Page 54 of Murder in Matrimony
“True.” Amelia squinted at the fragment. “But no word or punctuation mark follows it.”
“Maybe it is a list.” Kitty held up a finger. “I make lists all the time for my parties.”
Amelia thought on the idea. It could be a list, but what sort of list ended with the wordour? She returned to the book. “What ofThe Mill on the Floss? He wouldn’t have splurged on himself.”
Oliver cleaned his glasses. “I agree with you. The books in his collection were a decade old. Maybe someone loaned him the books.”
“Maybe someone gave them to him,” added Simon.
“Maybe Miss Rothschild,” Amelia thought aloud.
“But she worked at the factory only a month.” Kitty frowned. “I cannot imagine she had excess funds to purchase several expensive gifts.”
A thought came to Amelia. “Such as the cross necklace she gave her mother.”
Kitty gasped. “Yes.”
Simon touched his chin. “Miss Rothschild might have been involved in something she shouldn’t have been, something that earned her additional funds.”
“But what?” Oliver asked.
“That is the question.” Amelia glanced at the group. “It’s one I’m going to put to her mother, who might have some idea where the money came from for her necklace. She had to wonder about it, given their reduced circumstances. Perhaps she asked.”
“A solid plan,” said Kitty. “We must go back to St. George-in-the-East.”
“Imust,” Amelia corrected. “You don’t have to do anything.”
Kitty reached for Amelia’s hands. “After all you’ve been through, I would never desert you in your hour of need.” Her blue eyes darted to Oliver. “Mr. Hamsted would not expect me to, would you, dear?”
Oliver rushed to assure them both. “Of course not. Mr. Cross was your friend and confidant, Lady Amesbury. After all you’ve told me about the situation, I think only you might be able to puzzle together the pieces of his death. If my wife can be of support, who am I to withhold her assistance?”
“She is indeed a great help to me. You all are.” She shook her head. “How can I ever repay you?” She was overwhelmed by the support she felt in the carriage. Even Simon, who’d been so reluctant when they first met, was prepared to help her in every way. He was still overly cautious, in her opinion, but he was there for her in ways that she never expected.
“By your friendship—and esteem.” Simon’s voice dipped lower with the last word, and with it, Amelia’s stomach.
“You have it,” promised Amelia.
“I have a feeling you’re going to rely on us all a good deal to get through these next few days …” Oliver was staring out the window distractedly. He pulled back the curtain so that they could see what he was seeing. His face revealed the hopelessness Amelia felt upon taking in the situation.
In front of her house was one, two, three carriages—and that didn’t account for the family coming by train. Members of the Scott family were in various states of unloading, and Bailey, despite having his hands full, was taking a large trunk from Aunt Gertrude. As the carriage drew closer, Amelia heard her say it was impossible to find good poultry in the city, and she’d brought a nice duck for dinner. She only hoped the cook might know how to dress it properly.
While this comment was dreadful enough, still more dreadful was the fact that Aunt Tabitha watched all of it unfold from the front step. She stood as rigid as a watchtower guard, determined not to allow the enemy entrance. With her raven-handled cane gripped at her side, she made a formidable obstacle, but Winifred circumvented her. She ducked under her arm, runningdown the steps to greet Madge and Veronica Scott, whom she already thought of as family. Veronica, Amelia’s mother, greeted her with a generous hug, and despite the chaos of the scene, Amelia felt herself smile.
Her smile was dampened, however, by the icy eyes of Tabitha Amesbury, which landed on hers at that very moment. Amelia’s only relief was the necessary wait she must endure to get into her own house. Indeed, it might be several minutes before their carriage could unload, and she savored those moments like a prisoner’s last meal.
“I suppose none of you wants to join me?” All at once, they spoke their excuses. “I do not blame you. I suppose I must face the lion’s den alone.”
The carriage inched forward.
It stopped in front of the house, and she sighed. “‘Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more.’”
TWENTY-THREE
Dear Lady Agony,
Are all brides doomed to wear white? My skin looks dreadful in the pale color, yet the dressmaker says it is all she sews. What is a woman to do? I’m to be married next June.
Devotedly,
