderful, the rooms are modern and a good size, and the new restaurant serves excellent food. But the Savoy are very good at hosting special occasions, and she feels my engagement party was underwhelming. She wanted something grander. I didn't care, you understand. This isn't coming from me. But you know Mother."

I did indeed. Tonight, Miss Hessing wore a demure gown of cream and pale pink, whereas her mother looked like a peacock in bright green and blue. Even her headpiece had long peacock feathers shooting into the air. She was a tall woman with a booming voice that drew everyone's notice. If it failed to be heard, she stamped the end of her walking stick into the floor like a child stomping her foot to get attention. A woman like that wanted to make a bold statement to the world to announce the engagement of her only child. Not only had the engagement party hosted in our restaurant been a modest affair, but Mr. Chapman had also failed to deliver the few requests Mrs. Hessing had made. No wonder she was considering the Savoy. They'd built a reputation hosting extravagant parties for society's most influential members.

It wasn't entirely Mr. Chapman's fault, though. We'd all made the mistake of thinking Miss Hessing was the one we needed to please, since it was her engagement party. But her mother was paying for it, and she was more particular than her daughter.

I clasped Miss Hessing's hands in mine. "Don't let your mother talk to the Savoy. Insist your wedding reception be held in our ballroom. I'll see that Mr. Chapman understands what's required."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Miss Fox. I knew telling you was the right thing to do. I'd certainly rather have my reception at the Mayfair, not the Savoy. Your family wouldn't come if it was there, for one thing, and I would like all of you to attend."

I squeezed her hands. "I'll come, no matter where it is."

"You're a dear friend and I am so glad I'll be living in London instead of on the other side of the world. We won't be in Mayfair, but it will only be a short train journey from our house to the hotel."

She talked about the house they were moving to after they married, until it was time for the first dance.

My dance partners proved no help when it came to imparting gossip about the Campbells and the Whitchurches, so when refreshments were served I made sure to attach myself to a group of middle-aged ladies I'd met on a few occasions. It wasn't easy steering conversations in the directions I wanted them to go in, but by the end of supper, I'd heard how the two couples were long-time friends. I had also confirmed that speculation had swirled for years after the eldest son of Lord and Lady Whitchurch disappeared, but he'd finally been declared dead seven years after going missing, leaving Arthur to inherit upon his father's death.

Not all believed Rupert was dead, however. Those who remembered the maid had been murdered thought he was living overseas under an assumed name to avoid capture. It seemed most of the details of the murder had not made it to the newspapers, but one or two ladies had heard the more sordid aspects from friends who knew the Whitchurches. They speculated that Rupert had been involved with the maid, but differed on whether he had seduced her or the other way around.

"He was a known philanderer," one woman said.

"He was no different from other young gentleman," another pointed out. "She was trying to trap him."

"He was lazy and a drunk. He didn't care about the tenants on his father's land, or the responsibilities he would one day inherit. He should have been helping his father and learning how to run the estate, but instead he was running around after anything in a petticoat." When she realized we were all staring at her, she cleared her throat. "So I heard."

"Wasn't he betrothed?" a third woman chimed in.

"To the current Lady Whitchurch, yes." That information was met with several gasps from those listening, including me. "She went on to marry the younger brother, Arthur. He has acquitted himself well as viscount. Nobody can fault him. Not even his mother can complain."

Several of the women made a face.

"The Dowager Lady Whitchurch is still alive?" I asked.

"Oh, yes. She's a recluse now. Her health is failing and she doesn't leave the estate."

"Yes, she does," said another. "I heard she's currently in London to see her physician."

I already knew the address of the Whitchurches' London house from D.I. Hobart's file. It was just around the corner from the Campbells.

Although my dance card was quite full for the rest of the evening, I didn't have the opportunity to dance again. Uncle Ronald rounded up Flossy and me and told us it was time to leave, as Aunt Lilian wasn't well.

"But I want to stay." Flossy cast a longing glance toward the maharaja's son.

"If Floyd were here, I'd leave you both in his care, but he isn't." Uncle Ronald walked off before either of us could protest again.

Flossy pouted all the way home, while Aunt Lilian sat like a wilting flower in the corner of the carriage, her eyes closed. Uncle Ronald stared out of the window at the passing lights.

I wasn't ready to retire, so I looked in on the diners in the restaurant instead of going upstairs with my family. Mr. Chapman stood near the entrance, his hands clasped behind him, overseeing proceedings like a headmaster. He would remain there until the last guest left. From the raucous behavior of the furthest group, they wouldn't be leaving for some time.

I retraced my steps and paused near the corridor that led to the offices of Mr. Chapman and Mrs. Short. A handful of guests in the foyer ahead paid me no mind. I was alone.

I ducked into the corridor and tried the handle on Mr. Chapman's office door. To my surprise, it wasn't locked. I switched on the light and went straight to the filing cabinet. I knew he kept a file for the regular diners in it. If Lady Campbell had afternoon tea often at the hotel, she would have a file. I found it quickly, but a scan of the neatly handwritten notes told me nothing of importance. She preferred cucumber sandwiches and was polite to the staff. She and Sir Ian had once dined in the old restaurant two years ago, but not since.

I put back the Campbells' card and searched for the Whitchurches' file. Again, the notes were brief. They'd dined a few times in the old restaurant, but not since the same night as the Campbells had dined there. The two couples must have dined together. Apparently, Lord Whitchurch liked French food and wine. There was no other note on the card.

I returned it to the cabinet and pushed the drawer closed. As the drawer clicked into place, the office door opened. I spun around to see Mr. Chapman standing there, looking smug.

"Sneaking around again, Miss Fox? What will Sir Ronald say this time?"