Harry sat back, as if Miss Docherty’s words had pushed him. “Murdered? That’s…unfortunate.”
She shrugged a shoulder and downed more of her beer. “Sorry you wasted your time, but I can’t tell you anything or his lordship will whip me. He threatened to, after the last time, but didn’t do it. Her ladyship wouldn’t let him, on account of us being close, once.”
“In Manchester,” I said, not posing it as a question.
She didn’t correct me.
“You’ve known her a long time. You knew her from before she married.”
Again, she didn’t say anything.
I took that as a sign to go on. “If you’re so close, you won’t want to leave her for another position.”
“I’d leave her for a duchess. I don’t owe Lady Q anything. We stopped being friends when she stopped being nice to me. Marrying Lord Q turned her into a right snob. They warned me. Everyone warned me that Mary—Lady Q—wouldn’t be the same once she became a lady, but I thought we had a bond. I thought we’d have great adventures here in London together, and that she’d tell me everything. But we drifted apart. She treated me like just another one of her servants, like we hadn’t shared everything, once.”
“You’ve been loyal to her, haven’t you?” I pressed.
She downed the rest of her beer and held the empty mug out to Harry, requesting another. “Ain’t no one can fault my loyalty.”
“You’ve kept her secrets, even about her past.”
She lowered the mug. “You know about that?”
“Of course. The duchess employed private detectives to investigate you before sending us here. She can’t hire just anyone for the role of lady’s maid. She wants someone she can trust. Someone with integrity. Since investigating you inevitably meant investigating your mistress, she learned about Lady Quorne’s past.”
“I’ve been loyal,” she said again, this time without meeting our gazes. No doubt she was recalling how she’d told Ambrose McDonald her mistress’s secrets. He must have paid her handsomely.
“You’re an honest woman,” Harry went on. “Honest and hard working. That’s the kind the duchess wants to employ. It’s a shame your past is tainted too, because of what Lady Quorne did before her marriage.”
His leap of faith got results. She was eager to defend her good name. “Me? Why should I get tainted because she was a dancer? I never trod the boards. I never met the gentlemen backstage for a bit of—” She winked at Harry. “That weren’t me. That was all her. You tell your mistress that I’m respectable.”
Harry signaled to the waitress for another mug of beer. “We’ll make sure she knows.”
Miss Docherty looked relieved. “It ain’t fair that I should be tarred with the same brush because I was her friend. Then again, nothing in life is fair, is it? I was a shop girl, back then. I worked hard but I was satisfied. Mary was never satisfied. She worked in the shop too and danced at night. She liked the attention. She was real pretty, so she got a lot of it.” She sighed. “You wouldn’t understand. You’re a man. But the pretty girls, well, they get whatever they want. They can marry lords. The rest of us are considered lucky if we get to serve them.”
Harry signaled it was time to leave, but I had one last question. “Earlier, you mentioned the man who was murdered. I read about it. Nasty business. Was your mistress at the Bunburys’ ball that night?”
“Aye.”
“How did she seem when she arrived home? Was she upset about the murder? Did she seem worried?”
Miss Docherty lifted her shoulder in a shrug. “I don’t remember.”
“It wasn’t that long ago.”
“I said I don’t remember!” She snatched the beer mug out of the waitress’s hand and took a long drink.
Harry and I thanked her and left.
Outside, I flipped up the collar of my coat against the biting wind. “I don’t think she connected McDonald’s murder to her mistress’s blackmail.”
Harry agreed. “I don’t think she’s in any state to make that connection. I also don’t think she was in any state to notice Lady Quorne’s behavior upon her return home on the night of the ball.”
It did seem likely that Miss Docherty would have been drunk if she spent the evening at the Hound and Fox. “They may have been friends in their youth, but Lady Quorne is very generous to keep her on. Most ladies would dismiss a maid who gets drunk in the local pub most evenings.”
“Perhaps Miss Docherty was blackmailing Lady Quorne, too. Perhaps she’d agreed to keep quiet about her mistress’s past if her ladyship continued to employ her.”
He made a very good point. It explained much about their arrangement. “If Lady Quorne was being blackmailed by two separate people over the same thing, wouldn’t she kill both to stop the truth leaking out? Why just kill Mr. McDonald?”
“Perhaps she couldn’t pay McDonald what he demanded. In Miss Docherty’s case, it’s easy enough to continue to employ her. But if McDonald wanted money, perhaps Lady Quorne couldn’t obtain it.”
He was full of good points this evening. “So what do we do now?” I asked.
“Now I escort you back to the hotel and hope no one notices your arrival.”
