Page 92 of Murder at the Debutante Ballby

I touched his chin. “Are you drunk?”

He jerked away from my touch. “You shouldn’t be in here.” It was said without conviction. Unlike most men, he didn’t care if I was in the smoking room. It was supposed to be the domain of gentlemen only. My presence would shock some and anger others. It would be unwelcomed by all.

Floyd was too drunk to care. He went to sip from the glass but I snatched it out of his hand. I poured the contents into the unlit fireplace. The liquid soaked into the ash.

“You know I can just get another whenever I want. Peter keeps them filled.” He indicated the decanters on the sideboard with a tilt of his chin.

“You can’t go like this to the ball tonight.”

“I’m not going to the bloody ball.”

“Have you told your parents that?”

“I’m an adult, Cleo. I don’t need to tell them what I’m doing every minute of every day.”

“But you do have to attend events if they want you to.”

“Because they pay for all this?” He waved half-heartedly at the ornate furniture, thick carpet, and the decanters.

“No, because you’re part of this family.” I crouched before him and took his hand. “Floyd, I know you’ve got yourself into some difficulty.”

He grunted.

I took it as a good sign that he didn’t remove his hand from mine. It could have been that he was simply too drunk to notice, but I liked to think it was because he found it comforting. “You’ll get through this. You’ll find a way to pay back Dutch and all will be well again. Trust me.”

He blinked furiously at me, as if trying to blink away grit in his eyes. “How do you know about Dutch?”

I let go of his hand and stood. “You’ve been to France, haven’t you?”

He squinted into the light above my head. “Yes. Why?”

“Did you travel by rail there at any point?”

“Yes.”

“Do you recall if they have conductors on their trains who punch holes in the tickets, like we do here?”

“They do. Cleo, what does this have to do with Dutch?”

“Nothing. It’s a clue in the investigation.”

He thoughtfully drew on his cigarette and blew out a ribbon of smoke. “I’m in no position to lecture you about your affairs. But as your older cousin it’s my responsibility to remind you to be careful. Don’t get caught playing detective with Armitage. You’re already the subject of gossip. Don’t make it worse.”

I laughed softly. “If the worst is being talked about as a successful investigator, then I am quite all right with being the subject of gossip. You, on the other hand, have a more delicate reputation.”

He snorted. “Very amusing.” He flicked the empty glass in my hand. “Another, dear Cuz.”

I picked up the decanter, pulled out the stopper, and poured the contents into the fireplace. Some of it leaked out of the grate and onto the carpet.

“That wasn’t nice,” he muttered.

“It’s still early. Go and nap for an hour before the ball. That way you’ll be able to face Dutch afterwards with a clear head.” I put out my hand.

He took it and lurched to his feet. “Howdoyou know about Dutch?”

“I’m a good detective.”

He grunted. “I think it has more to do with being a pretty female who knows how to manipulate a man infatuated with her.”