“I am so glad to see you out and about, Lady Amy. So many women would take to their beds after a tragedy such as what your fiancé endured—”
“Ex-fiancé.”
“But then, some women don’t have the delicate sensibilities that I possess.” Mrs. Richmond, an older woman with a pointed nose, a perpetual scowl, and an unpleasant demeanor to match it all attempted to look sympathetic.
The woman’s ploy did not work. Her joy at Amy’s predicament, and her insinuation that Amy was without delicate sensibilities—which was undoubtedly correct—were simply too hard to hide.
“Actually, Mrs. Richmond, Mr. St. Vincent was not my fiancé when he died. We had already gone our separate ways.”
“Indeed? I did not know that.” Miss Penelope O’Neill, sitting next to her sister, Gertrude, both of them dressed identically again, put the cloth she was working on down on her lap. “Why was he at your house, then?”
Amy sighed. Some women danced around a question; others came right out with it. Miss O’Neill was one of the more forthright ones. “That shall forever remain an unanswered question, Miss O’Neill, since I did not speak with him before he was … killed.”
Three women sucked in their breath. Botheration. They knew the man had been murdered. Amy reached for her cup of tea and took a sip before pulling out the items from her satchel.
Silence, broken only by the sound of teacups placed in their saucers and mumbles of “Would you care for a tart?” descended on the group as the ladies all lowered their heads and took a great deal of interest in their sewing. Apparently Amy’s presence had a silencing effect on the group. Hopefully there would be no more questions. She wasn’t there to provide answers but to discover some. If it hadn’t been for her need to solve this case before she was arrested, she would never have put herself in a position where she could be picked apart like carrion.
She’d barely stabbed the cloth in her hands with her needle when Lady Ambrose’s butler appeared at the door to the drawing room again. “Miss Hemphill, my lady.”
Miss Eva Hemphill walked through the door. Her hair was in disarray and her clothing looked wrinkled, as if she’d slept in the outfit. She was pale and appeared quite fatigued. The newly arrived guest took a few steps into the room, took one look at Amy, and slid to the floor in a dead faint.
CHAPTER 11
Amy watched slack-jawed as Miss Hemphill collapsed, and several women dropped their sewing to rush in her direction. Had the woman really swooned when she looked at her? There could be any number of reasons for her to be lying in a heap on the floor. Perhaps she had missed her breakfast, or she was beginning to suffer from an ague, or she had tripped on something when she entered the room.
Or she thought she had come face to face with her ex-lover’s killer.
Amy quickly reminded herself that Miss Hemphill had made their list of most likely to have brought an end to Mr. St. Vincent’s life. Maybe she had fainted because she thought Amy knew she had killed Mr. St. Vincent. Or suspected as much, at any rate.
“Oh, dear. Whatever happened?” Miss Hemphill struggled to sit up, looked around at the group, and grew even paler when her eyes settled on Amy. There was absolutely no mistaking the anger and hatred in the woman’s eyes. Enough to make Amy back up a bit in her chair, wondering if Miss Hemphill was about to lunge across the room and tear the hair right out of her head.
As quickly as that anger had surfaced, it disappeared, and she even offered Amy a slight smile. Miss Hemphill climbed to her feet with Lady Ambrose’s assistance and stumbled her way to a chair, where she sat and sighed deeply. For heaven’s sake, were they to be troubled by all this drama the entire afternoon?
Rather than start up any new dramatics, Amy put her head down and grew busy with her sewing as the other women fussed over Miss Hemphill, sending for fresh tea and running for cool cloths and a pillow for her head. All the time, however, Amy’s mind was in a whirl about what had just happened. Two things were certain: Miss Hemphill had swooned when she spotted Amy, and her eyes had been filled with hatred when she first awakened and looked at her again.
Someone with that much anger would be quite capable of plunging a knife into a man’s chest. Miss Hemphill went from another name on their list to the very top. No matter how hard it would be, she must talk to the woman today. Maybe once everyone had tea and things settled down, she could ask a few questions that would not seem out of the ordinary but might help things along with the murder investigation.
