Page 20 of Murder in Matrimony (A Lady of Letters Mystery #4)

FOURTEEN

Dear Lady Agony,

I cannot get a single flower to bloom in our dreadful weather. Please recommend one that will not succumb to disease, drought, or my lack of gardening skills. Any advice will be appreciated.

Devotedly,

Brown Thumb

Dear Brown Thumb,

Our weather presents certain challenges to be sure, but I believe I have the perfect flower for you: the chrysanthemum.

Few if any plants are so accommodating. For large, colorful blooms, make sure you allow no more than three buds on the stem.

Keep watered, especially in warm weather, and fertilize three times a week.

That is all one must do to keep the pretty plant alive. Let me know if you succeed.

Yours in Secret,

Lady Agony

The next day, Simon and his sister, Marielle Bainbridge, collected Amelia for Lady Applegate’s garden soiree, which was to include the unveiling of her latest statuary.

At the Bainbridge dinner party, she had promised that the piece would eclipse even her best works.

Amelia wasn’t sure what Lady Applegate considered her best work, but if she had to guess, the newest lawn ornament would be large and garish and supremely fun to look at.

But Amelia wouldn’t be only looking at lawn ornaments. She planned to see if Lady Applegate showed any signs of guilt after Amelia’s near miss with a hansom cab yesterday. She would also be looking at her linens for a handkerchief such as the one that was left behind on Down Street.

She hadn’t had the opportunity to tell Simon about the ordeal yet and perhaps never would if he and his sister kept arguing the way they were.

He’d barely acknowledged her as she climbed into the carriage, pausing only a moment to smile at her before returning to one of his favorite subjects as of late: Lord Traber—Marielle’s romantic interest. He was moving too fast for Simon’s liking, but the end of the season was approaching, and they’d been courting for a month.

If Lord Traber didn’t propose this season, he surely would next.

“I simply do not understand why he suggested taking you when he knew very well that I was going myself.” Simon pulled at his collar. “Applegate put me on the spot at dinner the other night, and the entire table heard my affirmation—despite my wholehearted desire not to go.”

“Perhaps you should have stayed home.” Marielle tilted her chin, and it looked almost as square as Simon’s. Her black hair was the same, and her emerald eyes mirrored his.

“Perhaps you are right. Perhaps we should turn the carriage around.”

“You wouldn’t,” exclaimed Marielle.

“I would.” Simon’s black eyelashes created a smoky haze over his green eyes, and the siblings stared at each other like two tigers deciding which one would scratch first.

Tired of their sparring, Amelia announced, “I was almost killed yesterday. By a hansom cab. On a walk.”

That got their attention.

“Amelia.” Simon reached across the carriage for her gloved hands.

Marielle asked, “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, as you can see, but it rattled me.” Amelia sighed. “I was a hair’s breadth from the carriage wheel, and the driver didn’t even bother to stop.”

Simon turned her hands over, as if examining them for physical harm, then squeezed. “The driver should be arrested. To encroach upon a lady and not even stop. It’s deplorable.”

“Reckless and unconscionable,” agreed Marielle. “People operate under a perpetual rush. I hardly walk anywhere these days.”

“You would do well to follow my sister’s example.” Simon frowned. “This town is no place for pedestrians.”

Actually, London was the perfect place for pedestrians—if they watched where they were going.

Amelia loved her morning walks on London’s streets.

She would no more quit them than quit her letters.

Here was life in its most intimate setting.

Houses came to life with activity; vendors materialized from invisible alleys; carts rolled out with colorful goods.

She learned more about people in that precious hour than all the parties this season.

She would dodge a hundred cabs before she gave it up.

The Bainbridge carriage halted in front of the Applegates’ home. As soon as the footman put down the stairs, Marielle was off to find Lord Traber. Simon and Amelia followed at a slower pace.

Simon paused on their approach to the lawn. “Are you certain you are fine?”

“I am, but there is more to this story than I could mention in front of Lady Marielle.” Amelia quickly relayed the specifics as well as her suspicions about Lord and Lady Applegate.

It was possible the incident was an accident, but it was also possible that the incident was arranged by the blackmailer as a warning.

“If that is true, one of the Applegates could be your blackmailer,” he surmised.

“Yes.” Spotting a new twitch in his jaw, she added, “Which is why we must remain calm and use this outing to our advantage. With everyone outside in the garden, we might have a chance to peer into a writing desk or catch a glance at the sewing basket. We might find material that matches the handkerchief.”

“If we do, rest assured I’ll box Lord Applegate’s ears for terrorizing you the way he did yesterday.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort.” Her voice relayed her growing exasperation. Simon was rational when it came to all subjects—except her. His chivalry was growing irksome. “You’ll tell me straightaway, and we’ll formulate a plan. Lord Drake came to me yesterday about turning himself in.”

“Not a bad idea,” said Simon smugly.

“It is a bad idea.” Why were men so quick to act?

Couldn’t they comprehend the far-reaching consequences of their actions?

“Lord Drake returned the items. No good will come of him being arrested, only harm. He has a father who is quite ill. His beloved home in Cornwall will fall to ruin or be dismantled for firewood without Lord Drake. There is no one to care for it for him.”

He blinked. “He has an estate in Cornwall?”

“Yes, he does.” Utterly oblivious. “Promise me you won’t discuss the question with Lord Applegate?”

“Fine,” grumbled Simon. “I promise.” They continued walking, and Amelia noted how guarded he was, as if another hansom cab might bowl into them at any moment. “How long do you think we’ll be here?”

“I suppose that depends on the size of the statue.”

He didn’t exactly smile, but his lips suggested a grin, and that was all it took for her heart to do that thing it did when they were together.

It had become so frequent that she couldn’t imagine it ever disappearing.

