“Was there no show tonight at the Playhouse?” I asked.
Floyd seemed grateful for something to talk about while his sister and mother continued their lively chatter, unaware I’d spoken. “Cat and Mousewas supposed to be on.” Hepeered past me to the darkened theater. “How odd that it’s not playing. I believe it’s been very popular.” He sat back as the theater passed out of view. “I’ll ask Rumford. He’ll know.”
“Lord Rumford? Is he a lover of the theater?” His lordship was a guest staying at the hotel. While I didn’t know all of the guests by name, I made a point of learning the important ones and making myself known to them.
Floyd’s smile looked wicked in the dimness of the cabin. “You could say that.”
“Floyd,” his father barked, proving he was listening to us, after all.
The sharp tone silenced Aunt Lilian and Flossy and nobody spoke for the remainder of the short journey.
The carriage deposited us at the hotel’s front door. The night porter greeted us in order of importance, beginning with Uncle Ronald and ending with me. The chandeliers in the foyer blazed, and a small number of guests passed through on their way to the lift or stairs after an evening out at one of London’s theaters.
The new assistant manager said something to the man he was talking to and approached us. Mr. Hirst wasn’t nearly as handsome or as young as Harry Armitage, the man he’d replaced, but he was just as charming. He was a quick learner, according to the manager, Mr. Hobart, and had already settled into the Mayfair’s way of doing things after ten days. Having worked as assistant manager at another of London’s luxury hotels, he was familiar with the role and expectations. No doubt Mr. Hobart and Uncle Ronald had chosen him for that very reason, to ensure the transition was as smooth as possible. With the hotel being only half full, now was the best time to hire new staff and train them, so Floyd told me. That way there would be no hiccups when spring saw society flock to the city for the opening of parliament and the many entertainments the social season brought.
“Good evening, Sir Ronald, Lady Bainbridge,” Mr. Hirst said.
“Who is that fellow you were talking to?” Uncle Ronald asked, squinting at the other man. He had his backto us now as he walked quickly to the staircase, but I’d caught a glimpse of his beak-nosed profile before he turned.
“A guest,” Mr. Hirst said as the man disappeared up the stairs.
“Who?”
“Mr. Clitheroe.”
Uncle Ronald’s frown cleared. “Didn’t look like him.”
Aunt Lilian patted her husband’s arm. “Your eyesight’s not what it used to be, Dear.”
Mr. Hirst signaled to the night porter to help us with our coats. “How was the show?” Mr. Hirst asked as we handed them over.
“Marvelous,” Aunt Lilian said on a breath. “Simply wonderful.”
“Were the seats in the stalls adequate?”
“Adequate, yes.” Uncle Ronald all but grunted. “The dress circle would have been better.”
Mr. Hirst looked pained. “I’m sure Mr. Hobart did his best and would be deeply upset to hear you were disappointed.”
I frowned. He was twisting Uncle Ronald’s words. Not that Uncle Ronald leapt to Mr. Hobart’s defense. He must still harbor some anger towards the hotel manager and what he saw as a betrayal for hiring his nephew, Mr. Armitage, years ago, despite knowing Mr. Armitage had been a thief in his childhood. It had been my fault my uncle discovered the truth, and it was my fault that Mr. Armitage subsequently lost his job. My heart still pinched every time I thought about it.
“We weren’t disappointed at all,” I felt compelled to say. “The seats were perfect. We were very close to the arena, but not too close.”
Mr. Hirst bowed his head in acknowledgement. Uncle Ronald and the others didn’t seem to have heard me. They were welcoming their friends to the hotel.
Once coats were taken away and evening finery was again on display, Uncle Ronald suggested the gentlemen disperse to the billiards room, while the women enjoy the comfort of the small sitting room. While both sitting rooms were located in the left wing of the hotel, the larger one was reserved for afternoon tea, whereas the smaller one offered intimacy for more private functions.
“Once we’re settled, you may retire,” Uncle Ronald said to Mr. Hirst.
Mr. Hirst bowed. “Thank you, sir. And goodnight.”
Mr. Hirst lived in the hotel, as did the other unmarried senior staff. The only married one among them was Mr. Hobart and he lived off-premises with his wife. The rest of the staff lived in a nearby residence hall. While the night porter and a skeleton staff remained on duty overnight, including in the kitchen, most would start before dawn.
The gentlemen headed to the smoking and billiards rooms in a raucous humor, while Aunt Lilian led the women to the small sitting room, flapping her program to usher us along.
“My program!” I said, stopping. “I left it in my coat pocket.”
“It’ll be there in the morning, Cleo,” Flossy said.