“You mean aside from the night porter?”
“I’ll have a word with Philip.”
“I can have a word with him myself, Harry. Philip is discreet when it comes to keeping quiet about the family’s comings and goings.”
Harry’s stride slowed before we turned the corner. “Floyd’s different.”
“Because he’s a man?”
“Yes,” he said matter-of-factly. “And I know you know that’s the reason, so don’t pretend otherwise with me.”
I glanced at his firm jaw and uncompromising gaze as it swept the vicinity. Was he looking out for potential trouble? Or avoiding looking at me?
“I never pretend with you, Harry,” I said quietly. “I can’t. You always see right through me.”
That got his attention. His pace slowed even more. “I’ve hurt your feelings.”
“No. Not at all. You didn’t make the world one that gives men more freedom than women. In fact, you do your best to accommodate me, even going so far as to accompany me to a pub when you know it would anger my uncle if he found out.”
“He’s already angry with me. What’s one more reason?” He nudged me with his elbow. “Besides, if it’s a choice between having you or Sir Ronald angry with me, I’ll choose him every time. His temper may be worse than yours, but I don’t like it when you give me the cold shoulder.”
I nudged him back and laughed, but I couldn’t think of anything to say. We were edging dangerously close to territory I no longer wanted to enter, and it was better to remain silent than tell him I didn’t like him being angry with me either.
Harmony listened to my account of our meeting with Miss Docherty as she ate breakfast, and agreed with the theory that the maid may be blackmailing her mistress so that she could keep her job.
“It’s what I’d do,” she said.
“You wouldn’t need to blackmail her. You’re not a drunk, and Lady Quorne would be fortunate to have you.”
“I’d ask for money to stay quiet, not employment.”
I lowered my coffee cup to look at her. “You would?”
“Of course. Women like Lady Quorne use their beauty to raise themselves up, so why can’t people like Miss Docherty and me use whatever means is at our disposal to do the same?”
“Are you saying you’d blackmail me if I had money to give? You know a lot of secrets about me that you could tell my uncle.”
She picked up a fork and stabbed a sausage with it. “I wouldn’t do that to you. We’re friends. They stopped being friends because Lady Quorne turned into a snob. You’ll never be a snob, Cleo. Besides, you’re not going to marry anyone, let alone a rich man. You and I will always be friends.”
“It seems I can’t afford not to be friends with you.”
She laughed. She understood my sense of humor.
“I have a report for you, too.” According to Harmony, the Quornes’ coachman was no help. He was too loyal to be bribed and too smart to be tricked. He didn’t give up any of his master or mistress’s movements. “If he drove them to a secret rendezvous with McDonald, he’s not telling,” she finished.
“Is that what Goliath reported to you this morning?” I teased, knowing full well she hadn’t heard it from the porter.
“Not Goliath.”
“Victor?”
She nodded without looking up from her plate.
“When did you see him?” I asked oh-so-innocently. “He wouldn’t have been out of bed when you left this morning. His shift doesn’t start for a few hours.”
“I couldn’t sleep without knowing what the coachman said so I waited up for him last night.”
I smiled into my cup.
“You can wipe that smile off your face, Cleo. I needed answers, that’s all. There’s nothing going on between us.”
“Yet,” I muttered.
Amelia Livingstone was at home to receive my personally delivered invitation to afternoon tea. I wasn’t entirely sure she’d receive me at first. The butler looked surprised when I asked for her. He disappeared for a few moments then returned and led me through to the drawing room where Miss Livingstone sat like a serene statue on the sofa. She looked as she had on the night of the ball, as if she were a queen surveying everything around her. It was as if nothing were amiss. It wasn’t obvious from looking at this beautiful, elegant yet cool young woman that half of society was whispering about her liaison with Mr. McDonald and the other half was listening.
I admired her courage. I’d be cool with a newcomer under such circumstances too.
“I’m sorry we didn’t have an opportunity to meet on the night of the Bunburys’ ball,” I began. “My cousin, Florence, told me all about you.”
“That’s sweet of her, but I’m afraid I don’t know your cousin. Is she a Miss Fox, too?”
“No. She’s a Bainbridge.” At her blank look, I added, “The daughter of Sir Ronald Bainbridge, owner of the Mayfair Hotel.”
“I’ve heard of the hotel.” Her disinterest would have dented Flossy’s pride. It was fortunate she didn’t come with me. “Where do you fit into the family?”
“My mother and Lady Bainbridge were sisters.”
“And your father?”
“A scholar at Cambridge University.”
The pleasant smile tightened.
