Page 21 of Murder in Matrimony (A Lady of Letters Mystery #4)

FIFTEEN

Dear Lady Agony,

I understand love letters are to be returned or destroyed, but I have a special collection I am reluctant to part with.

The author himself is dead, so no apprehension exists there, and my husband passed away many years ago.

The only concern is for my children. I am unsure how they will respond to them when I am gone.

Devotedly,

Love Letters of Long Ago

Dear Love Letters of Long Ago,

It is impossible to know what your children will feel upon finding them. They might feel surprised, joyful, or disappointed. The better question might be: How much do you care? Try to weigh your answer against the pleasure the letters bring you. Then make your decision.

Yours in Secret,

Lady Agony

Once inside Lady Applegate’s morning room, Amelia realized how out of place Simon was and how unhelpful he may be.

He certainly wasn’t the stealthy accomplice Kitty was.

With her small stature and quick movements, Kitty could slip in and out of places that Amelia wouldn’t deign to go—in between fence posts, behind bookshelves, up garden trellises.

To be honest, Amelia’s backside was a little too curvy to attempt such feats.

Inside the small mint and white room, Simon looked like a gorilla—large, hairy, and all thumbs.

His shoulders were a dark square upon the light wall, and black whiskers darkened his chin despite it being only three o’clock in the afternoon.

When he took a step forward, a small pink vase on a table shook, and Amelia quelled the urge to tell him not to break anything.

Instead, she asked him to mind the door.

If he wasn’t moving, their location might remain secure.

“What do you mean ‘mind the door’? I’m not a buffoon, Amelia.”

Your words, not mine.

“If we both search, we will finish twice as quickly,” he continued. “Let me do something.”

“Fine,” she agreed. “You take the shelves. I’ll take the desk.”

He grunted an approval, and she made her way to the small oak secretaire, which provided writing space and a shelf.

Noting a stack of stationery, Amelia opened the glass cabinet.

The paper was ivory and contained Lady Applegate’s initials.

Not familiar. She moved to a second smaller pile.

It contained a crest, which Amelia assumed belonged to the Applegates.

Unremarkable. She scanned envelopes, postage stamps, and sealing wax but found no connections to the blackmailer.

“Psst.”

Amelia looked up. Even his whispers were loud.

Simon had the drawer open of a small whatnot. Similar to Lady Applegate’s garden, it overflowed with bric-a-brac. The shelves contained tiny crystal figurines, picture frames, mini-ature spoons, and what appeared to be a medal from some government office. He held up a magazine.

Amelia squinted at the title for a better look. It was the same magazine Lord Drake had brought to her attention yesterday.

Simon flicked the paper. “She reads the magazine. She might be the blackmailer.”

“Look for Lady Agony’s columns. If she reads one magazine, she may read the other.

” She opened a drawer and found a note that read: Garden fountain?

Lady Applegate was obviously contemplating a new piece for her garden, and Amelia’s first question was where would she place it?

Ignoring the question, she stared at the penmanship of the note.

It wasn’t much to go on, but Amelia saw no similarities to the blackmailer.

It was true that the blackmailer tried to disguise his or her writing by using print instead of cursive.

Still, Amelia felt as if she would recognize it when she saw it.

Perhaps she was giving herself too much credit.

She continued to a lower, deeper drawer.

There, she found menus, obviously written by the housekeeper.

The penmanship was wholly different than the note about the garden fountain.

She sifted through receipts, written by any number of merchants.

Then, in the farthest corner, she noted a slim stack of letters with a ribbon around them.

Success! She reached for them, slowly untying the gold ribbon.

Her hand shook a little at the idea of facing the blackmailer’s handwriting.

Instead, she saw love letters to Lady Applegate from a long-ago romance.

The handwriting belonged to a man, so it was no use to her, but the sentiment behind the words was tenable, and Amelia felt herself release a little sigh.

She was thoroughly touched by the words and feeling behind them.

“What is it?” asked Simon.

She smiled. “Old love letters.”

“I have nothing of value here either.”

So romantic. She frowned, retying the bow that secured the stack of letters, and put them back in the drawer.

When she did, she noted an appointment book.

Upon opening it, she noticed it contained the addresses of Lady Applegate’s friends.

They were printed—and nothing like the print of the blackmailer.

She flipped several pages just to be sure.

“It’s not her,” Amelia said aloud. Simon came closer, and she flashed him the appointment book. “I am certain.”

“We still have Lord Applegate to investigate.” Simon nodded toward the door. “We should check his study while everyone is outside.”

She agreed and replaced the appointment book, shutting the drawer.

Simon opened the door and peeked around the corner.

He signaled her to follow, and she hoped he knew where he was going.

One wrong turn would cost them another ten minutes in the house, for it was a large property with lots of clutter—in other words, obstacles—for them to navigate.

At one point, Amelia almost tripped over what she could only assume was meant to be a door stopper.

It was a cast-iron cheetah as big as a log.

It sent her sailing into Simon’s solid back, and they both shared a chuckle when they were safely inside the study.

At least Amelia hoped it was the study. Dark velvet curtains didn’t allow much light to enter through the double windows behind the desk.

But it smelled of cigars and something else, a lighter floral fragrance that was less masculine.

Probably a bouquet of flowers Lady Applegate had brought in from her garden.

She could have sworn she detected the scent of lilies.

“So stealthy, Amelia,” Simon jested. “Luckily I caught you before the entire house was alerted to our location.”

She swatted his arm. “You did not see the size of that cheetah. It was as high as my knee.”

