Chapter 2

T he young woman clutched the handle of her brown leather satchel with both hands and watched me approach with a steady, almost defiant, gaze. She was prepared for battle.

She wasn’t the only one.

When I’d seen her on the pier earlier that afternoon, I’d fallen for the cliché that a plainly dressed woman with spectacles meant she was shy and bookish. Now that I was closer, I dismissed that assessment. This woman didn’t seem at all wary, even though my first words to her were unfriendly.

“Who are you and what do you want?”

Her fingers adjusted their grip on the bag’s handle. “I am someone who can ruin your reputation with a telephone call, something I won’t hesitate to do unless you help me.”

“Usually when someone asks for my help, they don’t threaten me first.”

“I can’t pay you.”

“So, you’re blackmailing me instead?” When she didn’t respond, I added, “I assume you want me to investigate something or someone, since you think I’m a private detective.”

“I don’t think, I know, and I’m quite capable of conducting my own investigations. I just need a little assistance with a certain matter.” She coupled her snippy response with a lift of her chin.

“Are you a private detective, Miss…?”

The woman lowered her gaze. It was the first sign of uncertainty she’d shown. I assumed it was because she couldn’t decide whether to reveal her name, but it turned out that she didn’t want to answer my question. “In a manner of speaking,” she finally said. “Well? Will you assist me?”

It was my turn to hesitate. Should I admit she was right, that I was a private detective? Or should I pretend she’d made a mistake?

Considering I’d answered her summons by meeting her, there was no point denying it now. “That depends on what you want me to do.”

“Why does it matter? You don’t have a choice.”

“There is always a choice, and there are some things I refuse to do for the sake of protecting my reputation. Reputations can be salvaged. A good conscience cannot.”

Our gazes locked, neither of us looking away. The battle of wills lasted until something behind me caught her attention. She quickly put her hand to her hat brim, hiding her face.

I turned around and searched the sea of faces belonging to the men and women promenading along the foreshore. I didn’t recognize any, but one man did appear to be watching us over the top of his newspaper. With his hat pulled down and the newspaper obscuring the lower part of his face, I could only see his eyes.

My blackmailer was rattled. “I-I’ll contact you again in London and we’ll discuss this further.”

She went to move off, but I blocked her path. “Why not discuss it now?”

“I have to be somewhere now.”

“Tomorrow then, before I leave Brighton.”

“I’m also leaving tomorrow. I’ll contact you at the Mayfair Hotel.” She tried to step around me, but I moved to block her again.

“Why The Evening Bulletin? ” I asked.

“Pardon?”

“In your message, you specifically mentioned that newspaper. There are many newspapers that stoop to spreading gossip, so I’m curious as to why you wrote that particular one.”

The woman glanced behind me again, then, when I followed her gaze, she slipped away. With a hand to her hat, she hurried off. I let her go. She wasn’t going to offer any answers while someone watched her.

The entire encounter had been strange and left me with more questions. I’d not had the opportunity to ask her how she knew I was a private detective or that I lived at the Mayfair Hotel. Also, why was she watching the Pridhursts on West Pier earlier? Or had she been watching Flossy and me? Lastly, why was someone watching us just now, if indeed he had been? The man with the newspaper had disappeared into the crowd while I wasn’t looking, so I couldn’t question him.

The only information I’d gained from the encounter was her initials—R.P. At least, those were the initials etched on the brass plaque attached to her bag.

Patience not being my strong suit, I was frustrated that I had to wait to find out more, but I comforted myself with the knowledge that I would be sharper in London, and more focused. Here, I was in a holiday frame of mind.

Back at the Grand Brighton Hotel, none of the staff could tell me about the woman. No one had seen her leave the note at the post desk. It was growing late, however, and while the manager, assistant manager and front desk clerks were the same, the porters and doorman were different from those working earlier.

