Page 18 of Murder in Matrimony
“A lot of good, too.” Amelia wasn’t sure why she felt defensive. Maybe it was because she knew how much it meant to Mr. Cross and how hard he’d worked there. He talked often about the good he was doing and how many were changing their ways. He was convinced that all they needed was someone to care about them, to show interest. He had, and it made a difference.
“Tell that to the altar server who was hit with an orange during one of Mr. Cross’s visits.” Grady set down his teacup and reached for a piece of Victoria cake. “The congregation was so angry at Mr. Cross for getting in their business, they threw fruit at him during the service.”
“Fruit?” Amelia questioned. “That sounds fairly harmless.”
“It hit an altar boy, who needed new spectacles.” Grady searched the tray for one more piece of cake. “When Cross returned the next week, they threw rocks, and St. George-in-the-East was closed for a day because of a broken window.” He settled on one and took a bite.
“Not exactly harmless, if you ask me,” put in Simon.
It sounded as if Mr. Cross had overstepped his authority, which was surprising, in a way, considering how mild he was in Mayfair. He rarely said anything that might be considered controversial. He preached about the poor, yes, but the congregation was accustomed to that. They expected it, even. Mr. Cross wanted and needed money for the poor in the East End, and he drew up a collection regularly. Many of the women in the congregation volunteered to help those in need.
Which gave Amelia an idea. She’d been considering how she might gain access to the parishioners of St. George-in-the-East, and now she had it. When the time came, she and Kitty could volunteer. Many women participated in weekly or biweekly prayer meetings. If they approached the women with the idea of helping, they would surely be welcomed.
For now, she returned to Grady’s information. The policewere combing the East End for a vagrant, and she wondered if they’d had any luck. She asked him.
“I’m afraid they don’t have any solid suspects yet.” Grady dusted sugar from his hands. “Police know of several professional thieves in Wapping, but their whereabouts could be accounted for—in the East End.”
“It doesn’t make sense to me.” Amelia shook her head. “Why would anyone follow Mr. Cross all the way to Mayfair when they could have killed him in Wapping?”
“I think the answer is obvious,” said Simon. “The poor box. What could be taken in Wapping that would be worth the same?”
If the purpose was money, more was to be had in Mayfair than any other part of town. Even Penroy thought money was the root of most evil. Mr. Cross might have talked of the abundance in his Mayfair church to the wrong person. If that was the case, the person might have been enticed to follow the priest across town. “Your point is well taken. If you are right, the murderer is someone close to St. George-in-the-East. I will need to visit the parish to determine if that is the case.”
Grady put on his hat, which he had tucked between his knees. “Will you go today?”
“I can’t.” She frowned. “I have a dinner to attend. One of those long, ostentatious events that require several hours of preparation and many petticoats.”
“Dreadful.” Grady stood, and Amelia did the same. “Where at?”
“My house,” Simon ground out.
Amelia gave Simon a playful wink before walking a chuckling Grady to the door.
EIGHT
Dear Lady Agony,
I am new to hosting dinner parties and would like to attempt a French dish. I can testify to its deliciousness, for I tasted it in Paris. The problem arises with my cook, who claims she does not know how to prepare it and will not attempt it. I think her attitude is incorrigible, but I cannot hire outside help. It is beyond my means to do so. What else am I to do?
Devotedly,
A Professed Francophile
Dear Professed Francophile,
Your cook’s attitude is not incorrigible; it is absolutely correct. She should not attempt a dish with which she isn’t familiar. You are new to hosting, but I can vouch for her rightness. I have attended many parties where a foreign dish is attempted and made inedible by inexperience. Therefore, do not assault your cook. Thank her for helping you avoid a colossal mistake.
Yours in Secret,
Lady Agony
Amelia might have teased Simon about the dinner party, but in truth, she was excited to attend this evening. It was the first gathering the Bainbridges had held since Lady Marielle had come out this season, and Amelia was looking forward to talking to her at length. According to Simon, the family had invited twelve guests, including one of Marielle’s suitors, Lord Traber. Amelia had met him at her ball, and he appeared to be a fine gentleman. Time—and Simon—would tell if the couple advanced in their courtship. He was theever-watchful brother, and last time the two were together, it had ended with Simon stalking her gardens for evidence of a clandestine meeting. He found none but was still convinced of their secret retreat.
“Your style is improved, Amelia.” Tabitha assessed her olive-colored gown as she descended the stairs. “I wonder if Simon Bainbridge has something to do with your recent choice.” She raised a shapely gray eyebrow, but no criticism tinged her voice, and her lips pursed in a half-smile. She’d seemed to come to terms with Amelia and Simon spending time together as of late, even going so far as extending him an open invitation to dinner.
“More likely Kitty Hamsted. I find Lord Bainbridge’s style rather plain, don’t you?”
“Always clever, but you don’t mistake my meaning.” Jones helped Tabitha into her cloak, a rich black velvet with Hungarian cord trimming. “I’m pleased with tonight’s invitation and cannot help but wonder if you haven’t positively influenced Lord Bainbridge as well. I have seen changes in him—and the Bainbridge household—of which I approve.”
