Page 32 of Murder at the Mayfair Hotel
I followed his gaze and froze. Then my insides sank beneath Mr. Armitage’s shocked stare.
He quickly recovered, however. “Good evening, Mr. Hookly, Miss Fox. May I say it’s a surprise to see you in here. I didn’t think you smoked.”
“If you saw her attempt it, you’d realize she doesn’t.” Mr. Hookly chuckled. “Armitage, any word from that fellow I asked about?”
“As far as I’m aware, he’s still coming to the ball.”
“Excellent, excellent.” Mr. Hookly threw his cigarette into the fire. “If you’ll excuse me, I must go. I’m dining out tonight with a friend at his club.”
“Enjoy your evening, sir.”
Mr. Hookly took my hand and bowed over it. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Fox. Perhaps I’ll see you in here again tomorrow.”
Not unless I could think of more questions to ask him.
Mr. Armitage checked the levels of the decanters on the sideboard. I ought to leave too, but I wanted to speak to him again. The air between us felt a little tense after he’d quite rightly accused me of doubting his father’s ability as a detective. I was also very aware that he’d lied to his father about his whereabouts. I was considering how to discover the reason for the lie when he spoke.
“What are you doing in here, Miss Fox?” he asked idly.
“Smoking, of course.” To prove my point, I inhaled on the cigarette. The resulting cough was unladylike. A sip of sherry helped a little.
Mr. Armitage plucked the cigarette from my fingers. He tossed it into the fire.
“I was smoking that,” I said irritably.
“You were choking on it, not smoking it.”
I abandoned the idea of trying to find out why he lied to his uncle. Not only could it put me in danger, if he were the murderer and guessed my motive for asking, but I simply didn’t feel like talking to someone highhanded enough to take my cigarette and stub it out without my permission. He was not my uncle or cousin. Indeed, if Uncle Ronald or Floyd had done what Mr. Armitage had, I’d be just as vexed with them.
Unfortunately Mr. Armitage followed me out of the room. “You do realize that wasn’t Count Ivanov’s wife. She’s his mistress.”
Mistress! Good lord. What sort of man brought his mistress to a hotel like The Mayfair and treated her as if she were his wife? Russians, I supposed. Wealthy, titled Russians.
“I see I’ve shocked you,” Mr. Armitage said.
I schooled my features. “Not at all. Anyway, I don’t see that Count Ivanov’s private arrangements are any of my affair, or yours, for that matter.”
“On the contrary. As assistant manager to the hotel, the private arrangements of the guests are very much my affair. I need to know who is staying here, with whom, and why. Not that I expect Countess Ivanov to arrive from Russia out of the blue, but I must be prepared for the eventuality and act swiftly to divert a disaster.”
“By disaster, you mean the wife meeting the mistress on the arm of her husband.”
“You catch on quickly, Miss Fox.”
I narrowed my gaze. He was mocking me. He must think me terribly naïve not to have realized she was the count’s mistress. I even knew that only two types of women smoked and that lovely creature didn’t strike me as a proponent for the female cause. But she didn’t look like a prostitute, either. I’d only ever seen them slouched in tavern doorways, their clothing half-off and their faces painted. Admittedly, my experience was limited to a single accidental adventure into a Cambridge slum when I’d taken a wrong turn on my way to meet a friend after a lecture.
“Will you accept a friendly word of caution, Miss Fox?” he asked.
I didn’t expect a friendly word. I expected a scolding, but I didn’t want to get Mr. Armitage off-side. Not yet. Not until I knew whether he was involved in the murder or not. “Go on.”
“The reason I told you about Count Ivanov’s mistress is because the niece of the hotel owner shouldn’t be seen smoking in public or people will think you’re like her. If you must do it, reserve it for the privacy of your own rooms and swear your maid to secrecy. Sir Ronald would not approve of you doing it in the hotel’s smoking room where anyone could see.”
“Then perhaps you ought to put a sign on the door: women not allowed; mistresses excepting.”
He took a small step back. “You’re angry with me. I’m sorry. I was trying to help. I thought you might appreciate some advice from someone who knows what Sir Ronald is like.” He gave me a curt bow. “I apologize.”
I sighed as he stalked off. This wasn’t going at all well. I was supposed to be obtaining information from him. I hurried after him. “Mr. Armitage, thank you for your advice. Itisappreciated.”
He stopped and eyed me carefully. He looked uncertain.
