Page 47 of Murder in Matrimony
“How did you explain your knowledge of her being the blackmailer?” asked Amelia.
“When you told me she wrote the letters to you in uppercase, I came to the idea.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing a leg over his knee. “She writes the letter “z” in a distinct way, as you said, with a curl. When I confronted her, I asked her to write the wordzebraon a piece of paper. She thought it was one of my clever word games and agreed immediately. I saw the curl, and I remarked on it. Then I said old habits die hard even when one tries to change—or disguise—them. I would recognize her letter “z” anywhere and had recognized it lately in her letters to Lady Agony.”
“Brilliant,” Amelia said. “A claim she could not doubt.”
“Or refute. If I had read the letters with my own eyes, then I must be Lady Agony.”
Hearing him say it still brought a smile to Amelia’s lips.
“Did she try to force you to name the Mayfair Marauder?” asked Simon.
“At first.” Oliver uncrossed his leg and came closer to the table. “She is still sore about the ruby, although she said what really bothered her was the thief entering her bedroom.” He frowned. “It seems she’s had trouble sleeping in there since thetheft. I feel bad about that, certainly, but it is no excuse for doing what she did.”
Herself suffering from many a sleepless night, Amelia understood how a lack of sleep could affect a person’s wellbeing. When the problem became chronic, it occupied more of a person’s mind than a person without the affliction might believe. Not only that, but it led to general unease that, in this instance, Lady Hamsted blamed on the thief. It did not excuse her letters, but it did add perspective to them.
“Once I told her I am conducting research on London thieves and could not name my source, she quit the topic. She thanked me for forcing the thief to return her jewel at once. She might have guessed Lady Agony had a personal interest in the outcome, she said.” He grinned at Amelia. “If only she knew how right she had been.”
“And it is thanks to you that she did not.” Simon held up his glass of port. “To Mr. Hamsted, a dear friend, renowned scholar—and intrepid deviant!”
Kitty and Amelia joined in the toast, and Oliver colored only slightly at Simon’s praise. When Kitty continued extolling his bravery, however, he quickly switched topics off himself. “How are the plans coming for your sister’s wedding?”
“Tolerably.” Amelia set down her glass. “If only I could come to a conclusion about Mr. Cross’s murderer, I would feel more at ease. The idea that someone murdered him so near his own church is abhorrent to me. The person must be caught before the wedding.”
Simon frowned. “You and Kitty learned of no new prospects at your meeting at St. George-in-the-East?”
“Aprayermeeting,” Kitty quickly added when Oliver gave her a quizzical glance. After she and Amelia told him about her secret pseudonym, Kitty had admitted to accompanying Amelia on some of her tasks. Oliver was actually relieved at knowing the reason behind some of Kitty’s excursions. Before this knowledge, he was left to guess at the cause of a tear in her dress or a leaf in her hair. Still, he made both Kitty and Amelia promise that they would include him if future tasks included physical danger, which they promptly did.
“The only prospect it illuminated was a possible arsonist at the Plate & Bottle.” Amelia recollected the information with dread and unease. If the person acted again, who was to say he wouldn’t be successful this time?
“Excuse me?” said Simon. “I must have missed some part of the story.”
Amelia explained that the oven at the Plate & Bottle had started on fire twice. After the second fire, Mr. Cross suggested that Mrs. Rothschild write to someone about the problem, and that someone had to be Lady Agony. The morning of his death, he’d told Amelia he wanted her to help someone in Wapping, and it must be Mrs. Rothschild.
Kitty sat up straighter. “It is possible Mr. Cross knew more about the arsonist than he realized.”
The room went quiet as they collectively considered the idea. Something about Kitty’s words hit upon a memory, and Amelia recalled her conversation at the vicarage with Mr. Cross. The topic had been Madge and Captain Fitz and their upcoming nuptials. Then she recalled her subsequent conversation with Penroy, also about the engaged couple. Prominent in her mind was the empty space on the mantel, where the clock had once stood. Like Cross, it was gone, and in its place a hole that could never be filled.
Which brought to mind the fireplace.
That’s it!
“When I met with Mr. Penroy, in Cross’s office the day after his murder, I noted ashes in the fireplace.”
“Go on,” Oliver prodded.
“When Kitty mentioned the arsonist, I immediately thought of fire. There would be no reason to light a fire on the unseasonably warm day.”
Oliver tilted his head inquisitively. “You believe a fire was set on purpose? Like the ones at the Plate & Bottle?”
Amelia nodded. “Yes, perhaps to destroy something of value. Perhaps a piece of evidence Mr. Cross found, as Kitty said, about the arsonist.”
“Think back.” Simon leaned closer. “Might we be able to decipher the contents of the fire if we were to return to the vicarage?”
Amelia closed her eyes for a moment, but nothing came. “I cannot say. All I remember is the empty place on the mantel and the ash in the fireplace.”
“It would not hurt to revisit it,” said Kitty. “Even a small fragment might be enough to determine the contents.”
“All of us?” Oliver’s face was as bright as a new coin.
