Page 42 of Murder at Hambledon Hall
I saw no reason to lie to her. My aunt and uncle had probably confided in Lord and Lady Kershaw already anyway. “They were, at the insistence of their parents. They didn’t like my mother’s choice of husband.”
“That’s not the entire reason, though. Is it?”
I stared at her. “Pardon?”
“Your uncle was in love with your mother first.”
“What?”
“Sir Ronald loved your mother, but she spurned him for a professor of mathematics. He settled instead for the less interesting sister, since she became the sole heiress to her father’s fortune.”
I clenched my back teeth to stop myself from snapping at her. I was offended and outraged, but I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of showing it. For one thing, I didn’t want her knowing it could be the truth. For another, I’d asked similarly offensive questions of her. It would be hypocritical of me to be cross.
Flossy and Janet giggled again. The cheery sound was at odds with my dark mood.
I leveled my gaze with Mrs. Browning’s, doing my utmost to keep my features schooled. “I never knew Aunt Lilian in her youth, but I’ve heard she was vivacious and a beauty.”
“I didn’t say she wasn’t. I merely said she was the less interesting sister, so I’ve been told.” She picked up her gloves and the letter and stood. “I’m a little hungry.” She joined the other ladies and selected a sandwich from the platter. She didn’t rejoin me, but instead sat with Janet and Flossy.
She hadn’t been wanting or even expecting confirmation of the rumor. She simply wanted to cause offence. That was the difference between us. I was aware my questions would be hurtful, but I needed to know the answers for the sake of finding a murderer. She had asked hers for the sole purpose of offending.
I picked up the platter of sandwich fingers to offer them around. Realizing what I was doing, and that she should be the one offering, Aunt Lilian snatched the platter from me. Unfortunately, she tilted it and the sandwiches fell onto the floor.
“Cleopatra!” she snapped. “Look what you’ve done.”
I went to pick them up.
“Leave it. Fetch someone to clean it up.”
I exchanged glances with Flossy as I left. Hers was full of sympathy, her girlish good humor nowhere in sight.
I met Mr. Hobart as he was heading in my direction. Three room keys dangled from his fingers. “The sandwiches fell on the floor,” I said. “Can you send in someone to clean up, please.”
He signaled to a passing footman and gave him instructions. Once he was out of earshot, Mr. Hobart frowned at me. “Are you all right, Miss Fox? You seem upset.”
I drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “My aunt is unwell and would like to retire but she doesn’t want to abandon her friends.”
“Then I have good news. Their rooms are ready. I was just on my way to offer to escort them personally.”
“That is a relief. Do you mind if I escort them?” I wanted to return to the sitting room to show my aunt’s scolding hadn’t affected me. To disappear now would be cowardice.
He handed me three room keys. “They’re not all together, unfortunately. The Brownings are in one of the two-bedroom suites, while Lady Elizabeth is on her own with Lord and Lady Kershaw’s room beside hers. All are ready.”
“I was surprised to hear that you saw to the preparations yourself, to ensure nothing was missed in the rush. Was Mrs. Short not available, or do you not trust her to be as much of a perfectionist as you?”
Mr. Hobart’s eyes crinkled at the corners with his smile. “I felt it was necessary to remind her that I am the manager, and that she answers to me.”
It took me a moment to realize that Mr. Hobart’s pointed reminder was a result of not being consulted before Mrs. Short made her new rule about staff relationships. Always polite and professional, he’d tried to make the point as subtly as possible. I hoped it hadn’t been too subtle for the blunt housekeeper to comprehend.
The footman emerged from the small sitting room, carrying the tray of sandwiches. “Shall I ask the kitchen to send in more, Miss Fox? I asked Lady Bainbridge, but her answer was…unclear.”
“Have them sent to these rooms.” I showed the footman the keys, each attached to a brass fob embossed with the room number. He memorized the numbers then walked off.
Before I re-entered the small sitting room, Mr. Hobart again asked me if everything was all right. “Does Lady Bainbridge require medical assistance? Shall I telephone her doctor?”
“I think she just needs rest.” And not to take more of her tonic, I wanted to add but didn’t.
The Marylebone Guesthousewas located on Wimpole Street, conveniently near Hyde Park, Regent’s Park, the zoo, and the shopping district. I doubted Esmond Shepherd stayed there for its proximity to London’s sights, however. I suspected he chose it because it was close to Miss Crippen, the former nanny.
