Page 29 of Murder in Matrimony (A Lady of Letters Mystery #4)

TWENTY-ONE

Dear Lady Agony,

I’ve heard three whistlers in as many days, carrying on like birds in a tree. Please inform your readers that whistling in public is in bad taste. Many seem to have forgotten entirely.

Devotedly,

Annoyed Listener

Dear Annoyed Listener,

I like nothing better than to whistle a tune. However, I keep the noise to myself due to the annoyance it causes others. I remind readers, as you ask, to do the same.

Yours in Secret,

Lady Agony

The next morning, Amelia hurried to meet Lord Drake in Hyde Park to share with him the good news.

Last evening, she’d sent a note to him, hoping to alleviate his worries at her first opportunity.

He had readily agreed to the meeting, no doubt fearing the worst. He would be grateful to learn that the blackmailer had ceased her attempts and was giving up the plan to out the Mayfair Marauder.

With a little help from her son.

Amelia smiled to herself as she entered the gate at Hyde Park Crossing.

When she considered Oliver’s actions, they still amused her.

Who but Oliver Hamsted would have no qualms about claiming the pen name of Lady Agony?

She shook her head. She could have told him about her secret work much earlier; he might have been a helpful collaborator.

Yet she and Kitty had great fun keeping it from him.

All the wild excuses they’d made up for the sake of a letter came to mind, and she wondered if he was now recalling them too.

Perhaps never again would she and Kitty be able to slip out the servants’ door without him noticing.

Then again, he could be terribly obtuse when he was in the middle of writing a book or researching an article. They might still pass by undetected.

Amelia wasn’t surprised to see Lord Drake waiting on a park bench even though she was fifteen minutes early.

He stood when he saw her approach. He was dressed impeccably, despite the early hour, in a dark brown overcoat, light blue cravat, and matching powder-blue gloves.

But the plum shadows under his eyes conveyed his distress and lack of sleep, and the scar near his lip deepened with his frown as he inquired about her request for a meeting. “I take it you do not have good news.”

“On the contrary, I have very good news.” Amelia smiled. “The blackmailer is no longer a threat. I have it on good authority from her son that she will cease the subterfuge immediately.”

“Her son.” His brown eyes widened. “It is a woman?”

Amelia nodded. “Lady Hamsted.”

“The ruby.” Lord Drake stood still, thinking, then slowly nodded. “I heard her rail about its theft long after it was returned. I assumed it was braggadocio over its value.”

“I cannot say I’m completely surprised.” Amelia took a step toward the path, and he followed. She didn’t want their conversation remarked by anyone. “An occurrence happened with her daughter-in-law Kitty Hamsted, who is my dear friend, that opened my eyes to her true nature.”

“Is that how you found her out?” he asked. “Because of your friendship?”

“I am quite close to the family.” Amelia sidestepped a stray branch.

“I started with our list of victims, as we discussed at my house. After I ruled out Aunt Tabitha, I sought out the Applegates. But it was Kitty Hamsted who guessed it was her mother-in-law.” It wasn’t a lie.

Kitty had recognized the handkerchief. “Her son, Oliver, was able to confirm it. Once he confronted her, it was easy to convince her to stop. He said if he’d been able to discover she was the blackmailer, it would be possible for others to as well.

Once she realized her name, not just the thief’s, would be involved in the scandal, she dropped the idea immediately.

She did not want the Hamsted name associated with the gossip papers. ”

They were now at the statue of Achilles and stopped.

Towering thirty-six feet in the air, it made a grandiose statement, if not a controversial one, for although a fig leaf covered the hero’s nether regions, it did not cloak them completely.

As the city’s first nude statue since antiquity, it was often noticed and much remarked upon.

The dedication to Arthur Duke of Wellington for his efforts in the Peninsular and Napoleonic Wars made little difference to the indignant who thought nudity should be rejected at all costs.

Amelia thought such effrontery was not only disrespectful to the sculptor but childish.

She couldn’t imagine spending so much time on a piece of art only to have it disparaged by petty people.

Lord Drake turned to Amelia. “It would appear my secret is safe once again thanks to you.”

“It’s the least I could do for a friend,” she reassured him.

“I am grateful for your friendship.”

“And I yours,” said Amelia. “You will be at my sister’s wedding?”

“I would not miss it.” He, too, was smiling now.

