Page 22 of Murder in Matrimony (A Lady of Letters Mystery #4)

SIXTEEN

Dear Lady Agony,

So many young women are ignorant of the art of the handkerchief. Could you give them a refresher on the ways one can employ it if the need arises?

Devotedly,

Handle Your Handkerchief

Dear Handle Your Handkerchief,

When conversation affords no entrance, a handkerchief speaks what words cannot. Commit these to your memory like the lines of your favorite prayer, ladies. They might just be your salvation.

Drawing the handkerchief across your cheek means I love you.

Drawing the handkerchief across your eyes means I am sorry.

Drawing the handkerchief across your lips means I desire your acquaintance.

Drawing the handkerchief over the shoulder means Please follow me.

Drawing the handkerchief through your hands means I loathe you.

Yours in Secret,

Lady Agony

That evening, Amelia was in the library, enjoying a well-earned spot of brandy.

The soiree had been trying from start to finish.

It had begun with an oversized statue of Dionysus and ended with a makeshift defense of Lord Traber and Lady Marielle being alone together in Lord Applegate’s study.

Whether or not Simon bought it was of little consequence.

They were released from any wrongdoing by the excuse, and while Simon did not like his sister’s suitor any better after the incident, he did not mention it again.

She had the good sense to remind him that had they wanted to, Marielle and Lord Traber might have begun their own line of questioning.

Simon and Amelia had also entered the study alone, and Amelia actively sought out writing materials on Lord Applegate’s desk while opening the curtain.

If the situ-ation had been any less tenuous, they might have been the ones under scrutiny.

For the moment, Amelia forgot all that, sipping the brandy and briefly closing her eyes.

Her life was a maelstrom of issues right now: her sister’s wedding, the impending visit of her extended family, the blackmailer, and Mr. Cross’s murderer.

But surrounded by books, with a spot of brandy, she could forget all that and pretend her most pressing issue was fiction or nonfiction.

Amelia had no sooner picked up a book than she heard a familiar tap at her window.

Isaac Jakeman. She set down the novel and went to the curtain, pushing it back discreetly.

A hooked nose was the first feature she recognized, and as he drew closer to the window, the second was his small eyes, intelligent and missing nothing.

His lips curled into a smile as she stepped to the side to allow him entrance.

“You received my note on Mrs. Hines.” She didn’t wait for an answer but went immediately to the library door and locked it. “Brandy?”

“Please.” Isaac Jakeman waited by the decanter.

She was not stingy with the pour, and Jakeman took the snifter appreciatively.

He drank, then examined the color of the brandy. “It is good.”

“Thank you for coming.” She gestured to a chair before taking one herself. “I wrote when I heard of Mrs. Hines’s attack behind the Plate it should be extraordinary. In the papers, it is reported that A woman was killed, as if she did the killing herself. The culprit remains unnamed. No more obfuscation. No more silence.” She shook her head.

“I must know who harmed these two women.”

Isaac lifted his long, arched eyebrows. “I did not know you felt this way.”

“Nor did I.”

“Your priest felt the same way.” He tapped his cigar again. “Maybe you are more like him than you know.”

She felt the words like the wing of an angel.

Even in death, Mr. Cross was teaching her what it meant to care, to love.

It was easy to love thy neighbor. It was a little harder to love a stranger from the wrong end of town.

She cared about Mr. Cross because he had been good to her, but she hadn’t really understood why she should care about these two women.

He had taught her why, yet she still had much to learn.

She promised herself she would be open to more lessons.

“Do you know why Mrs. Hines was attacked?”

“For your sake, Lady, I wish I did.” He sniffed his cigar, then replaced it in his pocket, leaning forward.

“What I do know is this: if the priest was to blame, I would happily say so. However, he came to the East End only after the old priest became ill in February. Mrs. Hines was attacked long before that.”

It was a question of simple math. Mr. Cross might have encouraged Miss Rothschild to leave the public house, and one of his reasons might have been the previous attack on Mrs. Hines.