Well. I might as well get to the point. She hadn’t offered me tea and didn’t look as though she was about to. “My cousin and I would like to invite you to afternoon tea at the hotel.”
“I’m afraid I can’t today.”
“Tomorrow, then. Or the next day.”
“I’m very busy. That’s the problem with being crowned debutante of the year by Lady Bunbury. All the invitations roll in and I simply can’t refuse. I’ve been invited to so many things. It’s very tiring.” Her benign smile never wavered.
There was serenity and composure, and then there was rudeness. Flossy was right. Miss Livingstone was a dreadful snob, even now when her world was crumbling and she could do with a friend.
My sympathy for her was disappearing along with my window of opportunity.
“Thank you for your understanding, Miss Fox. The butler will see you out.” She reached for the bell pull beside the sofa.
I had to act quickly, so I blurted out the first thing that came into my head. “You haven’t been invited anywhere else, have you?”
Her fingers curled into a fist before touching the velvet cord. “I beg your pardon?”
Her butler had given me the clue when he’d reacted with shock to my presence. She’d received no callers since the Bunburys’ ball. I was her first. “You’re hiding away in here after the rumor about your liaison with Ambrose McDonald got out.”
Her lips pursed until they turned white. It was the first crack in her composure. “You should leave.”
“I don’t care what you did with him. That’s no one’s business but your own. But Mr. McDonald has been murdered, and you must admit it looks bad for you considering the rumors, and the fact he had other lovers.”
I watched her carefully for a reaction, but there was none. She must have known about the others. But had she learned about them on the night of the ball, or more recently? “A man has been arrested. It was nothing to do with me.”
“McDonald used you,” I pressed. “He enticed you to his flat in order to blackmail your father. Your father refused to pay, so McDonald spread the rumor. You must see how it looks, Miss Livingstone.”
“How it looks?” she bit off, her voice a harsh rasp. “Miss Fox, when it comes to how things look, I am somewhat of an expert. Now hear this. No one has used me. No one would dare. I have many friends—important friends—and I will be in their favor again soon. It is simply a matter of waiting for them to realize their parties are dull without the most beautiful, most accomplished, and most graceful debutante present. I am what attracts the gentlemen, and without gentlemen, no lady of quality will bother to attend.”
Her arrogance left me quite speechless. There was no sign of her serenity anymore. It had completely disappeared, overwhelmed by her true nature. For a young lady of her stature to express such superciliousness was rare. They were taught from an early age to be demure and deferential. She must be under a great deal of pressure indeed for that façade to shatter.
Or she thought so little of me that she didn’t care about my opinion.
I rose. “Thank you for enlightening me.”
Her eyes narrowed to slits. “What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing.” I headed for the door, not waiting for the butler to collect me.
Miss Livingstone dogged my footsteps. “He got what he deserved.”
I stopped and turned to her.
She must have realized how her angry words sounded because she quickly added, “But I didn’t kill him.”
The butler appeared and waited for Miss Livingstone’s directive. But she said nothing. She simply stared at me, waiting for me to acknowledge her statement of innocence.
“Good day, Miss Livingstone. I wish you well.”
I followed the butler downstairs to the front door. Before leaving, I glanced back up the staircase to see Miss Livingstone watching me. Perhaps it was the angle, but she looked composed again, except for the slight sneer as she peered down at me.
“I’ve never met anyone like her,” I told Harry as I sat opposite him at his desk. “I wanted to feel sorry for her, but she doesn’t deserve my pity.”
“Perhaps she doesn’t want it and being rude is her way of rejecting it.”
That was one way of looking at it, but I suspected Amelia Livingstone was merely a spoiled, immature girl who wanted everyone to admire and desire her. If the lack of invitations over the past few days hadn’t changed her opinion of herself and her place in society, then a few more days would. Once it sank in that those invitations were never going to arrive again, she might learn some lessons in humility.
“All of this speculation is well and good, but we have no firm evidence,” I said. “We have more motives and suspects, but no way of narrowing them down.”
“What I’m about to tell you might help.” Harry settled back in his chair and crossed his arms. He’d hung up his jacket and wore only his waistcoat over his shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He looked relaxed, except for the serious expression. “The coachman from Park Mansions called on me this morning. He claimed he frequently took McDonald to a club called the Portland in Marleybone.” He arched his brows, waiting for me to say something.
I shrugged. “I don’t know it. Is there something special about that club?”
“It’s where gentlemen go.”
“Like White’s or Brooks’?”
His lips twitched. “No. It’s where gentlemen go to find other gentlemen for…intimacy.”
