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G etting to Esmond Shepherd’s cottage without being seen wasn’t as easy as I had thought it would be. Avoiding the house, driveway and lawn wasn’t the most difficult part. It was climbing over fences and fallen logs in the woods that proved to be awkward in long skirts and a corset. I wouldn’t have been able to maintain my dignity without Harry’s assistance, but I still tore my hem and muddied my boots.

Although he’d let me go the moment my feet touched the earth, I could still feel his hands on my waist. I fussed with my skirts to give my nerves a few moments to settle. “Next time, I’m wearing men’s trousers.”

He was silent. I expected he was also trying to regain a semblance of balance after being close to me, but when I looked up, I realized his attention was on the gate’s heavy lock.

“I think this is the bridleway Lord Kershaw recently blocked.” He looked around and spotted something through the trees. “Is that the gamekeeper’s cottage?”

We headed toward it, but it wasn’t until we drew closer that I realized it was in fact the gamekeeper’s cottage, only we’d approached it from the rear instead of the front. “It is very close to the bridleway. No wonder the poachers abandoned it when the cottage was built here all those years ago.”

Dappled light filtered through the trees. Although it hadn’t rained for a few days, the ground was damp. Soon, the leaves would fall, laying a carpet of autumnal colors. I breathed deeply, drawing in the scent of earth, trees and fresh air.

“You like the outdoors,” Harry said. It was a statement rather than a question. “I noticed in Brighton that you enjoyed the sand and the sea, and I know you enjoy walks in London’s parks, too.”

“I suppose I do, but I’ve been a city girl my entire life.”

He tried opening the cottage door only to find it locked. “Do you miss Cambridge?”

“Sometimes. I miss my friends. We correspond regularly, but it’s not the same. But I like my life in London, too. Living in a luxury hotel does make the chaos of the city more bearable.”

He flashed me one of his dimpled grins. “I’m sure it does.”

He set to work opening the lock, then entered the cottage first. Once he was satisfied it was empty, he signaled for me to enter, only to find I was already inside.

Something was amiss. Indeed, several things weren’t right. The rug was rumpled, the cushions were piled up together, and the pictures had been removed from their frames and not replaced. “Someone has been here since Harmony and I came.” I picked up the photograph of Mr. Shepherd with his parents. “Either they were in too much of a hurry to put everything back exactly the way it was, or they didn’t care.”

Harry inspected the bookshelves. “The place is hardly ransacked. They were respectful. These books have been removed from the shelves then replaced, going by the patterns in the dust.”

I joined him and immediately noticed the difference to last time. “They were dustier. The intruder has definitely looked through them then put them back. I wonder what they were looking for.”

“And whether they found it.”

Harry entered the kitchen while I went to inspect the bedrooms. There were signs of further disturbance in each of them. After a thorough inspection, I joined Harry in the kitchen.

“They searched in here, too,” I said. “What have you found?”

He handed me a card with Marylebone GuestHouse printed in bold lettering above a London address.

“Esmond Shepherd must have stayed there at some point,” I said. “It might be relevant, but he could have stayed there some time ago. There’s no indication of how old this is.”

As I said it, I remembered another piece of evidence I’d found last time. I’d picked it up off the floor where it must have fallen, and placed it in a drawer before leaving, not thinking it was relevant. I opened the drawer and rummaged through the contents until I found it.

“He visited London quite recently.” I showed Harry the return train ticket. “That’s dated three days before he died. He could have stayed at the guesthouse while he was there.” I slipped both the ticket and the card inside my bag. “I’ll visit tomorrow.”

He studied me for a moment and I suspected he was about to ask if he could join me. My case was probably more interesting than any he currently had on his plate, after all. But he did not. He simply suggested it was time to leave. “It’s getting late.”

“There’s plenty of time before the last train,” I assured him.

“That doesn’t leave until four-forty-five.” He checked his watch. “We can make the train before that if we hurry.”

“I’m not finished yet. I have one more stop to make.”

“No, Cleo. We are not going to the house. Sir Ronald won’t want you questioning the family.”

“We’re not going to question the family. We’re going to sneak in.”

“That’s even worse. It’ll be crawling with servants.”

“We’re just going into the fernery. I want to inspect the plants for one of a similar shade to the stain I saw on Lord Kershaw’s finger.”

Harry’s gaze narrowed. “How can we be sure no one will be in there?”

“We can’t. That’s why we have to be quiet.”

He shook his head. “It’s a bad idea.”

“This isn’t like you. You’re not usually this hesitant. Don’t worry. We won’t be breaking and entering. The door from the outside will be unlocked during the day. And if we’re careful, we won’t be seen.”

