Chapter 17

J ack Wilson pressed himself against me. Trapped between him and the wall, I doubted anyone even noticed I was there. Had Frank seen him accost me? I didn’t know. All I knew was that Wilson’s hot, stinking breath made me want to throw up.

“Bloody meddling woman. If only you’d leave me be, I could have got what Blaine owed me and disappeared.” He spoke rapidly, his words tumbling over themselves. It only confirmed what I suspected. He was under the control of cocaine, just like Aunt Lilian.

I tried to use my body to push him away, but he didn’t budge. I tried to hit him, but he was too close, and my arms were pinned to my sides. I opened my mouth to scream.

I never got the chance to utter a sound.

Suddenly Wilson was gone, ripped away from me by Harry. Harry swung his fist, but Wilson tore free and ducked. The cocaine gave him unnatural speed and alertness. He punched Harry in the gut before Harry even knew what was coming. He grunted but remained upright and stepped out of Wilson’s reach in case another punch came his way.

Harry realized he couldn’t stop a cocaine-fueled man the size of Jack Wilson. He needed help. But Frank had disappeared, and the other gentlemen in the vicinity were reluctant to assist. Most crossed the street to avoid the scene.

I darted toward the hotel door to get help. Discretion be damned. Mrs. Scoop, waiting inside for the reception to begin, would witness the dreadful scene and write about it in her column, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t let Harry battle Wilson alone.

The door was pushed open from the other side before I reached it. Goliath barreled out. Between the two of them, he and Harry subdued Wilson and marched him away from the hotel. Wilson struggled and shouted, only to suddenly quieten. I suspected either Harry or Goliath had punched him.

As quickly as the scene had erupted into chaos, it was calm again. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. The carriages carrying Mrs. Hessing and her friends, and Mr. Liddicoat and his bride, were arriving.

Frank had emerged from the hotel behind Goliath, holding Harry’s hat. He must have fetched Goliath when Wilson appeared. He handed the hat to me, blew out a rallying breath, and opened the carriage door for the bride and groom.

Following his lead, I drew in a deep breath, too, and let it out slowly, releasing my tension along with it. I tucked the hat behind me and took the hand Mrs. Liddicoat offered.

“Oh, Miss Fox, you do look so lovely in that dress.”

I laughed. “I believe you stole my line.”

I took a step back to admire her in the cream satin wedding gown. It was demure and understated, like the bride herself, with pearls trimming the high chiffon neckline, the ruched sleeves and the edges of her long veil. The skirt and train were embroidered in a leafy pattern I’d not seen before. Perhaps it was from an American plant or was something the dressmaker invented. It looked so elegant, with incredibly fine stitching. Mrs. Scoop’s readership would enjoy learning about this new trend, and the statuesque American who’d captured the heart of an Englishman.

“You are perfection, my dearest Mrs. Liddicoat.”

She giggled. “The name sounds so strange.”

Mrs. Hessing stamped the end of her walking stick on the pavement. “Hurry along, Clare. Your guests are waiting.”

Mr. Liddicoat offered his arm to his bride. He smiled at me as I congratulated them and escorted her through to the hotel.

I looked in the direction Harry and Goliath had gone, but I didn’t see them returning. Inside, I gave Harry’s hat to the attendant in the luggage room, which doubled as a cloakroom, and made my way to the ballroom where the reception was being held. It used to be the hotel’s restaurant before the new one had been built next door. It was an excellent space for grand functions to be held without forgoing the regular dinner service.

I paused just inside the ballroom entrance to take it all in. I’d been right. Mr. Chapman’s eye, coupled with Harmony’s management, had resulted in a display that made the guests gasp with wonder. The theme of a winter fairyland was unexpected yet delightful, given the August heat. Strings of small lights hung in swathes across the ceiling and wrapped around what appeared to be stalactites. I couldn’t tell how they were made from where I stood, or how they managed not to fall off. There were dozens of trees and shrubs in white pots positioned close to the walls, their leaves dusted with artificial snow. More snow had been arranged in drifts, as if the wind had pushed it against the pots. Paths had been created between the drifts and led to the area set aside for dancing. All of the tables were covered in white tablecloths with the hotel’s best silverware set out. The centerpieces were slender leafless white trees, each surrounded by a skirt of dozens of white roses. More strings of tiny bulbs dripped from the tree branches, like a bright wintry willow.

