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“He was rude. Never so much as a please or thank you. Toss-pot.”
A carriage arrived and Frank put on a welcoming smile, raised his umbrella, and stepped forward to open the door and greet the gentleman and lady inside. He was accustomed to faking amiability when required. None of the guests ever knew how cantankerous he truly was.
I left them to their work and headed inside, depositing my wet umbrella in the holder on my way past. The foyer was busy. Given the weather, some guests had elected to stay indoors. All of the burgundy leather armchairs were occupied and several groups stood about, talking. A woman read aloud from a slim guidebook in an American accent while her two younger charges listened in. The girls couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen and hung on the older woman’s every word as she read out that Bond and Regent Streets were the best for shopping.
I spotted Mr. Hobart conversing with two men dressed in the loose, colorful shirts traditionally worn in Western Africa, while Peter nodded along as a pinch-lipped woman complained about the wallpaper in her room being too bright. I wasn’t sure how he was going to solve that one. The wallpaper couldn’t be changed and the hotel was full. The social season had begun and there was hardly a room to be found in any of the city’s luxury hotels. The upper class had descended on London like a plague of locusts. New friendships would be forged in the coming weeks, and old ones renewed. Betrothals would be made and affairs begun, or ended. It was the season where entertainment of any description could be had, for a price, and excess was expected. Gossip would spread like a disease, fueled by scandal.
I’d had a taste of it during my last investigation, both as an observer and its victim. Being labeled a bluestocking hadn’t bothered me, although it upset my cousin, albeit briefly. Any lingering nastiness about my education had soon been forgotten when more salacious tidbits about more important people were unearthed. It remained to be seen if anyone still cared enough to snub me.
Instead of waiting with the small gathering at the lift, I took the stairs to the fourth floor. I changed into dry clothes then went in search of Harmony. I found her on the third floor, pushing her cart between rooms. She parked it alongside a door and knocked. When no one answered, she unlocked it with her key and collected a bottle of furniture polish and a cloth from the cart. She spotted me approaching before she entered.
“What are you doing here?” She glanced around to make sure nobody saw us. While it wasn’t forbidden, we both knew my family and the guests would frown upon a maid and a member of the Bainbridge family talking familiarly.
“I have a new case.”
She jerked her head, indicating we should talk inside. I grabbed another cloth from the cart and followed her. She closed the door, something she never did when cleaning a room.
“What sort of case?” she asked as she set the bottle of polish on the table. This room was smaller than my suite. The bedroom and sitting room were all bundled into one space, but at least it had an ensuite bathroom. Not all of the rooms did.
I told her about Tobias Plumtree’s demise and how Harry and his father didn’t think he killed himself. She stopped polishing the chair leg and straightened at the mention of Harry. She made no snide comments, however. Once upon a time, she would have scolded me for seeing him. Nowadays she believed me when I said I’d never encourage Harry.
She’d also expressed her disinterest in giving her life over to a husband’s control, but it hadn’t stopped her flirting with Victor, one of the hotel’s cooks. As far as I knew, it hadn’t gone beyond flirting and walking home to the residence hall together in the evenings.
“Do you remember Mr. Plumtree?” I asked.
She shook her head. “He must have stayed here before my time. I’ll ask the maids who’ve been here longer and get Victor to ask the cooks.”
I smiled. “The cooks wouldn’t have had anything to do with a guest.”
“They might remember his meal preferences,” she said huffily.
“Which would assist with the investigation how?”
“I don’t know yet, do I?” She pointed at the table I’d been polishing. “You need to go in an anti-clockwise direction now.”
“Why?”
“Because going in the same direction all the time wears the grain away in a lopsided pattern.”
I did as she suggested, even though I suspected she’d made it up to change the subject. “If you want to speak to Victor you don’t need to invent an excuse.”
That was met with total silence.
I finished the table and helped Harmony change the sheets on the bed.
“You don’t have to help,” she said as she re-tucked my side to her more exacting standard. “I do this every day on my own.”
“Actually, I have another question to ask.”
“Go on.”
I stuffed the pillow inside the pillow slip and shook it into place. “I’m going to afternoon tea at Harry’s parents’ place. His mother doesn’t like me.”
“Can you blame her? You had her son dismissed from his excellent position here as assistant manager. I’d hate you, too, if I was his mother.”
“I didn’t have him dismissed. Not on purpose anyway.” I threw the pillow at her.
She caught it deftly. “You want my advice on how to win her over?”
