Chapter 7

The boarding house on Southampton Row had seen better days. It may have once been a mansion belonging to a wealthy family, but it had either been acquired by The Female Servants Benevolent Society or donated to them, and it was showing signs of neglect. Paint flaked off the window frames, the carpet was worn bare in places, and the air had a sour smell that seemed to emanate from the walls themselves. I was glad to see it was clean, however, without a speck of dust or grimy windowpane in sight. It would have been a cruel indignity for women who'd spent most of their lives cleaning for others to be subjected to a dirty home in their later years.

According to Harry, the home was run by a charitable organization for former maids and housekeepers who could no longer work due to infirmity or age. The women had nowhere else to go, no family to take them in, and their former employers couldn't, or wouldn't, accommodate them. Earning so little in their lifetime that they could never save enough to retire comfortably, they now had to rely on charities.

We were following the matron's directions to Virginia Hatch's room on the third floor when it suddenly occurred to me that the hotel's maids were just as poorly off as domestic servants for large households. "What happens to the Mayfair's staff when they can no longer perform their duties?" I asked Harry.

"Lady Bainbridge set up a fund some time ago. Sir Ronald pays a sum into it each year and guests are encouraged to donate to it upon their departure. There's a suggested amount on their bill. Some don't pay a penny, but most do. Some pay a great deal more than asked. When a staff member can no longer work, they receive a sum according to the number of years' service they gave to the hotel. It encourages them to be loyal to the Mayfair."

"Is it enough to live off in retirement?"

"That depends how long they live for."

Indeed. "Will Cobbit receive a payment from the fund after he leaves, even though he negotiated a settlement with my uncle after the strike?"

"Cobbit is considered senior staff, even though he has only two grooms under him. He, my uncle, Peter, the housekeeper, cook, steward, and your uncle's assistant are paid higher wages, so won't have access to money from the fund when they retire. It's only for maids, porters and the like."

That seemed fair, but it also seemed like a lost opportunity to ensure loyalty. Perhaps if the senior staff were promised a payment upon retirement for every year they served it might encourage them to stay, too. From what I could see, there was no incentive to keep good senior employees. All another hotel had to do was offer better wages. I wasn't sure if the Mayfair could compete with company-owned hotels like the Savoy.

Perhaps Uncle Ronald was right and Mr. Hobart was considering taking the vacant manager position at the Carlton Hotel. If he could negotiate better wages for himself in the final years of his working life, he and his wife would have a more comfortable retirement. With Harry gone, he had no need to stay at the Mayfair to oversee a smooth transition of the manager's role to his nephew.

Harry seemed to sense something was on my mind because he didn't knock on Mrs. Hatch's door straight away. "Sir Ronald has many faults, but fortunately your aunt doesn't. It's kind of you to worry about the staff, Cleo, but it's not necessary."

I decided to encourage Uncle Ronald to have a word with Mr. Hobart as soon as possible. He needed to find out for certain whether the manager was leaving or not. If he was…

I pushed the thought from my mind. I didn't want to think about it.

Harry's knock was answered by a voice inviting us to enter. He opened the door and greeted the woman occupying the bed. Propped up by pillows, Mrs. Hatch removed her spectacles and put down the pamphlet she'd been reading to invite us into her room. She tried to sit up, but winced and clutched her back before returning to her original position.

"Please, don't get up," Harry said. "Can we get you anything?"

"A new back," she said wryly. "Are you with the Society board?"

"We're private investigators. I'm Harry Armitage and this is Miss Fox." He handed her his card. "I'm assisting Miss Fox with her investigation." He indicated I should continue.

I put out my hand for Mrs. Hatch and she shook it. Her palm was calloused. She looked frail, dressed in her nightgown and mob cap, both embroidered with pale blue flowers. According to the witness list, she'd been twenty at the time of Charlotte's murder, which would make her forty-two now. She seemed much older.

"I've been commissioned to look into the death of a servant," I said. "His death might be linked to the Whitchurches."

"Do you mean the current lord and lady, or the dowager and former Lord Whitchurch? The latter were my employers, not the current ones. Do you know the Whitchurches, Miss Fox?"

"We've just come from there. Mrs. Hatch, what can you tell us about the death of Charlotte, one of the Whitchurches' maids?"

Her eyes widened and she clutched the small crucifix on her necklace. A wooden crucifix was affixed above the bed and the only picture on the wall was a print of Jesus with his hands clasped in prayer. "What does your current investigation have to do with that?" she asked.

