Page 35 of Murder at the Mayfair Hotel
Mr. Duffield exchanged a look with Mr. Chapman as he passed.
I followed him out, smiled at Mr. Chapman, and made my way to the foyer. It was still early, but I was tired. It had been a long day. Even so, I wanted to look for a book in the library. The library was located through the sitting room, however, and the sitting room doors were closed.
I opened one and peeked in. It was dark. If I wanted to reach the library without knocking into tables and chairs, I’d need to turn on the light, and that would probably draw the attention of a staff member. Very well, so be it. I was doing nothing wrong.
I felt beside the door for the switch, but couldn’t find it. It must be on the other side.
The lights suddenly went on. “Can I help you, Miss Fox?”
My stomach sank. Of all the ill luck, I’d caught the attention of Mr. Armitage. Going by the frostiness of his tone, he was still cross with me.
“I’m just going to the library,” I said. “Thank you for turning on the light. I couldn’t find it.”
“The switch is beside the door, as it is in all the rooms.”
I bristled. “I checked the wrong side first.” I waited but he did not leave. “I’ll turn it off when I’m finished.”
“I’ll wait.”
“I could be a while. I like to browse.”
“As I said, I’ll wait.” If his tone got any cooler, I’d need a coat.
“Afraid I’ll steal a teacup on my way out?” I spun around and marched off towards the library.
The room wasn’t large, but it was packed with books and periodicals of all kinds, even sensational novels. I skipped past those and scanned the non-fiction section. Very aware of the imposing figure of Mr. Armitage watching me from the sitting room, I read the spines without really taking them in, and had to read them a second time. Finally settling on two titles, I clutched them to my chest and rejoined him.
He stood with crossed arms, leaning against the doorframe. The casual pose was at odds with his usual straight-backed formality. The alert gaze was not.
“Found what you wanted?” he asked.
“Unfortunately you foiled my plan to steal the teacups, and I had to settle for books instead.” I strolled past him and did not look back.
* * *
The newsof Danny’s release reached me mid-morning via Harmony. She was thrilled to report that he was back at work already.
“He’s quite the sensation among the staff,” she said as she tidied up my already tidy room. “He has some interesting tales to tell about his arrest and time in the holding cell, but he does like to embellish things, so I wouldn’t trust a word he says.”
“Did he say why the police released him?” I asked.
“Two reasons, apparently. The poison wasn’t in the pot or cup of chocolate, and the time of death was estimated by the pathologist as occurring between three and six in the morning. Danny was with someone at that time.”
I turned to face her. “He has a lover?” I wasn’t sure why I was surprised. I might have led a sheltered life, but I wasn’t so naïve to assume that people didn’t have lovers. Perhaps it was because I suspected Harmony held atendrefor him, and that was why she’d advocated for his release so vehemently.
She didn’t look upset to learn about his lover, however. She hummed a tune as she dusted a dust-free table.
“Why didn’t he mention the lover to the detective at the time of his arrest?” I asked.
“He was probably protecting him.”
“Him?” I blurted out. “Oh. I see.” I turned back to the correspondence I’d been reading on my desk, my face hot.
“Only his closest friends know. Promise not to tell a soul,” she said urgently. “Not even your family. You know what happened to Oscar Wilde, don’t you?”
The homosexual playwright had been imprisoned for gross indecency a few years ago. The law was not on the side of men like him. “Why didn’t the detective inspector arrest Danny for that once he revealed his alibi?”
She shrugged. “He must be a good man, like his brother, Mr. Hobart.”
