Page 39 of Murder at Hambledon Hall
The following morning,Harmony joined me for breakfast, even though it was her day off. She knew all about my intervention between Mary and Mrs. Short. Apparently, it was the main gossip in the residence hall.
“Mary is ever so grateful,” she said, holding a coffee cup in both hands to warm them. “So is her footman beau.”
“Just as long as they’re more careful in future. I can’t do that again. Mrs. Short is already suspicious, and won’t fall for it a second time.” I cracked open the shell of my boiled egg with the back of a teaspoon. “How do you and Victor communicate without getting caught?”
“We use notes, too, but we’re more careful about how we pass them and when we read them.” She placed a boiled egg in an eggcup and sliced the top off with a bold strike of the knife. “I can’t believe we have to stoop to passing notes. It’s childish and ridiculous. Just because Mrs. Short is miserable, she wants everyone else to be miserable, too. It’s not fair.”
“Isshe miserable?”
Harmony merely shrugged as she scooped out the contents of her egg with a spoon.
“Do you think if a man was interested in her, she’d be less strict on the housemaids?” I asked.
“The fellow who would put up with her doesn’t exist, so the point is moot.” She picked up her coffee cup and, finding it empty, refilled it. She then topped up mine. “What are you doing today?”
“This morning I’m calling at a guesthouse. Harry and I found evidence in the gamekeeper’s cottage suggesting that he’d stayed there. I want to find out why Shepherd was in London. It may or may not be relevant, but it’s something I can do here without returning to Morcombe.”
“Is Harry going with you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“He’s busy with his own investigations, and I don’t need him there. You’re most welcome to join me, though, since it’s your day off.”
“Thank you, but no. Victor has the day off, too, so we’re spending it together.”
“Somewhere away from Mrs. Short, I hope.”
“If this nice weather holds, we thought we’d go for a picnic in the countryside. Like Berkshire, perhaps. Morcombe had some nice parks.”
I chuckled. “I forbid you to go anywhere near Morcombe. You two so rarely have a full day off together. No investigating.”
“Very well, but if you think of anything, let me know. We’re leaving at ten.”
The signon the gate of the Marylebone Guesthouse boasted warm beds, home-cooked meals, and good service. No price was stipulated. That alone was a clue that a room would be on the expensive side. Given it was also a handsome building in a central part of London, I was quite sure it would cost more than a gamekeeper could afford. Perhaps Esmond Shepherd hadn’t stayed there, after all.
That theory was proved incorrect. When I explained I was investigating the death of Esmond Shepherd, the landlady gasped in shock. “But he stayed here not long ago!” She showed me the registration book and pointed to his name. “One night, last week. I can’t believe he’s dead now. And you say he was murdered? Well, that is a surprise. Who would want to kill such a charming, handsome man?” She patted her hair where it was graying at the temples.
“Do you know why he was here?” I asked.
She gasped again. “Surely his death has nothing to do with his stay in my guesthouse. I run a respectable establishment, Miss.”
“I can tell.” I made a point of admiring the clean floor tiles, the ornate ceiling rose and electric lighting. “You have a very fine home. I’m not yet sure if Mr. Shepherd’s demise has anything to do with his visit to London, but I’m quite sure this guesthouse was simply the place he stayed at while he was here. Don’t worry. The name will not appear in any newspaper articles about his death.”
She relaxed a little. “Thank you. As to your question, I don’t know. He didn’t say why he was here, just that he was visiting.”
“Did he make a reservation ahead of his stay?”
“No. He simply showed up on the doorstep and inquired as to availability for one night.”
“Did he go out while he was here?”
“Twice. Once in the evening, and again in the morning before he left.” She waved in an easterly direction. “I happened to notice that both times, he turned left out of the front gate.”
I thanked her. Outside, I also turned left. The street was rather long, with a mixture of houses, shops, dining establishments, a church and even a home for orphans. I stopped at several, but no one could remember a man named Esmond Shepherd who fit the description I gave.
I returned to the Mayfair Hotel where Frank greeted me warmly. It was a pleasant change to his usual grunts and scowls. The reception from Goliath and the other front-of-house staff was equally warm. Word had spread about my intervention between Mary and Mrs. Short.