Amy’s logical mind began to sort out the known facts and assemble them into an equation. Miss Hemphill had expected to receive an offer from Mr. St. Vincent. Sometime after that, she’d left for London. Mr. St. Vincent began to court Amy and traveled to London himself to see Amy’s father. She and St. Vincent became engaged. A mere few weeks later, Amy received a letter from an anonymous correspondent telling her about St. Vincent’s unsavory dealings. She ended her relationship with the man. Miss Hemphill turned back up in Bath and Mr. St. Vincent turned up dead.
Miss Hemphill sent the note!
It was so obvious, Amy almost shouted with joy. Of course she had sent the note. Who else would care if Amy knew St. Vincent was trading in drugs? If Lady Amy learned about his nefarious business, there was a good chance she would call an end to their engagement. And Mr. St. Vincent would be free to marry Miss Hemphill.
Except he didn’t marry her.
He had called on Amy instead.
And ended up with a knife in his chest.
Another fact: it was well known that her ex-fiancé owned a shipping company, which was where, Amy assumed, he had been able to bring opium into the country to sell to unfortunate individuals. Hopefully, with William investigating St. Vincent’s financial information, he might gain facts and figures about his business as well.
“My goodness, Lady Amy, you certainly have a fervor for making garments for the poor.”
Amy’s head snapped up as she regarded Miss Gertrude O’Neill, who grinned as she looked down at the two garments Amy had already sewn while she worked out steps in her head. In fact, a cup of cold tea sat in front of her that she’d ignored since it had been placed there, and somewhere in the back of her mind she knew the ladies had all been conversing while she ruminated on murder.
“I apologize. I’m afraid I was distracted by a problem we are having with a member of our staff, and I have impolitely ignored all of you.” She took a sip of the tea and grimaced at the temperature.
“We were discussing the dance at the Assembly next Saturday evening. I assume, since you are not in mourning for your fiancé, that you will attend?” Lady Graham’s semi-insulting question had her daughter, Lady Susan, blushing.
“Ex-fiancé.”
The Assembly dance would be a good opportunity for Amy to look over members of her various circles to determine if there were others to be added to their list of suspects. Plus, she might gain information about St. Vincent’s nephew. “Yes. I believe I will be attending.” She looked the woman in the eyes and raised her chin. “And yes, you are correct, Lady Graham. Since Mr. St. Vincent and I had parted ways before his unfortunate death, I am not in mourning.”
A quick glance in Miss Hemphill’s direction proved Amy had been correct. The hatred pouring forth from the woman’s entire body was an unsettling and very dangerous thing. Amy would be sure to ask William to attend the Assembly with her.
The next couple of hours passed without Amy ever having the chance to speak with Miss Hemphill. But given the nasty looks the woman had given her all afternoon—when she thought no one was noticing—convinced her that a conversation with the woman would not happen anyway.
Finally tired of all the sewing and gossiping, Amy packed her supplies in her satchel. “I believe I will leave you ladies now. As I mentioned earlier, we have a staff problem which needs my attention.”
Lady Ambrose rose and grabbed Amy by the shoulders. “Thank you so much for coming today. We can always use another pair of hands.”
Surprised at the woman’s honest words, Amy was even more startled when Lady Ambrose leaned in and kissed the air alongside her cheek and took the opportunity to whisper, “Be careful.”
Stunned, Amy merely nodded and took her leave.
Be careful?
* * *
As Amy did not see William for the rest of the week, by Saturday she was more anxious than ever to speak with him about her visit to the sewing circle. He’d sent a note around Thursday morning saying he would not be attending the book club meeting but asked that she do him the honor of attending the Assembly Saturday evening with him. If she was amenable, he would pick her up at eight o’clock.
He offered no reason for his absence from the club meeting, which left her hoping he was busy uncovering information to help in their search for the killer.
