Page 26 of Murder in Matrimony (A Lady of Letters Mystery #4)

NINETEEN

Dear Lady Agony,

I wonder how many male readers continue to correspond in this space since the trouble with No Wife of Mine.

If I recall, the letter caused quite an uproar.

The gentleman, who was a bachelor, proclaimed he would rather see his wife’s head on a stake before allowing her to pen such responses.

Thus, he surmised you must not be married.

You responded that his implied violence against women was shameful, and several men vowed to never read your advice again.

Tell me the truth: Do you mind their absence?

Devotedly,

Mad Men Make Mischief

Dear Mad Men Make Mischief,

Of course I mind. I never want to offend half of the population.

However, since my correspondents sign their letters, as I do, with a pseudonym, I have no idea if they’re really gone.

For example, are you a Mad Man Making Mischief?

That is for you to know and none of us to find out.

Indeed, we work better together when we mutually respect each other’s identity.

Yours in Secret,

Lady Agony

In Kitty’s carriage, Amelia considered the information they’d gleaned at St. George-in-the-East. First and perhaps most important was the oven fires at the Plate it had to have been Mrs. Rothschild.

If something happened to him, she would have the name in the newspaper clipping, and from there, she would be able to discern the problem.

If all that was true, he knew he was in danger the day he died, which meant his death wasn’t a random act of violence but murder. She had always known its certainty, but now, she had proof.

The truth hung unchallenged in the carriage.

Finally, a piece of evidence among the scattered possibilities in her brain.

Knowing he might be harmed, Mr. Cross gave the clipping to the curate.

If the worst happened to him, Amelia would be able to discern the message.

If not, he would be able to explain it himself upon their next meeting.

“You never believed it was a thief after the poor box, and now you know you were right.” Kitty opened her reticule, which was plain and gray like her dress. She glanced up and smiled. “Well done.”

“We cannot celebrate yet, I’m afraid,” Amelia cautioned. “I do not know how the Rothschilds’ trouble connects to Mr. Cross’s.”

“Maybe it doesn’t.” Kitty continued the search in her reticule. “You won’t know for certain until you have all the information.” She sniffed. “I hate switching handbags. I always forget something.”

“A hankie?” Amelia opened her bag and saw the folded white handkerchief she meant to show Kitty earlier. “I almost forgot. I was accosted on my walk yesterday, and this fell out of the cab that almost ran me over.”

“Truly?” Kitty put a hand to her chest. “Why did you not tell me until now?”

“I meant to, but I had Lady Applegate’s party to attend and then the prayer meeting. I suppose it slipped my mind.”

“Only you could allow a near-death experience to slip your mind. Gracious, Amelia. You might be more careful.”

“I’m sorry.” Amelia was chastened by Kitty’s raised voice. She hated for Kitty to think her careless. “Would you look at it?”

“Of course.” Kitty held out her hand.

Amelia gave her the cloth.

Kitty unfolded the square, and her breath hitched. “Where did you get this?”

“As I told you …” Amelia was confused. She had never seen Kitty’s jaw set in such a way. “It was dropped by a person in a cab which nearly ran me over.”

“In a hansom?” Kitty pressed.

“Indeed, but why are you acting this way?”

“I know whose handkerchief this is.” Kitty’s voice was barely above a whisper.

Amelia understood Kitty was good with fabric, but this was outstanding. “Whose?”

“Lady Hamsted.”

“Are you certain?”

Kitty did not waver. “Positive.”

Amelia was stunned by the revelation. It couldn’t be so, yet it must be.

Kitty knew her mother-in-law intimately.

She recognized the cloth beyond a shadow of a doubt.

No matter how improbable, the discovery made sense with her theory.

The blackmailer had to be a person whose house had been burgled, and Lady Hamsted’s house was indeed one the Mayfair Marauder had broken into.

Amelia closed her eyes, the truth seeping in like a cold, damp cloth.

Her skin began to prickle, and she felt ill.

Lady Hamsted’s beloved ruby had been stolen, and she wanted vengeance.