"There may be a link, but we're not entirely sure yet. We need to re-interview some of the witnesses, and I understand you were a key one. Will you assist us, Mrs. Hatch?"

She smoothed her hand over the coverlet and nodded. "You'd both better sit. This could take some time." She tried adjusting her position again, only to suck in air between her teeth and wince. "What do you want to know?"

"Can I first confirm that you are Virginia Fryer?"

"That was my maiden name. At the time of Charlotte's murder, I was unmarried, although I was being courted by my Stanley. We married twenty-one years ago, but I remained in service to the Whitchurches until I had our daughter. I stayed home to raise her and my husband supported us until he died. My daughter was old enough to go into service by then and I returned to work, too. Not for the Whitchurches, mind, although Lady Whitchurch—the younger, not the dowager—was very kind and gave me a good reference even though I hadn't been employed there for years. I wasn't in my new position for long when I had a fall. All I did was climb a stepladder to get a jar of polish from a high shelf, something I've done thousands of times before. I lost my balance and landed awkwardly." She sighed heavily. "Now I need help to get out of bed."

"You've lived here ever since?" Harry asked.

She nodded. "I need full-time care and my daughter has to work. But when she's married, she'll look after me." Mrs. Hatch smiled. "She's hopeful there'll be a proposal soon."

"The Whitchurches send you a care package every month," I said. "That's generous."

"Lady Whitchurch is kindness itself, always thinking of others. Unlike the dowager. She was a dragon when I worked for her years ago, and the one time I met her afterward, when I went to ask for a reference, it was clear she was still a dragon. She wasn't going to give me one, because she said my character may have changed in the intervening years. Her daughter-in-law overheard and sent the reference to me the next day. She's a good woman." She frowned at me. "Is any of this relevant to your investigation, Miss Fox?"

"It may be. You were Charlotte's friend, is that right?"

Her lips pinched in distaste. "Not friends. We shared a bed, as young maids often did. I know it's not nice to speak ill of the dead, but Charlotte had loose morals. One of the footmen called her Charlotte the Harlot, which sums up everyone's opinion of her."

"You said in your statement to the police that Charlotte was having a liaison with Rupert, the eldest of Lord Whitchurch's sons."

"She was. She told me. I didn't believe her at first, but I followed her one night when she slipped out of our room. She entered his room and didn't come back until dawn." Her lips pinched in disapproval and she shook her head.

"So, she wasn't forced by Rupert?"

"She went willingly. I don't know how it all began, but I suspect she seduced him. She was very pretty and she knew how to attract a man with her flirtations. She used to put color on her cheeks and lips." She shook her head again. "Silly girl. If only she'd kept to herself and not attracted attention… Now, I'm not saying she got what she deserved, Miss Fox. No one deserves to die like that. But good girls don't get themselves murdered, do they?"

I managed to keep my retort to myself, but only just.

Harry must have been concerned that I'd say something to jeopardize the interview, because he took over the questioning. "Was there any trouble between Charlotte and Rupert? Did she ever seem upset after spending time with him?"

"Quite the opposite. She was happy, and refused to hear anything against him, even though I and the housekeeper tried to warn her."

"Warn her about what?"

"That she wasn't his only girl. Everyone knew he had others. He'd be out until all hours and always return drunk or smelling of perfume. Despite his faults, I liked him. He was kind to the staff."

It never ceased to amaze me that women often judged other women harsher than men, particularly when it came to intimacy before marriage. Charlotte was criticized for having one partner, whereas Rupert's multiple partners didn't matter. He was remembered for his kindness while she was remembered for being promiscuous. I wondered if that attitude would ever change in my lifetime.

"You say he was kind, but the police concluded that he killed Charlotte," I pointed out. "Are you disagreeing with their finding?"

She clutched the crucifix necklace again. "I can only speak to my own experiences. It's true that Master Rupert had a temper, but he never turned it on the servants. He and his father, the late Lord Whitchurch, had terrible rows though."

"About anything in particular?"

"Lord Whitchurch wanted him to settle down. Rupert was too wild, he said. He wanted Master Rupert to be more sensible and studious like his younger brother. As the future viscount, he had a duty to be responsible and steady. I can't fault his lordship for thinking that, but some young gentlemen just need to get the wildness out of their system. Master Rupert would have matured in time. Marrying would have settled him, I'm sure. Do you know he was engaged to the current Lady Whitchurch? After Master Rupert was declared dead, she went on to wed his brother, Arthur."

"Do you think that is strange?"

