Page 30 of Murder in Matrimony
Writing was her passion. Readers were her people. She did good work, and she would continue even if her name was given to one and all. The vehemence with which she believed this shocked her, and her chest filled with air and something else. The work had come to matter that much, so much that it couldn’t be separated from who she was—who she’d always wanted to be. She was just a girl from Somerset, a rural community with rural ideas, and writing freed her from them. On the page, she could be anyone. An aunt, a wife, a mother. The person you would turn to in a calamity if that person existed in your life. She wanted to continue to be that person, and come hell or high water—or Aunt Tabitha—she would not give up.
THIRTEEN
Dear Lady Agony,
I am in need of a new handkerchief. What is the most popular design? So many styles abound. I cannot decide which I like best.
Devotedly,
Handkerchief Heyday
Dear Handkerchief Heyday,
It is indeed the heyday of the handkerchief, with options for every man, woman, and child. Colored embroidery is a great favorite right now. Scarlet thread on white cloth is popular with not only handkerchiefs but cuffs and collars. I recommend you try it for elegant results.
Yours in Secret,
Lady Agony
Amelia had been on edge all day and decided it was because she’d worked through her morning walk. So out she went to relieve her anxieties. The noise of the city was salve for her soul, and she absorbed its energy through the pores of her skin. The energy turned into thinking, and she realized she held more facts to the mystery of A Concerned Citizen than anyone else, which should make it easier to unravel. She couldn’t assume Tabitha was the blackmailer because she had the superintendent’s business card in her desk. Instead, she would find out what business Tabitha had with the superintendent.
One possibility was Tabitha’s friend, Lady Sutherland. When Madge was suspected of murder, Lady Sutherland contacted an acquaintance at Scotland Yard. It was how they’d foundout about Detective Collings’s resentment for Edgar. The card might have been obtained then.
Only, Amelia didn’t recognize the name. During the ordeal, she and Tabitha had shared every nugget of information with each other in hopes of clearing Madge’s—and by association, the Amesburys’—name. One would think that if Aunt Tabitha had the name of a superintendent, she might have mentioned it during the investigation.
She would ask Tabitha about the contact at the Yard, casually, of course, but quickly. After ensuring Tabitha was not A Concerned Citizen, she would move on to more viable possibilities. Lord Drake would not have to turn himself in to the police to solve the problem after she solved it for them.
Behind her, the sun broke free from dense clouds, its rays stretching toward the quiet grasses that lay beyond bustling Hyde Park Corner. She paused to watch the park go from hazy to light green, her breath catching at the sight of the wide-open space unfurling before her. She wasn’t so far removed from Somerset that she couldn’t appreciate green grass and room to roam. The wind, which was surprisingly gusty this afternoon, scattered plane tree leaves into the air, and the scene reminded her of her childhood and those long afternoons that made up her days.
Back then, she and her sisters enjoyed the activities nature provided them: walks, horse races, picnics. One of her favorite pastimes included long walks to their favorite swimming hole. Her mother never failed to bring lemonade and fancy cakes, and her father always remembered his violin. Far from the eyes of town, Madge would accompany him with a voice that would make morning larks jealous. Afterwards, she would be the first to jump into the pond, soaking Penelope and whomever else dangled their feet into the water’s edge. Amelia looked forward to the excuse to jump in after her, splashing her in kind. After several reciprocal splashes, they would climb out of the water and sun themselves on a warm blanket, dozing while their mother read poetry by Shelley or Byron or psalms from the Bible. Amelia thought nothing in her imagination, even heaven itself, could equal those happy days with her family.
The sound of horses’ hooves interrupted her reverie, and she wheeled around to see a hansom cab boring down on her. For a moment, she thought the horses were spooked, out of control, but then she saw the whip of the driver high in the air. The cab was moving so fast that she could not make out his face, which was hidden by the low position of his bowler hat.
“Look out!” cried a man on the street.
Only then was Amelia shaken out of her trance. She stumbled backward, the cab narrowly missing her. The person inside the cab turned to glance backward, their face half covered by a handkerchief or cloth. As the cab made a corner, however, the gusty wind caught the cloth, tearing it from the person’s grasp. The white fabric twisted in the air before floating down, down to the street, where it stopped moving and started again. Amelia spun to race after it.
“Miss.” Someone touched her arm. “Are you all right?” It was the man who had hollered out the warning. His face was craggy with deep wrinkles, and his concerned eyes scanned her for harm.
“Yes, thank you.” She glanced at the cloth bouncing along the road. “I have to see about that handkerchief.” Then she was racing down Piccadilly, determined to fetch the cloth. Had it not been so white or the street so dirty, she might have lost track of it a few times on her chase. As it was, however, she was able to keep eyes on it as she followed it from Piccadilly to Down Street, where it caught on a wrought-iron post. She heaved a breath as she reached for the cloth, which was indeed a handkerchief, albeit one with a smudge from the post.
She took several small breaths, the magnitude of the event now catching up with her. As she glanced at the material, she noticed her hands were shaking. She pressed the cloth against her chest, forcing herself to take deeper breaths. Never had she been so close to physical peril. Never had she been taken so unaware.
After a particularly deep breath, she looked down, noting the hankie was fine linen, something she might see a man or woman carrying in Belgravia or Mayfair. The embroidery at the corners depicted a man in a fishing boat in various statesof catching a fish. The stitching was fine and white and different than the darker colors most men carried. It surely belonged to a woman. Still, she could also understand how it would appeal to a man as well.
Her stomach rumbled, and she told herself she was shaking because of hunger, not distress. She tucked the handkerchief safely away in her pocket and began walking home. A strong cup of tea and a sweet piece of cake always made her feel better. It was late, and she was disoriented. She’d been woolgathering when the phantom cab came out of nowhere.
Except she knew what she’d seen: a person watching her from a hidden position. Had their intent been to scare her, they had achieved their objective. The blackmailer was the first person to come to mind.
But the blackmailer’s identity was anyone’s guess.
When she returned home, she went straight to the drawing room and loaded a plate with two scones and a tartlet as large as her fist—then stared at it. Even Cook’s fresh raspberry jam wasn’t appealing. She brushed at a few stray crumbs and sipped her tea. It was only her nerves. They would go away with enough tea.
“There is a sight I don’t see every day.” Tabitha pointed her cane. “A full plate of food in front of you. What is the matter?”
“I don’t seem to be hungry.”
Tabitha stared at her for a moment, then walked over and put a hand on Amelia’s forehead. “No temperature.” She selected the chair next to her. “Are you ill?”