The checking-out procedure the following morning was thrown into chaos when one of the clerks failed to arrive at work. With several guests leaving that day, the foyer of the Grand Brighton Hotel quickly became crowded as a queue formed at the desk. My aunt’s irritable mood didn’t help matters. Flossy and I tried telling her we wouldn’t be late for the train, but it did no good. She complained nonstop for the entire twenty-minute wait, albeit under her breath so that no one else heard. Thankfully, she didn’t take out her frustrations on the harried staff. As if she’d flipped a switch, she was all sympathetic smiles.

The brown and gold train was already waiting at the station when we arrived. Jane and Aunt Lilian’s maid headed to the second-class carriage while Flossy and Aunt Lilian climbed on board the first-class one. I told them I’d join them soon. I wanted a few moments of peace, before sitting in a confined space with my aunt for the next hour.

The platform bustled with activity as holidaymakers headed to their carriages and perspiring porters pushed trolleys laden with trunks. I spoke to the Pridhursts before they boarded and received a hug goodbye from Odette. A woman bumped into me, mumbled an apology then climbed aboard behind the Pridhursts. It was no wonder she didn’t see me, with her head down and a large hat decorated with wine-red feathers and flowers obscuring most of her face. She refused to accept the guard’s offered hand to assist her up the steps, leaving him blinking at her disappearing back in disappointment at the snub.

He planted a cheery smile on his face when another passenger approached. The passenger looked a little familiar, but it wasn’t until the guard greeted him by name that I realized he was Clement Beecroft, the actor and impresario Jane had seen swimming away from the bathing machine yesterday. He showed the guard his ticket, chatting amiably with him, before placing a foot on the step. He paused there, as if suddenly undecided if he should continue, before he made up his mind and entered.

I checked the clock jutting out on iron supports from the ticket booth. It was time to board. I approached the guard, but someone carrying a leather bag in both arms rushed past me. It was R.P., my blackmailer. If she saw me, she gave no indication.

The guard reached for her bag. “Allow me, ma’am.”

She jerked it out of his reach, and climbed aboard unaided.

I accepted the guard’s assistance and followed her. By the time I passed her, she’d already settled in the first compartment. She clutched the bag on her lap, even though the rack above was empty. She sat alone.

I joined Flossy and Aunt Lilian in a compartment further along, just as the guard called out to a passenger to hurry up and board, before his voice was drowned out by the hiss of steam. The guard blew his whistle, and we lurched forward.

After the conductor checked our tickets, Aunt Lilian removed her gloves and closed her eyes. The constant fidgeting with the lace gloves proved she wasn’t asleep, however. I relaxed into the soft velvet-covered seat and read a book while Flossy flipped through the pages of a fashion magazine. At one point, she asked me what I thought about one of the dresses in the magazine, but her mother shushed her. We stayed silent for the remainder of the journey.

The train sped through the picturesque countryside, until finally slowing when we reached London. The two stops before we arrived at Victoria Station were a welcome distraction from the taut silence in our compartment. Both times, I lowered the window and stuck my head out to watch the comings and goings, before raising it and settling back in my seat.

Eager to alight, Aunt Lilian stood before the train completely stopped at its final destination. She led the way out of the compartment and along the narrow corridor to the exit at the front of the carriage. I looked in at each of the compartments as we passed. Lord and Lady Pridhurst smiled and wished us a good day, but Odette continued to stare out of the window beside her, a handkerchief scrunched in her hand. I’d not met the other passengers in the next two compartments, although I did recognize Mr. Beecroft. The actor drummed his fingers on his thigh and tried to peer past me.

The man seated opposite him offered him a cigarette, but Mr. Beecroft declined with a shake of his head. The man looked out of place in the first-class carriage, dressed in a workingman’s clothes and cap. He had a rather distinctive face with a flat nose, as if it had been the target of too many fists. He must have been the fellow who’d almost missed the train in Brighton.

The lady with the large hat occupied the next compartment with another woman wearing an equally large hat. Neither looked out from beneath their brims as we passed, so I had no idea what they looked like.

The compartment where R.P. had sat was empty. I expected to see her ahead of us, eager to be first off the train, but the only person waiting at the door was the conductor. He opened it for us when the train came to a stop at the platform and touched the brim of his cap in farewell. A guard on the platform assisted Aunt Lilian down the steps, then offered a hand to Flossy then me.