Where the wedding dress suited the bride’s taste, the ballroom was decorated in her mother’s, yet it wasn’t loud. I suspected Mr. Chapman considered such an untraditional reception vulgar, but I found it to be ostentatious without being excessive. I spotted him speaking to the waiters before they entered the room with their trays laden with champagne glasses. In keeping with the theme, they all wore white jackets, except for Mr. Chapman.

Harmony appeared from the service area, too. She wore a blouse and skirt to differentiate her from the guests, but she’d done her hair in an elegant arrangement, and wore a pair of pearl-drop earrings that I’d loaned her. She saw me watching her and nodded. I nodded back, and would have joined her, but all the guests suddenly turned as the doors opened.

Mr. and Mrs. Liddicoat entered to rapturous applause.

When Harry arrived a while later, the last vestiges of the anxiety I’d felt since being accosted by Jack Wilson faded. He’d been placed at a table with Mr. Liddicoat’s cousin. My family didn’t notice him, until he came to our table when the dancing began. He greeted them politely.

Aunt Lilian and Flossy responded in kind, but Floyd scowled and Uncle Ronald seemed confused as to why Harry was there. Harry explained the connection.

“Broadman?” Floyd swiped up his wine glass. “I should’ve known you two would get along.”

Uncle Ronald remained silent. It would seem he’d decided to live by the rule often touted by parents to their young children—if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything. He wasn’t going to make a scene at the wedding. He’d probably store it up for later.

Harry arched a brow at me in question, asking if I was all right. I nodded. He didn’t ask me to dance. The frosty reception from the Bainbridge men probably had something to do with that. It was a wise decision. I would have done the same thing in his shoes. It was quite all right with me. I enjoyed dancing with a variety of other gentlemen, and Harry wasn’t short of partners either. If our glances happened to connect from time to time, it was purely coincidental. It meant nothing.

It was after a particularly vigorous polka that I resumed my seat next to my uncle. I picked up my fan and flapped it in front of my warm face.

“Look at him,” my uncle said. “He belongs here.”

I followed his gaze to Harry, dancing with a middle-aged American friend of Mrs. Hessing’s. Uncle Ronald’s statement rendered me quite speechless.

“Armitage is a natural with the guests,” he went on. “He would have made a better manager than Hobart one day, if only he’d stayed.”

It was something he’d said before, having conveniently forgotten the reason why Harry no longer worked at the hotel. This time, I didn’t bother reminding him that he’d dismissed Harry from his position as assistant manager.

As the dance came to an end, I spotted Mrs. Hessing on her own. Since I wanted to have a word with her, I excused myself.

Uncle Ronald caught my hand. “You’re not going to dance with him, are you?”

“He hasn’t asked me.”

“Good.” He frowned. “Did he come with the woman he’s courting?” He looked around. “Have you met her? What does she look like? A tall beauty, I’d wager.”

Miss Morris was a tall beauty, indeed, and very elegant. She’d also been wrong for Harry, or so he’d told me when he ended their relationship. None of which I was going to tell my uncle.

“I see Mrs. Hessing on her own. We can’t have that.”

He let me go to speak to one of his best guests.

I sat on the empty seat beside her. “May I talk to you for a moment, Mrs. Hessing?”

“It appears that you already are.”

I nodded at Mr. and Mrs. Liddicoat, gazing into one another’s eyes as they danced not far away. “I wish to congratulate you on the marriage of your daughter. They look very happy.”

“They are young. They have no problems. But problems always arise.”