“One might think it bit you by your reaction.” A rustling noise came from behind the tufted couch, putting an end to their banter, and Simon slid her behind him. “Is someone there?”

Silence was his answer.

He turned around to Amelia, holding a finger to his lips.

She nodded, willing her heart to stop thudding. If they were found by a member of society, they would need to explain their presence, not to mention their solitariness. It wouldn’t take long for word to spread about their indiscretion at a party the size of the Applegates’.

Quickly, he strode to the couch and peered over it.

Even in the low light, Amelia could see his face transform into a thousand emotions: surprise, angst, then anger.

“You!” he spat.

“Good afternoon, brother.” Marielle stood and dusted off her dress, spotting Amelia. “Oh, Lady Amesbury.”

“Lady Marielle?” Amelia was so surprised that she could think of nothing else to say.

Simon pointed a finger at Lord Traber. “What in the hell are you doing in here alone with my sister?”

Lord Traber popped up from the floor, his cravat untied. His Adam’s apple bobbed nervously as he swallowed, searching for something to say. “I … which is to say, we … were …” He looked to Marielle.

Marielle nodded encouragingly, but Lord Traber didn’t continue.

“Looking for that book, I imagine,” Amelia provided. “A field guide to birding in Surrey Hills.” She turned to Simon. “Lord Traber is traveling there in a few weeks, and Lord Applegate is a great enthusiast. They spoke of it earlier.”

“Oh yes!” Lord Traber quickly agreed. “I am going to Surrey Hills.”

“And Lord Applegate loves birds,” Marielle added.

Both statements were true. It was why Amelia put the two together off the top of her head. Lord Applegate’s narrow bookshelf was filled with several books. She just hoped one of them was on birding since he proclaimed to be an amateur ornithologist.

“Birds, hmm.” Simon’s voice was as sharp as the blade of a knife. “I don’t care if he writes for Baedekers! You are not to be alone with my sister—ever.”

“They are not alone,” tried Amelia. “After all, we are here.”

Simon pointed a finger at Lord Traber’s chest. “I imagine it’s rather hard to find a book behind the sofa, in the dark.”

“We hid, naturally, when we heard a sound,” Marielle explained. “I did not expect it to be you. Which reminds me—what are you doing in here?” She lowered her wide eyelids at Simon.

He matched the fierce glare. “I am the one asking the questions.”

“Checking on you, of course.” Amelia ignored both of them, walking over to the heavy drape and yanking it open several inches.

“There. Now we can see well enough to find that book.” But she wasn’t looking at the bookshelf; she was looking down at the desk, which was directly in front of the window.

Unlike his wife’s desk, it was neat and clear of clutter.

Perhaps this was his refuge from his wife’s ever-expanding menagerie.

Now that Amelia could see properly, she noted that the room was austere when compared with the rest of the house. A table, bookshelf, sofa, chair, and desk—simple. She tried the center drawer, but it was locked.

“If I liked you any better, Traber, I’d force you into an engagement, here and now.” Simon returned his gaze to the young man. “As it is, however, I’d like an apology and your word that you will never engage my sister alone again.”

“I … uh …” Lord Traber’s voice was no louder than a mumble.

“I need your word, Traber.”

“Come now, Lord Bainbridge.” Amelia tried another drawer. “Be reasonable. No harm ever came from reading a book.”

“Dash it all!” Simon exclaimed. “No one was reading a book.”

“Keep your voice down.” Amelia found a ledger of accounts. “Ah ha.”

“Lady Amesbury. Are you, is that—”

“It seems Traber has forgotten how to speak altogether.” Simon crossed his arms, and the black fabric stretched taut at his shoulders. “I believe I asked you for an apology and your word to never see my sister again.”

Amelia glanced up.

Marielle crossed her arms, looking only a little less fierce. “And I believe you are behaving like a brute. We will be seeing each other—frequently. There is nothing you can do about it.”

Amelia went back to the ledger. The argument was coming to a climax; she needed to find an example of Lord Applegate’s penmanship fast.

“Oh really?” challenged Simon.

“Really,” Marielle repeated.

Amelia used her fingertips as a guide, scanning line after line of letters and numbers.

Despite being in print, the blackmailer’s letters included a curl in the letter “z” that made it distinct.

If she could find the letter in the ledger, she might be able to make an instant match.

Harrods … Tattersalls … John Timms … Thomas Ziegler.

“Success!” No curl was found in the letter “z.” She shut the ledger, and when she did, she noted three pairs of eyes on her.

She returned the ledger to its place and casually strolled over to the bookshelf. “The Birds of Europe.” She pulled out the book. “I thought I recognized the tome. It is sure to be indispensable, Lord Traber, if Lord Applegate agrees to lend it to you.”

“I’ll ask him right now.” Lord Traber nervously took the book when she offered it. “Thank you.”

Amelia smiled. “You’re welcome.”

“I know what this is, Amelia,” said Simon.

“It is your poor attempt to conceal this man’s vile actions against my sister, and I will have you and everyone in this room know that I am aware of it.

This book is a prop like any in your vaudeville acts.

If I didn’t know better, I’d declare you a conjurer, pulling it from a well-disguised hat. ”

Amelia raised an eyebrow. “Not a hat, a bookshelf.” She opened the door to the study, checking the hallway for signs of activity. Seeing none, she tossed a look over her shoulder. “Though as for that, books are rather magical.”

Without a retort, Simon threw up his hands and followed, his sister and Lord Traber trailing behind him.