Page 80 of Murder on the Brighton Express
Mr. Liddicoat offered his arm to his bride. He smiled at me as I congratulated them and escorted her through to the hotel.
I looked in the direction Harry and Goliath had gone, but I didn’t see them returning. Inside, I gave Harry’s hat to the attendant in the luggage room, which doubled as a cloakroom, and made my way to the ballroom where the reception was being held. It used to be the hotel’s restaurant before the new one had been built next door. It was an excellent space for grand functions to be held without forgoing the regular dinner service.
I paused just inside the ballroom entrance to take it all in. I’d been right. Mr. Chapman’s eye, coupled with Harmony’s management, had resulted in a display that made the guests gasp with wonder. The theme of a winter fairyland was unexpected yet delightful, given the August heat. Strings of small lights hung in swathes across the ceiling and wrapped around what appeared to be stalactites. I couldn’t tell how they were made from where I stood, or how they managed not to fall off. There were dozens of trees and shrubs in white pots positioned close to the walls, their leaves dusted with artificial snow. More snow had been arranged in drifts, as if the wind had pushed it against the pots. Paths had been created between the drifts and led to the area set aside for dancing. All of the tables were covered in white tablecloths with the hotel’s best silverware set out. The centerpieces were slender leafless white trees, each surrounded by a skirt of dozens of white roses. More strings of tiny bulbs dripped from the tree branches, like a bright wintry willow.
Where the wedding dress suited the bride’s taste, the ballroom was decorated in her mother’s, yet it wasn’t loud. I suspected Mr. Chapman considered such an untraditional reception vulgar, but I found it to be ostentatious without being excessive. I spotted him speaking to the waiters before they entered the room with their trays laden with champagne glasses. In keeping with the theme, they all wore white jackets, except for Mr. Chapman.
Harmony appeared from the service area, too. She wore a blouse and skirt to differentiate her from the guests, but she’d done her hair in an elegant arrangement, and wore a pair of pearl-drop earrings that I’d loaned her. She saw me watching her and nodded. I nodded back, and would have joined her, but all the guests suddenly turned as the doors opened.
Mr. and Mrs. Liddicoat entered to rapturous applause.
When Harry arrived a while later, the last vestiges of the anxiety I’d felt since being accosted by Jack Wilson faded. He’d been placed at a table with Mr. Liddicoat’s cousin. My family didn’t notice him, until he came to our table when the dancing began. He greeted them politely.
Aunt Lilian and Flossy responded in kind, but Floyd scowled and Uncle Ronald seemed confused as to why Harry was there. Harry explained the connection.
“Broadman?” Floyd swiped up his wine glass. “I should’ve known you two would get along.”
Uncle Ronald remained silent. It would seem he’d decided to live by the rule often touted by parents to their young children—if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything. He wasn’t going to make a scene at the wedding. He’d probably store it up for later.
Harry arched a brow at me in question, asking if I was all right. I nodded. He didn’t ask me to dance. The frosty reception from the Bainbridge men probably had something to do with that. It was a wise decision. I would have done the same thing in his shoes. It was quite all right with me. I enjoyed dancing with a variety of other gentlemen, and Harry wasn’t short of partners either. If our glances happened to connect from time to time, it was purely coincidental. It meant nothing.
It was after a particularly vigorous polka that I resumed my seat next to my uncle. I picked up my fan and flapped it in front of my warm face.
“Look at him,” my uncle said. “He belongs here.”
I followed his gaze to Harry, dancing with a middle-aged American friend of Mrs. Hessing’s. Uncle Ronald’s statement rendered me quite speechless.
“Armitage is a natural with the guests,” he went on. “He would have made a better manager than Hobart one day, if only he’d stayed.”
It was something he’d said before, having conveniently forgotten the reason why Harry no longer worked at the hotel. This time, I didn’t bother reminding him that he’d dismissed Harry from his position as assistant manager.
As the dance came to an end, I spotted Mrs. Hessing on her own. Since I wanted to have a word with her, I excused myself.
Uncle Ronald caught my hand. “You’re not going to dance with him, are you?”
“He hasn’t asked me.”
“Good.” He frowned. “Did he come with the woman he’s courting?” He looked around. “Have you met her? What does she look like? A tall beauty, I’d wager.”
Miss Morris was a tall beauty, indeed, and very elegant. She’d also been wrong for Harry, or so he’d told me when he ended their relationship. None of which I was going to tell my uncle.
“I see Mrs. Hessing on her own. We can’t have that.”
He let me go to speak to one of his best guests.
I sat on the empty seat beside her. “May I talk to you for a moment, Mrs. Hessing?”
“It appears that you already are.”
I nodded at Mr. and Mrs. Liddicoat, gazing into one another’s eyes as they danced not far away. “I wish to congratulate you on the marriage of your daughter. They look very happy.”
“They are young. They have no problems. But problems always arise.”
Her poor attitude toward her daughter had been evident from the day I met them, but this time her bitterness astounded me. It was Clare’s wedding day. She’d married a man who complemented her in every way. Could she not just be happy for her?
“You’re right,” I said. “Problems do always arise. But I think she has found someone who will help her through those problems, not make them worse.”
She murmured a noncommittal, “Hmmm.”