“There’s a club for that? I thought it was illegal.”
My innocence amused him. “It is, but the clubs are careful and have plans in place if the police show up. The Portland is very discreet. I sometimes directed hotel guests new to London there when I worked at the Mayfair, if they hinted they were after that sort of place.”
That was a conversation I had difficulty imagining.
“We know Mr. McDonald earned his income through blackmail,” I said. “What if he blackmailed someone he saw at the Portland? Someone with a lot to lose if his proclivities were discovered.”
Harry nodded, clearly having already come to the same conclusion. He was holding something back from me, however.
“Go on,” I urged.
He looked as though he was about to protest, but I tilted my head to the side and arched my brows, daring him to try. I wasn’t going to believe him if he denied it. He sighed. “I didn’t know whether to tell you this. It might change your opinion of him. But I see I can’t hide anything from you.”
“I’m glad you realize it.”
He cleared his throat and fidgeted with his tie. I waited quietly until he was ready, and he finally rewarded me. “You know someone who attends the Portland, as it happens.”
“I think I can guess, but go on.”
“Chapman, the Mayfair’s steward.”
It came as no surprise. I’d suspected he preferred men over women ever since meeting him. “That explains why his name appeared in Mr. McDonald’s coded blackmail register and why he seemed very interested in the newspaper articles about the murder.”
“It does.”
“I know we agreed to leave him out of this, but I don’t think we can anymore. Perhaps now is the time to confront him. He could offer us some insights into who Mr. McDonald associated with at the club.”
Harry shook his head. “He’d be horrified if you knew that about him. He’d also worry that you’d inform Sir Ronald. Your uncle would dismiss him on the spot if he found out. I think it’s best if you don’t let on.”
I wasn’t so sure. Mr. Chapman was in a unique position to tell us about Ambrose McDonald’s close associates. I doubted he would confide in me, however. I suspected he’d prefer to see me fail. At least we could be certain he wasn’t involved in the murder. He’d been on duty in the hotel dining room at the time.
“The coachman told me something else,” Harry said. “As he got into the carriage to be driven to the ball, McDonald told the driver he was looking forward to the night because he expected it to be lucrative.”
“He planned on blackmailing someone that night,” I said, thinking out loud. “He met them in the library, told them what he knew and that he wanted money to remain quiet, and that person killed him.” My gaze connected with Harry’s. “We’ve been looking at this the wrong way. We’ve been looking for someone he was already blackmailing. But what if the killer was someone he was about to blackmail? Someone he saw at the Portland Club perhaps.”
“It could have been anyone. There were a lot of people at that ball with a lot to lose. But I think you’re right. I think it was someone he was about to blackmail.”
I nodded, my mind racing. The pieces were starting to fall into place. “The maid from Searcys…I saw him give her something, most likely money. I think she’s the key to this. I think she passed on information which he paid for then took to the library where he used it to try to blackmail someone.”
Harry agreed. “Only that someone didn’t want to be blackmailed. I think you’re right. I think that maid from Searcys is the key. The fact that she gave a false name to her employer means she is up to no good. It may not be the first time she passed information to McDonald.”
The problem was, how could we find her?
I suggested calling in at the Searcys office and telling the staff member that we needed to speak to the maid again and that we were to be informed when she returned asking for more work. Harry agreed and said he’d do it that afternoon.
“Speaking of maids,” he went on. “I want to talk to the Bunburys’ girl again. While you were searching Lady Bunbury’s room, I got the distinct impression the maid knew something but held back. She may be concerned about speaking out in front of her superiors.” He suggested he talk to her again in private considering she already knew him, but I had a better idea.
We agreed to go our separate ways, with him setting off to the Searcys office and me returning to the hotel.
I found Mrs. Short the housekeeper going over accounts in the office she now shared with Mr. Chapman. The steward wasn’t there, thankfully. I didn’t want him influencing Mrs. Short’s decision.
She gave me her full attention as I informed her of a young girl of my acquaintance in need of work. “Her employer is in financial difficulty and the maid feels she needs to find something more secure. Could you take her on here?”
“We are always in need of hard-working, good girls. But I cannot hire her without a reference from her housekeeper. Not even on your word, Miss Fox.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to, Mrs. Short.”
I agreed to return with the maid that afternoon for an interview. Now I simply had to get her to think it was a good idea too.
The young maid, Annie, answered the service door upon my knock. I decided to be direct with her and tell her why I’d found her a new position, if she wanted it. At the mention of Harry, she stood a little taller.
“He noticed me?” she said, wide-eyed.