"That's toffs for you, Miss Fox. Once a suitable girl is found, they don't want to waste her. It can take a long time to find a good one from the right family, and Lady Whitchurch is as good as they come. I suppose the dowager and the late Lord Whitchurch thought it best to keep her for Arthur. They waited until Master Rupert was declared dead after seven years missing, then they married the following week. It was all very sudden."

Seven years didn't seem sudden to me, but I kept my opinion to myself. "Tell us how events unfolded the night Charlotte was murdered."

She settled into the pillows and released her crucifix. "I woke up to screaming, just before dawn. I found out later it was the scullery maid who'd just discovered the body in the kitchen, but at the time, I thought it was Charlotte. She'd told me when we went to bed the night before that she was going to meet Master Rupert, so I assumed something had happened to her, that she'd had a fall or some such. That's why I went to the floor where the family's bedchambers are located when I heard the scream, not all the way down to the kitchen. Once I was there, I heard the scream again and realized it was coming from the kitchen, so I didn't bother to check Master Rupert's room. Luckily I didn't, or I might have been caught coming out by Master Arthur."

"He'd heard the scream, too?"

She nodded. "He came out of his room and ran along the corridor. If he wasn't putting his jacket on, he might have seen me where I was hiding behind a potted palm, but his view was obstructed by his arm. Lord and Lady Whitchurch were too distracted to see me, too, thankfully. They ran past in their dressing gowns, but they were glaring at one another and didn't notice me."

Her statement was fuller than the one she'd given the police. There'd been no mention of the clothing they'd worn, just that they'd passed her while she hid. Something struck me immediately. "Lord and Lady Whitchurch were wearing dressing gowns, which is understandable given the early hour. But Arthur was putting on a jacket. Was he putting it on over his pajamas?"

She frowned. "No, I don't think so. He was wearing trousers, a waistcoat, shirt and tie."

As if he'd just come home. Yet, in his statement he said he'd been in bed all night and was asleep when the body was discovered. He certainly wouldn't have had time to change into a suit if the scream awoke him. Like his parents, he should have been wearing a dressing gown over nightclothes.

So where had he been? And why did he lie? I asked her a few more questions, but her answers gave no new information.

I removed the list of witnesses from my bag and handed it to Mrs. Hatch. "Do you know where we can find the other staff who are on this list? We'd like to interview them again."

She picked up her spectacles from her lap and scrutinized the list. "The butler has passed away, the housekeeper, too. I don't know where the cook or scullery maid are now, but one of the footmen worked for the same family as me before I had my accident. He's the butler there now and he remained friends with Ralph, the Whitchurches' second footman, so he should be able to help you find him. Have you got a pencil and paper, Miss Fox? I'll give you the address."

I wrote it down, then returned my notepad and pencil to my bag. "You've been most helpful, Mrs. Hatch." She smiled, pleased. "One more thing. Do you think Rupert killed Charlotte?"

She sighed. "I suppose he must have done. Innocent men don't run away, do they?"

"Where do you think he went?"

"Overseas, somewhere where a person can change their name and not bump into anyone they know. Africa or Australia, for example."

"Why do you think he killed her?"

Her lips flattened. "It wouldn't surprise me if Charlotte got above herself and made demands on him. Either she wanted to be ensconced as his permanent mistress in her own flat, or she wanted money. They argued and he lashed out." She shook her head sadly. "Silly, silly girl."

"She was a victim, Mrs. Hatch. Whatever she did, she didn't deserve to be murdered by her lover."

"True enough, Miss Fox, but the fact is, if Charlotte had been more careful, more modest, she would still be here today."

It was a point we may never know for sure, but I had the heavy feeling she was right. I wished it could be otherwise.

After we left the charity boarding house, we headed to the address Mrs. Hatch had given me, where the butler gave another statement. It matched the one he'd given the police on the night of Charlotte's murder and provided no new clues. He gave us an address for his friend.

We found Ralph Gannon at his place of employment, a tailor's shop on Savile Row. The display in the front window sported a lightweight jacket and boater for summer, but the bolts of fabric neatly slotted into the shelves appeared to be heavier winter tweeds, worsted and cheviot.

After we introduced ourselves, the very upright and impeccably dressed Mr. Gannon proudly informed us that he left domestic service some years prior and changed careers to become assistant to the tailor. He did all the front-of-house duties, such as taking measurements and writing up orders, while a tailor and his apprentices made the clothes in the workshop out the back. Mr. Gannon claimed he had the skill to make the suits himself, but preferred to talk to the customers.

