Page 38 of Murder at Hambledon Hall
“So foolish of me,” I said lightly. “I thought I’d put it in my bag, but it seems I dropped it. I’ve been wondering where it got to. May I?”
Mrs. Short hesitated, clearly torn as to whether she could believe me. I already knew she didn’t like me, but I also knew she didn’t like anyone, so I wasn’t overly concerned about lying to her. If I could save Mary from dismissal, my lie would be worth it.
I held out my hand. “May I have my note back, please.”
Mrs. Short seemed to be in a trance as she handed it over.
I scanned it quickly. Neither the recipient’s name nor the sender’s was on it. I’d counted on them being extra careful, and was right. Thank goodness. I folded the note. “As I thought. It is mine. I am sorry to be the cause of such a fuss, and for you to have wasted your time, Mrs. Short. Do forgive me.”
Mrs. Short rallied; her trance-like stare replaced with her usual fierce one. “Am I to believeyouare meeting a gentleman at the Paragon Theatre to see the latest penny gaff?”
“I don’t think that’s anyone’s business but my own.” I waved the folded piece of paper at her. “Besides, there is nothing in here to suggest it’s from a man. Is there?”
“The handwriting is masculine.”
“I’ll tell my friend that. I suspect we’ll have a good laugh about it.” I tucked the note into my bag. “I presume Mary will be cleaning rooms again in the morning. She does an excellent job. Just as good as Harmony Cotton. I particularly like the way she folds towels.” I waited, smiling, forcing Mrs. Short to respond one way or another while I was still there.
“You may go, Mary,” she bit off.
Mary went to leave but stopped. “Tomorrow?”
“Don’t be late for work.”
I followed Mary out of the office, not giving Mrs. Short any opportunity to so much as glare at me. The maid and I left in such a hurry that we caught Mr. Chapman the steward hovering near the door. He’d clearly been listening in. He quickly scurried off to his own office, closing the door firmly behind him.
Mary slowed her pace. “Thank you, Miss Fox.”
“Don’t mention it. But please be more careful in future.”
She nodded and hurried in the direction of the service corridor while I entered Mr. Hobart’s office to use the telephone.
D.I. Hobart had some intriguing news for me. According to a former colleague of his, a Morcombe man had been arrested on suspicion of selling stolen goods two years ago. They had to let him go after they couldn’t find enough evidence, and he seemed to have stayed out of trouble since, but D.I. Hobart suggested I look for a connection between the man and Esmond Shepherd.
“Don’t approach him,” he warned me. “He might be dangerous if he feels cornered. I don’t want you getting into trouble, or getting Harry into trouble either.”
When he put it that way, I agreed with him. If we were caught searching his premises, the man was within his rights to call the police and have us arrested. “I’ll be careful. What’s his name?”
“Faine. Martin Faine. He lists his address as the Red Lion Inn.”
So Mr. Faine wasn’t just a good source of information, and an agitator who wanted the bridleway reopened. He was a fence of stolen goods, too. Everything he’d told us now had to be re-examined through a new lens.
After hanging up from D.I. Hobart, I returned to the foyer. It was growing late, but I had no dinner plans that evening, so I spent some time chatting to guests. I enjoyed finding out where they were from, and why they were visiting London. Many of them lived in the countryside and had business interests in the city. Some had come for the theater, or had been shopping. Some came to London for all three reasons.
It was while I was mingling with the guests that Uncle Ronald emerged from the lift. He greeted me amiably and joined in with the conversation I’d been having with a couple from Cardiff, but I got the impression he had something to say to me.
Once the couple left, he turned to me. “I have good news for your investigation, Cleopatra. Lord Kershaw and his family have brought their visit to London forward. They’re coming tomorrow to shop for Janet Browning’s wedding and are staying here.” He leaned in, a look of excitement on his face. “You can speak to them.”
“I don’t quite understand, Uncle. If you believe the poacher did murder Esmond Shepherd, why do you want me to interrogate Lord Kershaw’s family?”
He held up a finger. “Not interrogate.Speakto them. Don’t raise their suspicions. The reason being, you may need to exonerate them if you can’t locate the poacher. Call it insurance, in case you fail with your primary goal.”
Nice to know he didn’t have a lot of faith in me. “Very well.”
I made to leave, but he called me back. “Question them gently, Cleopatra. I cannot overstate that enough. Is that clear?”
“Don’t worry, Uncle. I can be subtle.”
His frown deepened, telling me what he thought of that statement.