I didn’t follow them as they walked to the gate. I looked around, frowning. If R.P. hadn’t been in her compartment or any of the others I’d passed, nor had she been waiting to get off, where was she? Our carriage was first, behind the locomotive and the tender carrying coal and water, so if she’d changed carriages on the journey, she could only have gone to the second one, and to do that, she had to pass our compartment. But I’d not seen her, and I was quite sure I would have noticed, as the top half of the compartment door was glass. Nor had she joined the other passengers in the compartments between hers and ours.

I returned to the conductor. “Excuse me, may I have a word?”

“Did you leave something behind, Miss?”

“No, nothing like that. There was a woman carrying a brown leather bag traveling alone in the first compartment of the first-class car. Have you seen her?”

He scratched his thick beard as he thought. “Young woman with spectacles?”

“Yes, that’s her. She didn’t get off and her compartment was empty just now, but I’m sure she didn’t alight at the other two stops.”

“She must have changed carriages on the journey and got off from there.” He waved in the general direction of the rest of the train behind our first-class carriage.

I shook my head. “I would have seen her pass our compartment.” Although I had looked out of the window at one point.

The conductor shrugged. “I’m sure there’s an explanation, miss.” He didn’t offer one, however.

“Cleo,” Flossy whined. “Mother wants to go. Please don’t upset her. She has a raging headache.”

“Just a moment.” I turned back to the conductor, but he’d disappeared inside. With a sigh, I followed Flossy through the gate and along the concourse to the vehicles queuing up to take passengers to their final destination.

We found Aunt Lilian already ensconced in one of the two waiting carriages emblazoned with the Mayfair Hotel’s emblem of an M inside a circle. Once the groom closed our door, Cobbit the coachman instructed the horses to pull the vehicle away from the curb. The second carriage would wait to take our luggage and the two maids.

“Did either of you notice the young woman with the brown leather bag?” I asked.

“No,” Flossy said.

“Did you see anyone at all pass our compartment to change carriages?”

Flossy shook her head. “Why?”

“That young woman didn’t get off the train. Not at Victoria Station or the other two stops. Aunt?” I prompted. “Did you see her?”

Aunt Lilian had been staring out of the window, but she now turned to me. She looked like she hadn’t slept for days, and her cheeks looked even more sunken than usual. I’d not thought it possible, but she was also thinner than the day we left London, two weeks ago. “Why would I notice the other passengers?” she snapped.

I abandoned my questions and, once again, Flossy and I sat in silence. Aunt Lilian returned to staring out of the window. At one point, she closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, before opening them again when the traffic on Piccadilly slowed our progress.

The Mayfair Hotel was a welcome sight. Frank the doorman greeted us with more warmth in his voice than I’d ever heard. It was most likely for my aunt and cousin’s benefit rather than mine, but I didn’t care. I’d missed his familiar grumpiness.

Goliath and the other porter greeted us before rushing to collect our luggage as the second carriage with the maids pulled up. Peter, the assistant manager, bowed and inquired how our holiday had been, and the manager, Mr. Hobart, said he was pleased to see us looking so refreshed.

“It must be the seaside air,” he said, smiling. When Mr. Hobart smiled, his entire face lifted, and I couldn’t help smiling back and giving him an enthusiastic response about how much I enjoyed it.

Flossy did, too. Aunt Lilian, however, smiled tightly as if it pained her to move the muscles in her face. I knew she genuinely liked Mr. Hobart, but the cocaine addiction that controlled her had not only altered her mood, it had also broken her spirit. The times when she didn’t take the substance, when she tried to go without, the fight to regain control required all her energy.

I touched her elbow, wanting her to know that I knew she was fighting, and that I supported her. But she jerked away and hurried to catch the lift before John closed the door.

“How has everything been here?” I asked Mr. Hobart.

“All is well, Miss Fox. Thank you for asking.” Even if the hotel was in turmoil, he would give the same answer in front of Flossy.