Amy had spent her time finishing up her book and pondering Miss Hemphill. It had been a rainy, dreary week, and she and Aunt Margaret left the house a few times to shop and have tea on Broad Street. Eloise was still not up to snuff, so rather than risk becoming sick herself, Amy passed on visiting her friend, but sent along notes of fond wishes for a full recovery soon.
Since her aunt knew Amy and William were investigating St. Vincent’s murder, she now felt comfortable keeping her up-to-date on the happenings, even though Aunt Margaret made no secret of her disapproval.
Surprisingly, Aunt Margaret had made a few suggestions that actually made sense. Perhaps Amy was not the only one in the family with a logical mind. Or perhaps a criminal mind.
“Have you considered the path these illegal drugs take?” Her aunt swirled a hefty teaspoon of sugar into her tea as they enjoyed the end of their dinner before they both were to dress for the Assembly dance.
Amy nodded. “I am assuming, since Mr. St. Vincent owned the shipping company founded by his great-grandfather, most likely the drugs came from there.”
“Yes, perhaps they did. But on the other hand, there would have to have been someone to accept the drugs from the ship and then distribute them. I don’t see your fiancé—”
“Ex-fiancé.”
“—dirtying his hands by actually dealing with that part of it. I’m thinking there was another man who accepted the drugs, packaged them for individual sale, and then perhaps turned it over to other distributors, to sell. This person would receive a cut of the profits for his part in the chain.”
“A very good point, Aunt Margaret.” Amy thought for a minute. “If what you say is correct, then the man who was taking a cut of the profits might have reason to do away with St. Vincent. After all, he was accepting the drugs. Why not just sell them himself? Or perhaps demand a larger cut.”
“Except Mr. St. Vincent owned the shipping company. He was the one bringing the opium into the country. That would still be necessary. Would whoever inherited it be willing to continue the practice?”
They both remained quiet as they pondered this new idea.
Aunt Margaret checked her timepiece and slid her chair back. “It is time to prepare for the Assembly.”
They were both ready and waiting in the drawing room when William arrived to escort them to the dance. Why was it, now that they were spending more time together, she noticed how handsome and well dressed the man was each time he appeared at her doorstep? This was the same old William she’d known for years.
As they rode in Wethington’s carriage through the town to the Assembly Rooms on Bennett Street, she went over in her mind the discussion she and Aunt Margaret had just had about the drug distribution. That was something else to bring to William’s attention.
She glanced out the window as they approached the Assembly Rooms. Pleasant weather would be wonderful for a spring evening ride; however, they were instead burdened with another downpour that had already wet her gown, even though she’d worn a long coat and huddled under the large umbrella William had used to cover the three of them from the house to the carriage.
At least the rain had slowed a bit by the time they arrived at their destination in the heart of the city. While the Assembly Rooms had been built almost two hundred years before, new upper rooms had been added and opened with a grand ball in the late eighteenth century. They had become the basis of fashionable society, with Miss Austen and Mr. Dickens as well as nobility frequenting the place.
The building, made of Bath stone, was U-shaped, with four main function rooms: a ballroom, the tearoom, the card room, and the octagon. It was richly decorated with fine art and crystal chandeliers and remained one of Amy’s favorite places to gather with her friends and enjoy an evening of dancing.
A footman assisted her and Aunt Margaret with their heavy woolen coats, while William removed his own outerwear. Amy and Aunt Margaret slipped into the retiring room, just off the main room, to fix their hair and make sure they were presentable.
The music started up just as they entered the ballroom. William stood against the wall, chatting with several members from the book club. No doubt catching up on what he had missed at the meeting.
The room’s pale-blue walls with white wooden trim made the area seem larger and brighter when the numerous chandeliers were lit. The well-worn wooden floor was already crowded with couples dancing a quadrille. Ladies wore their best gowns, and gentlemen attempted to outdo each other with well-trimmed jackets and colorful ascots.