He did not serve St. George-in-the-East, however, at the time of her attack.

“As far as you know, it was a case of her being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Yes, and that’s as far as anyone will know unless the attacker comes forward, and that will not happen in my lifetime.

” He crossed one leg over the other. “You give me your sad story. Now let me give you mine. My dear wife, Francine, you know how much she enjoys the fashion. I bought her a new horse at Tattersalls, and she requires a habit for riding.”

“You need a tailor.” She stood and went to her desk. “I have the best.”

“I do not doubt it.”

Amelia scratched out an introduction. “Reticules are a nuisance when riding. Hussain will ensure she has pockets in her skirt.” She walked the paper over to him.

“She wishes to ride in Hyde Park, at the fashionable hour.” A question lurked behind Isaac Jakeman’s pewter-colored eyes, and she went about answering it immediately.

“And why wouldn’t she? If I see her, I will greet her warmly.”

“I do not like her to go. On the East Side, we are respected. We are known. Here?” He shrugged. “I cannot protect her.”

“I understand.” She held out the paper. “You do not want her feelings hurt.” After he took it, she crossed her arms. “But I’ll let you in on a little secret.

Women get their feelings hurt all the time.

I do. She will. Anyone who feels deeply, which is most women I know, opens themselves up to discomfort.

It might make us sad in the moment, but it also makes us strong.

” She caught his eye. “Stronger than you think.”

He held her gaze for a moment, and at that moment, she saw so much more than a fence. She saw a man who was caught between two worlds, a man who did not belong to either, a man who would throw over both for the love of his wife.

He folded the paper into his pocket. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” She dug into the folds of her dress, retrieving the square of fabric left behind after her run-in at Hyde Park Corner. “I have one more question, if I may. Have you ever seen a handkerchief like this before?”

She handed him the handkerchief, and he turned it over, examining all four corners carefully.

“This comes from your end of town, not mine. We do not have time for busywork.” He gestured to the intricate stitching.

“If they have the patience or skill, our women make matchsticks or lace.” He gave it back to her.

“This is from your Mayfair ballrooms, as if someone dropped it on purpose so that you might follow.”

If a woman wanted to be introduced to a man and had no recourse to do so, she might accidentally drop her handkerchief so that he would pick it up, thus ensuring a meeting.

Someone could have, in fact, dropped the handkerchief with the intention of her picking it up.

But why? That question was harder to answer.

Perhaps they wanted to prove they knew she was Lady Agony, or maybe they wanted her to return it, forcing an introduction.

If it did belong to someone in Mayfair, it supported her supposition that the blackmailer was indeed one of the victims of the Mayfair Marauder.

“I see the wheels are turning, so I will let them turn and take my leave.” He stood, returning his bowler hat to his head. “Good luck with your priest.”

“Thank you, and good luck with your riding habit—I mean your wife’s riding habit.”

He was still chuckling as he disappeared behind the curtain.

After he left, Amelia revisited her brandy, laying the problem aside for the time being.

Instead, she considered her family’s upcoming visit.

Despite the complications—and Aunt Tabitha’s complaints—she was looking forward to seeing her relatives.

The West End might know how to host a soiree, but the Scotts knew how to have a good time.

She found it was always the case with people who cared for one another.

They didn’t need expensive food or clothes to enjoy themselves.

Being with each other was always enough.

Her sister was expected to return to London next week.

Their parents planned to join her and Captain Fitz.

Then the excitement would begin. Her extended family would arrive and, with them, a general energy and chaos that wouldn’t subside until they left.

Tabitha would despise it. Winifred would love it.

And Amelia was determined to cherish every second of it, for it wasn’t every day that one’s baby sister got married—even if it was by Mr. Penroy.

She wrinkled her nose. No matter. She promised to enjoy herself.

A priest, a murderer, or a blackmailer had little power against the force that was the Scott family.