Page 60 of Murder at Hambledon Hall
Mr. Crippen bristled. “Because I wasn’t thinking about money at that point. I wanted the man tomarryher, not pay her. I admit that I panicked when I heard he was murdered. I thought it best not to get involved, so I left. I didn’t kill him, Mr. Armitage, and I resent the implication that I did.” He jerked open the door and lifted his chin. “Good day to you both.”
“Thank you for your time,” I said.
“And apologies for the difficult questions,” Harry added. “At this juncture, they are necessary.” He placed his hat on his head and offered a shallow bow to Phyllida Crippen.
She blushed profusely and lowered her head. Realizing she still clutched Harry’s handkerchief, she held it out for him to take.
“Keep it,” he said with a smile.
Mr. Crippen snatched it off her and pressed it into Harry’s hand. “I’d like to remind you about your promise to be discreet.”
“Her secret is safe with us,” Harry assured him.
I fully intended to keep our promise. However, it may not be possible if Mr. Crippen or his sister turned out to be a murderer. I said as much to Harry as we walked back to the hotel. It was growing late, and prematurely dark, thanks to the clouds blanketing the city. It had been a long day, and it wasn’t over yet. I was due to dine with my family and the extended Wentworth clan again. Hopefully I’d have an opportunity to ask them some more questions.
Despite the prospect of getting answers, I wasn’t looking forward to it. How was I supposed to ask Mrs. Browning about her former lover’s interest in her daughter without offending her?
Chapter13
Once again, Harry insisted on escorting me into the hotel, not just to the door. Frank narrowed his gaze at Harry as we approached. Harry doffed his hat, smiled, and thanked him. Frank scowled further. Loyal to my uncle, he assumed Harry had deserved his dismissal from his position as assistant manager.
Goliath, standing in the foyer just inside the door, swept down upon us like a giant bird when he saw us. “You shouldn’t be here, Mr. Armitage.”
“Call me Harry.”
“Sir Ronald is?—”
“Cleopatra! Armitage!” My uncle’s booming voice had a number of guests turning toward him.
Goliath winced. “Sorry.”
Harry clapped him on the shoulder. “No need to worry. It’s perfectly fine.”
Uncle Ronald barreled up to us. As he was much shorter and a great deal wider than Harry, they looked almost comical facing off in the vast foyer, but there was nothing amusing about my uncle’s expression. He looked worried.
“What is it, Uncle?” I asked.
“Dinner has been canceled. Your aunt and Lady Elizabeth are both feeling a little low this evening, so we decided not to go ahead.” At the mention of Aunt Lilian, the reason for his worry became clear.
“Is Aunt Lilian all right?”
“She’s having one of her episodes. It’s best not to disturb her.” He heaved a sigh. “I’ll take Kershaw to my club.” He turned to Harry. “What are you doing here?”
Before Harry could respond, Mr. Hobart emerged from the senior staff corridor, carrying his leather satchel. He must be heading home.
“Good evening, Sir Ronald, Miss Fox. I wasn’t expecting you, Harry.”
Despite Mr. Hobart’s statement, Uncle Ronald seemed to think he was the reason for Harry’s presence at the hotel. “You two talk about hotel business on your way out. Cleopatra, I want a word before you go up.”
“Hotel business?” Mr. Hobart asked, glancing between Harry and my uncle.
“Mrs. Short’s new rule and the problems it’s causing,” Uncle Ronald clarified. “Armitage always had valuable insights where the staff were concerned. Perhaps he can advise on how to stop the situation boiling over.”
Mr. Hobart adjusted his grip on the case’s handle. “Perhaps he does. We’ll talk it through as we walk.”
“I doubt you need my input,” Harry said. “I’m rusty when it comes to managing a hotel.”
“Nonsense,” Uncle Ronald declared. “That sort of knowledge isn’t lost in a matter of months.” He shooed them toward the door. “You don’t want to miss your train, Hobart.”
