Page 33 of Murder in Matrimony
“Not a bad idea,” said Simon smugly.
“Itisa bad idea.” Why were men so quick to act? Couldn’t they comprehend the far-reaching consequences of their actions? “Lord Drake returned the items. No good will come of him being arrested, only harm. He has a father who is quite ill. His beloved home in Cornwall will fall to ruin or be dismantled for firewood without Lord Drake. There is no one to care for it for him.”
He blinked. “He has an estate in Cornwall?”
“Yes, he does.”Utterly oblivious. “Promise me you won’t discuss the question with Lord Applegate?”
“Fine,” grumbled Simon. “I promise.” They continued walking, and Amelia noted how guarded he was, as if another hansom cab might bowl into them at any moment. “How long do you think we’ll be here?”
“I suppose that depends on the size of the statue.”
He didn’t exactly smile, but his lips suggested a grin, and that was all it took for her heart to do that thing it did when they were together. It had become so frequent that she couldn’t imagine it ever disappearing. In fact, she couldn’t imagine a life without Simon. They’d grown closer, and their relationship was more serious, allowing her to imagine a new life, one with him by her side.
They reached the lawn, and smack in the middle of the newly disturbed grass was a towering object covered with tenting material gathered at the middle and bottom. It was over eight feet tall and three feet wide and completely out of place in the small ornamental garden.
“Good God,” Simon muttered.
“Or gods.” Amelia squinted at the object. “Or muses. It has to be more than one of them under there.”
“Lady Amesbury. Lord Bainbridge.” Lady Applegate rushed to greet them, her bosom heaving as she padded over in too-tight moss-green slippers. She was dressed to match her garden today, and a repeating hydrangea pattern covered two thirdsof her skirt, which was so wide Amelia had to take a step backward to allow room for it.
“Good afternoon, Lady Applegate,” Amelia said. “What a perfect day to unveil your new statue.” She motioned to the cloudless sky.
“I simply could not wait until next season.” She smiled at the covered object. “When you see it, you will understand.”
“And why would you neglect us the pleasure of seeing itthisseason?” said Simon, and Lady Applegate tittered at the compliment. “When your husband suggested the idea at my dinner party the other evening, I promised myself not to miss it.”
Lady Applegate’s cheeks flushed, and she looked as pleased as one of the blush-colored roses in her garden. “It won’t be long now. As soon as everyone is here, we will undrape it. Then we will enjoy cake and champagne to celebrate the artist, who, by the way, took the train in from Sheffield to be here.”
“My.” Amelia could think of nothing else to say. Nonchalantly, she was looking for signs of guilt or distress: biting a lip, darting a glance, avoiding a conversation. Yet she detected none of those. If Lady Applegate had been the one in the hansom cab, she was a very good actress.
Lady Applegate excused herself to greet another guest, and Amelia scanned the grounds for Lord Applegate. She found him talking to Oliver Hamsted, Kitty’s husband, of all people. Kitty was unable to attend, for she was helping her neighbor decorate a nursery for a new baby, and the crib was arriving today. Amelia scrunched up her nose, turning to Simon. “I wonder how Mr. Hamsted was persuaded to attend. I cannot imagine he’s interested in statuary.”
“Perhaps at the dinner party, as I was.” Simon tipped his chin at a cluster of people by a Statue of David fountain. “I see quite a few of my guests here.”
They approached Oliver, and Lord Applegate gave them a hasty welcome. He was on his way to check on the artist. He lowered his voice. “You know these types. Very erratic with a tendency to fly away at a moment’s notice, not unlike the birds I study. They are uneasy creatures but worthwhile all the same.” He considered himself an amateur ornithologist and admiredbirds as much as his wife admired statues. Several fountains in the garden attested to his favorite hobby. “Help yourself to a drink.”
Amelia watched him walk into the house, waving a footman toward them as he did.
“How were you persuaded to attend, Hamsted? My party?” Simon asked Oliver.
“No,” Oliver explained. “My mother. She insisted I come in her place. A headache.” He took off his glasses, cleaning off a fingerprint. He replaced them on his narrow nose. “Now I have one as well after hearing Lord Applegate talk about his wife’s highly anticipated statue. The man must be deaf and blind.”
“Blind for certain.” Simon raised an eyebrow at the draped figure in the middle of the garden. A footman passed with a tray of drinks, and Simon selected a lemonade for Amelia. “What do you think is underneath there?”
Amelia took the glass. “A mermaid?”
Oliver raised a finger. “An octopus.”
“I hope whatever it is, it will be holding a carafe of whiskey.” Simon refused a second glass of lemonade from the footman. “It certainly would make the spectacle more tolerable.”
Amelia sipped at her lemonade, knowing it would be impossible to investigate until the creature was unveiled. Then, when the cake and champagne were served and everyone was distracted, she would make an excuse of having to visit the water closet. Once inside the house, she would search for any suggestion of Lord or Lady Applegate being the blackmailer. If she could get a glance at their penmanship, on a note or letter, she might be able to identify similarities, if not the author altogether.
Trudging behind Lord Applegate was a small man with a tall hat who took a fleeting glance at the house before they walked to the center of the garden. Lord Applegate introduced him as the artist, and he started when they clapped. Lord Applegate asked him to say a few words before revealing his creation, then shoved him in the direction of the draped figure.
“Uh … good afternoon. Thank you to the Applegates forinviting me to this event.” He blinked at the crowd. “I’m rather accustomed to my studio and clay and those sorts of things, but it’s nice to join real people once in a while.” He smiled, and a few partygoers chuckled. “This marble statue was inspired by Lady Applegate’s fondness for parties. She is bold and creative and never afraid to take chances.” The artist, not used to making speeches, swallowed, warming to the subject. “I wanted to imbue that same zeal in her request, and I believe I have accomplished that.” He put his hand on the drape. “Ladies and gentlemen, I present you with Dionysus, the ultimate host of festivities.”
At that, he unveiled a large statue of the robed god of wine and fertility. In one hand, Dionysus held a pine-cone staff and in the other, a drinking cup. Around his head was an ivy wreath, and behind him was a branch covered in grapevines. In truth, it was a nice representation of the Roman god. Amelia glanced at the other statues. She just wasn’t certain it should be placed next to a Christian representation of an angel.
