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O nce 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.”

I watched Harry and Mr. Hobart cross the foyer, briefly stopping to chat to some guests who recognized Harry, before leaving altogether. Why had Harry come into the foyer this time? I got the distinct impression it was so that he was seen, but who did he want to be seen by?

I narrowed my gaze at my uncle. “You were very polite to Harry just now. Thank you.”

He grunted. I didn’t expect anything more. He was hardly going to admit he’d made a mistake in dismissing Harry. He would never admit fault. I was simply grateful he’d not berated Harry, as he’d done in the first months after dismissing him. More recently, my uncle had allowed Harry to remain in the foyer while he was investigating a case. That had been the first sign that Uncle Ronald was softening toward Harry. Today’s cordial encounter was another.

I nodded at Goliath who looked as relieved as I felt.

“Take the lift up with me, Cleopatra,” Uncle Ronald said as he walked off.

I fell into step alongside him. “Has something happened with the staff?”

“According to Hobart, Mrs. Short’s rule is causing a great deal of discontent among the staff. He would like me to intervene. I’m reluctant, however. The rule has its merits. I only want respectable staff working here, naturally.”

“I know he spoke to you about it a few days ago. What I meant was, has something happened since then?”

“Your maid, Miss Cotton, expressed her concerns, too, to Floyd. Floyd asked her to repeat them to me, which she did. Very articulate and persuasive, she was.”

Good for Harmony! “So you’re going to overturn Mrs. Short’s rule after all?”

The lift door opened, and a trio of guests stepped out. John, the operator, waited for Uncle Ronald and me, but Uncle Ronald slowed his pace.

“While I do see Miss Cotton’s point,” he said, “I think we need to see how it plays out.” He lengthened his strides again. “Anyway, Hobart informed me earlier that he has it in hand.”

I smiled at John and stepped into the lift. “So, he doesn’t really need to talk it through with Harry? Were you just trying to get rid of him?”

“Fourth floor, John. No, Cleopatra, not at all. Armitage is welcome here. It’s good for the regular guests to see him again.”

I wanted to ask why, but not in front of John, or anyone else. I suspected I knew the answer, anyway. Uncle Ronald wanted Harry to return as assistant manager.

“I presumed Armitage wanted to talk to his uncle about the hotel,” he said. “That is why he came here, after all.”

I didn’t dare tell him Harry was helping me. I didn’t think he’d want me involving Harry in this investigation. To Uncle Ronald, Harry was an outsider, nothing more than a former employee. While it was all well and good for him to assist me in an investigation that benefited a hotel guest, Uncle Ronald would draw the line at a matter involving his close friends.

The formal dinner may have been canceled, but I still had to eat. I went in search of Floyd and Flossy and found them together in her suite. Flossy was in her bedroom choosing outfits, while Floyd lay on the sofa, idly flipping the pages of one of his sister’s fashion magazines.

“Cleo!” he said without getting up. “Just the person. What do you think about sporting pantaloons being worn by women all the time, not just when bicycling and what not?”

I peered over his shoulder at the article he’d been reading. It suggested bloomers worn by female bicyclists would be ideal as all-day wear, not just for riding or playing sport. “I think it sounds liberating.”

He wrinkled his nose. “I’m not so sure women should wear men’s clothes. It’s a recipe for confusion.”

I patted his shoulder. “Only for people who are easily confused.”

“I know you’re being mean, but I’m too tired to care.” He yawned as he lowered the magazine to his lap.

“Late night with Mr. Browning?”

“Late and as horrid as I thought it would be. Give him a few drinks and he turns into even more of a swine. I have a newfound pity for Mrs. Browning.”

I thought about her affair with Esmond Shepherd. Not for the first time, I wondered when it had happened. “Did you learn anything from him that might be pertinent to my investigation?”

“Not unless it’s important to know that he likes to gamble.”

That may very well be important. “See what else you can find out.”

“I’ll do what I can. We’re dining with him and Kershaw at Father’s club, since the family dinner has been canceled. Mother’s not up to it, apparently.” He sat up and regarded me seriously. A serious Floyd was worrying. “Cleo, will you check on her later?”

