Page 27 of Murder at the Dinner Party
“Yes, but—”
“Enjoy your night, my dear. Dance with all the handsome men you can. Oh, to be young again.” She strode off, the feathers in her headpiece bouncing with each step.
I sighed and went to join Flossy, only to be waylaid by a gentleman wanting to add his name to my dance card. I politely agreed and secretly wondered if he knew the Campbells or Whitchurches. I’d find out when we danced the waltz.
I was waylaid a second time by a more welcome interruption, Miss Hessing. I’d hardly spoken to her since the engagement dinner, and she was eager to relive every minor detail with me.
“My mother says the food wasn’t what she ordered, nor the flowers, but I didn’t notice. Did you, Miss Fox?”
I didn’t want to ruin her memory of the dinner, so I simply smiled. “I thought the evening was wonderful. I had a lovely time. Did you?”
“Oh yes, it was heavenly. Although Mother disagrees. She’s a little annoyed, as it happens.” She stopped herself and bit her lower lip. “I shouldn’t be discussing this with you.”
“You can confide in me, Miss Hessing. We’re friends.”
“I suppose so. It’s just that Mother can be cruel. Perhaps forewarned is forearmed, as they say.”
“That sounds ominous.”
She looked around and, seeing her mother deep in conversation with her friends, leaned closer to me. “She’s thinking of having the wedding reception at the Savoy.”
“The Savoy!”
At my exclamation, heads turned toward us, including Uncle Ronald’s.
I took Miss Hessing’s hand and led her to a quiet corner of the room. “What do you mean she wants to hold the reception at the Savoy? The Mayfair is her favorite hotel. She always stays with us when she comes to London.”
“Oh yes, she adores it. Rest assured, she doesn’t think it inferior to the Savoy or any other London hotel. The staff are wonderful, the rooms are modern and a good size, and the new restaurant serves excellent food. But the Savoy are very good at hosting special occasions, and she feels my engagement party was underwhelming. She wanted something grander. I didn’t care, you understand. This isn’t coming from me. But you know Mother.”
I did indeed. Tonight, Miss Hessing wore a demure gown of cream and pale pink, whereas her mother looked like a peacock in bright green and blue. Even her headpiece had long peacock feathers shooting into the air. She was a tall woman with a booming voice that drew everyone’s notice. If it failed to be heard, she stamped the end of her walking stick into the floor like a child stomping her foot to get attention. A woman like that wanted to make a bold statement to the world to announce the engagement of her only child. Not only had the engagement party hosted in our restaurant been a modest affair, but Mr. Chapman had also failed to deliver the few requests Mrs. Hessing had made. No wonder she was considering the Savoy. They’d built a reputation hosting extravagant parties for society’s most influential members.
It wasn’t entirely Mr. Chapman’s fault, though. We’d all made the mistake of thinking Miss Hessing was the one we needed to please, since it was her engagement party. But her mother was paying for it, and she was more particular than her daughter.
I clasped Miss Hessing’s hands in mine. “Don’t let your mother talk to the Savoy. Insist your wedding reception be held in our ballroom. I’ll see that Mr. Chapman understands what’s required.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Miss Fox. I knew telling you was the right thing to do. I’d certainly rather have my reception at the Mayfair, not the Savoy. Your family wouldn’t come if it was there, for one thing, and I would like all of you to attend.”
I squeezed her hands. “I’ll come, no matter where it is.”
“You’re a dear friend and I am so glad I’ll be living in London instead of on the other side of the world. We won’t be in Mayfair, but it will only be a short train journey from our house to the hotel.”
She talked about the house they were moving to after they married, until it was time for the first dance.
My dance partners proved no help when it came to imparting gossip about the Campbells and the Whitchurches, so when refreshments were served I made sure to attach myself to a group of middle-aged ladies I’d met on a few occasions. It wasn’t easy steering conversations in the directions I wanted them to go in, but by the end of supper, I’d heard how the two couples were long-time friends. I had also confirmed that speculation had swirled for years after the eldest son of Lord and Lady Whitchurch disappeared, but he’d finally been declared dead seven years after going missing, leaving Arthur to inherit upon his father’s death.
Not all believed Rupert was dead, however. Those who remembered the maid had been murdered thought he was living overseas under an assumed name to avoid capture. It seemed most of the details of the murder had not made it to the newspapers, but one or two ladies had heard the more sordid aspects from friends who knew the Whitchurches. They speculated that Rupert had been involved with the maid, but differed on whetherhehad seducedheror the other way around.
“He was a known philanderer,” one woman said.
“He was no different from other young gentleman,” another pointed out. “She was trying to trap him.”
“He was lazy and a drunk. He didn’t care about the tenants on his father’s land, or the responsibilities he would one day inherit. He should have been helping his father and learning how to run the estate, but instead he was running around after anything in a petticoat.” When she realized we were all staring at her, she cleared her throat. “So I heard.”
“Wasn’t he betrothed?” a third woman chimed in.
“To the current Lady Whitchurch, yes.” That information was met with several gasps from those listening, including me. “She went on to marry the younger brother, Arthur.Hehas acquitted himself well as viscount. Nobody can fault him. Not even his mother can complain.”
Several of the women made a face.
