Page 77 of Murder at the Dinner Party
“You had Sir Ronald give the Hessing-Liddicoat wedding reception to Mr. Bainbridge.”
“I did no such thing! If he has asked Floyd to do it—”
“He has.”
“Then it was my uncle’s decision. No one makes up his mind for him, especially me.”
“You have influence over him, more than everyone else except Lady Bainbridge.”
“Rubbish.”
He pointed a finger at me. “You may not have told him directly to give it to Mr. Bainbridge, but you must have had a hand in it. He never changes his mind once it’s made up. There’s always a reason.”
“Perhaps the reason is that he knew Floyd would do a better job of it. With Harmony’s assistance, I assume.”
“Ha! I knew this was for her benefit. You wanted Miss Cotton to coordinate the event because she’s your friend, so you whispered in your uncle’s ear.” As if he realized how mad he looked and sounded, he cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “You shouldn’t have interfered, Miss Fox.”
“I didn’t,” I ground out. “In fact, I told Miss Hessing to come and speak to you about her wishes for the wedding feast. Her wishes being that you listen to her mother in all things. I tried tohelpyou, Mr. Chapman. Why do you continually think I want to thwart you?”
He tugged on his cuffs, his throat moving with his hard swallow. It would seem I’d got through to him.
He mightlooka little sheepish for accusing me, but he wasn’t prepared to apologize. “Well,” he said huffily, “it’s too late now.” Mr. Chapman pushed past me and headed back along the senior staff corridor.
“Too late for what?” I called after him.
He turned left into the restaurant, where the luncheon service would begin in another hour. With the staff setting tables, it was too public to continue our argument in there.
I drew in a deep breath and returned to the foyer. Mr. Hobart and Peter were in conversation with a large group of guests, although Peter’s concerned gaze followed me.
Goliath, pushing a luggage trolley, stopped suddenly before we collided. “What did the floor do to you, Miss Fox?” He chuckled.
I frowned. “Pardon?”
He pointed at my parasol. I’d not noticed that I was using it as a walking stick, stabbing the end into the floor tiles with each step. I tucked it under my arm.
“Have you seen my uncle?”
“He has been upstairs all morning.”
I thanked him and continued on. I took the staircase to the fourth floor, even though John was on the ground floor, waiting for passengers. I wasn’t in the right mood for idle chatter with him as we rode up slowly in the lift.
I was a little out of breath when I arrived, and purposely slowed my steps before I expired. It was quite warm on the fourth floor. Modern luxury hotels kept cool in summer using advanced ventilation systems that sucked in the outside air, which was then cooled by passing it over blocks of ice before sending it into each room, but the Mayfair was an old building that was once a family-owned mansion. It would require an enormous renovation to install such a sophisticated mechanism.
I opened the door to my suite only to pause upon seeing a folded piece of paper on the floor that had obviously been slipped under my door. It was from Uncle Ronald, summoning me to his office immediately upon my return.
It was clear from the stern way he greeted me that he was cross. Just how cross wasn’t as easy to determine. He didn’t bellow, which was a good sign. If he was boiling with rage, it would be obvious. He wasn’t very good at hiding his emotions.
“You wanted to see me, Uncle?”
He indicated I should sit, then, with more force than each move required, slotted his pen into the stand and flipped the inkpot lid closed. “Cleopatra. Your aunt and I are aware that you’re not our daughter or ward, and that you came to us after a liberal upbringing that has shaped you into a young woman with…different ideas to ours. As such, my wife has pointed out that I must be patient with you.” As if to illustrate how frustrating this was, he stretched his fingers wide before clasping his hands on the desk in front of him. “I have allowed you to indulge your whim to investigate; I haven’t forbidden you to see Armitage when investigating, against my better judgement.”
I bit my tongue so hard I drew blood.
“I let you roam around the city on your own, even after dark, something which I should remind you is very unwise. London is not Cambridge.”
“It was dusk when I returned, not nighttime,” I felt compelled to point out.
“But I draw the line at you breaking and entering into the offices of the senior staff, even if it is for an investigation.”