Still he refused.

I remained silent and arched my brows, defiant.

He finally gave in with a heavy sigh and indicated I should walk ahead of him out of the cottage. “Just when I’m almost back in Sir Ronald’s good books, you’re going to reverse the progress I’ve made.”

“You shouldn’t care so much about what my uncle thinks. I don’t.” I gasped and rounded on him. “You’re not actually considering taking him up on his offer to return to work at the hotel, are you?”

“You’re forgetting he has made no such offer. I’m still skeptical that he will, but that’s beside the point. The point is…” His jaw firmed and he sighed again. “I don’t want things between he and I to be permanently cold. That’s all. I have my reasons.”

I didn’t dare ask what those reasons might be. Some things once said cannot be unsaid, and I suspected he would say something I wasn’t ready to hear.

The fernery could be accessed from the garden as well as the house, allowing us to hide behind trees and bushes to check the coast was clear before advancing. We crept up to the door like thieves and opened it just a crack to listen. All was silent, so we entered, closing the door softly behind us.

It felt tropical inside, the air thicker and hotter than in the woods. Harry and I followed the path, inspecting the plants as we went. Despite being sure we were alone, we didn’t speak. Harry tapped me on the shoulder if he thought he’d found a plant of the right color, but after the sixth attempt, he gave up. He only tapped my shoulder again to show me his watch. It was time to leave.

Satisfied I’d inspected most of the plants, I nodded. We exited the fernery into the garden, only to stop dead upon the sound of someone snorting.

We’d been caught.

I steeled myself for the confrontation, and tried to think of an excuse for my presence at the house, uninvited and with a man in tow.

But the snorter merely snorted again. I turned to the noise and released a breath. Renton the butler sat slumped on a wicker chair, his eyes closed, his head tilted back and mouth open. He emitted another noise. This time I realized it was a snore, not a snort.

Harry touched my hand to get my attention. With a finger to his lips, he nodded in the direction of the trees. Together, we crept away from Renton to the safety of the thick trunks, then continued until we’d left the house well behind.

“That was the butler,” I told Harry as we headed back to the station. “According to Harmony, he likes a tipple in the afternoons then nods off. He was the only member of staff whose whereabouts she couldn’t verify at the time of the gunshot. Apparently, he was in his room taking a nap, but I’m not convinced.”

“Why not?”

“He got to the body very quickly for an older man whose bedroom is located on the top floor.”

“Perhaps he was napping on that chair, not in his room.”

“Perhaps.” I still wasn’t convinced, however. Renton was more exposed in the garden, especially with guests going between the house and the tennis court. He could have been asleep elsewhere, though. From the look of it, he did like his afternoon naps, so that part of his alibi was believable.

But if his naps were the result of stealing his lordship’s brandy, and Esmond Shepherd had proof and threatened to take that proof to Lord Kershaw, Renton would have a motive to murder Shepherd.

Frank warned me as he opened the hotel’s front door upon my return that Mrs. Short was taking one of the maids to task in her office. The housekeeper had caught the girl reading a note that morning while she was pushing her cleaning cart along the corridor on the fourth floor.

“Surely she can’t be in too much trouble for taking a moment to read her note,” I said.

“The note was from her beau, setting up a rendezvous for Saturday,” Frank said.

I groaned. The maid had fallen foul of Mrs. Short’s new rule. “I assume the beau is another staff member?”

“A footman. Mrs. Short was furious, so I heard. She told the girl to come to her office at the end of the day and they’d discuss her future here at the hotel. She’s been in tears all day, so Harmony told me. We think she’ll be dismissed on the spot, her beau, too, if she gives up his name.”

“He didn’t sign the note?”

“No. Rather wise not to, as it turns out.”

I was pleased to see Mr. Hobart strolling through the foyer holding the leather satchel he used to carry work home to read on the train. He hadn’t left yet. If anyone could convince Mrs. Short she had overreacted with her new rule, it was him. As he walked, he glanced frequently over his shoulder, back to the senior staff corridor.

“Is the maid still with Mrs. Short?” I asked him.

“You heard about that.” His lips formed a grim line. “I’m afraid so.”

“Can you do something?”

He steered me away from two guests who’d stopped nearby for a chat. “Sir Ronald has forbidden me from stepping in. He says it’s a good idea, in theory.”

“While in practice, it’s going to be a disaster.” I shook my head sadly. “The staff aren’t children. They won’t like it if the maid and her beau are dismissed over this.”

“Then hopefully the maid is able to keep his name to herself. Otherwise, they’ll both be without a job and a home, and we could find most of the staff go on strike to support them.”

It could be a disaster of monumental proportions.

