Page 12 of Murder at the Dinner Party
I couldn’t deny that my uncle could be fickle. For now, he had given his approval, and I wasn’t about to let him forget it.
Cobbit, the coachman, spotted us and touched the brim of his hat in greeting. The acknowledgement wasn’t for my benefit, I was sure of it. Harry had helped Cobbit and the other mews staff keep their jobs when they threatened to go on strike over the stabling of a guest’s automobile. Harry had suggested a compromise that suited them and Uncle Ronald. Although, if my uncle had known at the time that Harry had a hand in negotiations, he might have dug his heels in. He wasn’t prepared to forgive Harry for lying about his past, even though Harry had been one of his best employees and losing him had interrupted the smooth running of the hotel.
Uncle Ronald was a stubborn man, and I feared he’d never forgive Harry. He might be allowing me to investigate alongside him, but I suspected that was only because he thought Harry was still courting Miss Morris. If he knew their relationship was over, he’d forbid our acquaintance for fear we’d develop feelings for one another.
That’s why I was determined he should never know.
CHAPTER3
We set off again, retracing our steps down Piccadilly to Apsley House where we caught an omnibus to take us part of the way to St. Mary’s Hospital in Paddington.
“Uncle Alfred tells me all has been calm at the hotel lately,” Harry said as we settled on the seat.
“Calm but busy, particularly with Miss Hessing’s engagement dinner last night. It almost ended in disaster, but thankfully all crises were averted before guests noticed. Speaking of your uncle, where was Mr. Hobart last night?”
“He wasn’t at the dinner?”
“No. In fact, he’s been absent quite a lot lately. It’s very unlike him. Is there a reason?”
“Not that I know of.” He frowned. “You’re right, though. It is unusual. I’ll ask next time I see him.”
“Oh, no, please don’t. It makes me feel like I’m spying for my uncle.”
The rest of our journey threatened to be ruined by awkward silence, so I filled it with chatter about the engagement party instead, as well as Miss Hessing’s ideas for her wedding day. If Harry found the topic dull, he was polite enough not to mention it and let me prattle on uninterrupted. By the time we alighted, I was even more parched than before.
We entered the handsome red-brick hospital building and asked for directions to Dr. Garside’s rooms. A few minutes later, we found a man wearing a white coat peering into a microscope in a laboratory smaller than my sitting room. Harry cleared his throat. “Dr. Garside?”
“One moment,” the doctor said, without looking up from his microscope. “Make yourself at home while I finish this.”
Amongst the rows of bottles, racks of test tubes, and piles of papers, I spied some cups filled with water. “Do you mind if I take a sip? I’m dying of thirst.” I reached for one.
“Don’t drink that!” Dr. Garside plucked the cup from my grip.
“What is it?”
“Something that will make you very ill if you drink it.” Dr. Garside set the cup back in line with the others. “I’m afraid I don’t have any refreshments in here. I don’t usually have visitors.”
“You should have a warning label on those,” Harry said tightly.
“As I said, I don’t usually have visitors.” Dr. Garside spoke just as tightly as he regarded Harry with a mixture of annoyance and faint recognition. “Have we met?” Based on his thinning hair and the creases around his eyes, I gauged him to be aged in his mid-forties. He was neatly attired, a green silk waistcoat and black bowtie showing underneath his laboratory coat, although the bowtie was a little crooked.
Harry reintroduced himself. Once the connection to the former Detective Inspector Hobart was established, Dr. Garside’s face cleared. He smiled and extended his hand. “I remember now. We met at your father’s farewell. You’re a private detective.”
“I am, and this is my associate, Miss Fox. Her current investigation is the reason for our visit.”
Dr. Garside studied me anew, this time with all the attention he gave the object under his microscope. “A lady detective? Do you specialize in wayward husbands, Miss Fox?”
It was an obvious assumption, considering most female detectives tended to get lumped with cases that involved spying on, or catching out, philandering men. I tried not to let it annoy me. “I tend to find myself embroiled in murders.”
“How fortunate!”
“Not for the victims.”
Dr. Garside blinked. “Yes. Quite. I mean how fortunate for you to have interesting cases to investigate. I assume Mr. Armitage told you I can help identify the cause of death where it’s not obvious, and that’s why you’re here? I ought to warn you, I need access to the cadaver for my work, and I doubt you brought one with you.” He chuckled to himself. “Forgive me. It was a macabre little joke.”
I removed the bottle from my bag. “We’re hoping you can identify if there is poison in these seltzer salts and, if so, which one.”
Dr. Garside’s eyes brightened. He waggled his fingers as if he couldn’t wait to wrap them around the bottle. “How intriguing! I do love a good poisoning.”
