Murder at the Mayfair Hotel (Cleopatra Fox Mysteries #1)- C.J. Archer Page 0,7

Fox. And don’t worry. Everyone finds it a bit unnerving their first time.” He winked and closed the door.

Flossy had already moved off, and I rushed to catch up to her. “This level contains the hotel’s suites rather than single rooms,” she said with the direct manner of a tour guide at a historical monument. “Each suite has a bathroom as well as a sitting room. Some have more than one bedroom, to accommodate families, and dressing rooms. The entire floor is reserved for our family and distinguished guests. We don’t have any staying at the moment, but some should arrive shortly for the ball. Father has invited several important people.” She strode down the long corridor, pointing out the door to her parents’ suite, then her brother’s, her own and finally, mine. “Here we are, room four-eleven.”

I unlocked the door and entered. Despite the open curtains it was rather gloomy until Flossy flipped a brass switch on the wall by the door.

“Electric lighting!” I squinted up at the bulb but had to quickly avert my gaze away from the brightness. “How marvelous.”

“The entire hotel has been electrified.” She frowned at the word. “Electricalled? Electrically wired? Anyway, all the rooms have a little switch like this to turn on the central bulb. We had it installed a few years ago—at enormous cost, so my father likes to remind me whenever I ask him to increase my allowance.”

It would have indeed cost a fortune to install electricity throughout the hotel. Few homes had converted from gas lighting, although many streetlamps were now electric, as well as some underground trains, public spaces and buildings. I supposed the hotel had to modernize if it was going to tout itself as a luxurious place to stay.

“So, what do you think of your room?” Flossy asked.

The suite was as elegant as I expected it to be, based on what I’d seen of the hotel so far. Not only was the bedroom three times the size of the one I’d had in Cambridge, but the sitting room was enormous too, and the bathroom was very modern with a large bath.

The rooms contained everything I’d need, from a fully stocked writing desk, sofa, armchairs, dressing table, and a bed in which three people could comfortably sleep. More pink roses cheered the rooms in white vases edged with gold. My luggage, waiting beside the wardrobe doors, looked out of place amidst all the grandeur.

I passed a hand over the warm wood of the desk and looked out the window. Mr. Armitage had been wrong. The view wasn’t simply nice; it was spectacular. I could look through the window over Green Park all day, even with its winter-bare trees.

Flossy joined me. “There’s hot and cold running water in the bathroom, but I’m afraid that’s where the modern amenities begin and end.” She glanced at the lamp. “Well, that and the electric lights. I wish we could have telephones in our rooms. Father has one in his office, of course, as does the reception and Mr. Hobart’s office, but we’re quite behind the times here compared to newer hotels. I once asked Father when the family’s suites would get telephones and he ranted and raved for a full twenty minutes about my laziness. He said if I wanted to stay in touch with friends, I ought to write or visit.” She ran her fingers along the windowsill as if checking for dust. They came away clean. “He’s so miserly and quite the bear at times. Just wait and see. You’ll meet him soon. Anyway, you have to make do with the speaking tube.” She pointed at the brass mouthpiece on the wall. “It connects to the kitchen. If you want something sent up, just ask for it. Breakfast must be ordered the night before, but if you forget, you can simply go to the dining room in the morning.”

Again I wondered what I must pay for, but I would leave those questions for my uncle. I suspected Flossy wouldn’t have a clue.

She departed with a little wave of her fingers and closed the door, leaving me alone to freshen up and change after my day of travel. Cambridge wasn’t too far by rail, but I felt exhausted. It was probably the accumulation of a month’s worth of mourning for my grandmother and everything else that needed to be done afterwards—selling what I could to pay off debts, giving away her personal things to her friends as well as packing, and