Page 47 of Murder at the Dinner Party
I smiled back. “It looks like a lovely day for a walk. Will you head out later?”
“I have an errand to run at lunchtime, so I’ll go out then.”
I waited in the hope he’d fill the silence. He did, but not with the information I wanted.
“How are you two getting along?” he asked.
“Well enough. He can be a little gruff at times, but I think I know how to manage him now. It helps to remember that he and my aunt have been good to me.”
“I meant you and Harry. You seem to be spending more time together lately.”
“He’s assisting me with an investigation.”
“So my brother told us over dinner last night. He was very impressed with your determination and intelligence. I told him that I wasn’t at all surprised, that I knew you were up to the challenges of detective work. Then we all lamented that women weren’t allowed to join the police force. The two Mrs. Hobarts were particularly vocal about the unfairness of it.”
“At least we can have our own detective agencies.”
“Then why don’t you start one?”
“My uncle wouldn’t allow it. For now, I need to stay on his good side. He provides a roof over my head and food in my stomach. Perhaps one day I’ll have saved enough from the investigations I do manage to take on to move out of the hotel, but I think it’s quite some time away.”
“You could join Harry’s agency for now, albeit secretly.”
I laughed. “He made it abundantly clear that he won’t add the name Fox alongside his and I wouldn’t settle for anything less. Anyway, I think keeping our work separate is best.”
Fortunately, he didn’t ask why. He simply gave me a flat smile. Spotting an important guest arriving, he made his excuses. After a brief greeting, the guest went on his way and Mr. Hobart went on his.
It wasn’t until I watched him join Peter that I wondered if he’d deliberately steered our conversation away from the topic of the Carlton Hotel and his lunchtime absences. He was an excellent manager of conflict, so it wouldn’t surprise me if he’d manipulated me, too.
Mrs. Short emerged from the senior staff corridor and beckoned me to join her. She asked for a report on the investigation, but I refused to tell her anything.
“My work is confidential,” I said. “But I’m sure your sister will update you on my progress if she wants you to know.”
Her back stiffened. “Do you think we have time for socializing, Miss Fox? We’re both very busy.”
“She doesn’t work far from here. You could meet for lunch in a teashop.”
She gave me a look down her nose that could rival the pomposity of the Dowager Lady Whitchurch. “Long lunches are for those with too much spare time on their hands.” She strode off without a backward glance.
In some ways, she was right. The staff rarely took long lunches, and Mr. Hobart even less so, until lately. His recent absences in the middle of the day were in contrast to his hard-working nature. He’d denied knowing who was taking on the management role at the Carlton, which I took to mean it wasn’t him. So, whatwashe doing?
It was none of my business, and unlikely to be any of my uncle’s, either. Mr. Hobart was within his rights to take a full hour for lunch and not inform his employer of his movements. He, like the rest of the staff, was entitled to a private life.
Just as Mr. Hardy was. I decided that would be my next avenue of enquiry.
I tucked my parasol under my arm and headed for the exit. Mr. Chapman and I crossed paths in the foyer. He glared at me. I smiled back. His glare turned frostier.
The parasol wasn’t needed on my walk to the Campbells’ townhouse. The day was overcast and cool for July, and Harry wasn’t there to tease me. I left it by the door when the maid, Betty, answered my knock and invited me into the basement service area. I hadn’t seen her on my visit the previous day, and I was struck by how drawn she looked. Mr. Hardy’s death must be taking its toll on all the staff.
“Mrs. Turner is in her office,” Betty said, starting to lead the way along the corridor.
“There’s something I’d like to ask you before I speak to her,” I said.
She stopped at the open doorway to the kitchen. “It’s nothing to do with me!”
Her reaction was a little strong, given I’d never suggested that any of the staff were involved in the murder. I’d not had a reason to. I wondered if I’d overlooked something. “Perhaps you could help.” I turned to face the kitchen. “Perhaps you all could.”
Mrs. Cook came around the central table toward me, wiping her hands on her apron. “We’ll help in any way we can. Davey?”