“Good evening, Lady Amy, Lady Margaret.” Mr. Colbert beamed at them. He was always such a cheerful man. Mr. Miles and Mr. Davidson followed suit. Lady Carlisle and Miss Sterling smiled and gave a slight dip.
“Good evening, everyone,” Amy and Aunt Margaret said at once.
Now that two meetings of the Mystery Book Club had passed since St. Vincent’s death, it appeared she was no longer the main subject of gossip. The group had not stopped speaking abruptly when she approached them.
About ten minutes had passed in pleasant conversation when the musicians began a waltz. “May I request this dance, Lady Amy?” William spoke rather quickly, no doubt anxious to have time alone with her so they could discuss the subject first and foremost in their minds.
“Yes, thank you, my lord.” She took his extended arm, and they walked to the center of the room.
William swung her into his arms, and they began the steps. “I have a bit of information for you,” he said as he turned the two of them to keep from crashing into another couple. She leaned her head back to look into his eyes, surprised, up close, at how much taller he was than she had realized. So many things about William had previously escaped her notice.
“Where have you been all week?” Goodness, she sounded like a harpy, demanding to know where he was. “I’m sorry, I did not mean for it to come out that way.”
Instead of showing annoyance, he merely smiled that crooked smile of his that made him look like a little boy. “I apologize for my absence. I had a difficult situation to handle—nothing dealing with our investigation. But I do have information on Mr. St. Vincent’s finances as well as his nephew, Mr. Harris.”
“And I have information on Miss Hemphill. But why don’t you go first?”
William moved them to the edge of the dance floor so they could waltz at a slower pace and not interfere with the other couples. “First off, I met Mr. Harris at my club the other night. I must admit, he’s a likable chap, not too good at cards, but there was something seemingly ‘off’ about him. Not that he bragged about it, but based on a few things he said, we were correct to assume that Mr. Harris was St. Vincent’s heir, both to his business and everything else.”
“That could be a reason to hasten someone’s death.”
“Just so. However, as I told you earlier, the argument overheard in front of St. Vincent’s townhouse was due to Mr. St. Vincent cutting off Harris’s allowance.”
“Were you able to find out why?”
“Not from the individual who was privy to the argument, but rather from interesting information Mr. Harding uncovered.” The music ended, and Amy was amazed to see how many more people had enter
ed the room while they were dancing.
“Walk with me to the refreshment table.” William took her by the elbow, and they made their way through the throng.
Amy leaned in close to his ear. “What did your man of business learn?”
William shook his head and stepped up to the table, retrieving two glasses of lemonade. He handed one to her and took her other hand in his. “Let’s go for a stroll.”
Since the room had grown so crowded, it soon became apparent that a stroll would not be possible. Amy was also frustrated as they were continuously stopped by friends and acquaintances, some who wanted to discuss St. Vincent’s death and others who just wanted to chat.
“I believe we must continue our conversation another time.” William looked as frustrated as she felt. “Perhaps I can call on you tomorrow afternoon?”
“A very good idea. Why don’t you join us for luncheon after church again? Even though Aunt Margaret is now aware of our determination to find the killer and has even come up with a good point I will share with you, she prefers not to know too much about what we are doing. She is concerned for my safety. So, we will have to discuss matters after lunch. Maybe take a ride to Royal Victoria Park and stroll among all the spring flowers, if the weather allows.”
William studied her with tightened lips. “I must agree with Lady Margaret. I’ve warned you before that if the killer becomes aware of your snooping into the murder, you could very well be in danger.”
“I am not going to sit by while the detectives assigned to this case do nothing but look for ways to close their case against me. Once I am in jail, there will be nothing I can do to help myself.” She shook her head. “Dangerous or not, I have to do whatever I can to find out who killed Mr. St. Vincent.”
William grinned. “I didn’t really think your aunt’s comments, nor my agreeing with her, were going to stop you.” He looked up over her shoulder and stiffened.
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