Page 69 of Murder in Matrimony
The street was pitch black and afforded them no light for lock-picking, but it didn’t matter anyway. The door had an additional bolt that appeared uncrackable. They weren’t going in through the front door without a hacksaw.
Amelia glanced up, noting a broken pane of a window. While Oliver and Simon looked for another way in, she asked Kitty if she would be able to get her hand through the glass and open the window. She assured Amelia she would.
Kitty held up a hand. “I wore my torn gloves for that purpose. I knew they were still serviceable in some way.” Yes, she loved clothes, but she detested waste and repurposed most of her articles. It was one of many reasons Amelia respected and admired her.
“You are the lightest, and I’m certain Simon or Oliver could lift you up.”
“Not Oliver,” Kitty whispered. “I love him dearly, but when it comes to strength, he has none. Save him for his intellect. It will serve us once we get inside.”
Amelia called for Simon and told him the plan. Oliver argued at first, contending he should be the one to lift Kitty to the window. Simon proclaimed all he had to contribute was brute strength and to please allow him to do something. After a few moments of quarreling, Oliver acquiesced, and Simon easily lifted Kitty to the window above. She snaked her arm around the broken pane and unlocked the window. With an extra boost from Simon, she was in, with only a small gulp from Oliver when she landed inside with a thud.
The ten seconds they waited for her to open the back door were heart stopping. Oliver stared without blinking, and when it opened, he practically fell inside, hugging her to his chestand telling her how proud he was. “I had no idea you were so capable.”
Kitty tipped her chin in Amelia’s direction. “It isn’t my first escapade with Lady Agony.”
Amelia handed out four candles, and as Simon lighted them, their location became clearer. They were in an extremely tall room with wooden rafters. Upstairs were long packing tables and stalls where employees, most likely women and boys, packaged biscuits. The main floor contained the baking rooms. Long silver trays and an oven were just beyond her view. A single ladder led to offices and supply rooms.
Amelia nodded to it. “That must be where Miss Rothschild fell.”
They were silent for a moment.
“I should go up,” Amelia said.
“I’ll go with you.” Simon took a step closer to her.
“We’ll check this room and the next.” Oliver looked at Kitty for confirmation. She nodded, and the couples went off in different directions.
Slowly, Amelia made her way up the steep ladder. There were forty rungs at least, and despite not thinking herself afraid of heights, she felt lightheaded when she looked down. She focused on the upper rungs instead. When she neared the top, she paused.
“What is it?” Simon asked behind her.
She ran her hand across the rung. The wood was new, unblemished. “This is it. Where she fell.”
“How do you know?”
She compared it with the one above it. “The wood is new.”
“I believe you’re right.”
She continued up the remaining rungs, scanning the upper floor. Packaging tables, stands, and boxes filled the area. Here, workers packaged the goods for delivery and shipping. The space was the shape of a long rectangle, with one office, and she walked to it directly. It must be important to have its own door.
She tried the handle, but it was locked. She pulled two hairpins from the back of her head and felt several pieces of hair fall down her neck. She used one to create tension at the bottomof the lock. The other she inserted into the top of the lock to move its pins. When they released, she turned the tension pin until the lock turned and the door opened.
Simon put a hand on hers. “May I tell you how intriguing I find you at this moment?”
She arched an eyebrow. “Yes, but quickly.”
His bright smile flashed white in the candlelight, and they continued inside the room, which was small and contained a desk, chair, and cabinet. Amelia started with the desk while Simon examined the cabinet. The desk was orderly, and the lamp was full of oil, the wick newly trimmed. No stray papers or ledgers littered the surface. She opened the center drawer, and it was only deep enough to hold the simplest writing provisions—stamps, notepaper, a pen. She moved the paper, and two tarnished screws lay in the drawer. Nothing remarkable.
“I’m afraid, in terms of books, I’ve come up empty,” said Simon. “Any chance it’s in the baking room? That might be the usual place for a recipe.”
“Mr. Baker wouldn’t want secret formulas readily available to anyone.” She shut the center drawer and opened the deeper bottom drawer. It contained only one item: a thick black leather book that read BAKER BISCUITS LONDON OFFICE MIXING BOOK. “It’s here,” she announced.
Simon joined her as she laid the book atop the desk, zeroing in on its lock. This one might not be so easily picked.
Perhaps seeing her look of consternation, Simon said, “May I?”
“You?” She couldn’t keep the surprise completely out of her voice.
