“It will, won’t it?” She kissed my cheek. “Thank you, Cleo.”
Harmony emerged from the stairwell and jerked her head towards the door to my suite. I excused myself and joined her there. She slipped into my suite behind me.
“We’re in luck,” she announced with a level of excitement I’d usually associate with Flossy, not Harmony. “Miss Westwoodwasmurdered.”
“That doesn’t sound very lucky for her.”
She gave me an arched look. “This is no time for jokes.” She reached up to unpin my hat. “You oughtto see Lord Rumford while he’s in his suite. Room four-fifteen, just down the hall.”
I relinquished my hat and gloves when she asked for them too. “Why do you think Miss Westwood was murdered? And are you suggesting Lord Rumford is her murderer?”
“He’s the one who thinks she was murdered. He doesn’t believe she killed herself. He says she had far too much to live for and was a very happy person. But the police don’t believe him and are refusing to investigate further. They’re too lazy, if you ask me. Suicide is the easy verdict and saves them the trouble of finding out what really happened.”
“Detective Inspector Hobart isn’t lazy.”
“He might not be the investigator on this case. There must be many other detectives in Scotland Yard.” She shooed me towards the door.
I planted my feet on the floor, refusing to budge. “I don’t know.”
She thrust a hand on her hip. “If it is murder, he or she should be uncovered for poor Miss Westwood’s sake.”
“I suppose.”
“And if the police won’t do it, who else is there?”
“Harry Armitage is a private detective now.”
“Mr. Armitage can find his own clients. Besides, I don’t know if Lord Rumford will pay. He made nospecificmention of hiring anyone.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I have eyes and ears.”
“You’ve been eavesdropping?”
She remained silent, which was probably wise. That way she couldn’t be accused of anything.
I sighed. “Very well, but only because I have nothing better to do.”
“Very true.”
I eyed her sideways. “And if Miss Westwood was murdered, her family should have justice.”
She beamed. “Excellent. I’m so glad you agree.” She gave my shoulder a little shove. “Let’s do it now before he heads out again.”
“You’re coming with me?” I asked as she followed me along the corridor.
“Of course. You need a chaperone. We can’t have your reputation ruined.”
I swallowed my laugh when she gave me a sharp glare. Sometimes Harmony could be more censorial than a parent.
Perhaps she was right to be protective. Although I was used to going where I wanted without being accompanied, I was now part of the Bainbridge household, and they lived by different rules than my middle class grandparents.
Lord Rumford looked like a man in need of sleep. Dark shadows circled his eyes, the whites of which were webbed with tiny veins, and his gray beard and hair were in need of a comb. While he didn’t smile in greeting when he opened the door on my knock, he didn’t bark at us either. He simply sighed and said, “Yes?”
“My name is Cleopatra Fox and this is Harmony Cotton.” At his blank expression, I added, “I’m Sir Ronald Bainbridge’s niece.”
He shook my offered hand. “Very pleased to meet you.”
