Page 33 of Murder at the Mayfair Hotel
“I thought I would try something new,” I went on. “I’ve never smoked before and Mr. Hookly was kind enough to give me a cigarette. Now that I’ve done it, I doubt I’ll try again. I didn’t enjoy it. How do you men like it so much?”
“I don’t smoke.”
“Does Mr. Hookly smoke every evening before dinner?”
“Before and after.” He was still rather formal and stiff, and I wasn’t sure how to make him relax and encourage him to talk. At least he didn’t walk off again.
“He’s an interesting fellow,” I went on. “He recently returned from Africa.”
“Southern Africa, so he told me.”
“Where he sold a mine, yes. What do you know about the man whose letter of recommendation he carries?”
“Lord Addlington? He’s a regular guest when parliament sits. A very fine gentleman and well respected around here.” He bid me a good evening, and went to walk off, but stopped suddenly. “Your uncle would have gladly introduced you to Mr. Hookly if you’d asked.”
It was my turn to take a step back. I was about to ask him why I’d want my uncle to introduce me to Mr. Hookly when I suddenly realized that Mr. Armitage thought I was romantically interested in the African miner. Asking for an introduction would certainly have been a more respectable way to go about orchestrating an encounter instead of following him into the smoking room.
It was a rather horrifying notion that Mr. Armitage thought I was interested in Mr. Hookly and not in a way that required a respectable introduction. He must think I was hunting for a wealthy benefactor, someone who’d parade me in jewels at luxury hotels while his wife stayed home.
I watched Mr. Armitage leave, a storm of feelings brewing inside my chest. I wasn’t sure whether to feel ashamed or annoyed. After all, he’d made his mind up about me after knowing almost nothing about me.
One thing I was sure of, however. I wouldn’t get more answers out of Mr. Armitage. If he hadn’t been inclined to trust me before, he certainly wasn’t now.
Chapter 5
It was Flossy who encouraged me to dine in the hotel dining room instead of in my suite alone. I sat with her as she prepared for her evening out. Three hours later, I could see why it took her so long to get ready. Her maid arranged Flossy’s hair in three different styles, each more elaborate than the last, before Flossy settled on the first. She changed her clothes so often that I lost count, and when she discovered a loose thread in the dress she did decide to wear, her poor maid had to sit beside a lamp and quickly mend it.
I was rather glad when one of the footman knocked on the door and announced that her parents were waiting for her. I returned to my own suite and changed outfits and fixed my hair. It smelled a little smoky, but thankfully Flossy hadn’t noticed. I sprinkled a few drops of perfume on it then slipped on my shoes.
Floyd hadn’t invited me to join him for dinner so I assumed he’d gone out, as Flossy said he would. I took the lift downstairs, chatting to John all the way, and was about to turn from the foyer into the vestibule when I spotted one of my suspects. It was the man who’d been reading the newspaper in Mrs. Warrick’s line of sight when she’d uttered words of surprised recognition.
“Excuse me,” I said, stepping alongside him. “Are you Mr. Duffield?”
It was terribly unladylike of me to speak to a strange man, but this was an extraordinary circumstance that called for desperate measures. He stopped and gave me a polite, if strained, smile. “I am.”
“I’m Miss Fox, the niece of Sir Ronald Bainbridge.”
At the mention of my uncle’s name, the strained smile vanished, replaced by a friendly one. He bowed over my extended hand. “Miss Fox! How lovely to finally meet you. I was just talking to your uncle about you. He said he wanted us to meet.”
It rang utterly false, for some reason. Perhaps it was because he was a little too enthusiastic. “Oh dear, I hope he only said good things about me.”
He laughed. “The best of things. Are you dining with him tonight?”
“He’s dining out with my aunt and cousin, unfortunately. I find myself all alone on my second evening in London.”
“Only your second! Well, we can’t have you dining alone, can we? Would you care to join me? I find myself dining alone tonight too.”
I graciously accepted and he thrust out his elbow for me to take. He gave his name and room number to Mr. Chapman the restaurant steward, but when Mr. Chapman recognized me, he made a point of closing his book without writing anything down.
“Enjoy your meal, Miss Fox, Mr. Duffield.” If Mr. Chapman thought it odd that I was dining with a guest, he didn’t show it. He was the epitome of formality as he signaled for a waiter.
I glanced over my shoulder as we followed the waiter to a table, but there was no sign of Mr. Armitage. I’d half expected to see him there, watching me with a scowl marring his too-handsome features.
Mr. Duffield pulled out the chair for me, and pushed it in as I sat, then took his own seat. He had a nice smile, which he freely bestowed on me, but that was where his good features began and ended. At first I’d thought him well over forty, but on closer inspection, he had the smoother skin of a man in his thirties. It was the lack of hair that made him seem older. Aside from the clusters just above his ears, the rest of his head was bald. He didn’t even have facial hair.
Mr. Duffield gave me his uninvited opinion of every dish on the menu and hailed a passing waiter without asking me if I was ready. He ordered a bottle of wine and our meals.
“You’ll enjoy the duck, Miss Fox,” he said as the waiter departed. “It’s delicious.”