“Miss Fox, I almost forgot. My brother telephoned earlier. He wants you to telephone him back. You can use the one in my office for privacy. Ask Peter to unlock the door for you. I must dash if I want to catch the train that will get me home in time for dinner.”

I thanked him and approached Peter. As I waited for him to unlock Mr. Hobart’s office door, I heard muffled voices coming from Mrs. Short’s office. “I’ll be a moment.”

“Miss Fox!” Peter hissed. “Is that wise?”

“We’ll soon find out.”

I knocked on Mrs. Short’s door and received a brusque response to enter. Inside, the housekeeper sat behind her desk with the maid standing on the other side, not allowed to sit. I was struck by how similar Mrs. Short looked to my uncle when he was at his most bullish. Both short and jowly, they exuded an air of barely constrained frustration that threatened to explode at any moment.

“Yes, Miss Fox?” she snapped. “Is something the matter?”

“I’ve just returned to the hotel and heard that my note may be the cause of some confusion.” I cast a look at the maid, blinking back at me with eyes red and swollen from crying.

Mrs. Short’s gaze fell on a torn piece of paper on her desk. It appeared as though it had been folded many times to make it as small as possible.

“Ah, there it is.” I reached for it, but Mrs. Short snatched it away.

“ Your note?” she said, incredulous. “This was found in Mary’s possession.”

“She must have picked it up, thinking it was rubbish. Was it in the corridor on the fourth floor, Mary?”

Mary nodded so quickly and vigorously a strand of her hair fell out of the pins holding it back.

“So foolish of me,” I said lightly. “I thought I’d put it in my bag, but it seems I dropped it. I’ve been wondering where it got to. May I?”

Mrs. Short hesitated, clearly torn as to whether she could believe me. I already knew she didn’t like me, but I also knew she didn’t like anyone, so I wasn’t overly concerned about lying to her. If I could save Mary from dismissal, my lie would be worth it.

I held out my hand. “May I have my note back, please.”

Mrs. Short seemed to be in a trance as she handed it over.

I scanned it quickly. Neither the recipient’s name nor the sender’s was on it. I’d counted on them being extra careful, and was right. Thank goodness. I folded the note. “As I thought. It is mine. I am sorry to be the cause of such a fuss, and for you to have wasted your time, Mrs. Short. Do forgive me.”

Mrs. Short rallied; her trance-like stare replaced with her usual fierce one. “Am I to believe you are meeting a gentleman at the Paragon Theatre to see the latest penny gaff?”

“I don’t think that’s anyone’s business but my own.” I waved the folded piece of paper at her. “Besides, there is nothing in here to suggest it’s from a man. Is there?”

“The handwriting is masculine.”

“I’ll tell my friend that. I suspect we’ll have a good laugh about it.” I tucked the note into my bag. “I presume Mary will be cleaning rooms again in the morning. She does an excellent job. Just as good as Harmony Cotton. I particularly like the way she folds towels.” I waited, smiling, forcing Mrs. Short to respond one way or another while I was still there.

“You may go, Mary,” she bit off.

Mary went to leave but stopped. “Tomorrow?”

“Don’t be late for work.”

I followed Mary out of the office, not giving Mrs. Short any opportunity to so much as glare at me. The maid and I left in such a hurry that we caught Mr. Chapman the steward hovering near the door. He’d clearly been listening in. He quickly scurried off to his own office, closing the door firmly behind him.

Mary slowed her pace. “Thank you, Miss Fox.”

“Don’t mention it. But please be more careful in future.”

She nodded and hurried in the direction of the service corridor while I entered Mr. Hobart’s office to use the telephone.

D.I. Hobart had some intriguing news for me. According to a former colleague of his, a Morcombe man had been arrested on suspicion of selling stolen goods two years ago. They had to let him go after they couldn’t find enough evidence, and he seemed to have stayed out of trouble since, but D.I. Hobart suggested I look for a connection between the man and Esmond Shepherd.

“Don’t approach him,” he warned me. “He might be dangerous if he feels cornered. I don’t want you getting into trouble, or getting Harry into trouble either.”

When he put it that way, I agreed with him. If we were caught searching his premises, the man was within his rights to call the police and have us arrested. “I’ll be careful. What’s his name?”

“Faine. Martin Faine. He lists his address as the Red Lion Inn.”

So Mr. Faine wasn’t just a good source of information, and an agitator who wanted the bridleway reopened. He was a fence of stolen goods, too. Everything he’d told us now had to be re-examined through a new lens.

After hanging up from D.I. Hobart, I returned to the foyer. It was growing late, but I had no dinner plans that evening, so I spent some time chatting to guests. I enjoyed finding out where they were from, and why they were visiting London. Many of them lived in the countryside and had business interests in the city. Some had come for the theater, or had been shopping. Some came to London for all three reasons.

