Page 52 of Murder in Matrimony
She wracked her brain for something to say, some question that had been left unasked. But the last several minutes were a fog. She might have been standing at the altar of All Saints on Margaret Street, but her mind had been somewhere else. “Uh … uh … then we leave our posts?”
“Why yes, of course.” Mr. Penroy turned and continued walking.
At this point, Simon tried a whistle and failed miserably. What came out was a hiss that might have come from a broken tea kettle. It wasn’t even enough to catch Penroy’s attention, let alone the attention of the intended receiver: Oliver Hamsted.
She frowned at Simon.
He looked as sheepish as a boy who has been caught taking a second dessert. “I told you I am an inadequate whistler. I said I needed a different signal.”
Ignoring the complaint, Amelia grabbed his hand and pulled him down the aisle after Penroy, whistling all the way.
TWENTY-TWO
Dear Lady Agony,
We know June is the best month to marry, but what of the day of the week? Can you give brides any advice?
Sincerely,
Wedding Day Decision
Dear Wedding Day Decision,
I cannot, but perhaps this old rhyme can:
Marry on Monday for health,
Tuesday for wealth,
Wednesday the best day of all,
Thursday for crosses,
Friday for losses, and
Saturday for no luck at all.
Yours in Secret,
Lady Agony
Simon and Amelia had no choice but to follow Mr. Penroy into the vicarage. Upon entering, they continued making as much noise as possible. For Simon’s part, he talked loudly, mostly about the medieval architecture. He praised William Butterfield’s masterpiece and the gothic embellishments. Amelia, however, knew how to whistle and whistled loudly, also commenting on the prettiness of the stained-glass windows, illuminated by the afternoon sun.
Penroy looked at them curiously. He was a dull man without imagination, the type of person who did not ask questions about the color of the sky or the makeup of the stars. He was interested in that which involved himself and was unable to remark with any effect on the beauty of the church or the day.Instead, he continued marching toward his office with a general murmur of acquiescence.
Amelia resisted hiding her eyes as they rounded the corner. The office door was open, but with relief, she saw that Oliver was not inside. The curtains, half open, afforded only filtered light, yet it was enough to take in the room. The fireplace was dark and unlit, and if Oliver had searched it, he left no evidence of himself behind. Their efforts to warn him must have worked.
They’d just entered the room when Oliver joined them, and Amelia wondered if perhaps he’d ducked out the moment before they arrived.
“You haven’t seen Mrs. Hamsted, have you?” asked Oliver.
Amelia shook her head. “She is probably busily planning the number of orange blossoms to procure.”
“Join us, Hamsted,” said Simon. “Mr. Penroy was just about to show us where the attendants will sign after the wedding.”
“Thank you.” Oliver eyed the bookshelf. “I’ll busy myself with these volumes if you don’t mind.”
“Go ahead,” said Mr. Penroy with a hint of exhaustion. He seemed ready for the group to leave. “I cannot vouch for their quality. I haven’t had time to go through them.”