Her poor attitude toward her daughter had been evident from the day I met them, but this time her bitterness astounded me. It was Clare’s wedding day. She’d married a man who complemented her in every way. Could she not just be happy for her?

“You’re right,” I said. “Problems do always arise. But I think she has found someone who will help her through those problems, not make them worse.”

She murmured a noncommittal, “Hmmm.”

“When are you returning home, Mrs. Hessing?”

“Can’t wait to get rid of me, Miss Fox?”

“Not at all,” I lied. “I’m counting the days until you visit us again.”

She narrowed her gaze at me, but there was a small uplift of her lips at the corners. Could it be that my caustic response amused her?

“I’m simply asking in the hope you’ll be here long enough to read about the wedding in the society pages.” I’d seen Mrs. Scoop standing off to the side earlier, scratching notes in her journal. She must have left some time ago, however, as I hadn’t seen her since.

“There won’t be any reports,” Mrs. Hessing said. “I scared the press away. I didn’t want any negativity.”

“In my experience, it’s foolish to try to control journalists. Some are very clever. They blend in. Perhaps one got in here, despite our best efforts to keep uninvited guests out.” I lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. “We won’t know until tomorrow. Or perhaps something will appear in tonight’s evening editions.”

She narrowed her gaze at me. “Is there something you wish to tell me, Miss Fox?”

“I’d like to request that you pay the suppliers before you leave, if their fees are lower than they originally quoted.”

“How much lower?”

I smiled. “Mr. Bainbridge will discuss it with you tomorrow. He has been working very hard to make this a success. Miss Cotton, too, and the rest of the staff.” I indicated the room. “I’m not sure what I was expecting, but this has exceeded anything I could imagine. Well done, Mrs. Hessing. The reception deserves an entire column in the city’s leading society pages. Let’s hope a journalist snuck in, despite our best efforts.”

She hesitated. She seemed unsure whether I’d orchestrated something or not. She picked up her glass of wine and saluted me with it. “We shall see, won’t we?”

I stood. “May I say, on behalf of my family, how much we have enjoyed having you and your daughter stay with us. I’ve made a new friend in Clare, and for that, I am grateful.”

She lowered her glass, suddenly deflated, as if the fighting spirit she was famous for had suddenly vanished. Perhaps she was only now becoming aware that without her daughter, she would be returning home to an empty house, her only family half a world away.

After the bride and groom were farewelled to rousing applause, I fancied another dance. I looked around for a partner, only to realize Harry must have left. I decided to save my feet and not dance, after all.

My uncle insisted we stay until the end and all the guests had left. When Mrs. Hessing and her companions finally departed, we waited until the staff had gathered under Harmony’s instruction. Floyd made a brief speech, praising his assistant, the cook and steward, and Uncle Ronald led a round of more applause.

As the waiters began cleaning up, my uncle escorted my aunt from the ballroom. I followed with my cousins either side of me. We made our way up the stairs while Aunt Lilian and Uncle Ronald took the lift. Flossy giggled for no particular reason, proving she was a little tipsy. Floyd was beyond tipsy and had reached the drunk phase. He tripped over a step, but instead of getting up, he sat down.

Flossy kicked off her shoes and sat down beside him. “How do you think they made the snow? It looked so real.”

“Borax, water and soap,” I said. “Castile soap, if I’m not mistaken. It’s milder and makes a better consistency.”

“How do you know?”

Floyd shushed her before I could answer. “She’s a detective, and a bloody good one.”

I sat on the step below them. “I scooped up some on my finger and tasted it.”

Flossy fell about, giggling.

Floyd pushed himself to his feet and reached a hand down to each of us. “Come on, girls. Almost there.”

We each took one of his hands and together the three of us continued up the stairs, slowly and carefully. I was still smiling when we reached the third-floor landing. Floyd wiped it away with what he said next, however.

“I’m glad to see you didn’t dance with Armitage, Cleo. It wouldn’t have been appropriate.”

