Page 39 of Murder in Matrimony
“Yes …” It did seem that way to Amelia. The women with the finest clothes were always the most popular.
“In volunteer groups, the opposite is true. Women in dour clothes are most respected. They’ve denied themselves and given everything to God—or at least the church. It’s an outward sign of their commitment.”
Amelia glanced down at her brown dress. “Is mine sufficiently dour?”
“Oh yes,” Kitty said a little too enthusiastically. “Most of your clothes are plain. You have nothing to worry about.”
Amelia sniffed, but what Kitty said was true. She didn’t care much for fashion, and her clothes were more practical than pretty, with a few exceptions. She had an emerald-green gown that was exactly the color of Simon’s eyes and a jet-black riding habit that displayed her curves reasonably well. These two articles she could recall with pride and pleasure. The other items in her closet were a vague collection of cloth suitable to her station.
Regardless, Amelia would fit in, and that’s what was most important. Her focus now was on St. George-in-the-East and the prayer meeting Mrs. Rothschild organized. More than ever, women were getting involved with charity and reform work, and the work didn’t only benefit the recipients. Women were learning how to motivate, plan, allocate, and put words into action. What started as a prayer group often transformed into a group that enacted real change. Many women were committed to helping the poor, feeding the hungry, and housing orphaned children. They could be proud of the achievements they, as a whole, were making.
When Amelia and Kitty arrived at Cannon Street Road, two priests were at the door of the adjacent rectory. Amelia wondered if they could be members of the Society for the Greater Good; Mr. James had mentioned them getting together today. The prayer meeting did not start for a quarter-hour, and she and Kitty might overhear something of value. She asked Kitty.
“Overhear?” Kitty repeated. “You mean eavesdrop.” She retied the black bow on her bonnet, which could not completelyconceal her prettiness. Her cheeks were still as round as apples and just as pink, if not pinker, against the black bow. “I’m willing.” The footman opened the carriage door, and she added, “As long as I am not doomed for all eternity for spying on holy men.”
“Not likely.” Amelia followed her out of the carriage. “In fact, we might be nominated for sainthood if we solve Mr. Cross’s murder.”
“That is taking it too far.”
Amelia tipped her chin to an open window on the ground floor of the three-story brick building. From it wafted a collection of men’s voices. Some were quiet and old; others were young and energetic. It had to be a society meeting. “There, in that room. We can seek cover behind the bush.”
Kitty agreed, and Amelia led the way, thankful for their plain gowns. They were free of the frills and multiple petticoats that would have marked their approach. She crouched close to the wall, and Kitty followed her example. When they neared the occupied room, Amelia took a step closer to the overgrown shrubbery, concealing their location. From what she could gather from snippets of conversation, it was the end of the meeting. The men were discussing the next one and where to conduct it.
“I refuse to plan another, acting as if all is well.” While not shouting, the man’s voice was terse. “One priest is dead. Who is to say one of us won’t be next if the group continues? I ask what good is it to society if their priest is killed?”
“Point taken, Thompson, but we cannot be cowed into submission.” Amelia recognized the voice of Mr. James. “There is work to be done, in Wapping especially.”
“Work while they throw rocks?” Mr. Thompson chuckled harshly. “That’s what they did to Cross.”
“And still he persevered,” added another voice.
“Until they killed him,” Mr. Thompson retorted.
Silence ensued, and Amelia grasped the enormity of their task. Wapping was a poor district with many problems of drunkenness, prostitution, and gambling. It would be hard for anyone to solve them, especially priests who were sometimesignorant to the way people lived. Amelia had learned it was easy to be charitable when one had the money, easy to be hospitable when one had a home, and easy to be pious when one had the time. But many Wapping residents had none of these. Their actions and reactions were often physical ones because those were the powers they possessed.
“We cannot just quit.” The voice belonged to Mr. James, who sounded slightly defeated in the light of the cold, hard truth.
A beat passed, and then another priest answered. “Let us meet at All Saints then. We will be safe there.”
Amelia covered her mouth before she could gasp audibly. It was Mr. Penroy.What is he doing here?Penroy had minimalized Mr. Cross’s work to Amelia’s face. He cared nothing about it. As far as he was concerned, Mr. Cross was trying to make a name for himself in the hope that he would be noticed by the bishop or others in the upper echelons of the church. Anyone who spent time in Wapping, however, must realize the enormity of Mr. Cross’s task. Had he desired fame or popularity, he could have obtained it by an easier undertaking.
“Safe?” Mr. Thompson repeated incredulously. “It is where Cross was killed.”
“Under normal circumstances, it is very safe, and I will make certain of our safety the day of our meeting. We can put the question of the society to rest once and for all.” A few priests murmured their acquiescence, and they agreed on a date. “It is settled, then. James, more tea?”
The thought of Penroy presiding over Mr. Cross’s most sacred group made Amelia feel ill. He had told her what he thought of the poor. How could he manage a society he didn’t care about? Maybe he didn’t mean to manage it at all. Maybe he meant to bury it with the body of Mr. Cross.
Amelia shuddered, and Kitty touched her arm. Kitty knew what was going through her mind and gave her a sympathetic look. Amelia dipped her chin, indicating that she was all right, and they trailed back the way they had come, entering one of the side doors of the church.
Once inside, Amelia said, “It cannot be true. Penroy hashad nothing to do with the society.” The church was dim and quiet, and the words, like a prayer, dissipated into the towering space.
“He does now.” Kitty sighed. “The group agreed on the next meeting.”
“He’s officious. That is all. They could not help but agree with him.”
Kitty inclined her head. “Are those the women in the prayer group?”
Amelia followed her gaze, noting three women gathered near the entry of the church. They were dressed very simply, and their actions were almost identical. They moved quickly, like butterflies, wanting to complete the most work in the shortest amount of time. They each had items for sorting or perhaps donating, and one woman held a basket. “It must be. I wonder which one is Mrs. Rothschild?”
