“I don’t eat cake as good as this every day,” I said.
Flossy giggled again then finished the rest of her slice before setting the plate down and picking up her teacup. “Mr. Hobart mentioned you’d met his nephew.”
“Have I?”
“Harry Armitage.”
“I didn’t realize Mr. Armitage was his nephew. Neither of them mentioned it.”
“They would have eventually. They like to act professionally in the presence of guests, so they refer to each other as mister this and mister that, but all the staff know. Harry has worked here for years, not always as assistant to his uncle, though. He’s devilishly handsome, don’t you think? All the maids are in love with him.”
“Are they?”
She set down her teacup and clasped her hands. “Isn’t this lovely? I’ve always wanted a sister; someone to share all my secrets with, go shopping together… We’re going to have so much fun, Cleo. It’s wonderful that you made it in time for Christmas. Oh, and I can’t wait to show you off at the ball.”
“Ball?”
“Our New Year’s Eve ball.” She tilted her head to the side. “Mother didn’t tell you, did she?”
“Our correspondence has been very brief.”
“I’m sure it has.” Her ominous tone was the first sign of seriousness she’d displayed. The spark also briefly left her eyes, but it quickly returned again as she cast aside whatever bothered her. “I do hope you have something to wear to the ball. There isn’t enough time to get a proper gown made.”
“I don’t own any ball gowns,” I said with an apologetic shrug.
Her assessing gaze took in my simple dress and her nose wrinkled ever so slightly. She was probably wondering how someone so plainly clothed could have anything remotely pretty in her luggage. She would be right. I didn’t own anything as fine as the silk dress trimmed with white lace that she wore. Like all the ladies in the hotel sitting room, her clothes were in the latest style. My mourning outfit might be well made, but it was certainly not in the current fashion.
“I have several ball gowns,” she said. “You can wear one of mine. We’ll have one of the maids take it in to fit you. We’re a similar height but our figures are quite different.” She thrust out her considerable bosom, just in case I hadn’t noticed it.
“That’s kind of you, but unless it’s in black, I’ll have to decline.”
“Yes, of course, you’re in mourning.” She studied my outfit again. “I’m sure one night off from black won’t matter, will it? Ah, here’s Mr. Armitage, come to solve our dilemma.” She smiled up at the assistant manager as he approached.
“I’m happy to help in any way I can, Miss Bainbridge,” he said, using the formal politeness I thought he reserved just for guests. Despite having known one another for years, there was no casual familiarity between them.
“It’s all right for Cleo to take one night off from wearing mourning, isn’t it? Her grandmother died a month ago, and Cleo is quite young, after all. It ought to be a sin for someone so young to be in full mourning for anything longer than a week or two. You agree with me that she ought to wear something nice to the ball, don’t you?”
Mr. Armitage had a tightrope to walk. Disagreeing with Flossy would likely upset his employer’s daughter, but disagreeing with me would go against societal rules. I was rather looking forward to seeing him traverse it and gave him my full attention.
His gaze slid sideways to me before returning to Flossy. “I believe six to nine months is the usual mourning period for a woman for her grandparent, but you’re right, Miss Bainbridge. It would be unfortunate to see someone as young as Miss Fox in full black at a ball.”
Flossy beamed. “So you agree.”
“I think the decision should be left to Miss Fox.”
I felt like applauding him. He’d navigated the tightrope perfectly.
“The point is moot anyway,” I said. “I won’t be attending. It wouldn’t be right.”
“But she died a month ago!” Flossy declared.
Mr. Armitage gave the fleetest of winces.
Flossy didn’t seem to notice. Her cherry pink lips formed a pout and a crease connected her brows. “Do give it some thought, Cleo. Nobody will mind, certainly not your grandmother.”
I pressed my lips together to suppress a smile. I found it harder and harder to take Flossy seriously, although I didn’t think she was trying to be amusing. She was right in that Grandmama would have encouraged me to attend a ball, even one thrown by people she despised. She would also most likely be bellowing with laughter right now, listening to Flossy bumble her way through the conversation without realizing she was bumbling.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mr. Armitage watching me with the most curious expression on his face. I couldn’t quite make out what it meant. It certainly wasn’t a negative one. Indeed, I quite liked it when he looked at me like that, with something akin to surprise.
“Your room is ready, Miss Fox,” he said when he realized I was watching him. “I’ll show you the way.”
“I’ll take her,” Flossy said, rising. “I’m sure you have lots of other tasks on your plate.”
Mr. Armitage bowed. “As you wish, Miss Bainbridge.” He handed me a key. “Room four eleven. I hope you like it, Miss Fox. All the rooms on that side have a nice view over Green Park.”
“He’s very efficient,” Flossy said as we walked out of the sitting room behind him. We both watched as Mr. Armitage joined a gentleman near the Christmas tree who appeared to be asking him something.
Flossy stopped alongside a sliding wooden door where a woman wearing a cloak trimmed with fur also stood. She didn’t appear to notice us as she peered in Mr. Armitage’s direction. After a moment, she lifted a pair of spectacles hanging around her neck and peered through the lenses.
“How odd,” she murmured, frowning. “So very strange to see him here.”
I waited for Flossy to say something, but it seemed she didn’t know the woman. Flossy pressed a button beside the door and a distant bell rang.
“He looks so different, so much older,” the woman went on. “It has been several years. Ten at least.” She shook her head and her frown deepened. “He shouldn’t be here.”
My curiosity almost got the better of me, but I refrained from asking her why Mr. Armitage shouldn’t be here. Indeed, she might not have been referring to him at all. There were another two gentlemen in the vicinity.
The door slid open before I gave in to curiosity, revealing a short man with a pencil-thin moustache dressed in the same uniform as the porters. He stood inside a room no larger than a wardrobe. At the back was a bench seat upholstered in burgundy velvet with a large letter M inside a circle, embroidered in gold thread. Mirrors on all the walls made the tight space appear larger than it was. This was no ordinary room, I realized. This was a lift to take us up to the higher floors. I’d never been in one before and wanted to know how it worked, but I once again forced my curiosity down. I didn’t want to seem unworldly in front of my cousin.
“Good afternoon, Miss Bainbridge,” the lift operator said to Flossy. “Level four?”