Murder at the crown and.., p.1
Murder at the Crown and Anchor, page 1
Murder at the Crown and Anchor
Cleopatra Fox Mystery, Book 6
C.J. Archer
www.cjarcher.com
Contents
About MURDER AT THE CROWN AND ANCHOR
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Excerpt of Murder at the Polo Club
A Message From The Author
Also by C.J. Archer
About the Author
Copyright © 2023 by C.J. Archer
Visit C.J. at www.cjarcher.com
All rights reserved.
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About MURDER AT THE CROWN AND ANCHOR
A wealthy businessman with a reputation for taking risks rose from the slums to the height of success. But success comes at a price, especially when it’s achieved at the expense of others.
When a former guest of the hotel is found dead in a dockside tavern, the police rule it suicide. After all, some say his negligence caused one of his company’s ships to go down in a storm, along with all its cargo and several members of the crew. The guilt would be too much for many. But when evidence of murder is uncovered, Cleo feels compelled to bring the killer to justice.
With Harry Armitage on a separate case that involves many of the same suspects, their paths cross and sparks fly. And there are more suspects emerging every day. With a victim whose past was shrouded in mystery, who was a bully to some and a brilliant businessman to others, it’s difficult to separate fact from fiction.
As Cleo and Harry peel back the layers of lies, one fact is undeniable—a man’s past follows him to the grave, something Harry knows all too well.
Chapter 1
London, May 1900
There is nothing more anxiety-inducing than waiting for a scolding you know is coming. It’s like waiting for the other shoe to drop, where the shoe is made of iron and the floor of glass.
It had been a week since I’d seen Jonathon Hartly leave Uncle Ronald’s office on the fourth floor of the hotel. While I couldn’t be certain Jonathon told him that I’d continued to associate with Harry Armitage after being ordered not to, I suspected he was vindictive enough to do it. He’d been indignant after I rejected his advances and resentful that Harry had been the one to save Floyd from financial ruin when he could not.
No doubt Jonathon left out the business about the gambling house from his account to my uncle. That was the only silver lining in the grim cloud about to burst over my head. Floyd may have dreadful taste in friends but he was my cousin, and I liked him. I didn’t want him landing in further hot water with his autocratic father.
It was almost a relief when the summons finally came a week to the day after Jonathon called on Uncle Ronald. Relief was quickly replaced by a sense of foreboding as I presented myself at his office on a wet spring morning. I focused on the dense gray bank of clouds through the window and willed him to get on with it.
It seemed to take an age before he finally slotted his pen into the stand and set aside a list of names he’d been compiling. “Close the door, Cleopatra.”
I’d left it open in the hope it would encourage Uncle Ronald to keep his voice down. I went to shut it, but it was pushed open wider from the other side. Floyd stepped inside, frowning at me.
“I saw you through the gap.” He looked past me to his father. “What’s the matter?” He wouldn’t ordinarily intrude on a private conversation between Uncle Ronald and me, which meant he knew what this was about, or suspected, and wanted to help me if I needed defending.
I stepped aside to let him in.
Instead of sending him on his way, Uncle Ronald invited us both to sit. He clasped his hands on top of the desk and regarded me with a directness I expected from him. He was not the sort of man who beat about the bush.
“It has come to my attention that you have been in the company of Armitage, Cleopatra.”
“Who says that?” Floyd asked. He had not seen Jonathon leave this very room a week ago, nor had I mentioned it, but he knew his friend’s feelings towards Harry. And for me.
Uncle Ronald didn’t even look at his son. “Well? Is it true?”
“I’ve seen Harry from time to time,” I said. “He wanted my assistance with an investigation.” It wasn’t quite the truth, but it was close enough. “Before you forbid me from seeing him, again, I want to point out that Harry and I are merely friends. Anything more than that is impossible. Harry is a good person, trustworthy, and we work well together. Since he requires assistance with his work occasionally, and I require mental stimulation and a productive way to occupy my time, we share his case load. I’m discreet and careful. I don’t put myself, my reputation, or that of the hotel and our family in any danger. Surely you can’t object to that?”
I’d been thinking of what to say for an entire week, and now that the moment had arrived, it spilled out of me. My explanation had been far more eloquent in my head, but at least I managed to get the message across without letting my emotions overwhelm me, as they sometimes did when I was angry. I remained composed, not an easy thing to do under Uncle Ronald’s steely stare.
The ticking clock was loud in the silence that followed. In a way, it was good that he took his time to choose his words carefully. Perhaps, like me, he was determined to keep his temper in check and have a calm conversation. “I’m glad you understand the impossibility of it,” he finally said. “But does he?”
“Pardon?”
“You said, anything more than friendship is impossible. Does he realize that?”
“Yes, of course. He—"
“Armitage is a good man!” Floyd’s outburst made my nerves jangle. “He gave years of loyal service to this hotel and to our family, only to be treated abominably by you.”
