Even more reason for me to be of use. I needed a task, something that would not only stave off the boredom, but also take the burden of supporting me off my uncle’s shoulders. I didn’t want to owe him a thing.
“I’m sure Lady Bainbridge will be delighted to see you,” Mr. Hobart went on. “Harry, if you’d be so good as to inform her ladyship of Miss Fox’s arrival. Miss Fox, would you care to wait in the main sitting room just through there until your room is ready?” He indicated the door at one end of the foyer. “One of the waiters will be happy to serve you refreshments.”
I thanked him and went to move off but Harry did not. “I think I’d better see to Mrs. Cavendish-Dyer.” He nodded at the woman with the elaborate hat, still pecking at the young man. “You’d better speak to Lady Bainbridge, sir. She prefers you anyway.” He flashed a quick grin that seemed quite at odds with his formal smoothness. Perhaps he’d already decided to drop the façade in front of me, considering I wasn’t a guest.
The manager looked a little uncomfortable by this change in his assistant, though not cross. More awkward than anything, as if he hadn’t quite made up his mind how to act in front of me. It seemed none of us were sure where I fitted into the hotel’s community.
Mr. Armitage strode off towards Mrs. Cavendish-Dyer, and Mr. Hobart departed too, so I made my way to the sitting room. It was a large airy space, filled with comfortable chairs, sofas and tables. A three-piece ensemble played in the corner, the sound soft enough that conversations could still be had but loud enough that one group couldn’t eavesdrop on another. The décor was lighter than the foyer, with no burgundy or black vases in sight. It was mostly cream with some gold and more splashes of pink from the roses in the white marble vases. It was the epitome of elegance. Grandmama would have loved it, although she would have felt out of place. Grandpapa would have liked the two rooms off the sitting room. The door to one was labeled LIBRARY and the other labeled WRITING ROOM. My father would have liked those rooms too. My most vivid memories of him were with his nose in a book in his study.
A waiter dressed in crisp white waist apron greeted me and guided me to a spare seat in the bay window. It looked out over the side street with a bookshop opposite. My father would definitely have liked this place. My mother even more so. She would have taken the hotel’s elegant grandness in her stride. It was easy when one was born into luxury as she had been.
“May I bring you a cup of tea?” the waiter asked. “Sponge cake?”
I was about to enthusiastically agree. My stomach felt hollow after not eating anything since breakfast in Cambridge. “Just a cup of tea,” I said, however. Until I spoke to my uncle, I didn’t know what he expected me to pay for out of my allowance and what was free.
I eyed another passing waiter carrying a tray with slices of cream sponge cake and cups of tea. The cake did look delicious, but no doubt it was expensive in a hotel like this. I needed to save every bit of my allowance if I was to become independent.
The waiter brought over the tea on a tray and asked me for my room number.
“I don’t have a room yet. The housekeeper is having it made up now.” I bit the inside of my lip, considering how to proceed. I didn’t want to boast that I was the hotel owner’s niece, yet I didn’t want to cause the waiter embarrassment as I’d caused Peter.
I was saved by a pretty young woman with strawberry blonde hair and a delicate spray of freckles across her pug nose. Her blue eyes were the color of a summer sky and matched her dress.
“Is it you?” she asked in a girlish voice. “Are you my cousin Cleopatra? Mr. Hobart said I’d find her here and you are the only female sitting alone.”
“I am. You must be Florence.” I stood but was almost knocked off my feet by her enthusiastic hug.
She drew away and caught both my hands in hers. “I am so thrilled to finally meet you!”
It was a relief to receive such a warm welcome. Until this moment, I hadn’t realized how worried I’d been about seeing my relatives. If the rest of the family were as friendly as Florence, perhaps the knot in my chest would finally loosen. It might be too much to ask, however. From the way this girl’s parents had treated my mother after she married my father, I was quite sure their reception would be different.
“Do sit down and enjoy your tea, Cleopatra. Gregory, would you mind bringing me a cup too? And a slice of cake each, of course. The sponge here is the airiest in London,” she added as Gregory headed off. “Now, Cleopatra, tell me all about yourself. I want to know everything.”
“Call me Cleo,” I said. “Cleopatra is such a mouthful.”
“And you must call me Flossy.” She reached across the space and patted my knee. “We are so alike, you and I, are we not? I could see the family resemblance immediately. You have my brother’s coloring and he takes after mother, so I suspect you must take after your mother.” She suddenly gasped. “Oh dear, I forgot. My condolences on the death of your parents and grandparents. I know your parents’ deaths occurred many years ago and your grandfather was last year—”
“Three years ago, actually.”
“But your grandmother’s is very recent.” She patted my knee again. “It must still feel raw.”
I swallowed the lump threatening to clog my throat. Raw wasn’t a strong enough word to describe the overwhelming sense of loss I’d felt all month. There was a measure of trepidation mixed with the grief, too. Ever since learning I had to leave my home in Cambridge and move in with an uncle and aunt I’d met only once—and at my parents’ funerals at that—I’d been anxious. Flossy’s enthusiastic greeting and sympathetic gaze went some way to easing my mind, but it wouldn’t be completely at ease until I’d gauged my uncle and aunt’s reactions to my presence and dependency.
“Thank you, Flossy,” I said. “You’re very kind. Everyone here has been kind so far.” Except the doorman. The wicked part of me was quite looking forward to seeing his face when he learned I lived here now.
“You clearly haven’t met everyone then.” She wrinkled her nose. “The housekeeper, Mrs. Kettering, is the devil incarnate. I think even Father’s afraid of her. Obviously you met Mr. Hobart, the manager. If Father is the head of the hotel, Mr. Hobart is its heart. He’s been here from the beginning. The Mayfair couldn’t run without him at the helm. He knows everything there is to know about this place, and probably some things there aren’t to know.” She pulled a face. “That doesn’t make sense, but you know what I mean. Ah, our cake.”
Gregory handed us plates with slices of sponge and poured a cup of tea for Flossy before quietly melting away. There was no mention of room numbers.
Flossy murmured her approval of the cake as she took her first bite. “I adore the sponge here. I could eat a slice a day, but of course I mustn’t. Just on special occasions such as this.”
This was information I needed to know if I were to live here. “Is there a restriction on how often family can partake of the afternoon tea?”
She giggled into her hand. “No, silly. You can come in here and eat cake to your heart’s content. I only mean I can’t have a slice every day or I’ll get fat. You won’t have to worry, of course. You’re so slim! How do you manage such a tiny waist?”