Page 103 of Murder at the Mayfair Hotel

“My apologies, you’re right, Floss. Cleo, how did you enjoy the evening before you were almost killed by a murderer in the storeroom?”

Flossy choked on her salad.

Floyd passed her a glass of wine.

“I enjoyed it immensely,” I said, although it wasn’t quite true. I’d been too intent on watching Mr. Hookly to truly enjoy myself. “I met some lovely people.”

“Lovely, eh? I’ll tell Jonathon you said that.”

Flossy set down her wine glass and shot him another glare. “Don’t go foisting your idiotic friends on Cleo.”

“Jonathon is not idiotic. He’s very intelligent, as it happens.”

“He can’t be or he wouldn’t be friends with you. Anyway, Cleo can do better than Jonathon.”

“Do better than a Hartly?” Floyd snorted. “You do know what he’s worth, don’t you?”

Flossy turned up her nose at him. “I don’t care. He’s a scoundrel.”

“The love of a good woman will tame him.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t listen to him, Cleo. Dance with Jonathan if you have to, but don’t believe a word he tells you. He’ll speak sweet things in your ear then repeat them into the ear of the next girl, and the next and next. He doesn’t mean a word.”

It reminded me of Mr. Hookly and Edith. She wasn’t the first girl in history to fall in love with a man who told her what she wanted to hear, and sadly she wouldn’t be the last.

* * *

I had decidedto pay a call on Detective Inspector Hobart at Scotland Yard to learn if there’d been any progress in the search for Edith when a message arrived from him the following morning. It stated that she had been found and he wanted a woman to be present when he questioned her. I was to meet him at eleven at Westminster Hospital.

She was alive, thank God. It was an immense relief, and I made sure to let Harmony know too. We’d both been so worried.

“Why do you think he needs you to be at the hospital when he questions her?” she asked.

“I don’t know. But I’m glad he wants me there. I’m very keen to hear her side of the story.”

Chapter 15

Detective Inspector Hobart was waiting on the steps at the front of the hospital when I arrived. “There are a few things you ought to know before going in,” he told me. “First of all, I’d like you to ask Edith a series of questions. I wrote them down.”

“Me?” I said, accepting his list. “Shouldn’t a policeman ask them?”

“I’ve tried. She wasn’t very forthcoming. Some women naturally respond better to other women, and I suspect she is one of them. Usually I ask Mrs. Hobart to aid me in situations like this, but since Edith knows you, I think you are the better choice in this instance.”

I read over his questions and committed them to memory before returning the paper. “I’ll try my best. Is she badly hurt?”

“She has broken ribs and is bruised after being trampled by a horse. She was extremely lucky that a passerby saw the incident as it was occurring and pulled her out of the way before the carriage wheels got her too. The witness said a man pushed her into its path.”

“Not knocked her accidentally?”

“Definitely pushed.”

“But Mr. Hookly has been in your custody since New Year’s Eve. It can’t be him.”

“It occurred that afternoon, before the ball, and the witness has since identified the man you know as Hookly. His name is Lawrence Conrad, by the way. Edith was brought here but seems to be suffering from the shock of her ordeal. She won’t say a word, not even give her name. The administration staff notified the police when she arrived but it took some time for word to reach me that a woman matching Edith’s description was here.”

“Shall we get started?”

“There’s one more thing you should know. Lawrence Conrad is married. His wife is on her way to London now.”