Uncle Ronald’s clasped thumbs switched positions. It was the only movement he made for several heartbeats before he finally turned to look at Floyd. “Armitage lied to me for years. He’s fortunate I didn’t dismiss his uncle for being complicit.”
“You did, but you came to your senses in Hobart’s case. You should come to your senses with Armitage, too. The hotel was better when he was assistant manager. He was an asset. The guests miss him.”
“Peter just needs a little more time to settle into the role,” I felt compelled to say. I needn’t have bothered. Both ignored me.
“What message would it convey to the staff if I let Armitage back?” Uncle Ronald ground out. “I’ll tell you what it says. It says that I’m weak, that anyone can lie to me and get away with it. It says that I’m not a man of my word. It says that I allow a common thief into my business—into my home—and allow him near my family!” He grew redder with every sentence, and his moustache ends dampened with spittle.
I could throttle Floyd. His defense of Harry may have been well meaning, but he’d turned an otherwise civilized conversation into a shouting match. I may have known my uncle only a few months, but I knew how to handle him better than his own son.
Then it suddenly occurred to me. Their argument wasn’t about me. It wasn’t even about Harry. It was about father and son. Floyd had grown up, but his father still treated him like a child. Uncle Ronald didn’t want to relinquish responsibility, not even a little, and Floyd thought he was ready for more. It was an age-old story that either ended in disaster or success, depending on how it was handled.
I was inclined to leave them to it, but since my friendship with Harry was the catalyst for their tug-of-war, I felt some responsibility to defuse the tension. “You have every right to refuse anyone entry into your hotel, Uncle.”
Floyd narrowed his eyes at me but remained quiet. He seemed to realize I was working up to something.
“I do,” Uncle Ronald agreed.
“But Floyd’s right in that Harry is quite harmless, and his ten years of exemplary service for the hotel proves it. So,” I added, speaking loudly to be heard over my uncle’s blustery protest. “So, I think there’s no harm in me helping him with his investigations when required. We’ll maintain a respectable, professional relationship. We’re hardly even friends, really, and there is no danger of a misunderstanding between us. I am very content as a spinster, and Harry is courting someone.”
That knocked the wind out of my uncle’s sails. He looked as though he was getting ready to protest again, but suddenly sat back, deflated. “He is?”
“Her name is Miss Morris. I’ve met her. She’s charming and beautiful, and they’re both quite besotted.”
The latter may or may not be true, but the former was my honest opinion. Miss Morris was charming and beautiful. She was also intelligent and tall. She was perfect for Harry, and unless he was blind and stupid, he ought to be in love with her.
It was a given that she was already in love with him. Few women didn’t fall under his spell upon first meeting him. And when he gave a woman his full attention…
I shoved the thought of our kiss aside.
Uncle Ronald’s face settled into its usual soft folds as his temper dissipated. “You should have mentioned Miss Morris earlier.”
I bit my tongue so as not to tell him that I’d been about to when Floyd interrupted. “If Harry requires my help with another investigation—and it’s by no means certain that he ever will again—it won’t interfere with my social responsibilities. I’ll attend every party, dinner and picnic Aunt Lilian wishes me to attend. I’ll dance with whomever you wish, and I’ll be the most amiable companion for Flossy. When my aunt isn’t feeling well, I’ll be glad to be Flossy’s chaperone. I’ll be sure she only talks to gentlemen of good breeding.”
Uncle Ronald seemed pleased, even relieved, when I mentioned taking over chaperoning duties from my aunt. With her health not improving, and the whirlwind of the social season leaving her more tired and fraught than ever, a back-up plan was needed. At twenty-three, I was old enough.
He grunted as he came to a conclusion. “Miss Morris won’t like it if Armitage asks you to assist him.”
It was a good point but I remained silent. I couldn’t speak for her.
He stroked his moustache and chin in thought. “Very well. You may work with him if he asks, and as long as it doesn’t interfere with your social engagements.” He waggled a finger at me. “Be sure he pays you fairly for your time.”
“I already do.”
He smiled. “Good girl. I expect nothing less from my niece.”
I refrained from reminding him that I was only his niece by marriage and that any traits we had in common were purely coincidental. I didn’t dare rock the boat now that he’d given his permission for me to work with Harry.
Uncle Ronald dismissed us with a flick of his wrist. I stood, relief making me feel lighter.
Thank you, Miss Morris.
There was a brief knock on the door and Uncle Ronald bade Mr. Hobart to enter. The hotel manager must have just come from his morning meeting with the senior staff. They held one every morning to discuss the day’s arrivals, departures and important events. Once a week, he also held a meeting with all the staff, including the maids, porters and footmen. He was a hands-on manager, and they respected him for it.
Mr. Hobart smiled at Floyd and me. We exchanged pleasantries before he approached the desk and handed Uncle Ronald a piece of paper.