She was distracted by one of the hotel guests, however, and hadn’t heard.

“Actually, Miss Fox,” Mr. Hobart went on, “I have a message that needs delivering to the mews. Would you mind taking it?”

Why was he asking me to run errands? He’d never asked before, and the mews was out of the way.

Sensing he’d made a rare faux pas , he quickly apologized. “Goliath can take the message. I’m sure you want to rest before afternoon tea.”

As Flossy and I headed to the lift, I asked her why she couldn’t stop staring at the blond gentleman with the gold-topped walking stick, reading his mail at the post desk.

“Well, just look at him, Cleo.”

I looked. “He’s quite handsome, I suppose.”

“A ‘golden gentleman with a limp.’”

“Pardon?”

“Don’t you remember? And you call yourself a detective.” She hooked her arm through mine and glanced over her shoulder. A ‘golden gentleman with a limp’ is the description of the man I’ll marry, according to the fortune-telling machine in the Palace Pier’s arcade.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “I’m not sure blond hair and a gold-topped walking stick match the description.”

“It’s either that or a crown.” She gasped. “Perhaps I’ll marry a prince!”

I laughed softly. “Perhaps you will.”

“It’s wonderful to be home,” I said to Harmony. She’d come to my suite soon after I’d entered it, having heard we were back.

“You didn’t enjoy the holiday?” she asked.

We sat on the sofa, our shoes off and the top buttons of our dresses undone. It was warm on the fourth floor and the fan did little to cool the air. Usually doing maid’s work at this time of day, Harmony had more freedom now that she was Floyd’s assistant for the duration of the wedding reception preparations. While she was busier than ever, her schedule wasn’t quite as regimented.

“I did, very much.” I sipped my lemonade. “But I missed you.”

“Just me?” She sounded serious, but the wicked gleam in her eyes gave her away.

I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of walking into her trap. “I missed all of my friends here.”

“Just here? Or the ones from, say, Soho?”

I gulped down the rest of my lemonade, then set the empty glass aside. “How are plans for the reception coming along?”

“That was a cumbersome change of topic, but very well. The plans are progressing, put it that way.”

“Is something the matter? Is Floyd being hopeless?”

“No more than usual.” It was testament to how comfortable she felt with me that she could say that about my cousin to my face. She knew I’d not pass on her words or be offended. “He leaves me to manage things alone most of the time, which is all well and good. I prefer it, actually.”

“Then is it Mr. Chapman again?”

The hotel steward managed the restaurant and its staff. He’d been upset when Uncle Ronald had given the task of preparing the wedding reception to Floyd and Harmony, but he only had himself to blame. The Hessing-Liddicoat engagement dinner had been a near-disaster. On the back of it, the bride-to-be’s mother, Mrs. Hessing, had almost taken the wedding reception to our competitor. Fortunately, she’d been convinced to keep it at the Mayfair, but she’d insisted Floyd be the one to manage the event.

Mr. Chapman’s nose had been put out of joint, but he’d been somewhat placated when Floyd tasked him with preparing the old restaurant for the reception. The steward was given free rein to organize the waiters, and had input into the decorations, but Harmony would be the one to liaise with suppliers while Floyd passed on the requirements of the woman paying for it all. I wasn’t sure what the snobby steward would abhor more—having to answer to a maid, or having to decorate the room in Mrs. Hessing’s ostentatious style.

“It’s not Mr. Chapman,” Harmony said. “It’s Mrs. Hessing. She wants the world, but she doesn’t want to pay for it.”

“But she’s wealthy!”

“That doesn’t mean she likes parting with her money.” Harmony picked up the jug of lemonade and refilled both our glasses. “Every time I get a quote from a supplier, she tells me it’s too much and I must find a way to lower it. When I asked how, she said people like me should know how to haggle.”

I groaned. “What did you say to that?”

“I asked her if she meant people from the East End.”

Harmony had been born and raised in a London slum. Despite enduring prejudice for her darker skin, she’d gained employment as a maid at the hotel, and was now the occasional assistant to the owner’s son. Those of us who knew her weren’t surprised. She was intelligent, efficient, and had a strong work ethic. She deserved the promotion. Yet prejudice from some quarters persisted.

