Page 1 of Murder at the Dinner Party
CHAPTER1
LONDON, JULY 1900
Miss Hessing and Mr. Liddicoat were blissfully unaware of the disaster that threatened to derail their engagement dinner party. They sat side by side at the main table in the Mayfair Hotel’s restaurant, stealing glances at one another when they thought no one was looking. To most, it appeared to be a romantic scene. A couple clearly in love, candlelight flickering in the soft breeze coming through the open windows, the array of silverware glinting like stars against the black tablecloths, and dozens of white chrysanthemums filling the vases. If anyone thought the traditional flower used for funerals was an odd choice, they were polite enough not to say so, or perhaps they thought the flower had a different meaning in the bride-to-be’s home country of the United States.
One person who did notice every altered detail was her mother. Mrs. Hessing asked Mr. Chapman, the hotel steward, why the pink roses she’d requested weren’t on display.
He apologized profusely. “I’m afraid my order wasn’t given due attention, and it failed to reach the florist on time.”
Whether that was true, or an excuse to cover his own tardiness in submitting the order, I didn’t know, but I doubted Mr. Hobart, the hotel manager, would have failed to sign off on the order on time if he’d known what it was for. On the other hand, he had been somewhat absent of late. He wasn’t even attending the engagement dinner this evening.
Mrs. Hessing accepted Mr. Chapman’s excuse with a purse of her lips and further scrutiny of the flowers. “At least they can’t really be seen with the poor lighting in here. Is that so we won’t be able to see what we’re eating?”
Mr. Chapman laughed off the suggestion. “You will be delighted by the menu, Mrs. Hessing. Our chef is a marvel.”
His assurance did nothing to wipe away her scowl, but at least she left him alone. She marched off, the end of her walking stick stabbing the floorboards with military precision. Mr. Chapman glared at her back with a sneer on his usually smooth features.
“Cheer up,” I quipped. “You’re right. Mrs. Poole and her team will make tonight’s dishes taste like they came directly from a restaurant in the heart of Paris, despite everything.”
Everythingbeing another word for disaster. The lack of light Mrs. Hessing referred to was caused by a kitchen fire that had burned through the electrical wiring. Candles had to be sourced from the hotel’s storeroom moments before the diners arrived. Fortunately, candles gave the occasion the romanticism it deserved. Unfortunately, the lingering scent of smoke did not. As to the last-minute change of menu, as insisted upon by Mr. Chapman, it remained to be seen if the cooks would live up to the praise I heaped on them.
The black tablecloths and chrysanthemums were courtesy of a local funeral home, due to the fact that a deceased’s family had failed to pay the deposit on time. Our usual florist couldn’t fulfil Mr. Chapman’s order for roses, but she had enough of the mourning blooms ready. The funeral director was also willing to loan us his tablecloths, since he no longer needed them this evening.
The steward didn’t seem to appreciate my attempt at reassurance. His rigid spine stiffened even more as he looked down his thin nose at me. “You should take your seat, Miss Fox. You know how Sir Ronald dislikes you fraternizing with the staff.”
I wasn’t quite sure if it was a threat or not. He knew I chatted to some of the staff during their time off, and that it would indeed anger my uncle to have his niece mingling with employees. But was he threatening to tell my uncle, and, if so, why? Although he’d been rude to me when I first arrived at the hotel, I thought we had an understanding now, albeit an unspoken one.
Perhaps he was snippy because he knew that I knew these disasters were not only his fault, but they could have been avoided if he’d accepted Harmony’s offer to help him organize the party. He’d undertaken the task alone, determined to prove to Sir Ronald that he was capable. I’d wondered if he’d been upset to be overlooked in favor of Harmony when Floyd required an assistant to organize the opening of the new restaurant; his jealous guarding of the engagement party arrangements these past two weeks proved he was.
Mr. Chapman slipped away while I was still trying to decide if his comment was meant to threaten me. But I did as he suggested and found my seat between my cousins. Flossy was chatting with a guest on her other side, while Floyd surreptitiously admired his own reflection in the silver candlestick.
“You look as dapper as always,” I assured him.
“I know.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t they look happy?” I nodded at Miss Hessing and Mr. Liddicoat, chatting to his cousin the polo player.
“She’s happy because she’s a month away from being free of her mother, and he’s happy because he’s marrying into one of America’s wealthiest families.”
“Don’t be so cynical. They’re happy because they’re in love.”
He snorted. “Don’t pretend you believe in love, Cleo. You and I think alike on that, at least.”
“I’ve never said I don’t believe in love, just that I don’t want to marry. Those are entirely different things. A woman can be in love but not want to lose her independence.”
“Now who’s being cynical? Marriage doesn’t have to end a woman’s independence. She just needs to choose her husband wisely.” He tapped his chest. “I, for example, would allow my wife to do as she pleases. She can own property, have opinions contrary to my own, and spend all my money on frivolous things if that makes her happy.”
“Can she work?”
He made a face. “Don’t be absurd. Nobody wants to work if they don’t have to.”
“Floyd, please do the entire female half of the planet a favor and don’t marry until you’ve matured.”
He picked up his empty glass. “If I had a drink, I’d raise my glass to that.” He signaled to the waiter and accepted another flute of champagne.
Flossy turned to us and tugged at one long white glove, attempting to pull it higher. “It’s getting cool in here. Someone ought to close the windows.”
“The windows are open to release the lingering smell of smoke,” I said.