"I used to act as valet to the young Whitchurch masters, while also performing my footmen duties," he said. "The butler took care of old Lord Whitchurch when he was in London, but the sons were both in my care. I learned a lot about a gentleman's clothing needs from them, which has served me well in my new career."

"Did a man by the name of Hardy work for the Whitchurches?" I asked.

"Not that I recall."

"I'm investigating his death."

He pressed a hand to his chest. "Goodness me."

"He was butler to the Campbells and died while serving at a dinner party. Do you know the Campbells? They're friends of the Whitchurches."

"No, sorry, but it's been some years since I worked for the Whitchurches."

"Witnesses say Mr. Hardy knew them and they him. Does his name ring a bell at all?"

"No."

"Do you remember when Charlotte died?"

"Lord, yes. It was a dreadful day." He gasped. "Does your dead butler have something to do with Charlotte's murder?"

"That's what we're trying to discover."

"I see." He picked up the box of ties he'd been rearranging when we entered and returned them to the display shelf on the counter. Once it was in place, he did not look up, but seemed to be thinking something through.

Harry and I exchanged glances. "Mr. Gannon, is there something you'd like to tell us?" I asked.

He adjusted his tie, even though it was perfectly straight, and cleared his throat. "I'm afraid I didn't tell the police everything. I didn't lie," he quickly added. "Unless omitting something is a lie." When he did not go on, Harry stepped in to reassure him.

"You won't get in trouble for it now. The investigation into Charlotte's death hasn't been reopened. We're simply curious to know if it is connected to Hardy's."

Mr. Gannon smiled gently at Harry. "You're very kind to reassure me, sir." To me, he added, "I told the police how drunk Master Rupert was when I saw him that night. He could barely stand up and I had the devil of a time undressing him and getting him into his pajamas. He also wasn't making much sense, just rambling, which he tended to do when he was drunk."

"That was at about two in the morning?" I asked, recalling his statement.

"That's right."

According to the coroner, the murder had occurred at around four. "Did Rupert have blood on his clothes?"

"No, but that's the thing I omitted to inform the police. Rupert didn't have blood on his clothes, but his father did."

"Why did you keep such a thing from the police? It could have been important."

He put his hands up in defense. "I was afraid of losing my position, and I needed work desperately at the time. His lordship told me he fell and grazed his arm. The blood was inside his jacket, not the outside." He took a jacket off one of the dressmaker forms used for display and unbuttoned it. He indicated where he'd seen the blood on the lining, mostly at the back.

Mrs. Hatch had told us that she saw Lord Whitchurch throwing on his dressing gown as he passed her just before dawn. "At what time did you see him in bloodied clothes?"

"You misunderstand. I didn't see him wearing the jacket. I saw it the next day. He asked me to clean it. This was after the police had left. That's when he told me about grazing himself."

If he'd never seen Lord Whitchurch wearing the jacket, then Mrs. Hatch's recollection of seeing him and his wife at the time of the scream still held water.

"Was it definitely Lord Whitchurch's jacket?" Harry asked. "Could it have belonged to Rupert?"

"No. They were a different size. I would have noticed something like that."

"What about Arthur?" I asked. "Could it have been his?"

"He was also a different size to his father. Old Lord Whitchurch was a large fellow." Mr. Gannon patted his stomach. "Besides, I believe Arthur was asleep in his room all night."

"We have evidence to the contrary."

His eyes widened. "Really? Where was he?"

I didn't answer. "What do you think happened that night, Mr. Gannon? Do you think old Lord Whitchurch killed Charlotte and that's how he got blood on his jacket?"

He parted his hands before re-clasping them on the counter. "I've thought about it a lot over the years, and no, I don't think he did it. He wasn't a violent man. Argumentative with his wife and eldest son, yes, but he wouldn't kill a maid. Why would he? If he wanted to get rid of her, he could simply dismiss her without a reference. Unable to work in service without one, she'd vanish from his life. I don't know where the blood came from, but I don't think he murdered her."

"What about Rupert?"

"Ah. That's a different matter. He couldn't have Charlotte dismissed without his parents asking questions, and he wouldn't want that."

"Why would he want her dismissed? Did they have a falling out?"

Mr. Gannon shrugged. "There could be a number of reasons. He may have got her with child, or she could have been blackmailing him, threatening to tell his parents if he didn't pay her. Lord and Lady Whitchurch were upright people, very concerned about appearances, and would have been furious with him for taking one of the maids as his mistress."

"You don't think they knew?"

"I'm not sure. If they didn't, they certainly found out after Charlotte's death. It all came out then. I think Lord Whitchurch tried to hush it up, but a scandal like that can't be contained. So he did the next best thing."