“She, like myself, is lucky to count you as a confidante. After the trouble with Radcliffe, I was certain she would be run out of London. I might have known better with you on her side. Not only that, but she is to be married to a fine man. They have my heartiest congratulations.”

“Captain Fitz is a fine man, and I am very happy for them.” She looked in the direction of the exit. “In fact, I should be getting back. Arrangements have been consuming every spare moment.”

“I can imagine, especially with so little time to make them.” Lord Drake started to say something, stopped, and began again. “By the by, I read Lady Agony’s column after we met last time. I have to say that I find it wonderfully refreshing.”

“Oh?” Amelia wasn’t sure how to reply.

“She encourages independent thinking. We could use more of that in the world.” His eyes met hers. “As for the thefts, she treated the return of the jewels as recompense enough for the crimes, entirely excusing the behavior. But you know this—having read her column.”

“Indeed, I do.” She had a hard time looking away, for his eyes were filled with questions she could not answer.

“If I met her, I would shake her hand and thank her for her generosity.”

“I’m certain she would like that,” Amelia said non--committedly.

“I must let you get back to your wedding plans, and I have a dozen things to do before I am done with the day.” He fastened the single button on his coat. “Goodbye, Lady Amesbury.” He stuck out his hand.

She took it, and he pressed it heartily.

“Thank you for your generosity. I shan’t forget it.”

After he walked away, she turned in the opposite direction.

He was an intelligent man. He clearly guessed she was Lady Agony.

But he wouldn’t press her for the information in a hundred years, nor would she press him for confirmation about his relationship in Cornwall.

People didn’t need to know everything to be great friends.

Sometimes it was the knowledge that there was more beyond the surface of a person that garnered admiration and respect.

She looked forward to learning more about Lord Drake over time.

Right now, wedding plans loomed large in her mind, not to mention the investigation into Mr. Cross’s murder. It wouldn’t be long, and her friends would arrive to put the plan to examine the fireplace in motion.

What awaited her, however, when she arrived home was not wedding schedules or friends but Winifred on the steps with her jacks.

She hadn’t seen Winifred play the game in a long time, calling it “babyish” last time her friend Beatrice Gray was over.

But now she sat by herself, as if in deep thought, offhandedly bouncing the ball.

Winifred is growing up, Amelia thought as she gazed upon the beautiful girl who was as close as any daughter.

Amelia suspected the game was a pretense for what Winifred really wished to do today: discuss Amelia’s family.

She’d overheard Aunt Tabitha talking about the arrival of various interesting family members and had several questions for her already.

“Good morning, Winifred.”

“You’re back!” Winifred scooted over, and Amelia joined her on the step.

“Have you been waiting long?” asked Amelia.

“No, but I have been waiting to ask you about the Feathered Nest.”

Amelia flourished a hand. “Ask away.”

“I can’t imagine meeting new strangers every night of the week,” continued Winifred. “It must have been thrilling, much more thrilling than your life now.”

Amelia smiled. “When put that way, it does sound thrilling, but I assure you, it was not. Everyone I met got to leave while I had to stay.”

“But your family.” Winifred tossed the rubber ball and picked up jacks in groups of three. “They sound extraordinarily interesting. I do not care what Aunt Tabitha said to Mrs. Tipping. I hope they all come, including Aunt Gertrude.”

A sputter of laughter rose to Amelia’s lips. “Aunt Gertrude is a wonderful person, I assure you. She is … different than Aunt Tabitha in that they have not been raised in the same manner or households. But they are of similar age and authority. They might even get on quite well.”

Winifred fumbled her jacks and set down the ball. “I, for one, cannot wait until they arrive.”

“Nor I.” She noted the sparkle in Winifred’s Amesbury-blue eyes.

Winifred’s dimple showed. “If they are as good as Madge, I know it will be a fine wedding.”

Amelia pretended to clean out her ears. “Madge good? Are you certain we’re speaking about the same person?”

Winifred laughed. “She is good, very good to me.” A little furrow crept up on her brow. “I am surprised she’s getting married, though. She seemed to enjoy managing the stables at the Feathered Nest too much to ever leave it.”

Amelia was taken aback by the comment. “She enjoyed it very much, but I suppose love changes people, in a way.”

“Even Madge?” Winifred shrugged. “If you say so.”