I wasn’t sure what to say next. “I’m going to uncover your mistress’s killer” sounded presumptuous.
Harmony came to my rescue. “Miss Fox is going to investigate Miss Westwood’s death and wishes to ask you some questions. May we come in?”
A spark lit Lord Rumford’s eyes. “You are not what I was expecting.”
“You were expecting someone else?”
“Someone a little older and…”
“Male?”
His smile was kind. “Admittedly, yes.”
“Miss Fox is very experienced,” Harmony said. “She solved the case of the hotel’s murdered guest a couple of weeks ago.”
“The Christmas Eve Killer?” he asked, citing the name the journalists had dubbed Mrs. Warrick’s murderer. “You weren’t mentioned in the papers.”
“Miss Fox is Sir Ronald’s niece.” Harmony didn’t need to say more. Lord Rumford understood that it was unseemly to associate the Bainbridge name with the solving of a murder, particularly when the sleuth was a female member ofthe family.
“You won’t want to attract attention to yourself then,” he said to me.
“I don’t.”
“Good. Because I don’t want to attract attention to myself either. Not in relation to Pearl’s death.”
“Or her life?”
“Precisely.” He glanced up and down the corridor then, seeing it empty, stepped aside. “Do come in. I’d be very happy to hire you as long as my name is kept out of it.”
Chapter 3
The fourth floor of the hotel had the largest suites and was used by the Bainbridge family and important guests. Lord Rumford’s suite resembled mine, with a sitting room and adjoining bedroom. The only difference was the view over Green Park. His was from a more easterly perspective.
He indicated we should sit on the sofa. I sat but Harmony hung back, keeping her distance while being close enough to overhear us.
“I’m sorry for your loss, my lord,” I began.
“Thank you. It’s come as a shock. I only saw her early yesterday afternoon. It must have been shortly before…” He passed a hand over his jaw and drew in a shuddery breath.
I hesitated. I hadn’t expected such grief. I’d assumed Pearl Westwood was the latest mistress in a long line that stretched back decades and would soon be replaced. It seemed as though he truly cared for her. It was no wonder he wanted to find her killer. “Why do you think she was murdered?”
“When I saw her before Christmas, she was happy. She was typical Pearl—lively, fun, not a care in the world. Then, when I returned to London two days ago, she’d changed. She was troubled.”
“Forgive me for saying this, but whatever caused the change could be the reason she committed suicide.”
“She was troubled but not sad. Not desperately so that she would end it all. She asked for money, you see. She didn’t say why, just that it was important. She was dreadfully apologetic about it.”
I hesitated, not sure if I ought to ask the question that was on my mind. It was terribly impolite. Thankfully Lord Rumford guessed anyway.
“You want to know the details of our arrangement,” he said.
I nodded.
“I paid for her flat and gave her gifts from time to time. No money passed between us. It was all quite dignified.”
Sometimes it amazed me how people justified their actions to themselves. If he thought not giving Pearl money meant she was not a prostitute, and he wasn’t her customer, he was wrong. It was precisely that. Neither his intentions nor his feelings towards her mattered. I would have liked to know what she’d felt about him. Had she cared for him? Or was he a means to an end?
“Did you give her the money when she asked?”
