Murder at the Mayfair Hotel (Cleopatra Fox Mysteries #1)- C.J. Archer Page 0,9

a sheet of hotel stationery then picked up a pen and dipped it into the inkwell. “By my estimation, an extra five pounds should suffice. If you’d like to see how I reached this figure, I’d be happy to show you my calculations.”

I frowned. “Pardon?”

He opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a book. He opened it to a page and handed it to me. “I’ve used Florence’s expenses as a guide, and taken into consideration the amount you’re already receiving.”

I stared at the page with its neat columns of figures. Every possible item a woman of my age could need was written down with an amount beside it. Indeed, there was far more than I would need. A new hat every month and new gown every three was excessive, but if he’d used Flossy as a guide, it was clear how he’d reached the figure. I suspected economizing was a foreign notion to her.

Neither the items nor the amount was what confused me the most, however. I put down the ledger and fixed my uncle with a glare. “How do you know the amount I’m already receiving?” It wouldn’t surprise me if he’d bullied his way into my banker’s good graces and coerced the knowledge from the poor fellow. My uncle’s ruthlessness was legendary.

He tilted his head to the side. “I pay your allowance, Cleopatra.”

My jaw dropped.

“You didn’t know?”

“No,” I murmured. He paid my allowance?

“They kept that from you?” He leaned back in the chair, moving his clasped hands from the desk to the top of his stomach. He stared at me, and I suspected I stared back with the same confused expression.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “How long have you been paying my allowance?”

“Ever since you were born.”

My jaw dropped again. Any more surprises and it was in danger of unhinging altogether. “For twenty-three years! But…why did no one tell me?”

“That is a good question, but one I suspect I know the answer to. Your family didn’t like me. Or, more specifically, they didn’t like your mother’s parents. Not telling you the source of your allowance was one small way they could obliterate them—us—from your life.”

“I don’t understand,” I said again, rather stupidly. “My maternal grandparents died before I was born. They were never in my life. Why withhold information from me about the allowance? What did it matter?”

My uncle flattened his moustache with his thumb and forefinger. His shoulders heaved with his sigh as he sat forward again. “I suspect there’s much you don’t know, Cleopatra, and hearing the truth might cast some of your family in a poor light. Are you prepared to hear it?”

I gripped the chair arm to steady myself. I suddenly felt as if the chair were floating away, taking me with it. I had never shied away from the truth. Indeed, I believed the truth, however hurtful, should always be revealed. I’d witnessed my parents’ deaths; I’d heard their arguing voices moments before our gig veered off the road. Knowing that fact about the accident helped me move on.

On the reverse side, there was Grandpapa’s secret debts. Grandmama had been deeply hurt when she’d learned of them. Nothing good came of deceit.

But I wasn’t convinced that my uncle was speaking the truth. I would hear his version, however. “Go on,” I prompted.

“Do you know that your mother’s parents left their entire fortune to her sister, your Aunt Lilian, when they died?”

“Yes. They didn’t like that she married my father against their wishes, so they removed my mother from their will, and their lives.”

“That’s a fair summary. I married your Aunt Lilian shortly afterwards, and her inheritance allowed me to turn my ancestral home into this hotel.” He spread out his hands. At least he admitted that his wife’s money had led him to become the wealthy hotelier he now was. I hadn’t expected him to, and I gave him credit for it.

“Soon after our marriage, I wrote to your parents and offered them an allowance. It never felt right to me that Lilian should inherit it all. Your parents refused my offer.”

He offered no reason, thankfully. I suspected stubbornness and pride played large parts, but that didn’t mean I wanted this man to point it out.

“When you were born, I offered again,” he went on. “The granddaughter of a gentleman who’d been one of the nation’s wealthiest merchants shouldn’t be brought up in…reduced circumstances.”

I bristled. “We weren’t poor.”

He held up his hands. “My apologies. No, you weren’t poor by