Page 34 of Murder in Matrimony
“Not holding a carafe of whiskey, but still a drinking glass,” Amelia said to Simon.
“If only it was filled with a beverage.” He smirked.
Lady Applegate was pleased with the unveiling and clapped her hands rapidly. She congratulated the artist with a glass of champagne, then made a toast. As soon as the cake came out, Amelia and Simon knew now was their chance. It was time to slip inside and find out if either of the Applegates was Lady Agony’s blackmailer.
FIFTEEN
Dear Lady Agony,
I understand love letters are to be returned or destroyed, but I have a special collection I am reluctant to part with. The author himself is dead, so no apprehension exists there, and my husband passed away many years ago. The only concern is for my children. I am unsure how they will respond to them when I am gone.
Devotedly,
Love Letters of Long Ago
Dear Love Letters of Long Ago,
It is impossible to know what your children will feel upon finding them. They might feel surprised, joyful, or disappointed. The better question might be: How much do you care? Try to weigh your answer against the pleasure the letters bring you. Then make your decision.
Yours in Secret,
Lady Agony
Once inside Lady Applegate’s morning room, Amelia realized how out of place Simon was and how unhelpful he may be. He certainly wasn’t the stealthy accomplice Kitty was. With her small stature and quick movements, Kitty could slip in and out of places that Amelia wouldn’t deign to go—in between fence posts, behind bookshelves, up garden trellises. To be honest, Amelia’s backside was a little too curvy to attempt such feats.
Inside the small mint and white room, Simon looked like a gorilla—large, hairy, and all thumbs. His shoulders were a dark square upon the light wall, and black whiskers darkened his chin despite it being only three o’clock in the afternoon. Whenhe took a step forward, a small pink vase on a table shook, and Amelia quelled the urge to tell him not to break anything. Instead, she asked him to mind the door. If he wasn’t moving, their location might remain secure.
“What do you mean ‘mind the door’? I’m not a buffoon, Amelia.”
Your words, not mine.
“If we both search, we will finish twice as quickly,” he continued. “Let me do something.”
“Fine,” she agreed. “You take the shelves. I’ll take the desk.”
He grunted an approval, and she made her way to the small oak secretaire, which provided writing space and a shelf. Noting a stack of stationery, Amelia opened the glass cabinet. The paper was ivory and contained Lady Applegate’s initials. Not familiar. She moved to a second smaller pile. It contained a crest, which Amelia assumed belonged to the Applegates. Unremarkable. She scanned envelopes, postage stamps, and sealing wax but found no connections to the blackmailer.
“Psst.”
Amelia looked up. Even his whispers were loud.
Simon had the drawer open of a small whatnot. Similar to Lady Applegate’s garden, it overflowed with bric-a-brac. The shelves contained tiny crystal figurines, picture frames, miniature spoons, and what appeared to be a medal from some government office. He held up a magazine.
Amelia squinted at the title for a better look. It was the same magazine Lord Drake had brought to her attention yesterday.
Simon flicked the paper. “She reads the magazine. She might be the blackmailer.”
“Look for Lady Agony’s columns. If she reads one magazine, she may read the other.” She opened a drawer and found a note that read:Garden fountain?Lady Applegate was obviously contemplating a new piece for her garden, and Amelia’s first question was where would she place it? Ignoring the question, she stared at the penmanship of the note. It wasn’t much to go on, but Amelia saw no similarities to the blackmailer. It was true that the blackmailer tried to disguise his or her writingby using print instead of cursive. Still, Amelia felt as if she would recognize it when she saw it. Perhaps she was giving herself too much credit.
She continued to a lower, deeper drawer. There, she found menus, obviously written by the housekeeper. The penmanship was wholly different than the note about the garden fountain. She sifted through receipts, written by any number of merchants. Then, in the farthest corner, she noted a slim stack of letters with a ribbon around them.Success!She reached for them, slowly untying the gold ribbon. Her hand shook a little at the idea of facing the blackmailer’s handwriting. Instead, she saw love letters to Lady Applegate from a long-ago romance. The handwriting belonged to a man, so it was no use to her, but the sentiment behind the words was tenable, and Amelia felt herself release a little sigh. She was thoroughly touched by the words and feeling behind them.
“What is it?” asked Simon.
She smiled. “Old love letters.”
“I have nothing of value here either.”
So romantic. She frowned, retying the bow that secured the stack of letters, and put them back in the drawer. When she did, she noted an appointment book. Upon opening it, she noticed it contained the addresses of Lady Applegate’s friends. They were printed—and nothing like the print of the blackmailer. She flipped several pages just to be sure.