“Your father’s with her now.”

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 the chef 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.”

“Sounds like a dastardly plan. Harmony tells me you’ve made considerable progress.”

“It doesn’t feel like it, sometimes, but I suppose we have.”

“‘We’, eh?” He smirked. “Armitage muscled his way in again, has he?”

“I asked him to help.”

“Why? You can do it without him.”

I tried to think of a way to answer without admitting the reason was because I simply enjoyed Harry’s company.

Victor was too perceptive, however. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“There’s no secret regarding Harry.” The kiss we’d shared in St. James’s Park several months ago flashed in my mind. I shook my head in an attempt to dislodge it, then changed the topic. “Speaking of Harmony.” I kept my voice low and glanced around. While I didn’t think Mrs. Poole would forbid relationships between staff, I didn’t want to put my theory to the test, either. “You two are being careful, aren’t you?”

“I know how to avoid getting caught. It would be easier if we didn’t have to avoid anyone, though. Harmony’s worried.”

“I’m sure she is.” Out of the two of them, she had more to lose. If she had to leave the hotel, she’d only get another job as a maid, whereas at the Mayfair she was promised further administrative roles if they came up. Victor could walk into any kitchen and start work immediately. “I know she tried speaking to my uncle about it, as have I, but he thinks the rule has merit. I doubt he’ll change his mind unless he’s forced to.”

The junior cook brought over the tea tray and handed it to me with a smile. He’d added a small vase of daisies for decoration and seemed keen for my approval. I asked him his name then thanked him. By the time I turned around, Victor had gone.

I caught the service lift up to the fourth floor and carried the tray to Lady Kershaw’s room. She opened the door upon my knock and blinked at me in surprise. “Miss Fox!”

“Good afternoon. I hope you don’t mind the intrusion. May I come in? The tray is growing heavy.”

As if she were an automaton and I’d flipped her switch, she stepped aside. I placed the tray on a low table in the sitting room.

“This is an unexpected delight,” she said, not looking at all delighted.

“I’m glad to hear it. I was worried I’d be intruding.”

Her lips thinned in a humorless smile. “Not at all. Please, sit. You’ve gone to so much effort.” As hostess in her own room, she poured the tea, proving once and for all that manners were ingrained as deeply within a lady as a sense of honor was in a gentleman.

I accepted the cup and waited until she’d taken her first sip before I began my interrogation. “You are aware I’m investigating the death of Esmond Shepherd.”

“Your uncle informed my husband that you’re attempting to prove the poacher did it.”

I didn’t correct her. For the sake of my aunt and uncle’s friendship with the Kershaws, I’d let her continue to believe I was following that particular thread. “Did you know that Reverend Pritchard isn’t from Cornwall?”

Her eyes momentarily flared with surprise. “He has been open about his former post with me.”

“But not with Lord Kershaw?”

She chose her next words carefully. “Reverend Pritchard asked me not to discuss it. He was worried my husband wouldn’t understand, although I assured him Lord Kershaw wouldn’t want the good reverend persecuted for love any more than I do.”

Love? So, he wasn’t a thief. He hadn’t been moved on from his former parish because he stole from the church. Or so Lady Kershaw believed. It was possible the vicar had lied to her because the truth was less palatable.

I kept my features schooled so as not to reveal my surprise at her revelation. If Lady Kershaw suspected I didn’t already know, she might close up. “I quite agree. I’m glad you see it that way, too. Love, in all its facets, should be encouraged. It’s a shame the bishop doesn’t think so and forced Reverend Pritchard to move to another diocese altogether, away from his love.”

“At least Morcombe isn’t far from London, and they can be together sometimes. Although, naturally he’s reluctant to continue now that they’ve been discovered.”

“That’s a shame. Have you tried encouraging Reverend Pritchard not to give up? Perhaps he’d listen to you.”

“Oh, no, it’s not Pritchard who is reluctant. It’s his lover.” She lowered her gaze to her lap and all but whispered the next sentence. “His male lover.”

A man! I thought it would be either a man or a married woman. Either would be scandalous, but the former was also illegal.