“Mr. Armitage thought you wanted to tell him something when he was here but held back. Out of fear, perhaps, or loyalty.”
She glanced over her shoulder into the depths of the house.
“Naturally, we’d very much like to know what you have to say but understand your predicament. If you’re willing to talk then you’ll have a position at the hotel. You’ll need a reference from the housekeeper here, of course.” I watched her carefully. “Is that something you’d like? Do you want to leave?”
She nodded quickly and leaned closer to me. She lowered her voice. “I haven’t been paid for a month.”
“The Mayfair always pays employees on time.”
“Wait here, if you please, Miss Fox.” She disappeared inside.
I waited for some time. I didn’t dare return to street level lest Lady Bunbury see me. Last time she’d seen me outside her house, she’d made life very difficult for my family. I remained downstairs where she hopefully never looked. She didn’t pass by, anyway.
Annie finally returned clutching an old carpet bag with broken handles to her chest. She announced with a grin that she was ready. Behind her stood the housekeeper, a thin woman with hollow cheeks who was old enough to be Annie’s grandmother.
“You must be Miss Fox,” she said, inspecting me from head to toe.
“I am. Thank you for letting Annie go.”
She considered her response before answering. “It was the right thing to do. She’s a bright, sensible girl and these opportunities don’t come along often.” She touched Annie’s arm and her face softened. “Goodbye, child. Work hard and good things will come to you. I’m sure you will soon make friends amongst the other staff. And remember to say your prayers every night.”
“I will, Mrs. Thompson.” Annie patted her coat pocket. “And thank you for the reference.”
The housekeeper gave her a wobbly smile as she squeezed Annie’s arm.
Annie slipped past me and headed up the stairs.
I waited until she was out of earshot before speaking to the housekeeper. “I’ll see she’s taken care of.”
The housekeeper dabbed at the corner of her eye with her apron. “Thank you, Miss Fox.”
“One more thing. If her ladyship asks, would you be so good as to not tell her where Annie went. I don’t want to cause friction between the Bunburys and Bainbridges.”
“She won’t ask.”
I picked up my skirts and headed up the stairs. I told Annie all about the hotel and what her duties would entail on the walk, then I asked her about the Bunburys’ ball and what she’d been holding back from Harry.
Annie’s step faltered. She bit her lower lip. “I don’t like to speak ill of my betters.”
My heart sank. Had this all been for naught?
I needed to remind myself that Annie was better off at the hotel where she would receive a regular wage and could meet people her own age. If she never confided in me, then so be it. Perhaps she just needed time to realize she could trust me. After all, she probably saw me as one of her so-called “betters” and was afraid I’d tattle to Lady Bunbury or to her new employer.
Another idea began to form as we arrived at the staff entrance to the hotel. I entered with Annie and showed her to Mrs. Short’s office. I left them then went in search of Harmony. I found her on the second floor, pushing her cart. She’d just finished her duties.
“I have a task for you, Harmony.”
I told her what I required of her, and she agreed it was the best way. Annie would trust another maid before she trusted me.
“You have to go now,” I urged.
"I can’t just abandon my cart here.”
“I’ll take it. It goes in the basement, doesn’t it?” I tried to shoo her away.
She refused to let go of the cart. “You can’t! Someone will see.”
“They won’t say anything. Go on. You need to be the first maid Mrs. Short sees coming out of her office with Annie.” Hopefully Mrs. Short would task Harmony with showing Annie to the residence hall and getting her settled.
Harmony reluctantly let go of the cart. “Are you sure you know where to take it?”
“Yes.”
“The used sheets and towels have already gone down, so you just have to take the cleaning cloths. Refill any bottles that look low, swap jars of polish if they’re nearly finished, and empty that.” She pointed to the bulging linen bag full of rubbish attached to the front. “If you hurry, you’ll be one of the first and won’t bump into many of the other maids. What will you say if someone asks what you’re doing?”
“I’m not sure yet. I’ll think of something.”
She gave me a dubious look then hurried off along the corridor to the service stairs. I followed her with the cart but took the service lift down to the basement. I avoided the kitchen area and headed for the laundry, leaving the cloths with the maids with flushed cheeks and chapped hands. I smiled as I handed the cloths over. They stared back, mouths ajar.
I pushed the cart into the housekeeping storeroom and refilled the bottles of cleaning liquid and replaced the empty jars before storing the cart in the allocated area. Only one other maid had already completed her rounds. When she recovered from her shock at seeing me, she asked if I was lost.
“I know exactly where I am.” I smiled and headed out again.
Only to stop upon seeing Mr. Chapman round the corner.