Page 59 of Murder in Matrimony
“What does it matter now?” Mrs. Rothschild’s voice was cold and distant.
“I cannot say. All I know is that it is important.” She didn’t want to lie to Mrs. Rothschild after the woman had been so brutally honest, but she also did not want to raise another question in her mind. She had enough guilt to comprehend. “Does that make sense?”
She nodded.
“Do you have her address? I know she does not get around well.”
Mrs. Rothschild gave her the information, and Amelia was saddened to learn Mrs. Hines lived in the rookery not far from the public house. Kitty could not join her on this expedition. Amelia and Oliver were on the best of terms, and she did not want to jeopardize that. Yet she wasn’t so dull as to go alone to that area of town. Simon would have to accompany her.
Thinking of him brought a new warmth to her face. At All Saints on Margaret Street, they had shared a moment that had her considering the future. Would Simon ever marry? Would she? They both had problemed pasts, but she wouldn’t have changed hers for all the gold in Egypt. Every moment had made her into the person she was today. He’d told her he cared for her, and that was enough.
Wasn’t it?
Considering her sister’s wedding and Mr. Cross’s murder investigation, she would have to let it be—for now. But she hoped not forever.
She bid goodbye to Mrs. Rothschild. Then she and her family left the shop, handed their packages of gloves and hats to the footman, and ascended the carriage steps. After final alterations, the dresses would be delivered tomorrow. Amelia only hoped they would still be needed after Margaret talked to Captain Fitz.
“And how are you feeling, dear?” her mother asked Madge once they were safely tucked into the carriage. They were three to a side, and it was a tight fit. Amelia was grateful Winifred was next to her, for her smallness gave them more room.
“Not great,” Madge said in brutal honesty. Amelia wishedshe had a soupçon of consideration for other people’s sensibilities, which were often more delicate than her own. As it was, their mother’s face fell at the remark, and Amelia tried to repair the damage.
“She’ll feel better once she talks to the captain.” Amelia attempted a cheerful smile. “It will calm her nerves.”
“I’ve never had a case of nerves in my life.” Madge’s tone was prideful, and Amelia, too, was proud of her strength, but at this moment, the reminder was unwelcome to their mother, and Amelia wished she’d kept the proclamation to herself. “But I do want to speak to the captain,” Madge continued. “Will you accompany me, Penelope? They won’t let you go anywhere by yourself in the city, and Amelia has too much to do.”
“Of course I will.” Penelope noted Sarah’s crestfallen face and added, “Perhaps Sarah might join us?”
“Good idea,” said Madge. “You two talk between yourselves while I discuss a few things with the captain. You know,” she added in a low voice, “personal things.”
“Gracious, Margaret Ann.” Mrs. Scott clasped her hands on her lap. “Please remember our dear Winifred.”
Winifred, who was sitting between Amelia and Madge, giggled.
When they arrived at the house, Amelia was pleased to see Simon in the entryway. She was not as pleased, however, to see Uncle Henry with his hand on the shoulder of the marquis, as if they were bosom friends and not new acquaintances.
She took a steadying breath and handed her parasol to Jones.
“You see, I am a connoisseur, if you will, of the happy cordial, and I feel obligated to supply the house with the liquor which it seems bereft of.” Uncle Henry had ample side whiskers, and as he leaned in, they nearly brushed Simon. “I cannot imagine a house in all of England that deprives its inhabitants of the enjoyment of sherry, can you?”
“I cannot.” Simon checked his timepiece. “And at this hour.”
Amelia bit her lip to contain her smile. It was only teatime.
“Quite so,” said Uncle Henry. “Do you have any idea where I might find a good Spanish sherry in London?”
Simon shared the name of his favorite establishment, andAmelia lowered her lids at him. Blast Simon for giving up the information. At this rate, Uncle Henry would be snookered before dinner.
Uncle Henry set off for the mentioned place immediately, and once he was gone, Amelia pulled Simon into the morning room. “I hope you’re pleased with yourself. I hid the sherry before Uncle Henry arrived for a reason.”
“I apologize.” The wry smile on Simon’s lips betrayed his true feelings on the matter. “The man was determined to go, and he being your relative, my only thought was to assist him.”
She admired his empathy for Uncle Henry, and perhaps there wasn’t a man or woman alive who didn’t need a glass of sherry after a day of planning Margaret Scott’s wedding. Heaven knew, she was looking forward to one—after she paid a visit to Mrs. Hines. She must go today if she was to resume preparations tomorrow. “I need to visit Mrs. Hines, the woman who was attacked after her shift at the pub. Mrs. Rothschild said her daughter gifted Mrs. Hines a cane. The problem is her address. She lives on Old Nichol Street.”
“Old Nichol Street,” repeated Simon with new stress in his voice. “Of course I will go, if you are asking.”
“You believe I would enter the rookery without an escort?”
“I believe you would do whatever you thought would help solve the murder of Mr. Cross.” He raised a dark eyebrow. “Am I wrong?”
