Page 48 of Murder in Matrimony
Amelia didn’t have the heart to tell him Kitty suggested the idea for herself and Amelia. He genuinely seemed excited at the prospect of helping with the investigation, and she wasn’t sure why she was surprised by his reaction. He was a scholar, a researcher. He was naturally curious about many subjects, and Cross’s murder was now one of them. “I don’t see why not. We might be able to make a pretense of preparing for the wedding.”
“I’ve found,” said Oliver eagerly, “that the more people involved in a process, the more chaotic it becomes. Chaos may create an opportunity to examine the contents of the fireplace without supervision.”
Kitty beamed at her husband with pride.
“If you are occupied with Penroy, as you must be, it will afford me the opportunity to examine the fireplace.” A brown lock of hair fell across Oliver’s eye, and he swept it back. “I am very good with delicate materials, Lady Amesbury. I study them with gloves at the library. You can trust me to retrieve any evidence without causing it harm.”
“Of course I do,” Amelia assured him. “You are the most qualified of all of us to figure out the contents.” She meant every word; however, she did worry about his clumsiness. He could be physically awkward when it came to parties or events. But in a task that involved document retrieval? He would surely be capable.
“Then we have a plan.” Kitty couldn’t contain her excitement and clasped her hands together. “Oliver and I will fetch you and Lord Bainbridge tomorrow, and to the vicarage we shall go.”
“Do wait until after breakfast,” said Amelia. “I promised Winifred a game of jacks.”
Oliver crossed his arms. “You certainly live a double life, Lady Amesbury. Countess, mother, authoress. How do you keep it up?”
She looked at the sympathetic eyes returning her glance. “With a great deal of help from my friends.”
TWENTY-ONE
Dear Lady Agony,
I’ve heard three whistlers in as many days, carrying on like birds in a tree. Please inform your readers that whistling in public is in bad taste. Many seem to have forgotten entirely.
Devotedly,
Annoyed Listener
Dear Annoyed Listener,
I like nothing better than to whistle a tune. However, I keep the noise to myself due to the annoyance it causes others. I remind readers, as you ask, to do the same.
Yours in Secret,
Lady Agony
The next morning, Amelia hurried to meet Lord Drake in Hyde Park to share with him the good news. Last evening, she’d sent a note to him, hoping to alleviate his worries at her first opportunity. He had readily agreed to the meeting, no doubt fearing the worst. He would be grateful to learn that the blackmailer had ceased her attempts and was giving up the plan to out the Mayfair Marauder.
With a little help from her son.
Amelia smiled to herself as she entered the gate at Hyde Park Crossing. When she considered Oliver’s actions, they still amused her. Who but Oliver Hamsted would have no qualms about claiming the pen name of Lady Agony? She shook her head. She could have told him about her secret work much earlier; he might have been a helpful collaborator. Yet she and Kitty had great fun keeping it from him. All the wild excuses they’d made up for the sake of a letter came to mind, and shewondered if he was now recalling them too. Perhaps never again would she and Kitty be able to slip out the servants’ door without him noticing. Then again, he could be terribly obtuse when he was in the middle of writing a book or researching an article. They might still pass by undetected.
Amelia wasn’t surprised to see Lord Drake waiting on a park bench even though she was fifteen minutes early. He stood when he saw her approach. He was dressed impeccably, despite the early hour, in a dark brown overcoat, light blue cravat, and matching powder-blue gloves. But the plum shadows under his eyes conveyed his distress and lack of sleep, and the scar near his lip deepened with his frown as he inquired about her request for a meeting. “I take it you do not have good news.”
“On the contrary, I have very good news.” Amelia smiled. “The blackmailer is no longer a threat. I have it on good authority from her son that she will cease the subterfuge immediately.”
“Herson.” His brown eyes widened. “It is a woman?”
Amelia nodded. “Lady Hamsted.”
“The ruby.” Lord Drake stood still, thinking, then slowly nodded. “I heard her rail about its theft long after it was returned. I assumed it was braggadocio over its value.”
“I cannot say I’m completely surprised.” Amelia took a step toward the path, and he followed. She didn’t want their conversation remarked by anyone. “An occurrence happened with her daughter-in-law Kitty Hamsted, who is my dear friend, that opened my eyes to her true nature.”
“Is that how you found her out?” he asked. “Because of your friendship?”
“I am quite close to the family.” Amelia sidestepped a stray branch. “I started with our list of victims, as we discussed at my house. After I ruled out Aunt Tabitha, I sought out the Applegates. But it was Kitty Hamsted who guessed it was her mother-in-law.” It wasn’t a lie. Kitty had recognized the handkerchief. “Her son, Oliver, was able to confirm it. Once he confronted her, it was easy to convince her to stop. He said if he’d been able to discover she was the blackmailer, it would be possible for others to as well. Once she realized her name,not just the thief’s, would be involved in the scandal, she dropped the idea immediately. She did not want the Hamsted name associated with the gossip papers.”
They were now at the statue of Achilles and stopped. Towering thirty-six feet in the air, it made a grandiose statement, if not a controversial one, for although a fig leaf covered the hero’s nether regions, it did not cloak them completely. As the city’s first nude statue since antiquity, it was often noticed and much remarked upon. The dedication to Arthur Duke of Wellington for his efforts in the Peninsular and Napoleonic Wars made little difference to the indignant who thought nudity should be rejected at all costs. Amelia thought such effrontery was not only disrespectful to the sculptor but childish. She couldn’t imagine spending so much time on a piece of art only to have it disparaged by petty people.