“Mrs. Hessing thought I was being rude and complained to Mr. Bainbridge. He defended me, but things haven’t been the same since.”

“Do you think she’ll cause more trouble?”

Harmony paused, the glass halfway to her lips. “She can’t change her mind and have another hotel host the reception now. It’s too late for that. Nor will she want to jeopardize the success of the event. It’s important to her. She wants it to be remembered for all the right reasons, not the wrong ones, hence the spectacular nature of her requests. What she might do is not pay the bills.”

“If she doesn’t, then the suppliers won’t supply things. It’ll be a disaster.”

Harmony didn’t think so. “The reception is important to them, too. Having their name associated with it will be a boon for their business. Also, with her rumored wealth, they will happily deliver on the day, expecting payment afterward.”

“But?”

“But I think she’ll pay what she wants and leave Sir Ronald to pay the rest. He’d agree to it, to maintain a good relationship with suppliers and to keep one of his best guests happy.”

Indeed he might. Mrs. Hessing could certainly afford a lavish affair, so that wasn’t the reason for her reluctance to pay the quoted prices. I suspected she was testing us. Or, rather, testing my uncle’s loyalty to her. Would he prefer to displease our suppliers or Mrs. Hessing?

Harmony checked the time on the watch Floyd had loaned her, but didn’t get up. She tucked it back into her pocket. “Tell me all about the holiday. Did anything nibble your toes while you were sea bathing? Is the Royal Pavilion as peculiar as they say? What was the hotel like?”

I gave brief answers to all her questions. By the end, she sensed there was something else on my mind. After she glanced at her watch again, I knew I had to get to the point or my opportunity to discuss it with her would vanish. “A woman disappeared on the journey home. She tried to blackmail me in Brighton, threatening to tell The Evening Bulletin that I was a private detective if I didn’t help her. She didn’t say how she knew I was a private detective or how she’d learned where I lived, or even how I could help her. She told me she would contact me here at the Mayfair to discuss it further. But I’m concerned she may not have made it back to London. I saw her get on the carriage, but not get off. Oh, and either she, or I, was being watched. I think.”

Harmony’s eyebrows rose higher and higher with every sentence. It did sound rather extraordinary when I laid it out like that. Most people would dismiss my concern for R.P., just as the conductor had, but not Harmony. She suggested I contact the police immediately.

“Your instincts are usually good, Cleo.” She checked the time again. “I have to get back to work. Let me know what the police say.”

I followed her out of my suite and headed downstairs. There were only two telephones on the ground floor, one on the front desk and one in Mr. Hobart’s office. My call required privacy, so I asked the manager if I could use his.

Instead of telephoning the local police station, I put in a call to Detective Sergeant Forrester at Scotland Yard. I’d dealt with him before, and as a trusted former colleague of the now retired D.I. Hobart, I knew he’d take me seriously.

Even so, there was nothing he could do. “Unless she’s reported missing, or a body is discovered, there’s no case.”

“I understand, but perhaps you could find out if any luggage from that train wasn’t collected.”

“I could do that for you, Cleo. But are you sure she didn’t pass your compartment on her way to the next carriage?”

“Quite sure, Monty.” I felt awkward calling him by his first name, as we’d agreed to do on our last encounter, but he’d already used mine, so I had to follow suit.

The telephone line crackled, and I couldn’t hear what he said, so asked him to repeat it. “Are you suspecting foul play?” he said in a louder voice.

“I suppose I am, yes. There’s nowhere to hide in the car, so we can dismiss that idea. If she fell out of the window, or was pushed out, we would have heard her scream.”

“It wouldn’t be easy to push someone out of a train window, particularly if they were struggling.”

“Precisely. So, I think she was murdered in her compartment, or silenced in some way, then bundled out.”

Someone on the line gasped. I doubted it was Monty. The operator must be listening in.

We quickly ended the call.

