Page 13 of Murder in Matrimony
Grady snorted. “What does the marquis know about blackmail?”
He knew more than Grady suspected. Simon himself had been blackmailed with information about his sister’s relationship with a known gambler. And what had he done in that instance? Almost exactly what Amelia had done. He had refused to bargain with the blackmailer and instead threatened to retaliate.
Recalling this instance made her feel better about her decision, and her shoulders lowered a little. “Nonetheless, I hope our actions come to fruition. Will you let me know the moment you hear something?”
“Of course.” He pulled his hat farther down on his forehead. “The blackmailer is the first and last thought of my workday.”
“And if details become available regarding Mr. Cross’s murder—”
“You will know them immediately,” Grady assured her. “The inquest date is surely coming.” He stood. “Until then, be safe, Amelia—and patient. Don’t go looking for information where there is none.”
She stood also. “You be safe as well. As my editor, you are guilty by association. Be extra mindful until we know if the blackmailer has further intentions.”
He nodded his agreement and was off, leaving her to stare after his coattails. It was not in her nature to do nothing, but in this instance, waiting was her only option.
The idea never seemed so hateful.
SIX
Dear Lady Agony,
The size of London ensures many beggars and destitutes. It is impossible to go about one’s day without encountering a man, woman, or child with a hand stretched out in earnestness or deception. I avoid certain streets, and they crop up on others. Avoidance is not the answer. Do you have another?
Devotedly,
Daily Detours
Dear Daily Detours,
You are right. Avoidance is not the answer. The poor are not problems; they are people. Until the residents of London recognize it, poverty will reign in our town. Solutions are not easy, but you might start by looking into the state of your neighborhood and visiting the poor in your parish. Much good can be done without being deceived by professional beggars. Your help will be appreciated. Be sure of it.
Yours in Secret,
Lady Agony
The following day couldn’t arrive soon enough, and Amelia lingered only until mid-morning before striking out for All Saints on Margaret Street. While she had to wait for more information about Mr. Cross’s murder, she could not wait to make new arrangements for her sister’s wedding. They must be decided immediately if the date was not to change, and Madge was adamant that it mustn’t. With the family invited and Aunt Tabitha involved, Amelia was almost as resolute as Madge. To have the ceremony and receptioncompleted fast, functionally, and fashionably was her utmost wish.
Her sister was counting on her; indeed, the entire Scott family was. For that matter, so was Captain Fitz. He had been a comfort to Madge during her recovery, and Amelia did not want to disappoint him. Violence and crime were unfortunately part of life in London, and despite Mr. Cross’s death being devastating to her, it was a fact of city life for many. Beggars, professional and otherwise, terrorized the town, and theft—while less frequent in Mayfair—was not unheard of. Large houses did not have the power to make poverty disappear. They could only shelter the people who lived in them from seeing it.
Despite the drab sky, a light mist clinging to everything it touched, the walk to All Saints was refreshing. Several droplets evaded Amelia’s trusty parasol, and the wind swirled them up to her cheeks and eyelashes. Amelia enjoyed exercise, and while her morning tea helped with alertness, it didn’t awaken her limbs the way a walk did. With each step, her shoulders grew straighter, thrust back with purpose. She might not be able to solve Mr. Cross’s murder yet, but she could certainly secure an officiant—and reel in one slightly out of control wedding.
She proceeded inside the church, which was warm and dry and a nice change from the drizzle outdoors. The church had always been a place of refuge for her and others, but now it was hard not to visualize the violence that had occurred next door in the vicarage. Surrounded by solid stone that invoked medieval times, she felt it impossible that Mr. Cross was harmed in this place. Yet anything might be possible if someone was determined enough.
The knowledge brought a quiver up her spine.
“Lady Amesbury, I thought I might see you soon.”
The quiver turned into a chill. “Mr. Penroy.”
Mr. Penroy was young with shiny brown hair and a sloping nose that always seemed to be pointed downward. His face was smooth, without a single whisker above his thin lips, and his eyes were the color of dirt in need of water after a longdrought. “I’ve learned your sister is to be married at the end of the month?”
“That’s correct. Mr. Cross, bless him, was to perform the ceremony.” Amelia was unable to mask a new wave of sadness that had overcome her in the church, and she stumbled over his name. “I cannot believe he is gone.”
“Though it pains me to say it, I am not completely surprised at his violent end. He was a favorite of the poor and criminal, and I find one is defined by the company one keeps.” He sniffed. “I warned him about Wapping. There is no curing what ails some areas.”
“But mustn’t he try? Wasn’t it his duty?” The questions came out too defensively, but she was unable to stop them.
“Our duty is to perform the work of God.” The word resounded in the nave.