In fact, she couldn’t imagine a life without Simon.

They’d grown closer, and their relationship was more serious, allowing her to imagine a new life, one with him by her side.

They reached the lawn, and smack in the middle of the newly disturbed grass was a towering object covered with tenting material gathered at the middle and bottom. It was over eight feet tall and three feet wide and completely out of place in the small ornamental garden.

“Good God,” Simon muttered.

“Or gods.” Amelia squinted at the object. “Or muses. It has to be more than one of them under there.”

“Lady Amesbury. Lord Bainbridge.” Lady Applegate rushed to greet them, her bosom heaving as she padded over in too-tight moss-green slippers.

She was dressed to match her garden today, and a repeating hydrangea pattern covered two thirds of her skirt, which was so wide Amelia had to take a step backward to allow room for it.

“Good afternoon, Lady Applegate,” Amelia said. “What a perfect day to unveil your new statue.” She motioned to the cloudless sky.

“I simply could not wait until next season.” She smiled at the covered object. “When you see it, you will understand.”

“And why would you neglect us the pleasure of seeing it this season?” said Simon, and Lady Applegate tittered at the compliment. “When your husband suggested the idea at my dinner party the other evening, I promised myself not to miss it.”

Lady Applegate’s cheeks flushed, and she looked as pleased as one of the blush-colored roses in her garden.

“It won’t be long now. As soon as everyone is here, we will undrape it.

Then we will enjoy cake and champagne to celebrate the artist, who, by the way, took the train in from Sheffield to be here. ”

“My.” Amelia could think of nothing else to say. Nonchalantly, she was looking for signs of guilt or distress: biting a lip, darting a glance, avoiding a conversation. Yet she detected none of those. If Lady Applegate had been the one in the hansom cab, she was a very good actress.

Lady Applegate excused herself to greet another guest, and Amelia scanned the grounds for Lord Applegate.

She found him talking to Oliver Hamsted, Kitty’s husband, of all people.

Kitty was unable to attend, for she was helping her neighbor decorate a nursery for a new baby, and the crib was arriving today.

Amelia scrunched up her nose, turning to Simon.

“I wonder how Mr. Hamsted was persuaded to attend. I cannot imagine he’s interested in statuary. ”

“Perhaps at the dinner party, as I was.” Simon tipped his chin at a cluster of people by a Statue of David fountain. “I see quite a few of my guests here.”

They approached Oliver, and Lord Applegate gave them a hasty welcome.

He was on his way to check on the artist. He lowered his voice.

“You know these types. Very erratic with a tendency to fly away at a moment’s notice, not unlike the birds I study.

They are uneasy creatures but worthwhile all the same.

” He considered himself an amateur ornithologist and admired birds as much as his wife admired statues.

Several fountains in the garden attested to his favorite hobby. “Help yourself to a drink.”

Amelia watched him walk into the house, waving a footman toward them as he did.

“How were you persuaded to attend, Hamsted? My party?” Simon asked Oliver.

“No,” Oliver explained. “My mother. She insisted I come in her place. A headache.” He took off his glasses, cleaning off a fingerprint.

He replaced them on his narrow nose. “Now I have one as well after hearing Lord Applegate talk about his wife’s highly anticipated statue. The man must be deaf and blind.”

“Blind for certain.” Simon raised an eyebrow at the draped figure in the middle of the garden. A footman passed with a tray of drinks, and Simon selected a lemonade for Amelia. “What do you think is underneath there?”

Amelia took the glass. “A mermaid?”

Oliver raised a finger. “An octopus.”

“I hope whatever it is, it will be holding a carafe of whiskey.” Simon refused a second glass of lemonade from the footman. “It certainly would make the spectacle more tolerable.”

Amelia sipped at her lemonade, knowing it would be impossible to investigate until the creature was unveiled.

Then, when the cake and champagne were served and everyone was distracted, she would make an excuse of having to visit the water closet.

Once inside the house, she would search for any suggestion of Lord or Lady Applegate being the blackmailer.

If she could get a glance at their penmanship, on a note or letter, she might be able to identify similarities, if not the author altogether.

Trudging behind Lord Applegate was a small man with a tall hat who took a fleeting glance at the house before they walked to the center of the garden.

Lord Applegate introduced him as the artist, and he started when they clapped.

Lord Applegate asked him to say a few words before revealing his creation, then shoved him in the direction of the draped figure.

“Uh … good afternoon. Thank you to the Applegates for inviting me to this event.” He blinked at the crowd.

“I’m rather accustomed to my studio and clay and those sorts of things, but it’s nice to join real people once in a while.

” He smiled, and a few partygoers chuckled.

“This marble statue was inspired by Lady Applegate’s fondness for parties.

She is bold and creative and never afraid to take chances.

” The artist, not used to making speeches, swallowed, warming to the subject.

“I wanted to imbue that same zeal in her request, and I believe I have accomplished that.” He put his hand on the drape.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present you with Dionysus, the ultim--ate host of festivities.”

At that, he unveiled a large statue of the robed god of wine and fertility.

In one hand, Dionysus held a pine-cone staff and in the other, a drinking cup.

Around his head was an ivy wreath, and behind him was a branch covered in grapevines.

In truth, it was a nice representation of the Roman god.

Amelia glanced at the other statues. She just wasn’t certain it should be placed next to a Christian representation of an angel.

“Not holding a carafe of whiskey, but still a drinking glass,” Amelia said to Simon.

“If only it was filled with a beverage.” He smirked.

Lady Applegate was pleased with the unveiling and clapped her hands rapidly.

She congratulated the artist with a glass of champagne, then made a toast. As soon as the cake came out, Amelia and Simon knew now was their chance.

It was time to slip inside and find out if either of the Applegates was Lady Agony’s blackmailer.