Page 38 of Murder at the Dinner Party
I fished my fan from my bag and fanned myself. I wished I’d brought a parasol. I glanced around out of habit, then leaned closer to Harry. “What if Rupert and Mr. Hardy are—were—one and the same man?”
CHAPTER8
Harry seemed as excited by my theory as I was. He walked quickly along Savile Row and I had a devil of a time keeping up with his long strides while also avoiding bumping into other pedestrians. We hadn’t discussed where we were heading, but I suspected we had the same destination in mind.
We needed to find out what Mr. Hardy looked like. Considering what we suspected, it made sense to try to get answers from Mrs. Turner at the Campbells’ house rather than confronting the Whitchurches again.
Once we were clear of Savile Row and the throng of shoppers, I fell into step alongside Harry. I picked up the conversation where we’d left off, even though I doubted I was telling him anything he hadn’t already realized. “That’swhy the Whitchurches recognized Hardy on the night they dined with the Campbells. He was the current Lord Whitchurch’s brother, and Lady Whitchurch’s former fiancé. He didn’t escape overseas all those years ago. He’d been hiding in plain sight. Cut off from his family, he needed to work to support himself, so he took employment as a butler. Given he grew up with a butler always nearby, he knew how they behaved and what tasks they performed.”
Harry agreed with one amendment. “It makes more sense if he was a footman first, given he was young at the time of his disappearance and he had no references. He would have worked his way up to the position of butler.”
“So you like my theory?”
He cast me a crooked smile without breaking his stride. “It’s just as far-fetched as the one about the old lord giving Charlotte his jacket then murdering her, but I like it more.”
Instead of bolstering my confidence in the theory, he’d deflated it. The theorywasquite far-fetched. “I’m sure I’m wrong. Usually, the simplest explanation is the correct one. This one is mad.”
“But sometimes the mad explanations are the right ones. There’s only one way to know for sure.” He picked up speed and I had to trot to keep up.
“Harry, slow down. Not everyone has stilts for legs.”
He paused and took my hand. It was an impulse on his part, a way of keeping us in step with one another. It took him a moment to realize what he’d done.
I noticed immediately, however, and couldn’t decide whether I wanted to be released or not. I liked the way my heart skipped in response to the simple gesture.
But once my thoughts cleared, I became aware of what holding his hand meant. It was giving him the wrong impression. It was encouragement, when I wanted to discourage tender feelings, both mine and his. It was creating closeness when distance was the better course for a couple with no future together.
I slipped my hand free and focused on the pavement ahead, not on the way Harry cast a disappointed look in my direction. We didn’t speak the rest of the way to the Campbells’ residence.
Betty the maid couldn’t take her eyes off Harry when she opened the door to us. Her pale cheeks suddenly flushed with color, and she developed a stammer as she invited us inside. The effect Harry had on some women was getting tiresome, and I was a little short with her when I asked to see Mrs. Turner.
She led the way along the corridor toward the housekeeper’s office. Mrs. Cook and her assistant, Birdy, looked up from the pies they were assembling. I greeted them with smiles but received only nods in return. Davey the footman was more agreeable. He hurried out of the kitchen, carrying a domed silver platter balanced on the tips of his fingers.
“Miss Fox, what a pleasure! Can’t stop for a chat today. Work to do.”
We stepped aside to allow him to pass. When he reached Betty, he caught her hand and spun her with all the grace of a dancing master.
She giggled and blushed again.
Mrs. Turner saw them through her open office door. “Be off with you, Davey, they’re waiting upstairs.” Once we’d joined her in the office and Betty had closed the door, the housekeeper sighed. “That boy has caused me enough of a headache. I don’t need him flirting with Betty. He seems to think it’s all right now that he’s leaving.”
“He definitely is?” I asked as I sat.
She sighed again. “He applied for the position of butler, but Sir Ian and Lady Campbell won’t give it to him, so he’s given his resignation. Now we need a new butlerandfootman. I can’t blame them, of course. He’s not ready to be a butler. In a few more years, certainly, but not yet.” She shuffled some papers on her desk with the shake of her head. “That’s the problem with the younger generation. They want everything now, without working their way up to it. They don’t understand they have to earn it.” She suddenly stopped, perhaps realizing she was speaking to two people from the same generation as Davey.
I introduced her to Harry, calling him my assistant, not my associate.
He huffed ever so slightly, then smiled at Mrs. Turner. “Miss Fox doesn’t need my assistance, but she likes to have me around.”
She blinked at him. “Is that because people take her more seriously with a man at her side?”
“No, it’s because I’m excellent company.” His smile warmed.
The look she gave me left me in no doubt that she now assumed precisely what Harry wanted her to assume—that I liked him inthatway. The fiend.
I launched into our reason for returning before he could cause any more trouble. “Is there by any chance a photograph of the staff that includes Mr. Hardy?”
“I’m afraid not. He wasn’t here long enough for one to be taken. Why do you need a photograph?”
