Murder at the Mayfair Hotel (Cleopatra Fox Mysteries #1)- C.J. Archer

Chapter 1

London, December 1899

Moving into a luxury hotel in the world’s most dynamic city was just the tonic I needed. If I had to live with relatives I hardly knew, what better place than The Mayfair Hotel? From the look of its magnificent façade, I wouldn’t have to worry about bumping into them at every turn.

I planted a hand on my hat and tipped my head back to take it all in. Like most old mansions, it was both elegant and imposing; a grand dame that inspired admiration and awe in equal measure. The top of the fifth level appeared to butt against the dense gray clouds, and I counted seven arches spanning the width of the ground floor.

I headed for the central arch, sheltered by a burgundy canopy printed with the hotel’s emblem of an M inside a circle. I recognized it from the stationery my aunt used for her infrequent letters.

“Miss,” said one of the two doormen. “Miss, can you hear me?”

“I’m sorry, were you speaking to me?” I asked.

The doorman regarded me down his nose. “Are you sure you’re at the right place?”

“Is this The Mayfair Hotel?”

“It is.”

“Then I am at the right place.” I frowned. “Why would you think I’m not?”

His gaze held mine a moment longer than necessary. He was assessing me, no doubt trying to determine how a young woman alone could afford to stay in a luxury hotel when she wore a black cloak with frayed cuffs and a hat that was at least two seasons out of fashion.

I did not look away.

“Would you like to put down your luggage? I’ll have it sent to your room with your trunk.” The doorman gave a pointed look at my battered brown leather bag, his mouth turned down in distaste.

The bag had belonged to my grandfather. Thinking about him brought tears to my eyes, but I breathed through my sorrow until they disappeared. He may have died three years ago, but I’d thought about him a lot this last month.

“Miss?” The word came out as an irritated hiss.

I clutched the bag tighter. “Thank you, but I’ll keep it with me.”

The doorman signaled to an extraordinarily tall porter dressed in a smart red jacket and a rimless hat. The porter picked up my trunk and hat box and placed them on a trolley. Another doorman opened the door for him to push it through. I adjusted my grip on my bag and hurried after the porter.

I stopped in the foyer, suddenly out of breath, not from the exertion of a few steps, but from the spectacular sight. I didn’t know where to look first; there was so much to take in, and the space was vast. A Christmas tree festooned with glass baubles, garlands and candles stood proudly in the center of the tiled floor. It reached an impressive height but still fell short of the crystal chandelier suspended above it. Three chandeliers hung in the wide foyer, all ablaze with what appeared to be electric bulbs. The bright light staved off the mid-afternoon gloom and reflected on the shiny tiled floor. Several armchairs in burgundy leather were positioned here and there. Two of them were occupied by elegantly dressed ladies chatting amiably to one another. Roses arranged in large black vases trimmed with gold added a splash of pink to the foyer’s cream, black and burgundy color scheme. Considering roses were not in season, the displays were even more impressive.

The tall porter cleared his throat. He stood with my luggage at a counter behind which another man stood, smiling patiently.

“Would miss like to check in?” he asked.

I approached the counter. “Yes. Or no. I’m not quite sure.”

“Perhaps I can assist you to make up your mind. The Mayfair Hotel is a boutique family-owned establishment of one hundred well-appointed rooms. We pride ourselves on our friendly service, family values, and modern amenities.”

The porter’s head turned to the front desk clerk and an eyebrow arched ever so slightly. The clerk kept his gaze on me and his smile didn’t waver, but I suspected he knew the porter silently challenged his spiel. I couldn’t determine which of the points made by the clerk was in question. Perhaps it was all three. From what my paternal grandparents had told me of my mother’s relatives, family values were in short supply here.

“The Mayfair offers all the comforts of home and more,” the clerk went on.

A small laugh bubbled out of me. I couldn’t help it. If he’d known my previous home