Page 62 of Murder at Hambledon Hall
He glanced at the door that led to the bedroom where the shush of rustling silk was accompanied by Flossy’s humming. “The thing is, I don’t think Father is the best person to be taking care of Mother. He doesn’t restrict her use of the tonic. He lets her have her way.”
Flossy appeared in the doorway, holding up her favorite pink dress. “Cleo, just the person. Do you think I’ve worn this too much lately? I know I look good in it, which is why I often choose it, but has everyone seen it too many times, do you think?”
I squeezed Floyd’s shoulder again. “I’ll try to look in on her later.”
He patted my hand. “Thank you, Cuz. You are the best.”
One cousin satisfied, I turned to the other. “I thought we weren’t dining out tonight.”
Flossy grew quite animated as she bounced on her toes and tried to contain her smile. “Mother and Mrs. Browning suggested Janet and I are old enough to dine on our own in the hotel restaurant. Janet is about to get married, after all, and I’m nineteen, too.”
“What about Mrs. Browning and Lady Kershaw? Where will they dine?”
“In their rooms, I presume.” She placed the dress against her body. “What do you think?”
“I think you should wear whatever you feel comfortable in.”
She pouted. “That’s no help. I want to look pretty.”
“Then wear this one. It does look lovely on you.”
“It suits your eyes,” Floyd said from the sofa.
“My eyes aren’t pink, idiot.”
“They will be after a few glasses of wine. I’d better warn Chapman that he might have to send for strong footmen to escort two drunk girls up to their rooms later.”
Flossy pulled a face at her brother before grabbing my hand and dragging me into the bedroom. “Help me choose an outfit, Cleo. Will you join us tonight? You’re more than welcome. We’ll have such a laugh together.”
Joining two of the giggliest girls of my acquaintance sounded a little painful. Although it could be a good way to get Janet to talk about Esmond Shepherd, I declined. For one thing, she wouldn’t reveal too much in Flossy’s presence. For another, the person I really wanted to speak to was her mother, and Mrs. Browning was apparently dining alone in her room.
“Thank you, but I’m tired,” I said. “You two enjoy your night out.”
I left my cousins and made my way to my suite, only to change course when I spotted Lord Kershaw waiting at the lift. I pretended I also needed the lift and joined him. “Good afternoon, my lord.”
My voice startled him. “Miss Fox, I didn’t see you there. Are you heading out?”
“Actually, I wanted to speak to you. Do you have a moment?”
“I, uh, I’m afraid not. I’m running late. Indeed, I’d better take the stairs. The lift is taking too long.” He touched the brim of his hat and hurried off to the staircase.
I knew that my uncle had informed Lord Kershaw I was investigating the murder, so I wasn’t offended by his snub. If I had something to hide, I’d avoid speaking to the person investigating the murder of my gamekeeper, too.
Instead of being annoyed at not getting anywhere with Lord Kershaw, I decided to take the opportunity of his absence and speak to his wife instead. Hopefully she wouldn’t be as rude as her husband, although she could still turn me away at the door. What I needed was a guaranteed method of getting inside, and I knew just the thing. No English lady of good breeding could turn away another holding a tea tray.
It was well past the hour for afternoon tea, but I worked with the theory that cups of tea were always welcome. Instead of taking the guest lift down, I took one of the service lifts, situated at the end of the corridor. They were used by maids to move their cleaning carts between floors, and for waiters transporting food to rooms directly from the kitchen. Unlike the guest lift, it went all the way down to the basement service rooms.
The kitchen was one of my least favorite places in the hotel. It was always busy, hot, and noisy. I worried about getting in the way and being shouted at. Although thechef de cuisine,Mrs. Poole, wasn’t as intimidating as her predecessor, I didn’t like to intrude on her domain, particularly in the hectic lead-up to dinnertime.
I spotted Victor at one of the counters in the heart of the kitchen, chopping something with impressive speed. The tea station was near the entrance, not far from where a junior cook sat on a stool, writing down orders given via the speaking tubes located in each room. I waited until he finished writing and passed on the order to another junior cook.
As he turned back to the speaking tube, he caught sight of me. “It’s Miss Fox, ain’t it? Blimey! What are you doing down here?”
“I’m after a pot of tea. Can you prepare one, please? I’ll take a tray up to my room, with two cups.”
Victor spotted me and came over, wiping his hands on a cloth. “Afternoon, Miss Fox. What brings you down to the pit?”
“Tea. I’m going to take it up to Lady Kershaw so she’ll be forced to invite me in, at which point I’ll question her.”
