Murder at the Grand Hotel by Isabella Bassett

Author:Isabella Bassett [Bassett, Isabella]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-06-27T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

On my way to my suite after dinner, M. Francois intercepted me in the atrium with a missive from my mother.

And while a casual observer may have assumed that the thick stack of folded pages M. Francois handed me was a letter, it was, in fact, a telegram.

To the delight of the telegraph companies on three continents and a small island in the Pacific, my mother had never learned the proper way to send a telegram, and her epistle-length communications over the wires, kept many an executive’s wife in fur.

The latest installment delivered somewhat surprising news.

Distilled to its essence, the four pages of telegram warned me to stay away from the advances of any fourth sons of Earls. If I was interested in marrying into Lord Haswell’s family, she would immediately arrange a nice country party, invite Viscount Otley, and the matter could be settled in mere weeks.

It was well-known among mothers with daughters of marriageable age that Viscount Otley was the courtesy title of Lord Haswell’s son Leopold, who, as first-born, would one day be the 7th Earl of Haswell. What was known among the aforementioned daughters was that Leopold Haswell also happened to be a complete bore.

Leopold was over ten years my senior, and the fact that he was still available, despite being in line for a sizable title, should tell one all one needed to know. Not that he was a bad person, he was just not my cocktail of choice. Nor anyone else’s, it seemed.

My mother was correct on only one point—James was the fourth son of the Earl of Haswell. But everything else contained and alluded to in her telegram was complete poppycock.

I stood stunned in the atrium, ambushed, as it were, by my mother, and wondered two things: how my mother had got word of my meetings and conversations with James, and who would read so much into their meaning.

As if answered by divine providence, Lady Morton’s voice, currently engaged in accosting the poor manager’s assistant, carried across the atrium.

Having thus received my answer, I decided against favoring my mother’s telegram with one. But as I made my way to my suite, some stray thoughts began to solidify into a question.

Both my mother and Poppy, just now at dinner, had referred to James’ financial state. Was he really that poorly off?

I thought back to my meeting with James on the day of my arrival. He had alluded to the fact that he was obliged to seek a new position after my uncle dismissed him. Now I wondered what had happened to Lord Packenham’s original secretary. How had James been able to secure the position of Lord Packenham’s secretary so promptly? Had Lord Packenham not had a secretary at the time? That seemed unlikely.

So the question remained, what had happened to Lord Packenham’s old secretary? And also, why was James so desperate to stay in the South of France? Presumably, with his connections, he could get a position in London without much trouble.

An uncharitable

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