Page 98 of Murder at the Mayfair Hotel
He wrapped his fingers around mine and pulled me onto the dance floor, leaving me with no doubt.
He knew.
Chapter 14
Mr. Hookly’s grip on my hand loosened as we settled into a waltz. I could have got away, but there seemed no point. We were in the middle of the dance floor. He couldn’t harm me here.
I wasn’t sure he wanted to anyway. “I need to explain some things to you,” he said. “I think you have the wrong idea about me.”
“What idea is that, Mr. Hookly? Or whatever your name is.”
He looked unsurprised that I knew. “My name isn’t important. Truly, it’s not. It never has been. Not to me or to anyone else. BecauseIwasn’t important.” We twirled for a few steps before he continued. “I was a footman in Hookly’s household. That’s how I knew him.”
“Is that where Mrs. Warrick recognized you from?”
“No. She knew me from a prior engagement as the footman in the household of one of her friends. I was surprised to learn she recognized me. Usually people like her look right through the staff. We’re as insignificant as a chair or vase. I don’t expect someone like you to understand, Miss Fox.”
I ignored the taunt. I didn’t care if he thought I was as wealthy as the Bainbridges. “Mrs. Warrick confronted you on Christmas Eve, didn’t she? She asked why you were in the hotel, and how you could afford a room here when you are a mere footman.”
His fingers tightened at my hand and waist. “She could have ruined everything.”
“You mean your plan to live off credit for as long as possible here at the hotel? To use the letter you stole from a dead man’s desk to secure the trust of a banker? You learned the banker was attending the ball so you needed to remain at the hotel even after you killed Mrs. Warrick so you could speak to him.”
He smiled. It wasn’t cruel. It was the smile of a content man who thought himself safe. “You can’t jeopardize this opportunity, Miss Fox. Not now. He’s gone.”
“The banker?”
“He left early as he suffers from gout, but not before he promised to give me the loan. I have a signed agreement from him in my pocket. I can take that to any branch as soon as the banks re-open after the holiday.”
“You won’t get away with this. The police are almost here and they know everything about you.” Well, they would once I told them.
His smile widened. “I’ll be sure to set them straight at the first opportunity. You see, I didn’t kill Mrs. Warrick. My hands are clean. I don’t know who did it, although I have my suspicions. A word of advice, Miss Fox. Don’t trust the staff here. They’re a bad lot.”
“I know all about Edith,” I said, just as benignly. “You needed someone with a key so you courted her. What did you promise her? A life out of servitude? Love?”
A muscle in his jaw pulsed and his breathing quickened. He hadn’t known that I knew about Edith. He merely thought I suspected him, and he meant to shift the blame onto her as we danced. But I’d drawn a connection between them, and that worried him. It confirmed what I’d suspected—that Edith had gone to him after I’d spoken to her about my concerns. She’d told him that I suspected he was the murderer. At that point, I hadn’t suspected her.
“Edith and I were together before Mrs. Warrick spoke a word to me,” he sneered. “So that destroys your theory.”
“Not really. Did you initially court her because you planned to use her keys to break into rooms and steal valuables? But you changed your mind when you got a better idea after learning about the banker, didn’t you? Either way, you knew you needed keys, and Edith could get you some. She was the perfect victim.”
“She’s not a victim,” he snarled. “She’s a murderer! She orchestrated everything.”
“Nonsense. She’s not devious. More importantly, she wanted attention. She craved to be noticed by a man, and you sensed that the way a hound senses a hare’s fear. You told her what she wanted to hear and she fell in love with you. She was prepared to do anything for you. You took advantage of her and manipulated her; you made her give you the key so you could enter Mrs. Warrick’s room and poison her.”
His eyes hardened. His mouth set firm and his grip became bruising. There was no shock or horror on his face, only cold acceptance. I needed no other confirmation of his guilt than that.
“Where’s Edith?” I asked. “What have you done with her?” When he didn’t answer, I stopped dancing. “Let me go.”
His grip tightened. I tried to jerk free but he held on. I tilted my chin, determined not to show fear. This man thrived on it. He used it to his own advantage, just like he’d used Edith’s nervousness.
The music stopped and the crowd counted down the last ten seconds until the new year. I glanced around and found we were near the edge of the dance floor, close to the service area. But no servants came and went. They were probably counting down the seconds to midnight in the kitchen, their attention focused on a clock, just as the revelers in the ballroom directed their gazes forward, not back to us.
“Let me go!” My shout was drowned out by the counting. Nobody took any notice of us.
“SEVEN! SIX!”
Mr. Hookly glared at me. He did not move. He did not try to hurt me, except for his firm grip on my wrist.
