Page 8 of Murder on the Brighton Express
“More than you or I could afford, Peter.”
A crease connected his eyebrows, and I was reminded that most people thought I was wealthy. While my uncle gave me an allowance, it wasn’t enough to live independently outside of the hotel, and certainly wasn’t enough to buy new outfits every year. My mother—Aunt Lilian’s sister—had been cut off by their parents when she married my father, a man not of their choosing. It meant I’d grown up not knowing her family, until I was forced to move in with them last December. After my parents died when I was ten, my paternal grandparents had taken me in, but on my grandmother’s death, I’d found myself utterly alone and facing poverty. I was fortunate indeed that my aunt and uncle invited me to live with them. I shuddered to think where I’d be now if I’d not swallowed my pride and accepted their offer.
Mr. Hobart approached and asked Peter to look over the next day’s guest arrivals. Once he was out of earshot, the manager smiled at me. “Did you know Lord Dunmere checked in a few days ago?”
“Did he bring his automobile?” Last time, his motorized vehicle caused unrest among the mews staff where it was stabled. Cobbit and the other coachman and grooms had gone on strike, afraid they’d be out of a job if the hotel decided to switch to using horseless carriages instead of horse-drawn ones. If Harry Armitage hadn’t suggested a compromise, the unrest could still be going on.
“He did,” Mr. Hobart said. “That’s actually what I want to talk to you about. Would you mind going to the mews and speaking to Cobbit to gauge his feelings? If he’s going to go on strike again, I’d like advance warning.”
“Of course, but why me? Wouldn’t it be better if a member of staff spoke to him? He might confide in Peter or Goliath more than a member of the family.”
“You’re an excellent judge, Cleo. I trust your opinion. May I suggest you go now, before Cobbit leaves for the day?”
Cobbit’s shift wouldn’t end for some time yet, but Mr. Hobart seemed keen to get it over with, and I had nothing better to do.
I exited via the front door, greeting Frank as I passed. “Good afternoon. Pleasant day, today.”
Without a member of my family or any guests within earshot, he was once more his usual testy self. “What’s pleasant about it? It’s too hot.”
“The clouds are starting to come in. Perhaps tomorrow will bring rain to cool everything down.”
“Then I’ll get wet standing out here. It’s not just the rain falling from the sky, you know. It comes from the guests shaking out their coats and umbrellas all over me, and the passing carriages driving through puddles. I’ll be drenched in an hour, just you wait and see.”
“As much as I’d like to hear more, Frank, I have a task to perform for Mr. Hobart. Must dash.”
I hurried to the mews where the Mayfair stabled its horses and kept two carriages for the use of family and guests. Lord Dunmere’s Peugeot occupied one of the coach houses and the other was empty, neither carriage in sight. A young groom peered into the vehicle as his lordship’s mechanic, seated in the driver’s seat, explained how to make the contraption work. The lad listened intently. A third man stood behind the vehicle, the doors to the compartment that housed the engine open. He didn’t see me. His attention was entirely focused on the inner workings.
I should have turned and fled before he looked up, but I did not. Uncertainty pinned me to the spot.
When Harry did look up, he grinned that lopsided, devilish grin of his, the one that made my heart flutter even while I felt trapped.
Chapter3
“What are you doing here?” I blurted out.
Harry approached, wiping his hands on a rag. He wore dirty overalls over his clothes, and oil smudged his cheek, but I didn’t point it out. Knowing him, he’d ask me to wipe it off and I did not want to touch him. That might lead to kissing him, and I’d vowed not to let that happen again. I’d decided to set aside my feelings for the sake of my independence. It wasn’t fair to let Harry, or any man, think we had a future together when I had no intention to marry.
Harry sometimes made it difficult to stay on track, however, especially after an absence and when he looked at me with chocolate-colored eyes that danced merrily upon seeing me.
“Last time Lord Dunmere was here, I asked his mechanic to show me how the engine worked.” Harry jerked his thumb at the mechanic giving the groom a lesson. “I’ve spent an hour or two here every day since his return.”
Harry had an affinity for all things engineering, so it wasn’t surprising the workings of the Peugeot intrigued him. I suspected his intelligent mind meant he already knew all there was to know about it.
“How was your holiday?” he asked.
“Lovely, but I’m glad to be home.”
His crooked smile flashed again. “Miss me, did you?”
“You would think that.”
“What other reason could you have to come to the mews on the same day as you arrived back? You rarely come here.”
“Mr. Hobart sent me to check that Cobbit wasn’t too put out by that.” I indicated the automobile.
“Cobbit’s not here. He drove some guests to the Tower, something Uncle Alfred would have known. He sees the travel schedules in advance.”
I bristled. “He did send me!”
