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She insisted on going to my room to help me prepare for afternoon tea. It wasn’t until she closed the door behind us that I discovered my hairstyle was a ruse.
“Tell me all about the American in room 313,” she said, taking my hand and steering me to the sofa.
“Mr. Miller?” I frowned. “Why?”
“I hear he’s handsome and charming, and that you two got alongverywell at dinner last night.” She couldn’t have been more suggestive if she’d winked.
My frown deepened. “How do you know that? Who’ve you been talking to?”
“Mr. Bainbridge told me.”
“Floyd?”
“Miss Bainbridge mentioned it, too.”
Honestly, did they have nothing better to do? “Yes, Mr. Miller is everything you say he is. But you know my mind, Harmony. It won’t go beyond friendly conversation. Now, tell me about you and Victor.”
“Nicely deflected.”
“Thank you. Well?”
“We’re enjoying one another’s company at the moment. Let’s leave it at that. So what do you want to wear to afternoon tea?”
The murderof Vernon Rigg-Lyon was more of a topic of conversation at afternoon tea than it had been at dinner. More details had emerged since then, although I wasn’t sure how. Much of it was probably speculation. Rufus Broadman’s argument with the victim before the match was analyzed in excruciating detail since there’d been so many witnesses.
“I heard they argued over a horse,” said Mrs. Digby, one of Aunt Lilian’s friends. Ten of us sat at the Bainbridge family table in the large sitting room. Before it became famous for its new restaurant, the Mayfair Hotel was famous for its afternoon teas. The large sitting room was often full, even during the quiet season, but in the late spring to early summer when society ladies were in town, it was impossible to get a table at short notice. Unless one was family, of course, or friends of my aunt.
One of the potted palms shielded us from the nearest table, but even so, the group made up of Aunt Lilian’s friends and two of their unwed daughters kept voices low.
“No, it was about cheating,” claimed Lady Caldicott. “Mr. Broadman accused Mr. Rigg-Lyon of underhanded tactics.”
“I heard it was the other way around,” said Mrs. Druitt-Poore. “Mr. Rigg-Lyon accused Mr. Broadman of cheating.”
Aunt Lilian dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her bone-thin fingers as she swallowed a morsel of cake. “I believe they argued about a woman.”
Her friends all looked up from their plates to stare at her. “Mrs. Rigg-Lyon?” asked one with a large dose of incredulity.
Cora Druitt-Poore, a young woman around Flossy’s age of nineteen, laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Aunt Lilian wiggled her fingers and flicked her wrist in dismissal. Her movements were jerky, and she couldn’t sit still. She must have taken a dose of her tonic just before coming downstairs. “A dancer or singer, so I heard.” She turned to Cora. “Why is it ridiculous for the argument to be over Mrs. Rigg-Lyon?”
Cora must have regretted her comments, because she tried to brush off the question, but with all eyes now on her, she had to clarify. “She may have been pretty once, but she hasn’t aged well.”
“She’s only mid-thirties,” said Mrs. Digby defensively.
“That’s what I mean. Shelooksolder. I’m sure she’s lovely, though,” Cora added, as if that softened her remarks.
“She’s a dragon,” her mother said.
“She’s forthright.” Lady Caldicott was always the diplomatic one. “She knows her own mind.”
“She forces her opinions on others, even when not asked.” Mrs. Digby leaned forward, and we all drew in closer. “I knew her when she was younger. She was very attractive then. She’s a few years older than Vernon, and some say she captured him early, when he was still young enough to mold into whatever version she wanted. He was besotted, but they eventually grew apart and he strayed. I hear he kept dozens of mistresses.”
Flossy gasped. “Not all at once, surely.”
“I think we should change the subject,” Aunt Lilian said with a glare for Mrs. Digby.
The older women quickly agreed, but the younger ones wanted to continue the discussion. “Mr. Rigg-Lyon was terribly handsome,” Cora said. “It’s so sad what happened to him.”
