Page 45 of Murder at the Dinner Party
He tilted his head to the side. “And go where?”
“Is your old room at your parents’ house still available?” The slight twitch of his lips encouraged me to go on. “I could offer to keep house for your mother in exchange for free board. She might even start to like me after a while. I’m not a bad cook.”
He smiled crookedly. “‘Not a bad cook?’ That’s hardly a solid recommendation. Do you even remember how to cook?”
“Of course. Eggs need to be boiled for an hour, don’t they?”
He rolled his eyes, but his smile widened. “Let’s go back to the hotel. The maintenance engineer will be wondering where his spare overalls got to.”
We continued walking at a more sedate pace in comfortable silence until my nerves settled completely and I remembered I hadn’t finished telling him what I’d found in the dowager’s desk.
“I haven’t told you the best part yet,” I said. “Rupert had been sending his mother letters ever since he left the country.”
“Where has he been?”
“All over the world. He sent her a letter every few months. At least, Ithinkthey’re from him. They weren’t addressed to ‘Mother’ or anything like that, and they were signed Oblitus.”
“Oblitus? Is that Latin?”
“It sounds Latin, but I don’t know what it means. I have a little French and Italian, but no Latin. I’ll ask Floyd. He would have learned it at school.”
“So, if it is Rupert who wrote those letters to his mother from overseas, he and Hardy can’t be the same person.”
“Not necessarily. The last letter was dated several weeks before Mr. Hardy started working for the Campbells. It mentioned he was in need of money. It seemed as though his earlier pleas to his mother had gone unheeded, and he was getting desperate. What if he came back to England to beg her in person, but she refused, so he took employment as a butler for the Campbells just to get by?”
“It’s feasible. The timing fits.”
“Then, when his brother saw him at dinner, he grew worried Rupert would be recognized in time by their friends. Not only would it jeopardize Arthur’s inheritance of the title and everything that went with it, it would cause a dreadful scandal. Maybe Arthur panicked and went back a few days later to kill him.”
Harry nodded slowly. “Your far-fetched theory is looking more and more likely.”
We walked the rest of the way to the hotel in silence. When I realized I was spending more time thinking about how much I liked that Harry had worried about me, I pushed thoughts of him aside and concentrated on the case.
I agreed with him that my theory about Rupert and Hardy being one and the same was looking more solid after finding the letters from Oblitus and the portrait showing the tiepin I’d found in Hardy’s shoe. Now all we needed to do was prove it, because I doubted we’d get a confession from Lord Whitchurch or his mother, the dowager.
* * *
My family’ssocial calendar was empty for the evening, much to my relief. I needed an evening off from the whirlwind of parties and dinners. My aunt needed it too and excused herself even from a small family dinner in the restaurant. She ate in her room while the rest of us dined at our regular table. It wasn’t all that peaceful, however. My uncle circulated amongst the other tables, while Floyd and I also chatted to diners who stopped by to give us their regards. Flossy wasn’t as vivacious as usual. She smiled when appropriate and joined in conversations, but something was obviously wrong.
It wasn’t until we finished the main course that I finally felt like we weren’t at work or on display. When Uncle Ronald left us to speak to a group of Belgian guests, I asked Flossy what the matter was.
“Nothing,” she muttered.
I exchanged a glance with Floyd, but he was enjoying his pudding and failed to notice. “I can tell something’s wrong, Flossy. Go on, out with it. You’ll feel better when you get it off your chest.”
“I won’t.” Flossy poked a strawberry around her bowl, drawing patterns in the cream. With a huff, she put down her spoon. “What’s wrong with me, Cleo?”
“Absolutely nothing! You’re sweet, kind and lively, not to mention pretty.” I clasped her arm. “What’s caused this melancholia?”
She sighed. “Everyone is getting married except me.”
“Sometimes finding the right man takes time. Look at Miss Hessing. It took her years to find Mr. Liddicoat, but it was worth the wait. He’s a wonderful man and they’re well suited. The right man for you will come along one day.”
“I wish he’d hurry up. Another season as barren as this one and I’ll officially be on the shelf. Then I’ll have to stand with the elderly spinsters at the balls.” She made a face.
“Like me, you mean?” I teased.
“Not at all, Cleo! I could never compare myself to you. You’ll always have dance partners, because the gentlemen are intrigued by you and they enjoy your company. You’re a great conversationalist. Also, you’re very pretty.”
