Page 19 of Murder at the Mayfair Hotel
The guest to whom Mr. Hobart spoke moved off. He looked somewhat familiar, but it took me a moment to place him. He’d been speaking to Mr. Armitage yesterday afternoon when Mrs. Warrick muttered to herself about a man who ought not to be in the hotel.
It was quite a strange comment to make, now that I thought about it.Whoshouldn’t be in a hotel? Anyone could walk into the foyer.
On the other hand, not everyone would walk into the foyer of aluxuryhotel. The rude greeting I’d received from the doorman upon my arrival was testament to that. Or, perhaps Mrs. Warrick was referring to a luxury hotel inLondon. There were so many things she could have meant. She had also mentioned he looked different and it had been years since she’d seen him.
There’d been three men in her line of sight—the guest who was now leaving the hotel clutching an umbrella, Mr. Armitage, and another man. Hopefully when I saw him again, I would recognize him. It might be important.
Or it might not. Perhaps I was seeing potential suspects where there were none. Grandmama called my imagination vivid, and my father had gently chastised me on more than one occasion for daydreaming instead of studying.
“That’s a wistful smile,” said a familiar voice. I looked up to see Mr. Armitage striding towards me. “There aren’t too many smiles around the hotel this morning, despite it being Christmas Day.”
“You’re right, it’s insensitive of me. Poor Mrs. Warrick.”
“That’s not what I meant. There’s no need for you to stop smiling. You didn’t know her.”
“Did you?”
He looked taken aback by my earnest question. “I met her when she checked in, and again when there was an incident with one of the footmen.”
“Danny, the one who is now the prime suspect?”
“Is he?” The sudden change from friendly to steely wasn’t lost on me. “Has the detective inspector confided in you?”
Despite being disappointed with the change my questions had produced in him, I forged on. Answers were more important than flirting. “Your father confide in me? No, of course he hasn’t. But I’ve heard from one of the maids that Danny delivered the poisoned cup of hot chocolate to Mrs. Warrick and that she had a prior grievance with him.”
“That grievance was resolved before her murder, and there was no poison residue left in that cup, I believe.”
It seemed the detective had confided more to his son than he had to me. Mr. Armitage realized he’d said too much. He crossed his arms. “Leave the detecting to the police, Miss Fox.”
“I’d be glad to.”
Mr. Armitage’s gaze narrowed. “My father is very thorough.”
“I’m sure he is.”
His gaze narrowed further. “You’re agreeing with me too readily.”
“I’m sorry. Do you want me to disagree with you?”
He sucked in a breath between his teeth. It seemed to dissolve his frustration with me somewhat. His smooth smile returned again, but his eyes held none of their earlier warmth. “Enjoy your morning, Miss Fox. Please don’t hesitate to ask one of the staff if you require something.” He bowed and walked off.
I sighed. I had enjoyed seeing a more relaxed side to Mr. Armitage before our little confrontation, but it would seem my questions were not welcome. Truly, I hadn’t thought I’d been attacking his father’s reputation, but it must have come across that way. Perhaps I ought to apologize.
Then again, I wasn’t sure I had anything to apologize for. Mr. Armitage had simply read more into my responses than had been there.
“Cleo! There you are.” Flossy hurried towards me from the direction of the lift. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Come with me. Mother is awake and wishes to see you.”
Finally, I would meet her. I followed Flossy back into the lift and we headed up to level four. She knocked on the door to her parents’ suite and a voice inside bade us enter.
A thin woman sitting on the sofa smiled and held out a bony hand to me and another to Flossy. “You must be Cleopatra. Merry Christmas, my dear.”
She inspected me, giving me an opportunity to inspect her in turn. Instinctively, tears welled in my eyes. There was a remarkable resemblance to my mother, despite Aunt Lilian’s gaunt features and my memories of my mother being several years old. The sea-green eyes had been my mother’s most remarkable feature and were the same for my aunt. The gray streaks in her hair didn’t completely override the natural almond shade and her skin resembled the finest porcelain. Her high cheekbones would have given her a regal air if not for the hollows below. She was an older, thinner version of my mother.
“You look so much like her.” The words could have easily come from me but it was my aunt who whispered them. Her eyes shone as she patted the sofa beside her. “Come and sit with me, Cleopatra. Flossy, the gift.”
“She goes by Cleo,” Flossy said as she handed a small box to her mother.
Aunt Lilian gave it to me. “Merry Christmas.”
