Page 10 of Murder in Matrimony (A Lady of Letters Mystery #4)

“I’m glad we do.” Simon looked at Amelia. “When will you reveal the name?”

Amelia calmly smoothed her dress. “Never.”

A maid entered with a hefty tea tray. “Here we are!”

The three of them watched her place the tea things on the table.

Amelia was grateful for the assortment of sandwiches and cakes, especially considering it wasn’t the traditional time for tea.

Cook was considerate when it came to male guests, however.

She had three sons of her own and knew how hungry men could be at the noon hour.

Perhaps sensing the tension in the room, the maid glanced tentatively at Amelia. “Shall I pour?”

“No, thank you. I’ll take it from here.”

When the maid was gone, Amelia poured three cups of tea. “Sugar?”

“No.” The word was a curse in Simon’s mouth.

“I’d like sugar.” Grady selected three sandwiches. “And milk, please.”

“Milk, Lord Bainbridge?”

“You know I take it black,” Simon spat.

“Do I?” Amelia tilted her head. “I’m not good with domestic details.”

“You will reveal the name of the thief, Amelia. Grady and I agree it’s the right thing to do.”

“It is my column. It is my decision.” Never had Amelia felt so passionate or possessive about her work.

It was her work alone. Who were these men to tell her how to do it?

Of course they cared for her, and she cared for them, but she did not tell them how to do their jobs, and she preferred they offered her the same respect.

“And if the blackmailer comes after you?” Simon set down the tea she offered.

“That is a risk I’m willing to take.”

“I am not,” said Simon. “I know his identity, and I am willing to reveal it.”

“You wouldn’t!” Amelia gasped.

“I could and would if it meant preventing harm to you or your family.” He was as obstinate in his words as she had been in hers. “Frankly, I’m surprised you wouldn’t do the same.”

“I would do anything for my family. You know that. But the blackmailer might not even know my identity. When I know for certain, I’ll act.”

“You’ll reveal the name of the Mayfair Marauder, you mean?” Grady clarified.

“I’ll act on the best interest of everyone involved,” she stated. “Until then, I ask for your patience on the matter. We won’t print the letter. Silence at least will pacify the blackmailer.”

“For now,” answered Grady. “But not forever.” He drank his tea.

To Simon’s credit, he did not answer. He studied her like a mathematical equation that was just beyond his calculation.

He didn’t understand her loyalty to Lord Drake; perhaps he was even envious of it.

She and Lord Drake were bound by their shared experience and sorrow.

They’d both watched their loved ones battle diseases, Lord Drake longer than Amelia.

She could only guess how hard it was for him to see his father suffer, enduring the arduous work of watching a person fight an illness that was as cruel as any war.

Unless one had been through it, one couldn’t imagine the feeling of helplessness.

In war, one might retaliate with a gun or knife.

But against a disease that took a person from his loved one day by day?

It was an invisible enemy fought in the dark.

“Have you any updates on Mr. Cross?” Amelia asked, switching topics.

“Word is the police are combing the East End for a thief or beggar who did the deed.” Grady held up his empty cup, and Amelia refilled it. “They suspect one of his connections from Wapping. A lot of bad men live in that area.”

“A lot of good, too.” Amelia wasn’t sure why she felt defensive.

Maybe it was because she knew how much it meant to Mr. Cross and how hard he’d worked there.

He talked often about the good he was doing and how many were changing their ways.

He was convinced that all they needed was someone to care about them, to show interest. He had, and it made a difference.

“Tell that to the altar server who was hit with an orange during one of Mr. Cross’s visits.” Grady set down his teacup and reached for a piece of Victoria cake. “The congregation was so angry at Mr. Cross for getting in their business, they threw fruit at him during the service.”

“Fruit?” Amelia questioned. “That sounds fairly harmless.”

“It hit an altar boy, who needed new spectacles.” Grady searched the tray for one more piece of cake. “When Cross returned the next week, they threw rocks, and St. George-in-the-East was closed for a day because of a broken window.” He settled on one and took a bite.

“Not exactly harmless, if you ask me,” put in Simon.

It sounded as if Mr. Cross had overstepped his authority, which was surprising, in a way, considering how mild he was in Mayfair.

He rarely said anything that might be considered controversial.

He preached about the poor, yes, but the congregation was accustomed to that.

They expected it, even. Mr. Cross wanted and needed money for the poor in the East End, and he drew up a collection regularly.

Many of the women in the congregation volunteered to help those in need.

Which gave Amelia an idea. She’d been considering how she might gain access to the parishioners of St. George-in-the-East, and now she had it.

When the time came, she and Kitty could volunteer.

Many women participated in weekly or biweekly prayer meetings.

If they approached the women with the idea of helping, they would surely be welcomed.

For now, she returned to Grady’s information. The police were combing the East End for a vagrant, and she wondered if they’d had any luck. She asked him.

“I’m afraid they don’t have any solid suspects yet.” Grady dusted sugar from his hands. “Police know of several professional thieves in Wapping, but their whereabouts could be accounted for—in the East End.”

“It doesn’t make sense to me.” Amelia shook her head. “Why would anyone follow Mr. Cross all the way to Mayfair when they could have killed him in Wapping?”

“I think the answer is obvious,” said Simon. “The poor box. What could be taken in Wapping that would be worth the same?”

If the purpose was money, more was to be had in Mayfair than any other part of town.

Even Penroy thought money was the root of most evil.

Mr. Cross might have talked of the abundance in his Mayfair church to the wrong person.

If that was the case, the person might have been enticed to follow the priest across town.

“Your point is well taken. If you are right, the murderer is someone close to St. George-in-the-East. I will need to visit the parish to determine if that is the case.”

Grady put on his hat, which he had tucked between his knees. “Will you go today?”

“I can’t.” She frowned. “I have a dinner to attend. One of those long, ostentatious events that require several hours of preparation and many petticoats.”

“Dreadful.” Grady stood, and Amelia did the same. “Where at?”

“My house,” Simon ground out.

Amelia gave Simon a playful wink before walking a chuckling Grady to the door.