Page 95 of Murder at the Mayfair Hotel
“Then you’d better sit down and tell me while I do your hair and face.”
Harmony listened in horror to the evidence against Edith, and the theories Mr. Armitage and I had developed that indicated she was involved in the murder, to some extent.
But when I finished, she rejected the notion that Edith was the killer. “I think you’re right when you say Hookly manipulated her into giving him the key and covering up the crime. She’s a mouse, and if someone like him paid her attention, she’d do almost anything for him. Not murder, mind. She wouldn’t do that.”
“If she helped him, it’s as good as doing it herself. Harmony,” I said gently, “she showed no remorse those times we talked about our theories in the staff parlor. Sheisinvolved. There’s no doubt in my mind.”
Her lips flattened. “It would seem so.” She closed her eyes and a look of pain crossed her face. It was still there when she opened her eyes and her gaze connected with mine in the mirror. “I should have looked out for her. I shouldn’t have let Hookly take advantage of her.”
I caught her hand. “It’s not your fault.”
“I knew she was having a liaison with a guest, but I didn’t know who.”
“And you didn’t know it could lead to this.”
She sighed. “She needed guidance from a friend, and I failed to give it to her.” She continued with my hair, only to stop and frown. “I’m worried about her, Miss Fox. I haven’t seen her for a while. No one has. She’s not at the hotel or the residence hall.”
I nodded gravely. Edith could very well be in danger if Hookly thought she knew too much and might talk. “The inspector’s men will find her.”
He ought to have arrived by now, yet he had not come searching for me. Perhaps Mr. Armitage had spoken to him so there’d been no need to seek me out. I would check with Peter before I entered the ballroom, and ask him to telephone Scotland Yard again if the police hadn’t arrived.
Harmony finished doing my hair and face then stood back. The frown that had settled onto her pretty features when I’d told her about Edith smoothed away. She smiled. “There. You look lovely.”
She had done very well with my hair, sweeping it up high on my head with a few artfully placed curled strands at the sides. The jet and diamond headpiece went perfectly with the dress and there was just enough color contrast with my light brown hair.
I touched the bare skin of my décolletage, still unused to being so exposed.
“A necklace with a large pendant would look nice nestled about there,” Harmony said, indicating where my fingers rested above my breasts.
I withdrew my hand. “I don’t have anything suitable.”
“Then you’ll just have to go to the ball without one.” She gave me an impudent smile. “Hopefully a rich gentleman agrees that a pendant would look very fetching and gives you a ruby necklace when he asks you to marry him.”
It was so ridiculous that I burst out laughing. Harmony did too. “Rubies?” I managed to scoff while still grinning. “I won’t accept anything less than diamonds.”
* * *
Harmony toldme she planned to sneak a peek into the ballroom from the service corridor near the back of the dining room-turned-ballroom. She wanted to see what the other ladies wore, particularly the very modern and very fashionable actresses and opera singer, but she was reluctant to do anything until she’d found Edith. I warned her not to let on what we suspected about the maid’s involvement in the murder if she did happen to find her. She agreed, and wished me luck.
I wasn’t sure why I needed luck. I was simply going to find the inspector and tell him everything I could about Mr. Hookly and Edith. It was up to him what to do next. I doubted he would make an arrest tonight in the middle of the ball. He would want more evidence, something that left no doubt in his mind. At least by telling him our theories, he could make that judgement. It wasn’t up to me, and I couldn’t be more relieved. I could simply watch Mr. Hookly and gauge for myself whether he was acting guiltily or not.
I went immediately to the front desk when I stepped out of the lift. Peter was not on duty, however. He’d already left for the day. The night porter didn’t know anything about the detective inspector, and he hadn’t seen him arrive. He let me use his telephone to call Scotland Yard.
“Please tell Detective Inspector Hobart that it’s an emergency,” I said down the line. “He needs to come to The Mayfair Hotel at once and ask for Miss Fox or Mr. Armitage.” Hopefully by using Mr. Armitage’s name, the inspector wouldn’t dismiss the message lightly. He might think I was wasting his time, but he would pay attention to his son.
Music from the ballroom drifted into the foyer where some guests were chatting. According to the clock on the wall behind the front desk, the ball started an hour ago. Flossy must be wondering where I was.
I rushed into the vestibule, only to slow down again. I’d already seen the red carpet, but the rest of the room looked quite different. As with the foyer, large potted palms had been brought in to flank the double doors leading to the dining room—now ballroom—and a floral garland hung above them. The lights woven through it sparkled in the otherwise dim room.
Two footmen stood on either side of the entrance with trays of champagne flutes. I didn’t recognize either of them but they both greeted me by name. I plucked off a gold-stemmed flute with the M enclosed in a circle within the stem, and admired my surroundings.
The room was unrecognizable as a dining room. There was no sight of the tables or chairs, except for a few lining the walls where older ladies sat chatting. The first thing to catch my eye was the enormous clock on a dais towards the front. That must have been what I’d seen the delivery men wheeling through the foyer that morning. It was the size of a small carriage.
The garlands of flowers and greenery continued in here. They were draped above windows and across doorways, their small lights sparkling. But even more spectacular was the ceiling. It was covered in swathes of ribbons in the hotel color of burgundy with touches of gold and black. There must have been hundreds of them. Each end was tied either to a chandelier or to a ribbon cluster, depending on where it finished on the ceiling, and the other end was fixed to the edge of the room, high up on the wall. I could clearly see silver balloons above them, trapped between the bed of ribbons and the ceiling.
“Cleo, you made it!” Flossy caught my hands and looked me over. “You look lovely.”
“So do you,” I said, and meant it. She wore a pink gown that suited her complexion, and the seed pearls sewn into it somehow caught the light so that she seemed to sparkle. She had more bosom showing than me, but that was because she had more to show off. The expanse of her décolletage was broken up by a necklace of pearls and amethysts.
