Page 30 of Murder at the Debutante Ballby

The butler arrived along with a footman. “See that these two are escorted from the premises,” Mr. Livingstone snapped.

We turned to go.

“Wait! What did you say your names are?”

“Harry Armitage.” Harry held out a card, but Mr. Livingstone refused to take it. Harry left it on the bookshelf next to the door.

“And your companion?”

“My associate.”

Mr. Livingstone narrowed his gaze at me. “Do I know you?”

I lowered my head further and shook it. Harry ushered me out of the office ahead of him.

Outside, on the pavement, we quickly walked away.

When we reached the corner, I glanced over my shoulder to see the butler finally closing the door. He’d watched to make sure we didn’t double back and descend to the basement service area to speak to the servants. “I know you want to say ‘I told you so’, so go ahead and get it out of the way. You told me he’d recognize me.”

Harry shortened his strides to match mine. “I’d never say that.”

“But you’re thinking it.”

“But I’d never say it.”

We fell into silence as we headed back to his office, both of us lost in thought. It was a companionable silence, the sort that good friends who were comfortable with one another fell into. Neither of us felt compelled to fill it. It was a relief to know that our relationship was back to where it had been before the kiss.

I hoped it would remain that way now.

We decided to part before we reached his office. “Shall we meet tomorrow morning?” I asked.

“Of course.”

“I’ll bring the coffee.”

“Best bring some ideas with you, too, because I haven’t got a clue where to turn next.”

Neither had I. Hopefully one of us would have some inspiration overnight, or we’d be twiddling our thumbs tomorrow.

I’d instructedPhilip the night porter to ask Floyd to wake me when he returned to the hotel after a night out, no matter what the time. Even so, I muttered curses under my breath as I padded across the floor in bare feet to open the door on my cousin’s knock. He leaned against the doorframe. Or, rather, the doorframe propped him up. For a moment I thought he was asleep on his feet, but then I noticed his eyes were open a crack.

I yawned and signaled him to enter.

He stumbled inside, bumping me as he passed. “Is this about Jonathon?”

“No.”

“I know he can be a bit of a prick sometimes, but he means well. He just doesn’t see the world like you.”

I followed him into the sitting room, turning on the light as I went. Floyd flung his arm over his eyes then stumbled into the sofa. I directed him to sit down and was about to sit next to him when he lay down instead, taking up the entire length of the sofa.

“He’s a snob and a bore,” I said.

“That’s not his fault. He has had everything given to him on a silver platter his entire life. It’s no wonder he’s insufferable most of the time.”

“It’s not an excuse.” I almost pointed out that he’d had everything given to him too and he wasn’t insufferable. Floyd would disagree with me. He claimed his father withheld more than he gave. The thing was, Floyd received more than most. He just couldn’t see it because he never got the one thing he truly wanted—his father’s respect.

“Do I need to have a word with him and tell him you’re not interested?” he asked.