Murder at the Mayfair Hotel (Cleopatra Fox Mysteries #1)- C.J. Archer Page 0,72
a finger to her lips. “Don’t tell Father.”
“What about your parents? Are they dining out tonight?”
She sighed. “They are, also in a last ditch effort to secure attendees for tomorrow night.”
“I don’t understand. Haven’t people said whether or not they’re coming?”
“The hotel guests have. That’s why they’re still here. It’s the invitees who aren’t staying here who are more difficult to pin down, particularly this year, given the murder. Those people don’t need to stay in hotels as they own townhouses in the city.”
“They must be very wealthy.”
“Extremely. Father needs to court them, so he accepted an invitation to a dinner where he expects many of them to be.”
“Aunt Lilian is also going?”
Flossy’s face fell. “I wish she wouldn’t. She’ll be out late tonight and late again tomorrow night. It might be too much for her.”
“I’m sure your father will take care of her and return home if she feels unwell.”
She picked at the sofa cushion seam with her fingernail.
“Flossy, what’s wrong with her? Is she ill?”
“She has suffered from melancholia for years. Her doctor prescribed a new medicine which lifts her spirits greatly, albeit temporarily.” She waved a hand. “Let’s not worry about Mother. I’ve got an idea. You don’t want to dine in the dining room, but you have to eat, so let’s dine in my room, just the two of us.”
“That would be lovely.”
“We’ll order something expensive. Oh, and let’s have champagne too.”
“I don’t feel like celebrating.”
“We’re not celebrating. We’re indulging.”
We sent our order down to the kitchen via the speaking tube in Flossy’s room. “Luckily the room delivery orders are only sent to Mr. Hobart at the end of the day and not Father,” she told me as she settled on the sofa again. “Father wouldn’t like me having champagne, but Mr. Hobart will overlook it.” She giggled. “I hope he doesn’t think I’m having the entire bottle myself.”
“He’ll see the rest of the order is for two meals,” I said. “I’m sure Mr. Hobart will realize I dined with you.”
I sat bolt upright and stared at the brass speaking tube. Two meals, but only one delivery to one room… Mrs. Warrick did not dine in the dining room on the night of her death, nor can the doormen remember her leaving the hotel. I had assumed she’d not eaten at all, but what if she dined in another guest’s room?
What if that guest was her killer?
She had recognized either Mr. Hookly or Mr. Duffield that afternoon. Perhaps she’d confronted one of them and he’d subsequently invited her to dinner to discuss whatever it was that bothered her. While it was scandalous to think of her meeting a gentleman in private in his room, Mrs. Warrick was hardly an innocent debutante. Perhaps she’d even accepted the invitation in the hope something more than a discussion would eventuate.
It seemed to take a long time for our meals to arrive, but according to the clock on Flossy’s desk, it was only forty-five minutes. I ate quickly, consumed only one glass of champagne, and made my excuses, much to Flossy’s disappointment. I convinced her that she needed to have an early night so that she would be fresh for the ball.
I headed downstairs, where Goliath pushed off the front desk where he’d been leaning as he chatted to Peter. He intercepted me as I passed.
“Harmony says you’re no longer investigating the murder.” He glanced around. There was no one in the foyer, although I could hear voices coming from the billiards room.
“I wasn’t, but I think I have a clue. I just need to verify it before I pass it on to Detective Inspector Hobart.”
That lifted his spirits. He’d been looking rather glum. “Can I help?”
“Shouldn’t you be outside waiting for guests with luggage?”
“There are no guests arriving at this time, and the doorman’s in a bad mood.”
“Then you can come with me to Mr. Hobart’s office.”
“He’s gone home.”
I had expected as much. “Does he lock his office door at night?”
He shrugged. “Peter will know.”
The hard-working Peter looked just as bored as Goliath. He yawned before leaning both elbows on the front desk. “Only two more hours before the night porter takes over,” he said. “I’m that tired. Mr. Hobart’s had me going over the guest register for tomorrow, seeing as Mr. Armitage no longer works here. There’s going to be a lot of new arrivals in the afternoon.”
“Speaking of Mr. Hobart,” I said, “does he lock his office door when he goes home?”