The past summer, when London was often empty of the privileged set, who retreated to their country estates to escape the insufferable heat and stench of the city, the hotel had been completely booked out every weekend. These fits of temper were a great source of spectacle and rather than detracting from profits, it doubled the hotel’s already sizable business. Even in the most standard guest rooms, everything was smooth mahogany, rich velvets, intricate gold filigree and sparkling crystal.įor the past year or so, however, Harry Rutledge (always tolerated for his eccentricities because of his widely renowned hospitality) had been seen in rages against guests, even personally ejecting two young men from the hotel with his own bare hands. The proprietor, Harry Rutledge, was a known technology connoisseur, and the hotel boasted the first shower-baths in the city, the first electric lights, and there was not a shilling to be spared on luxury. Politicians, opera stars, royalty and the extremely wealthy all mingled under the roof which covered six city blocks in London’s Mayfair district. The Rutledge Hotel had for many years attracted the very crème de la crème of society from Britain, Europe and even America.
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