Despite the jewel being returned, she was vindictive enough to hold a grudge.

Nothing but public humiliation would satisfy her.

She would want the thief revealed to all of Mayfair.

What was even more terrifying, however, was that this spiteful human being knew she was Lady Agony.

She must know, for she waited in hiding for Amelia’s daily walk, disguised in a cab.

There was no other reason for her to take a hansom; she had a carriage at her disposal.

Furthermore, the blackmailer threatened to upend her schedule.

This must have been the threat she meant.

Finally, she was missing from Lady Applegate’s garden party, forcing Oliver to go in her stead.

She must have wanted to avoid seeing her after the near accident.

It all added up to Lady Hamsted being the blackmailer.

Kitty must have come to the realization at the same time, for a small cry escaped her lips. “This means—it cannot be!”

“It is true. Lady Hamsted knows I am Lady Agony.” Amelia thought back to the theft at the Hamsteds’ house.

“Only think of it. The day the ruby was taken, six people were present, six people concerned with its return: you, Oliver, Simon, the Hamsteds, and me. No one else at the musical was aware of its theft. With only six choices, Lady Hamsted could easily narrow it down to the two women in the group. Lady Agony is obviously a woman, some of the advice perhaps beyond the reach of a man. She knows you like a daughter and believes you are too good to dissemble. But me? She does not know me well, and what she does know proves I am an outsider. Just the sort of woman who could pen such a column.”

“What of Lady Tabitha?” asked Kitty, her voice agitated. “Lady Hamsted wouldn’t want to be in her bad favor. She is the doyenne of high society, and if anyone was to speak ill of you, she would be the first to come to your defense.”

“Which is perhaps why Lady Hamsted has gone to some length to disguise herself.” Amelia tapped her chin. “The handwriting. The hansom cab.”

“She really ought not to have been so careless as to drop her handkerchief, then. She never imagined you’d find it, I am sure, and even if you did, I would be the only person who could identify it.

” Kitty clenched her fists in her lap. “Though as for that, she wouldn’t assume you shared your secret identity with me.

She has no close friendships like ours. Her friends are limited to those who call between the hours of one and three.

As if we would limit ourselves to such restrictions! ”

“No, we wouldn’t, and I’m sorry for her.

Everyone should have a friend as dear as you.

” Amelia smiled, endeared to Kitty by her response.

They were as close as two people could be.

They did not keep calling hours, and they certainly didn’t keep secrets.

She had been the first person to reach out to Amelia when she moved to Mayfair.

When Edgar was ill, she forced Amelia to rest, taking her place at his bedside.

As Winifred grew older, and Amelia had concerns, Kitty listened to them as any mother might, despite not being a mother herself.

And when a letter arrived for Lady Agony with which Amelia needed help, she was at her side, asking what she could do.

Now, in what might prove to be Amelia’s last act as an agony authoress, Kitty was here.

Again.

“One thing is certain.” Amelia considered the positives of obtaining the information. “The day was so blustery that she cannot imagine I saw, let alone found, the handkerchief. That gives us a slight advantage of surprise.”

“Still, what are we going to do?”

“I confess I don’t know.” Amelia was at a loss.

Any suggestion that came to her she immediately dismissed.

The only way to save herself was to print Lord Drake’s name, and she refused to do that.

She could confront Lady Hamsted herself, but that would only confirm her identity.

No solution seemed viable. Any she considered would hurt someone she loved.

They sat that way for several moments, the carriage bumping along the London streets, echoing the difficulties forming in Amelia’s head.

If Lord Drake came forward, his reputation would be tarnished forever, and he had enough problems with his ill father and crumbling Cornwall estate.

She could imagine the angst he would face if he was known to be the thief who terrorized Mayfair this summer.

A way must exist to fix this, satisfactory to all parties involved, but for the life of her, she could not come to a single conclusion.

Then she noted a small twitch on Kitty’s lips which eventually rose to a smile. “What? What is it?”

“I have it. I have the solution.”

Amelia waited.

“We shall tell Oliver you are Lady Agony.” Kitty revealed the idea with excitement.