Page 49 of Murder at the Dinner Party
I’d been so engrossed in our conversation that I hadn’t noticed when it emerged from behind the clouds. Remembering how many times I’d blushed the day before, I put up my parasol and had it at the ready. “It sounds as though Hardy was in possession of information that could damage someone if it came out. We know from the letters to his mother that Rupert needed money.”
“Did Floyd translate Oblitus?”
“It means the Forgotten One, which seems appropriate for a banished son.”
“So Rupert needed money and Hardy was blackmailing someone for money. It fits with your theory that they’re one and the same person.” He indicated we should turn onto Hill Street where the Coach and Horses stood on the next corner at the intersection with a mews. “I think Hardy—Rupert—was attempting to blackmail a member of his family. Pleas for financial help to his mother failed, so he tried threats instead.”
“Mrs. Danvers’ housekeeper said he argued with a man, so it must be Arthur since their father died a few years ago. Considering Arthur had a lot to lose, he has just risen to the top of my suspect list. The question is, what was he blackmailing Arthur about? It can’t be over Charlotte’s murder. If Arthur did murder her and blamed his brother, and Rupert realized it later once he sobered up, why continue to hide in exile all these years? He could simply tell the police that Arthur did it, then come home.”
“Would he be believed?” Harry said. “By all accounts, he was drunk on the night of the murder, so the police might not take his word for it. Not to mention the dowager would probably support Arthur, not Rupert, particularly now. Rupert has been gone for decades, and she might think resurrecting him is pointless when Arthur makes a fine viscount. I think Rupert would have known that the family would prefer for him to stay dead and forgotten.”
I wasn’t convinced Rupert would want to lie low forever for the good of the family. He’d given up an awful lot when he fled. If he’d been wrongly accused, his resentment must only have deepened over the years. It seemed like an excellent motive to threaten his own brother, and for that brother to retaliate and kill to protect his reputation and the inheritance. Families weren’t always loyal, and brothers had been known to fall out spectacularly over much less.
Harry opened the pub door for me. The smile he gave me was dashing, as always, and my heart fluttered a little, knowing it was entirely for my benefit. If I wasn’t careful, I would end up kissing him again.
That would not do.
I lowered my parasol, but didn’t go in. “Thank you for your assistance, Harry, but I’ll be quite all right from here.”
“Are you dismissing me?”
“I’m simply telling you that I can manage. I’m sure you have things that require your attention. I wouldn’t want to keep you from them.”
He leaned back against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest. “Discussing cases together helps you solve them faster. Don’t you want to solve this one quickly?”
“Yes, of course, but…” I didn’t continue. I recognized a winning argument when I heard one.
“I know what this is about.” His eyes danced and his lips tilted with his smirk.
I had a feeling I was walking into his trap, but I couldn’t stop myself. “Oh? What is it about?”
“You’re afraid I might solve the case before you.”
Relief turned my scoff into an inelegant snort. “That’s about as likely as me kissing you again.” There. Hopefully, by mentioning the kiss, I’d dissolved the tension between us. Sometimes confronting one’s fears is the best way to alleviate them.
I entered the pub and took a moment to adjust to the dim light. Given it was still early, there were only a few patrons, all of whom looked up when we entered. Their gazes remained on me, not Harry, as we approached the polished dark wood bar and the landlord standing behind it. Going by the patrons’ clothing and the waft coming off the fellow seated at the bar, waiting for his beer, I suspected they worked in the stables or coach houses belonging to the grand townhouses. Pubs in salubrious areas like Mayfair tended to attract service staff on their days off, rather than laborers or dock workers.
The landlord passed a tankard of beer to the patron then picked up a cloth to wipe the pump clean. “Ladies’ bar is through there.” He pointed the cloth toward the snug where a marble fireplace would make it a cozy place for maids in winter. It was currently empty.
“My name is Miss Cleopatra Fox and this is Mr. Armitage. We’re private detectives looking into the death of a butler not far from here.”
The landlord stopped cleaning the pump. The patron seated at the bar swiveled on his stool to face us, while the other patrons behind us fell silent. Far from being threatening, I got the impression they were intrigued.
“We heard about that,” the landlord said. “He used to come in here. The footman from the house comes in, too.”
Davey must have mentioned our investigation to someone. Gossip was as rife in a place like this as it was in the drawing rooms of the houses the patrons served in.
“Did Mr. Hardy, the deceased butler, drink alone?” I asked.
“Aye. He was new, didn’t know anyone.”
“Except for that one time,” the patron on the stool beside me said.
“The toff didn’t drink with him,” the landlord countered. “She asked if the butlerdrankwith anyone. He didn’t.”
“Tell me about the other fellow anyway,” I said. “How do you know he was a toff?”
“Same way I know you’re one. It’s obvious.”