It was while I was mingling with the guests that Uncle Ronald emerged from the lift. He greeted me amiably and joined in with the conversation I’d been having with a couple from Cardiff, but I got the impression he had something to say to me.

Once the couple left, he turned to me. “I have good news for your investigation, Cleopatra. Lord Kershaw and his family have brought their visit to London forward. They’re coming tomorrow to shop for Janet Browning’s wedding and are staying here.” He leaned in, a look of excitement on his face. “You can speak to them.”

“I don’t quite understand, Uncle. If you believe the poacher did murder Esmond Shepherd, why do you want me to interrogate Lord Kershaw’s family?”

He held up a finger. “Not interrogate. Speak to them. Don’t raise their suspicions. The reason being, you may need to exonerate them if you can’t locate the poacher. Call it insurance, in case you fail with your primary goal.”

Nice to know he didn’t have a lot of faith in me. “Very well.”

I made to leave, but he called me back. “Question them gently, Cleopatra. I cannot overstate that enough. Is that clear?”

“Don’t worry, Uncle. I can be subtle.”

His frown deepened, telling me what he thought of that statement.

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.”

“ Is she 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 sign on 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.

I thought Peter was approaching me to speak about that incident, but another matter was on his mind. “The Kershaw party arrived early, and their rooms aren’t ready. They aren’t supposed to check in until two.”

“Have they all arrived? Even the Brownings?”

He nodded. “The ladies are waiting in the small sitting room and the men have gone out. Mr. Hobart is overseeing the preparations of the rooms himself. He didn’t want the maids doing a poor job in their haste to finish. You know how he likes everything to be perfect.”

I did indeed. The manager kept a file on each guest that listed their preferences, dislikes, and other information about them, including personal details. Not only did he want their room to be perfect, but he wanted them to have an enjoyable experience. That was why he went out of his way to greet them by name, inquire about family members, home renovations, recent holidays and even their pets. His notes were thorough, particularly for a family like Lord Kershaw’s who had not only stayed often at the Mayfair but were personal friends of my aunt and uncle.

“Mrs. Short will be put out,” Peter went on. “She won’t want Mr. Hobart looking over her shoulder.”

“Indeed not.” I was a little surprised the manager found it necessary to intervene in the housekeeper’s domain. She was just as much a perfectionist as he was.

“You may want to join the guests, Miss Fox,” Peter said. “Lady Bainbridge and Miss Bainbridge are with them.”

I could tell from his face that he was concerned. He was right to be. I doubted my aunt was feeling up to playing hostess, unless she’d taken a dose of her tonic. “Where is Floyd?”

“According to the footman who is currently acting as Mr. Bainbridge’s valet, he is still asleep after a late night out.”

I asked Peter to send in sandwiches, then headed to the small sitting room. Despite its name, it was rather large, although not on the same scale as the main sitting room where the hotel served its famous afternoon teas every day. Used only by the family, the small sitting room was more personal. Family photographs were assembled on tables and Bainbridge heirlooms inherited by Uncle Ronald were housed there. My aunt and uncle’s suite had more items she’d inherited from her parents—my grandparents—but this sitting room was very much a Bainbridge room. It oozed old world nobility from the elaborately carved mahogany pedestal table to the Whistler painting hanging above the marble fireplace.

As I expected, Aunt Lilian appeared to be struggling to entertain her guests. She looked as frail as Lady Elizabeth, seated beside her on the sofa and attempting to make conversation. Aunt Lilian’s shaking hands and pained expression were a clear sign she hadn’t taken her tonic. That, at least, was a blessing. It meant she was at least trying to limit her consumption.

On my aunt’s other side sat Lady Kershaw. Flossy was engaged in conversation with Janet Browning, as far from the older women as they could get. They spoke quietly between themselves, occasionally giggling. Both looked up on my arrival and beckoned me to join them to discuss Janet’s wedding plans.

I declined and sat with Mrs. Browning instead, seated alone on the other sofa. Aunt Lilian gave me a small nod of gratitude. It was accompanied with a thin, tight smile that quickly vanished in a wince of pain. Her head must be pounding, poor thing.

As much as I wanted to claim I’d made my choice of companion because I wanted to be a dutiful niece and good hostess, it was purely because I wanted to ask Mrs. Browning some questions. It wasn’t that she was my preferred choice of all the ladies. It was simply that it would be easier to have a difficult conversation with the one on her own, far enough from the others that we wouldn’t be overheard.

And I had to ask some very difficult questions indeed.