Page 64 of Murder at the Dinner Party
The butler appeared in the doorway and cleared his throat.
“Yes?” Lord Whitchurch snapped.
“Your guests are arriving soon, my lord.”
Lord Whitchurch checked the time on his watch. “Darling, we have to dress.” He turned to Harry and me. “Can I rely on you not to let anything we just told you leave this room? Or do I need to give you a family heirloom, too?”
Harry scowled at him. “We’ll see ourselves out.”
“The butler will see you out.” He signaled to the butler then turned his attention to his mother, rising from her chair. “I’ll take you back to your room.”
His wife sighed heavily as she watched her husband assist the dowager to stand, while the dowager scolded him for fussing like a ladies’ maid.
Outside, dusk bathed the elegant townhouses in an ethereal glow. A flock of birds flew overheard in the direction of Hyde Park, and a carriage rumbled past. The street was otherwise quiet, serene almost. It was that peaceful time after the men arrived home from working in their city offices and before the evening’s social events began. Ladies and gentlemen were inside, dressing for dinner or a party, while the servants worked tirelessly downstairs. From the outside, the world of the upper classes seemed genteel and unencumbered, where polite manners and pleasant compliments were uttered by polite, pleasant people.
Over the course of my six months in London, I’d learned the elegant townhouses hid the same problems suffered by people everywhere, in all walks of life. Behind the facades, people could be as miserable and cruel as the lowest dock worker from Whitechapel. Perhaps more so, because they couldn’t show it. They must always pretend.
It was that pretense that played on my mind as I thought through what we’d learned from the Whitchurches. “‘It’s easy to blame a dead man.’”
“Pardon?” Harry asked.
“That’s what the dowager said. ‘It’s easy to blame a dead man.’ Of course, she was referring to Rupert returning to London and blaming his father for Charlotte’s murder. But it could very well describe what the dowager and Lord Whitchurch just did. Blame Rupert. If he is dead, then perhaps they just did the same thing to him that he may have done to his father.”
“I don’t know. Everything they said in there makes sense.” Harry set off at a swift pace. “But Rupert was her son. Do you think she’d really lay the blame at his feet if he wasn’t guilty?”
I picked up my skirts and rushed to catch up to him. “I think she’d do anything to protect the family’s reputation.” I started to trot. “Harry, slow down.”
“It’s late, Cleo.”
I checked the time on my watch. “Oh lord!” I started to run. “See you tomorrow,” I called over my shoulder.
I turned into a much busier thoroughfare and slammed into a slim youth lounging against the wall around the corner. I would have fallen if he hadn’t caught me.
He grasped my arms, steadying me. “Miss? You all right?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
He picked up my bag and handed it to me. I set off again, this time with a little more decorum and less frenzy.
It was so late in the day that Frank and Goliath had finished their shifts, as had Mr. Hobart. Peter was still there, looking very comfortable as he strolled around the foyer, greeting guests with nods and smiles. Harry’s shoes were big ones to fill, but Peter was doing a fine job. Soon, the regular guests would stop lamenting how they missed Harry and start treating Peter with the same fondness they’d given his predecessor.
He approached when he saw me, a grim set to his jaw. “They’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“Who?”
“Sir Ronald, both your cousins, Harmony… She’s very cross.”
“Is my family cross, too?”
“They will be when they see you’re alive and well. Earlier they were simply worried. Miss Bainbridge told her father that you’d decided to walk back to the hotel, but when you failed to arrive…I’m sure you can imagine her panic. Harmony wanted to tell them you were most likely investigating, but Goliath and I thought it best not to until we were sure you wanted them to know.”
“I’m sorry to put you through that, Peter. It’s been a long, exhausting and frustrating day.” The lift door opened, and two guests emerged. I signaled to John to wait for me then offered Peter an apologetic smile. “I’ll fill you in tomorrow.”
Upstairs, my suite was busier than the foyer. Uncle Ronald, Flossy and Floyd occupied the sitting room, while Harmony was in the bedroom. She emerged upon hearing me arrive, one of my evening gowns in her arms. She glared at me but stayed silent.
My family did not.
“Where have you been?” Floyd demanded.
