Murder at the Mayfair Hotel (Cleopatra Fox Mysteries #1)- C.J. Archer Page 0,10

the average man’s standards. But you were by ours.” He indicated the walls surrounding us, with the rich wood paneling and the paintings in gilded frames. “Academia doesn’t pay well, unfortunately. Your father was a very clever man. The cleverest I’ve ever known. But sadly, our maker doesn’t distribute money along with brains. I knew there’d be little left over from his wages after the necessities had been paid for. Your parents agreed to a lesser amount than I offered—for your education and future dowry, so their letter stated. I’ve been paying that amount into a bank account in Cambridge ever since, but I am well aware that it isn’t enough for a young lady entering London society.” He tapped the ledger with a blunt finger. “Shall we agree to an extra five pounds a month?”

He was wrong, surely. It must be a lie to make himself look generous. There was an easy way to find out. “What amount was paid monthly?”

“Four pounds.”

“Which bank was it paid into?”

“The National Commercial on the first day of every month unless the first was a weekend or bank holiday then it was paid on the next business day. The manager’s name at the Cambridge branch is Mr. Arnold. I never met him, so I cannot describe him to you, but he has been the manager the entire time, so is likely my age or older.”

The allowance went into my account on the first of every month and it was indeed four pounds. Prior to my grandfather’s death, I had not been allowed to access it without his signature, but after his death, I was given full access. I’d always assumed my father set up the allowance in the event of his death; an event that had unfortunately come to pass. If Uncle Ronald were to be believed, it had been paid by him and from the day I was born.

“It will be easy enough for me to check,” I told him.

“Yes, it would.” He smiled, but there was a hint of sadness tugging at the corners of his eyes. “You remind me so much of your mother. You have her spirit.” He cleared his throat and reached for the pen again. “You have your father’s practical common sense, however, so I suspect you will accept the raise to your allowance without objection.”

It wasn’t a question, yet he didn’t immediately sign the letter. Reading it upside down, it was indeed a letter addressed to Mr. Arnold at the National Commercial bank, stipulating my allowance should be raised by the amount of five pounds a month and that I would henceforth be drawing on the funds from London.

“I have already informed Mr. Arnold of my relocation to London,” I said. “I met him for the first time prior to my departure. He’s older than you, has poor eyesight, and no hair on his head but an abundance on his face in the form of long gray whiskers.”

My uncle’s smile returned. He set the paper aside. “I’ll draft another and remove that paragraph. It’ll be sent by the last post of the day.”

“No.”

“What?”

“No, I don’t want an additional allowance. Not from you. I mean, not from anyone,” I added quickly. “Thank you, I appreciate the offer but the four pounds I already receive will suffice.”

“But…are you sure?”

If I was to make my own way here, I couldn’t rely on his money. Not more than I already was, anyway. Discovering that he had been paying my allowance all these years made me feel somewhat sick; I couldn’t stomach it if he more than doubled it.

“I’m sure, sir.”

He picked up the letter to the bank manager and appeared to be re-reading it when he suddenly screwed it up into a ball. “Call me Uncle Ronald.” He tossed the ball into a rubbish basket. “If you change your mind about the extra allowance, just come and see me.” He indicated the photograph of a newlywed couple in the oval frame on the corner of his desk. The man was a younger version of Uncle Ronald. “I want to assure you that your Aunt Lilian and I are very happy to have you with us. We hope you’ll be a steadying influence on Florence.”

“She has been very kind to me today,” I said.

“She’s a kind-hearted girl, if a little flighty at times. But you seem sensible, steady, Cleopatra.”

“Call me Cleo. Everyone does.”

“There, you see? Sensible.”

His reasoning was lost on me, but I went along with it and nodded. “May I