“More potential guests for the dinner, sir. Did you have any luck with the first batch?” He indicated the list my uncle had been notating upon our arrival.
Uncle Ronald stroked his moustache as he looked over the new list. “Not a great deal, no. Most declined. I haven’t heard from the others.” He tossed the piece of paper onto the desk with a click of his tongue. “Blast it. We need them, Hobart. If they don’t come, nobody will care and the restaurant will be an utter failure. I can’t afford it to fail. Is that understood?”
Mr. Hobart swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
“Then get them to come!”
“I’ll do my best, sir.”
Uncle Ronald muttered something into his moustache that nobody heard. It was probably just as well. He’d slumped into one of his morose moods. When there was a problem with the hotel, he tended to get angry and sort it out, or become glum if he didn’t know how.
Of all things that could have happened next, the most unexpected one did. Floyd stepped forward. “Is this a guest list for the restaurant’s opening night?”
“Not the official opening,” Mr. Hobart clarified. “We want to have a private dinner for select honored guests, serving the most delicious and exotic courses that’s ever been served in a London restaurant. It will be a spectacle for the senses.”
“It’ll be expensive,” my uncle muttered.
Mr. Hobart powered on. “It’ll be free for the guests, of course. The idea is to have it mentioned in all the newspapers. The more important the guests, the more the journalists will clamor to report on it. The resulting publicity will have everyone flocking to dine at the Mayfair Hotel’s new restaurant.”
“Can I look at the list?” Floyd asked.
Uncle Ronald didn’t move so Mr. Hobart scooped up both lists and handed them to Floyd. “This group is our first choice. The second group will be invited if the first decline.” He sighed. “Alas, it’s looking as though we’ll need a third tier.”
Uncle Ronald swore under his breath. “I don’t understand it. Why are they not interested?”
“They already have their preferred dining establishments,” Mr. Hobart said in the voice I’d heard him use to placate irritated guests. “The Savoy, Claridges, the Carlton—”
“Yes, yes.”
Floyd handed the lists back to Mr. Hobart. “It doesn’t matter. These people aren’t going to garner interest from the press.”
“Why not?” Mr. Hobart asked.
“They’re not fashionable enough.”
Uncle Ronald bristled. “The Duchess of Manchester isn’t fashionable? She’s one of the prince’s friends! She’s a celebrated beauty!”
“Was. She’s getting on a bit, nowadays. But I’d leave her on the list.”
“Would you now.”
“She’s still influential. Lady de Grey is also worth inviting. She knows a lot of artists and actors.” Floyd pointed to another name halfway down the list. “But he no longer has the prince’s favor.” He pointed to several more names. “Hartington is old and Cumberland has lost his marbles. Strathconnen became a bore after he married, and the Honorable Susan Malvern hasn’t been seen in society for more than a year. Do you want me to go on?”
His father snatched the lists off him. “You would have us fill the most exclusive dining venue with rabble-rousers and singers, no doubt.”
“Only the rabble-rousers of impeccable pedigree, and singers if they happen to be the companion of someone important. I can think of a few who fit the bill. Any more than three or four and the society ladies won’t come.”
I wondered if his own mistress was among them. Apparently she was an actress.
“We need to get into the papers for all the right reasons, Floyd. Not because we’re providing the latest scandal.”
“That’s precisely what we do want! To make it into the newspapers these days, you have to provide them with something of interest. Dull old dignitaries that no one is interested in won’t make the Middling Morning Herald let alone The Times.” He indicated the lists in his father’s hand. “You have two politicians on there, for goodness’ sake.”
His father sniffed. “You’ve said your piece, now if you don’t mind, I’m busy. Hobart, how are the preparations proceeding for the restaurant? Now that the structural work is complete, I expect you to be creating the right sort of ambience with lighting, decorations and what-not.”
Mr. Hobart cleared his throat. “I didn’t realize you wanted a detailed update on the restaurant this morning, sir.”
“What did you expect? A tea party? The dinner is five days away and all I’ve got is an empty shell. Of course I want an update on the restaurant. I want to know what it’ll look like in case any of these guests decide to show.” He picked up one of the lists only to screw it into a ball and toss it into the waste basket near his feet.
Mr. Hobart swallowed heavily. “I’ve appointed Mr. Chapman to work with a designer. As steward, he knows what diners want. He also has some exciting ideas and an eye for detail. Shall I fetch him?”
“Yes!”
Mr. Hobart retreated from the office as if he’d been pushed out by my uncle’s bellow. Floyd followed, but I hung back. Considering Uncle Ronald’s black mood, what I was about to say was risky, but I wanted to do it for Floyd’s sake. Besides, it helped knowing that my uncle’s temper was a result of anxiety over the opening of the restaurant, and I was going to suggest a way to alleviate some of it.
