Page 11 of Murder on the Brighton Express
“When I asked, he said he was waiting for someone, but he wouldn’t say who. I’m worried what will happen if Sir Ronald sees him.”
While Peter and the other staff knew my uncle had dismissed Harry from his position as assistant manager several months ago, they didn’t know that it was because he’d discovered Harry had been arrested for theft as a thirteen-year-old. Uncle Ronald’s fury was clear to everyone, however, and whenever Harry set foot in the hotel, the staff grew anxious that Uncle Ronald would have him thrown out. Last time, he’d been civil to Harry. It remained to be seen if that was a fleeting moment that would never be repeated.
“Have you informed Mr. Hobart?” I asked. If anyone could discover the real reason for Harry’s presence, it would be his uncle.
“He’s in a meeting with Sir Ronald. I’ll tell him when I see him. Unless he’s in the company of Sir Ronald, that is.”
The lift door opened, and we both stared at it. I released a breath when two guests emerged.
I thanked Peter for informing me, then walked up to Harry. I pulled down the corner of his newspaper so we could make eye contact. “You’re making Peter nervous. He doesn’t know whether to ask you to leave or distract Sir Ronald if he comes downstairs.”
Harry folded the paper. “Don’t be nervous.”
“I said Peter is nervous, not me.”
“I’m working.”
“That doesn’t make his decision easier. If anything, it makes it harder.” I glanced toward the counter where a new guest was checking in. “What does your investigation have to do with the guests? Or are you observing the front-of-house staff?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“I tell you about my cases.”
“Only when you need my help.”
“I neverneedyour help, Harry.” It wasn’t true, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of admitting it.
His dimples appeared with the flash of his smile. “That means you involve me because you like my company. I knew it.”
I’d walked right into that one. “Seriously, Harry, you shouldn’t stay. If my uncle sees you, it could be awkward. Tell me who you’re watching, and I’ll take over for you. I have nothing better to do anyway.”
“Your case has ended already?”
“I’m still waiting on some news from Monty.” I sat on the armchair beside Harry and nodded at the check-in counter. “Are you spying on the staff or guests?”
He hesitated a moment before unfolding the newspaper. “My investigation is confidential, Cleo.”
“I’d never break a confidence, especially yours.” I laid a hand on his arm. His gaze lowered to it. “You know you can’t stay.”
“Sir Ronald won’t throw me out.”
“I admire your confidence, but that’s not what I meant. The newspaper provides only so much cover. Sooner or later, some of the guests will recognize you, particularly the ladies arriving for afternoon tea. You were a great favorite of many when you worked here, and they’ll want a brief chat before they enter the sitting room.”
He didn’t like his popularity being pointed out to him, but he knew I was right. “Very well. I’ll tell you in case you have to take over. After I left the mews yesterday, I met with Mrs. Hessing. She believes a gossip columnist has checked into the hotel in an attempt to find out more about the wedding preparations.”
“Find out from the staff?”
“Apparently.”
“Staying in one of our rooms is a rather expensive way to gather gossip.” Even the Mayfair’s cheapest rooms on the fifth floor cost a considerable sum for one night. “Doesn’t Mrs. Hessing want the attention anyway? I would have thought she’d enjoy seeing her daughter’s wedding in the society pages.”
“She does want it, but on her terms. She’s worried the columnist will reveal too much too soon and spoil the surprise of the spectacle. She’s also aware that events like this often don’t have smooth lead-ups and she’s worried that will overshadow the reception itself.”
I couldn’t blame Mrs. Hessing for wanting to control the story rather than leave it to chance. The press could focus on one small negative and ruin everything. Even so, hiring Harry to flush out the columnist was an extreme method to ensure privacy.
“What does the columnist look like?” I asked as a man wearing a purple silk waistcoat and cravat made a beeline for Mr. Chapman, who was reading the reservations book near the entrance to the sitting room. “Is it him?”
“She’saged in her thirties with blonde hair, a long nose and sunken chin.” Harry raised the newspaper as a lady walked by. “That’s Mrs. Hessing’s description, not mine. Mrs. Hessing doesn’t know which newspaper this columnist works for, but she has already approached Liddicoat, trying to goad him into admitting he’s marrying Miss Hessing for her fortune.”