"Which was?"

"Encouraged the police to give up the search for Master Rupert."

"That's a bold accusation," Harry said.

I suspected he was referring to the police obeying Lord Whitchurch's demand to end the search, but Mr. Gannon assumed he meant the accusation that Lord Whitchurch tried to affect the outcome of a murder investigation.

"They may have clashed dreadfully," he said, "but Rupert was his son. I think his lordship worried that a public trial would ruin the family more than Rupert's disappearance. Lady Whitchurch was very fond of Rupert and wouldn't want to see him hang."

"Do you think he helped Rupert escape?"

"It's possible."

"What was Arthur's relationship like with his brother?" I asked. "Could he have helped Rupert escape?"

"Unlikely. Arthur loathed Rupert. He was terribly jealous of his older brother. Jealous that his father invested more time and effort in him, since he was the heir, and jealous that his mother loved Rupert more. Rupert had charm and wit, courage and confidence that many adored, including their mother. Of course she knew he had faults, but she thought he'd grow out of them, in time."

It reminded me of something Mrs. Hatch had said. It sounded like she'd also been enamored of the dashing Rupert. "Arthur resented his brother?"

"Oh, yes. When they walked into a room, all eyes went to Rupert. The worst of it was, Arthur was hopelessly in love with the girl his parents had chosen for his brother, and Rupert wasn't in the least interested in her."

"Was she interested in him?"

"It was hard to tell. She was a very quiet thing, very reserved. She was most unsuited to Rupert, of course. He would have grown bored with her very quickly. Anyway, Arthur got her in the end. They married when Rupert was declared dead seven years after his disappearance."

"Do you think he's still alive?" I asked.

Mr. Gannon shrugged. "I don't know. Wherever he went, he would be doing something with horses. He adored them, whether it was riding them, caring for them, gambling on them…if you're looking for him, try looking at racetracks or stables."

"That narrows it down," Harry joked.

Mr. Gannon chuckled.

"Can you describe Rupert's appearance?" I asked. "If we were to look for him, we should know what to look for."

"He was tall, although not as tall as you, Mr. Armitage." He smiled at Harry. "Good-looking."

"Rupert was?" I asked, just in case he was referring to Harry.

"Oh, yes. Light brown hair, blue eyes, and a light sprinkle of freckles on his straight nose. A strong jaw and chin with a cleft, but it wasn't too deep. A dimple formed in his left cheek when he smiled, which made his smiles seem boyish and innocent, but I can assure you there was nothing innocent about him."

"You're very observant, Mr. Gannon," I said.

The wistful look on Mr. Gannon's face vanished. He fussed with the top hat perched on the marble bust at one end of the counter.

We thanked him and left. I didn't get far before I started firing all of my theories at Harry. "Perhaps Arthur encouraged his brother to leave after the murder. He benefits from Rupert's disappearance the most. Not only does he inherit, he also gets to marry his brother's fiancée. If they were in love, that's two rather large motives."

"And the blood on old Lord Whitchurch's jacket?"

"Perhaps he murdered Charlotte because…well, I don't know why yet, but say he did, but Arthur didn't know his father was responsible. Arthur tells his brother that he, Rupert, did it and Rupert is too drunk to remember so believes him. Then Arthur helps him escape to get rid of him."

"It's a bit far-fetched. Besides, the blood was on the inside of the jacket. If old Lord Whitchurch stabbed her, he would have got blood on the outside and at the front, not the inside back."

"Perhaps Charlotte was wearing it. They were together and she was cold, so Lord Whitchurch wrapped it around her shoulders to keep her warm. Then they argued and he killed her, getting her blood on his jacket, which he removed before returning to his bedchamber." I rather liked that theory. Just because Lord Whitchurch was supposedly upright, it didn't mean he wasn't having an affair with the maid, too.

"The only person alive who'd know is the dowager," Harry said. "She'll never admit it."

"There might be evidence to prove the theory. We just haven't found it yet." We walked on in silence, but my mind was still reeling. "There's one more theory we haven't considered yet. One that has been gnawing at me for some time, but now that I've spoken to Mr. Gannon, it's taken root."

Harry stopped and took me by the elbow, steering me out of the way of other pedestrian traffic on busy Savile Row. "You look like you're going to explode if you don't say something soon."

I fished my fan from my bag and fanned myself. I wished I'd brought a parasol. I glanced around out of habit, then leaned closer to Harry. "What if Rupert and Mr. Hardy are—were—one and the same man?"