Murder at the Mayfair Hotel (Cleopatra Fox Mysteries #1)- C.J. Archer Page 0,59
theater, the opera, dances. She could even go to museums and galleries if she wishes to continue to improve her mind.”
“I’m quite sure they have all of those things in Cambridge too, Sis.”
“But inferior, surely.”
Mr. Armitage entered the dining room and I found my gaze following him as he passed Mr. Chapman and surveyed the room. Mr. Chapman watched him too, then his gaze met mine.
I looked away, but not before Floyd and Flossy noticed. “Why are you watching Armitage?” Floyd asked.
“I’m curious about him,” I said. “What do you know of him? His past, I mean.”
“Hobart’s brother the detective took him in when he became an orphan,” Floyd said with a shrug. “He came to work here a few years later. That’s the extent of my knowledge. Why the interest in Armitage?”
Flossy dropped her spoon in her bowl and gasped. “Cleo,” she scolded.
I stared at her. Oh God, she’d guessed. Of all people, Flossy had worked out that I suspected him of the murder.
“You’re not interested in Mr. Armitage in that way, I hope.”
Floyd set down his spoon too and regarded me from beneath a frown. “Cleo? Are you?”
I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or worried that I’d opened up another Pandora’s box. “No, of course not.”
“Good.” Flossy patted my arm.
“Why?” I pressed. “Is there something wrong with him?”
Flossy dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “Dearest Cleo, you are so terribly provincial. There’s nothing wrong with Mr. Armitage. He’s a perfectly fine fellow. But you can do better.”
I blew out a measured breath. She didn’t know about his previous conviction then. I glanced at Floyd, who was nodding along with his sister’s judgement. Neither of them knew. I wasn’t sure why I thought they might, when their father didn’t.
Mr. Hobart entered the dining room and had a quiet word in his nephew’s ear. He looked worried. No, not worried. Terrified. Both men left.
I waited a few moments before making my excuses and leaving too. I caught sight of both men stepping into the lift and giving John instructions to stop at the fourth floor. I picked up my skirts and raced up the stairs, pausing on the fourth-floor landing to catch my breath. I peeked around the corner and spotted them entering Uncle Ronald’s office. I could not see their faces, but a sense of dread washed over me.
My uncle was going to confront them about Mr. Armitage’s prior conviction, the very thing they’d killed Mrs. Warrick for. He could be in grave danger.
The door closed and I tiptoed closer, placing my ear to it. I had no trouble discerning what my uncle was saying. His booming voice could have blasted a hole in the door.
“I trusted you, Hobart! How could you do this to me?”
“Do what?” came Mr. Armitage’s voice, loud but not shouting.
“Lie to me!”
“Mr. Hobart would never lie to you, sir. He’s an honest man.”
“He is not honest! He has been lying to me for years. Years!”
“Perhaps if you tell me—”
“Stop! Enough! Get out, both of you. You are both dismissed.”
My stomach plunged. I’d expected it but hoped it wouldn’t happen. Not yet. Not until we knew for certain whether they were murderers. I rested my hand on the doorknob but didn’t open it. I was a coward. To walk in now and tell them my theory would draw their ire to me, and that could prove very dangerous indeed. But my uncle was alone with them.
“Dismissed?” Mr. Armitage said. “From the hotel?”
“You will receive what you’re owed and not a penny more. Get your things and get out of my sight. Both of you.”
I could hear a quieter voice which I guessed to be that of Mr. Hobart, but I couldn’t discern what he was saying.
“Cleo?”
I jumped at Floyd’s voice, directly behind me. I hadn’t heard him approach.
“What are you doing?”
I put a finger to my lips as Mr. Armitage asked why they were being dismissed.
“Dismissed?” Floyd asked, having heard it too. “What the devil?” He pushed open the door and I stumbled forward into the room. “Father, what’s going on?”
“That’s what I want to know,” Mr. Armitage said with a scowl for Uncle Ronald. “What are we being dismissed for? What have we done wrong?”
My uncle pointed a finger at Mr. Hobart. The manager shrank back. He wasn’t a big man, but now he seemed even smaller as he cowered beneath my uncle’s wrath. He knew what this was about, and he knew he’d done the wrong thing.