Page 48 of Murder at the Dinner Party
The footman emerged from the adjoining staff parlor, a bowler hat in one hand and a brush in the other. “What do you want to know, Miss Fox?”
“Did Mr. Hardy have any friends?”
They all looked at each other, then shook their heads or shrugged.
“What did he do on his day off?”
Again, the cook and the maid shrugged. Davey, however, said he’d seen the butler at the local pub a few times. “I saw him twice at the Coach and Horses, the one on Hill Street, not Bruton. Friends of mine said they saw him there, having a quiet drink on his own on his afternoon off.”
I thanked him and departed, armed with my parasol and a plan. It was still early, but hopefully the landlord at the Coach and Horses could tell me something about Mr. Hardy’s visits. I wasn’t entirely sure what I expected to learn, but it was better than the alternative—confronting the Whitchurches without evidence that Rupert was, in fact, Mr. Hardy.
I was minding the steps as I headed up to the pavement when Harry’s voice once again greeted me.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” he teased. “People will talk.”
“Why? There’s nothing to talk about.”
His face fell. “Has Sir Ronald forbidden you from seeing me again?”
I’d not meant to speak harshly. I must still be smarting from Floyd’s accusation that Harry and I were more than friends. “He doesn’t know we’re investigating together at the moment. Sorry, my mind was elsewhere.” I nodded at the Campbells’ neighbor’s house. “Were you called out again?”
Before he could answer, the Campbells’ front door opened and Davey trotted down the front steps. “You still here, Miss Fox? Just a friendly warning that I’m fetching a cab for Sir Ian. You’ll want to go before he sees you.”
“Thank you. Which way is Hill Street?”
“I know it,” Harry said, setting off in the opposite direction to Davey. “What’s in Hill Street?”
I told him about the pub and my idea to learn as much as I could about Mr. Hardy’s private life. “You don’t have to come with me. I can manage on my own if you have work to do.”
“There’s something I need to tell you. Besides, I’m enjoying your investigation more than mine.”
“Murder is a little more interesting than missing cats and false alarms. Speaking of which, why did the neighbor need you this time? Was it another false alarm?”
“That’s what I wanted to tell you. It wasn’t Mrs. Danvers who wanted to speak to me, it was her housekeeper. She’d seen me talking to you as I left there last time and asked her counterpart in the Campbell household about you.”
“How nosy.”
He smirked. “That’s rich coming from you.”
“I’m only nosy when it’s relevant to an investigation. So, what do I have to do with her calling you out this time?”
“Mrs. Turner told Mrs. Danvers’ housekeeper that they’d hired you to look into Hardy’s death. That reminded her of something she’d overheard, and she felt you ought to know.”
“Then why not invite me instead of you? Mrs. Turner could have told her that I could be contacted at the hotel.”
“They like me. Besides, I think they wanted me to check the locks again.”
I suspected they liked having a handsome young man around the house. It would explain all the false alarms, too. “What did the housekeeper say?”
“Two or three weeks ago—she can’t recall precisely when—she was hanging washing out in the courtyard and overheard Hardy threatening another man in the Campbells’ courtyard. She recognized Hardy’s voice as he did most of the talking. The other barely spoke.”
“What was the threat?”
“Hardy demanded the other fellow pay him. If he didn’t, it would all come out.”
“All of what?”
“He didn’t say.” Harry indicated to turn right to skirt the northern edge of Berkeley Square with its handsome plane trees providing dappled shade from the sun.