The hotel foyer was busy with ladies arriving to experience the Mayfair’s famous afternoon tea. I had no plans myself, but I remained in the foyer to welcome those I recognized. Many were guests currently staying with us, but quite a number were London residents who regularly enjoyed the experience with friends.

Mr. Hobart and Peter had also taken up positions to welcome the ladies and direct newcomers to the sitting room. It was a sunny day, so there were no coats to deposit at the luggage room, which doubled as a cloakroom, but several checked in their parasols.

When the gaggle of ladies began to thin, Peter joined me. “Is it just me or are the hats bigger this summer?”

I laughed. “Definitely bigger, and more elaborately decorated. A woman bumped into me at Brighton Station because she couldn’t see where she was going from underneath her enormous brim. She did look exceedingly elegant, though. Her outfit wouldn’t have been out of place in a fashion magazine.”

“I’d wager it cost a small fortune.”

“More than you or I could afford, Peter.”

A crease connected his eyebrows, and I was reminded that most people thought I was wealthy. While my uncle gave me an allowance, it wasn’t enough to live independently outside of the hotel, and certainly wasn’t enough to buy new outfits every year. My mother—Aunt Lilian’s sister—had been cut off by their parents when she married my father, a man not of their choosing. It meant I’d grown up not knowing her family, until I was forced to move in with them last December. After my parents died when I was ten, my paternal grandparents had taken me in, but on my grandmother’s death, I’d found myself utterly alone and facing poverty. I was fortunate indeed that my aunt and uncle invited me to live with them. I shuddered to think where I’d be now if I’d not swallowed my pride and accepted their offer.

Mr. Hobart approached and asked Peter to look over the next day’s guest arrivals. Once he was out of earshot, the manager smiled at me. “Did you know Lord Dunmere checked in a few days ago?”

“Did he bring his automobile?” Last time, his motorized vehicle caused unrest among the mews staff where it was stabled. Cobbit and the other coachman and grooms had gone on strike, afraid they’d be out of a job if the hotel decided to switch to using horseless carriages instead of horse-drawn ones. If Harry Armitage hadn’t suggested a compromise, the unrest could still be going on.

“He did,” Mr. Hobart said. “That’s actually what I want to talk to you about. Would you mind going to the mews and speaking to Cobbit to gauge his feelings? If he’s going to go on strike again, I’d like advance warning.”

“Of course, but why me? Wouldn’t it be better if a member of staff spoke to him? He might confide in Peter or Goliath more than a member of the family.”

“You’re an excellent judge, Cleo. I trust your opinion. May I suggest you go now, before Cobbit leaves for the day?”

Cobbit’s shift wouldn’t end for some time yet, but Mr. Hobart seemed keen to get it over with, and I had nothing better to do.

I exited via the front door, greeting Frank as I passed. “Good afternoon. Pleasant day, today.”

Without a member of my family or any guests within earshot, he was once more his usual testy self. “What’s pleasant about it? It’s too hot.”

“The clouds are starting to come in. Perhaps tomorrow will bring rain to cool everything down.”

“Then I’ll get wet standing out here. It’s not just the rain falling from the sky, you know. It comes from the guests shaking out their coats and umbrellas all over me, and the passing carriages driving through puddles. I’ll be drenched in an hour, just you wait and see.”

“As much as I’d like to hear more, Frank, I have a task to perform for Mr. Hobart. Must dash.”

I hurried to the mews where the Mayfair stabled its horses and kept two carriages for the use of family and guests. Lord Dunmere’s Peugeot occupied one of the coach houses and the other was empty, neither carriage in sight. A young groom peered into the vehicle as his lordship’s mechanic, seated in the driver’s seat, explained how to make the contraption work. The lad listened intently. A third man stood behind the vehicle, the doors to the compartment that housed the engine open. He didn’t see me. His attention was entirely focused on the inner workings.

I should have turned and fled before he looked up, but I did not. Uncertainty pinned me to the spot.

When Harry did look up, he grinned that lopsided, devilish grin of his, the one that made my heart flutter even while I felt trapped.