Flossy’s objection saved me from voicing mine. “Don’t be silly. He was there as a guest. It would have been perfectly acceptable for one of us to dance with him. It’s a pity he didn’t ask. Didn’t he look dashing, Cleo?” She sighed dramatically.

It was time to change the subject. “Something has been on my mind ever since we returned from Brighton, and I want a proper answer this time.”

They both looked at me, intrigued.

“Why don’t you like sea bathing, Flossy? Is it because you don’t want to get your hair wet? You can wear a cap, you know.”

She released Floyd’s arm and stormed up the stairs to the fourth floor where she spun around, hand on hip. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Floyd’s chuckle began low in his chest, growing louder until it finally bubbled out of him. “She doesn’t like it because when she was little and waded in up to her knees, something brushed against her leg. She screamed until her voice gave out. Everyone came running to rescue her. Father had to carry her out of the water like a baby. It turned out to be seaweed.”

“Something did brush against my leg, and it wasn’t seaweed. It swam away.” She sniffed. “I don’t see the point of sea bathing anyway. If I want to get wet, I can have a bath.”

I told her I would make her go in with me next time. “The best way to get over your fear is to tackle it head-on.”

“I am quite happy to live with my fear, if it means I get to keep all of my toes.”

Floyd and I burst out laughing. After pouting for a few moments, Flossy joined in.

Mrs. Scoop’s report on the wedding was everything I’d hoped it would be. She was effusive in her praise of every detail, from the suppliers to the venue and its decorations. Uncle Ronald was particularly pleased with the lines that said the event was ‘beyond compare’, and that the Mayfair Hotel was ‘worthy of its reputation for faultless luxury’. He was so pleased that he even praised Floyd. The bonus he gave Harmony was very welcome, but it was his promise to let her manage future events that left her smiling for days afterward.

As I sat in the staff parlor with Harmony, Victor, Goliath and Frank, I had to explain how I’d manipulated Mrs. Scoop into giving her glowing review. I made a point of telling them that I’d simply requested she be favorable in exchange for exclusivity. I hadn’t demanded it.

“She wanted to maintain her integrity and print the truth as she saw it. Although I did stipulate that she had to mention each of the suppliers by name.”

“A stipulation that paid off,” Harmony said. “They agreed to lower their prices and Mrs. Hessing paid them this morning.”

“Just in time before she checks out,” Goliath added.

Frank grunted. “Good riddance. She smacked my leg with her walking stick the other day when I didn’t open the door fast enough for her.”

It wasn’t just Mrs. Scoop’s social pages that had us poring over the latest edition of The Evening Bulletin . Ruth Price’s picture on the front page had been a little confronting when I first saw it, but the full-page article that accompanied it had me riveted. It gave the facts surrounding her murder, and the solving of it, mentioning Armitage and Associates on several occasions. My name was not in it, as I’d requested. The publicity should be good for Harry.

The remainder of the article was a heartfelt tribute to Ruth, the smart, vibrant young woman robbed of a bright future. The article read as though it had been written by someone who admired her greatly and knew her well. I didn’t recognize the name in the byline, however.

Also left out of the article were the names of the other suspects. The Pridhursts would be relieved. Earlier that day, I’d met with Lady Pridhurst and Odette with the intention of returning the money they’d given me to bribe Mrs. Scoop. I’d informed them that I’d used other means to ensure their secret was safe, at least from Mrs. Scoop’s pages. Lady Pridhurst insisted I keep the money.

Odette also informed me that she’d spoken to Mr. Holland and admitted everything. Mr. Holland was still considering his options, which I didn’t think boded well for a happy future together, but I refrained from commenting.

Peter poked his head around the parlor door. “Miss Fox, you have a visitor. Shall I send him in?”

“I’ll come out,” I said rising.

I filed out of the parlor along with the other staff, who headed off to their respective areas of the hotel after their short break. I signed to Victor to wait a moment, however. Once the others had left, I asked him how everything was with Harmony.

