Murder at the Mayfair Hotel (Cleopatra Fox Mysteries #1)- C.J. Archer Page 0,64

and when the guests find out, they won’t like it.”

“Why will the guests care?” I asked.

“Because they love Mr. Hobart, especially the regulars.”

“Many of them return because of him and his personal service,” Harmony went on. “The Mayfair is one of a handful of luxury hotels in London, and some have more modern amenities, but none have a manager like Mr. Hobart. He’s attuned to their every need and whim.”

Edith nodded. “He might ask us to put a particular flower in a guest’s room because he knows that’s her favorite, or we’ll have to put out different soap because she doesn’t like the scent of lavender.”

“He’ll tell the kitchen in advance of a guest’s arrival what their favorite dishes are so we make sure we have it in stock, even if it’s not on the menu,” Victor added.

“He can get tickets to a sold-out opera or for the best seats at the theater,” Goliath said. “I don’t know how he does it.”

“He knows everyone there is to know,” Harmony told him. “They do favors for one another. He also keeps notes on every guest and only shares those notes with Mr. Armitage.”

“Mr. Armitage was going to take over from him,” Goliath said.

“Who will be our manager and assistant manager now?” Edith asked.

“Mrs. Kettering and Mr. Chapman will have to do more until someone is appointed,” Harmony said. She and Edith pulled faces at the prospect.

Victor resumed his knife tossing. “There are going to be ramifications.”

Harmony frowned. “What sort of ramifications?”

“Bad ones.”

She rolled her eyes.

Edith looked up from her teacup which she’d been studying intensely. “Could their dismissal be related to the murder?”

“They’re not murderers!” Goliath cried.

She looked down at her teacup again. “It was just a thought.”

Harmony placed her teacup on the table and put her arm around my shoulders. “You look like you’ve taken this very hard, Miss Fox.”

I tried to smile but I suspected it was not very convincing. “Have you seen my uncle?”

“He went out,” Goliath said. “He told Frank he’ll be gone the rest of the day—tonight too.”

I heaved a deep sigh. I wouldn’t get the opportunity to speak to him before Mr. Hobart and Mr. Armitage left.

By the following morning, everyone had heard about the dismissals of the manager and his assistant. A number of guests demanded to know why, but the staff could give them no answers. Poor Peter looked as though he’d explode if someone asked him again. He was usually so unflustered, but his tight smile and curt responses spoke of his frustration.

“Will I still be able to swap rooms?” asked a gentleman of Goliath.

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Mr. Armitage was going to take care of it today. What happens now?”

“I don’t know, sir,” Goliath said. “You could ask Mr. Chapman.”

“The restaurant steward?”

“He is taking over the role of manager for now.”

“Where is Mr. Chapman?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

The gentleman sighed and turned instead to Peter when the guest he’d been speaking to moved off. Peter shot Goliath a harried glance, as if blaming him for not resolving the issue.

By late morning, the journalists had returned, demanding to know whether the dismissals of the manager and assistant manager had anything to do with the murder. Two of them got past Frank, but after they were thrown out by Goliath and the other porters, the doorman was more prepared and the rest were not allowed in. Fortunately they didn’t create a scene, but they lurked outside and accosted the guests as they left. Some brushed them aside, but others stopped to speak to them.

“I wouldn’t go out there if I were you,” Flossy said as she and Floyd joined me in the foyer. “A thunderstorm would be more inviting than walking through that lot.”

“They’re persistent,” I said.

“They smell blood,” Floyd added. “They can see we’re in trouble and want to beat us into submission while we’re down.”

Flossy made a small squeak. “Floyd, don’t be so ghastly.”

“They think the murder and dismissals are connected. Can you imagine if they get someone to say they are? It’ll be all their dreams come true.”

I pressed my lips together.

“Someone ought to go out there and disabuse them of the notion.” Floyd tugged on his jacket hem. “It should be me.”

Flossy grabbed his arm. “Don’t you dare! Father will tan your hide, particularly now, given his dreadful mood.”

“Why?” I asked. “Wouldn’t he be pleased that Floyd sets the press straight?”

Floyd and Flossy exchanged knowing glances. “He wouldn’t like me to do it without his knowledge,” Floyd said. He glanced at