Page 62 of Murder at the Mayfair Hotel
“Harry wasn’t thieving,” Mr. Hobart said on a sigh. “He was trying to uncover a thief. Someone has been stealing the silverware. When one of the waiters brought it to my attention, I asked Harry to investigate.” He appealed to my uncle. “You know this, sir. I brought it to your attention a week ago and told you Harry would find out who was responsible.”
Uncle Ronald gave a single nod.
My heart plunged further, all the way to my toes. I felt sick. I’d accused an innocent man of murder. But it got worse. I’d exposed the lie of a good man who’d simply wanted to give an orphan a second chance. And now they were going to pay for it.
“Oh,” Floyd murmured. “Sorry, Armitage.”
I wanted to say I was sorry too, but my throat ached as I tried to hold back my tears.
“It doesn’t excuse the fact you lied, Hobart,” Uncle Ronald said, taking his seat. “You both did. I would never have hired him if I’d known he was a convicted thief.”
“But he’s reformed!” Mr. Hobart cried.
“You’re both dismissed. I want you gone before dinnertime.”
“No!” I cried. “Please, don’t dismiss them.”
“I have to, Cleo. I know it seems cruel to you, but I can’t have people taking advantage of me.” He waved at the door. “Get out.”
“But—”
He slammed his fist on the desk. “That’s enough!”
Floyd placed his hand at my back, either to comfort me or to warn me to keep quiet. It was not comforting enough, but I did keep my mouth shut. My uncle was too angry to listen to reason.
Mr. Armitage was not prepared to remain quiet, however. He pressed his knuckles on the desk and leaned forward. “Let my uncle stay, and I won’t create a scene.”
Mr. Hobart touched his nephew’s arm. “It’s all right, Harry.”
“It’s not all right!”
“Harry, please. I’m begging you.”
Mr. Armitage straightened and squared his shoulders. He shot a blood-chilling glare at me then stormed out of the office. Mr. Hobart followed.
Floyd signaled to me that we ought to leave too.
I walked steadily to my suite, but the moment I shut the door, my legs turned to jelly. I slid onto the floor and cried into my hands.
Chapter 9
Wallowing in my own misery would not solve anything, but I did indulge long enough to get the tears of self-loathing out of my system. Some would call crying a weakness, but to me, it was a reminder that I was human. In this instance, my wretchedness over what I’d set in motion was a reminder that I had a habit of overstepping. I’d been too eager to prove myself here at the hotel and to my new family. Finding the murderer was a way of demonstrating that I could be useful.
That eagerness to prove myself had blinded me to the fact that my evidence against Mr. Armitage was flimsy. I should never have gone to my uncle with my concerns about Mr. Armitage’s past. Even though I hadn’t mentioned him by name, I should have known he’d follow up with Mr. Hobart. The manager had crumbled when confronted with Uncle Ronald’s wrath.
Once I’d got the tears out of my system, I washed my face and ventured out of my suite. I had to set everything right before it was too late.
My uncle was not in his office, however. Very well, I would go downstairs and enter the lion’s den. It had to be done, and it served me right if I was shouted at.
It was clear the moment I entered the lift that all the staff knew Mr. Hobart and Mr. Armitage had been dismissed. John couldn’t stop telling me what a tragedy it was, and speculating on the reason behind it. He didn’t know any of the particulars, and going by the way he spoke to me, he didn’t know of my involvement.
Goliath’s reaction was the same. “Can you believe it, Miss Fox?” he asked with a shake of his head. “What do you suppose they did?”
“Yes, what do you know?” Peter asked. He’d even come out from behind the front desk to speak to me.
“I need to see them,” was all I said. “Excuse me.”
Both Mr. Armitage and Mr. Hobart’s office doors were closed. Being the coward that I am, I chose to knock on Mr. Hobart’s. He bade me enter and I opened the door. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of Mr. Armitage standing behind his seated uncle, a hand on his shoulder.