“I couldn’t possibly talk to Pritchard about it,” Lady Kershaw went on. “The conversation would be much too awkward.”

Pritchard being moved on from his former church for loving a man was just as strong a motive as him being moved on because he stole from the parish, perhaps even stronger given the salacious nature of it. If Shepherd found out about the vicar’s proclivities, Pritchard might do anything to stop him telling anyone.

The theory didn’t quite fit, however. The new vicar at St. Michael’s hadn’t remembered Esmond Shepherd asking about the reverend a mere ten days earlier, yet he’d become extremely angry when we did. It was the sort of anger that would remain with him well beyond a week or two. I was now even more inclined to believe that Shepherd hadn’t gone there to ask after Pritchard.

What had the new vicar said? He received numerous requests to look through parish records. Could Shepherd have gone to St. Michael’s with the intention of finding out something from the church’s registers?

Lady Kershaw cleared her throat to get my attention. “May I ask what our vicar has to do with the poacher?”

“Possibly nothing, but his lie made him look suspicious.”

“Please don’t drive our reverend out, Miss Fox,” she said grimly. “I know it seems…unnatural to some, but his particular kind of love makes him very devout. It drives him to go above and beyond for the sake of his soul, you see.”

“I see,” I said, hardly listening as I considered what else I needed from Lady Kershaw. “Speaking of scandal and subterfuge, I’ve been made aware of Esmond Shepherd’s…wandering eye, as someone put it. There are numerous rumors that he seduced the young maids at Hambledon.”

“Rumors are not fact. If you have any questions about Mr. Shepherd’s employment, you must speak to my husband. The gamekeeper reports directly to him.”

Speaking to her husband was an impossibility while Lord Kershaw avoided me. Even if he hadn’t run off at the lift, I doubted he would have told me why he never dismissed Esmond Shepherd, and why his father and grandfather before him didn’t either. If Susannah Shepherd’s parentage was the reason, then the secret would most likely be taken to his grave. Unless someone else knew.

There was something I could put to bed here and now, however. Something that would tell me once and for all whether Lord Kershaw was the third man whom Mr. Crippen had overheard arguing in the woods before Shepherd’s death, the one with the cultured accent.

“Let’s not discuss the unfortunate incident anymore,” I declared. “Let’s enjoy our tea.”

Lady Kershaw visibly relaxed as she picked up her teacup again.

I pointed my teacup at her wedding ring, a wide band of platinum set with a diamond surrounded by intricate filigree. “I wanted to tell you how much I admire your taste in jewelry. The ruby necklace you wore last night to dinner is a particular favorite of mine.”

Lady Kershaw’s entire face lifted. This was a topic she liked. “It’s a favorite of mine, too. Would you like to see it?”

“Yes, please.”

She disappeared into the adjoining bedroom and returned moments later with the necklace. A fat ruby pendant dangled from the center, with four smaller rubies on each side. Between the rubies were small diamonds, sparkling in the room’s electric lighting.

“I didn’t get around to putting it back in the hotel safe,” she said, handing it to me.

I made a great show of admiring it by holding it closer to the lamp. I wasn’t a gem expert, but it looked real to me. I checked the back, having learned that was how a fake piece could be spotted. Jewelers creating fakes often didn’t bother to replicate the parts that wouldn’t be seen while worn. There was a jeweler’s mark on the clasp of the ruby necklace, and the clasp itself wasn’t a modern design.

“Where did you have it made?” I asked.

“I didn’t. That belonged to the past three Kershaw countesses. It’s quite old. These are the matching earrings.”

I admired the earrings and checked them over, too, but I was already sure the set was original. They hadn’t been sold off and replaced with cheaper fakes to make it appear as though the family were financially well off. That confirmed my earlier thought that Lord Kershaw was still as wealthy as everyone presumed. It was very unlikely he was the third thief in Shepherd and Faine’s operation, selling off silverware and other items from his own house while also claiming the insurance money.

I’d already discounted the butler, the vicar, and now Lord Kershaw. That left just one man who fit the description Crippen gave, and who had access to the house and its contents and was also a suspect in the murder.

Mr. Browning.

I had even more reason to speak to his wife now.