Read Murder at the Brightwell: A Mystery for Free Online

realized, of course, that within twenty-four hours, one of our party would be dead.

 
    4
    THE HOTEL WAS aglow that evening. Dinner at the Brightwell Hotel was, it seemed, quite the affair, with black tie, dancing, and champagne all par for the course.
    I wore a fitted gown of mauve silk with sheer flutter sleeves and flowing tulle panels inset into the skirt, the cut quite flattering to my thin, tallish frame, if I may say so myself. Gil looked dashing in his dinner jacket, slim and broad-shouldered. He was of that class of men that was bred for evening wear.
    The dining room was both elegant and elaborate, without any accompanying flashiness. The walls were a striking shade of salmon with settings that managed to walk a surprisingly successful line between formal Victorian and sleek, modern art deco. The round tables, clothed in white silk, glittered with crystal, silver, and silver-edged porcelain.
    There was no formal seating arrangement, and Gil and I sat at a table with Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton on my left, and Emmeline and Rupert on Gil’s right.
    Emmeline bore all the markings of a woman madly in love. Her bright eyes followed Rupert Howe’s every motion. She touched him at every opportunity, brushing her shoulder against his, her hand pressing his arm. She was clearly proud that this handsome, charming man was hers. Lovesickness was a disease whose symptoms I knew well.
    For his part, Rupert seemed to pay her the majority of his attention. He would smile at her, lean and whisper things in her ear. Yet, for all that, there was something restless about him. He seemed slightly ill at ease, as though his heart wasn’t entirely in the performance. I wondered how deep his feeling for her truly ran.
    “Lovely evening, isn’t it?” said Larissa Hamilton in a soft voice beside me. I turned to greet her. Her light-blue gown with ruffled skirt and sleeves was lovely, and I told her so.
    “Thank you. Nelson picked it out,” she said, smoothing the skirt. “He’s got quite an eye, really.”
    I had noticed as much. At the moment, his eye was on Anne Rodgers as she sauntered into the room in a beaded lavender gown that was cut just high enough to avoid absolute scandal. Mr. Rodgers followed, apparently oblivious to the effect his wife’s appearance was having upon the gentlemen present.
    “Nice crowd here tonight, eh, Rupert?” Mr. Hamilton asked when the Rodgers had reached the table and seated themselves. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket.
    “Very nice, indeed,” Rupert agreed, offering Mr. Hamilton his lighter, before turning his attention back to Emmeline and adding in a tone still loud enough to be heard by half the table, “Though it would be nicer if it were just the two of us. I look forward to the days when we can travel alone.”
    Emmeline blushed and smiled, and Gil stiffened ever so slightly beside me. He tried to hide it, but it was perfectly apparent how little he cared for Rupert Howe.
    “Nelson likes blue, but I love the shade of your gown,” said Mrs. Hamilton, suddenly picking up our conversation where it had dropped off several moments ago.
    “Yes, you look quite stunning, Mrs. Ames.” It was Lionel Blake who spoke as he approached and took his seat at a neighboring table.
    “Thank you both. And call me Amory, please. I wish you all would.”
    “Anne-Marie. Such an uncommon name,” said Veronica Carter from across the table, looking at me through the smoke of the cigarette she held carelessly between two fingers. It was the first time she had spoken to me since I arrived at dinner, and the mispronunciation, combined with the somewhat sneering tone in which she said it, led me to believe it was not a mistake that she had misheard my given name.
    “It’s Amory,” Gil corrected her.
    She did not reply but descended again into silence, a sulky expression marring her pretty features.
    “Amory Ames. Such a striking name,” said Mrs. Hamilton. “There is almost something musical about it.