“I haven’t seen much of her lately,” he said. “She’s been busy.”

“Has that caused problems between you?”

“No. I just miss her.”

I smiled. “You should tell her that.”

“Regarding our discussion at the Ouse Valley Viaduct, I want you to know I’ve decided not to say anything to Harmony about the next stage of our relationship. I like things the way they are, and I think she does, too. Talking about next stages will ruin everything.”

“If it makes you both happy, then you should maintain your own pace.”

We parted ways, he heading to the kitchen and me to the foyer where I wasn’t surprised to see Harry waiting for me. He had a copy of the latest edition of The Evening Bulletin under his arm. He showed me the front page and pointed to one of the lines that mentioned his agency.

“I believe I have you to thank for this.” His gaze softened and he leaned in. For a breath-stealing moment, I thought he would kiss me right there in the foyer. “So, thank you, Cleo,” he murmured. “The publicity has already led to inquiries.”

I drew in a steadying breath to help gather my wits. “You did play a major part in solving the murder, Harry, so you deserve it. Anyway, I asked Mrs. Scoop to mention you, not this person.” I looked closer at the byline. “C.E. Meyers.”

“I had an inkling who it might be, so I telephoned The Evening Bulletin and spoke to Mrs. Scoop. She confirmed my suspicion.”

“Who is it?”

“Catherine Elizabeth Meyers, the maiden name of Mrs. Blaine. Or Scoop, if you prefer. Apparently, she plans on using that name for any feature articles Finlayson allows her to write. This one is her first.”

“It’s superbly written. Thomas Salter and Enoch Price should be pleased Ruth has been recognized like this.”

“Enoch wasn’t all that pleased when I saw him this morning.” Harry dug into his inside jacket pocket. “He called on me after reading my name and paid me a fee.” He held out an envelope. “He was relieved that the police were changing their verdict to murder. It’s not a lot, but he said I deserved something for my efforts. But it’s you who deserve it, Cleo. I did tell Enoch, by the way, but…” He shrugged.

He didn’t need to say more. I could well imagine Enoch Price refusing to accept that a woman solved his sister’s murder.

Instinct and manners almost made me refuse the money, but in the end, I accepted half and slipped the other half into his jacket pocket. I did deserve some payment.

“Thank you, Harry. Not just for this, but for stepping in when Wilson attacked. You were marvelous.”

He looked down at the floor, his cheeks turning a little pink with embarrassment. “Goliath helped.”

“And I have already thanked him.”

Harry shuffled his feet. For a man who was always so sure of himself, he seemed out of sorts. “You looked like you enjoyed yourself at the wedding.”

“I did. Did you?”

With his head still bent forward, he lifted his gaze, peering at me through his long lashes. The effect was both vulnerable and dashing. My heart fluttered. “I would have enjoyed it more if I’d danced with you.”

“You never asked,” I pointed out.

“I didn’t dare.”

“You’ve never been scared of my uncle or cousin before. You’ve always stood your ground.”

His lips tilted with his intriguing smile. “I wasn’t scared of them. I was scared of the other men waiting to dance with you. If I’d tried to jump the queue, there would have been a riot.”

I laughed as I shook my head. “You’re a devil, Harry. There weren’t that many men wanting to dance with me. Besides, who said I would have let you jump the queue?”

He leaned down again and murmured in my ear. “You would have let me. I guarantee it.”

He was close enough to hear the hitch in my breath, and perhaps even to hear the blood rushing through my veins. It certainly sounded loud enough to me.

I scrambled to think of something amusing to say that would settle my frayed nerves, but he walked away before I could.

He turned back when he reached the exit, doffed his hat, and tossed me a self-satisfied smile that left me in no doubt that he knew the effect he had on me.

Available 3rd June 2025 :

MURDER AT HAMBLEDON HALL

The 10th Cleopatra Fox Mystery

Who killed the gamekeeper, and why? Read on for a description of MURDER AT HAMBLEDON HALL by C.J. Archer.