What if she could sneak into a men’s club dressed as a man? Then she could ask questions about Harris and Miles herself!
She slumped. Stupid idea. She had no facial hair, her voice was too high, and a man’s suit of clothes would not disguise her figure, as William had pointed out the night they broke into Mr. Albright’s flat. Trying to resemble a man in the dark was much different than trying to pull that off where she could easily be seen.
Tired of just sitting and moping, and with no interest in continuing to plan her next book, she decided to take a nice long walk to the Roman Baths and enjoy a stroll around the Pump Room.
Since she lived only a few houses down, Amy sent a note around to Eloise to join her, then changed into her favorite light-yellow muslin with black-trimmed skirt and jacket. Her mood immediately improved. It was even warm enough that she could leave off an outer coat. She placed the matching yellow-and-black hat on her head and pulled on her black leather gloves.
She grinned at her reflection. She looked like a bumblebee. Yes, a stroll in the nice warm spring air would be just the thing. She could also ruminate on the case and see if there was something she’d forgotten.
Eloise arrived, in a hurry as usual. Her hat was askew, her hair falling down on one side, and she was out of breath. “Are we going to interview suspects?”
Amy laughed. “No. I am simply going to the Pump Room to get some air.”
“Oh.” Eloise sighed.
“But I will tell you all that’s happened since I saw you last.”
“This is so exciting!” Eloise joined her arm with Amy’s. Persephone barked frantically and ran in circles as they reached the front door. Amy bent down to pet the dog. “Do you want to go for a walk, too?” She smiled at Lacey, who handed her the dog’s leash. “She does not like being left behind.”
“I know,” Lacey said. “If you do, then she won’t talk to you.”
Amy clipped the leash on Persephone’s collar and scooped her into her arms. “Come along, then. We shall all go for a lovely walk in the spring air.”
As they strolled along, the dog sniffing everything to the right side of the pathway, then the left, Amy decided this had been a wonderful idea. The sun shone bright in a cloudless deep-blue sky. She twirled her parasol and nodded to other strollers she passed.
She filled Eloise in on what had happened in the past few days. “You know, trying to solve the mystery of Mr. St. Vincent’s death cast a pall over my life that even writing about such things has never done.” Amy tugged on Persephone’s leash. “If one is at the center of a true murder investigation, ’tis a bit more daunting than writing about a fictitious murder.”
“I would believe so. I can’t imagine how frightening this must be for you.”
Amy nodded. “There was one pleasant thing that came from our visit with Mrs. Miles. She told us that Mr. Miles prefers my books. It is quite difficult to allow such compliments to go unacknowledged because my writing is a secret. I long for the day when a woman will be accepted for writing anything she wants to write.”
Eloise smiled. “Or doesn’t have a papa who believes a woman shouldn’t write such things.”
“Well said.” As they turned the corner, the Abbey churchyard and the Roman Baths came into view. With the official Season in full swing in London, this was the time of year many of the beau monde retired to Bath for a few days to take a respite from all the balls, soirees, musicales, and other events that kept the members of the haut ton busy while the young ladies sought husbands and the young men dodged the marriage-minded mamas.
From what her brother, Michael, had told her—a successful dodger of the mamas himself—there were quite a few American heiresses now involved in the Season. Apparently, a lot of the young lords who needed cash infused into their estates were taking on American wives. It was basically a mutually beneficial swap. A title for the American young lady; money for the old, crumbling estate.
They walked the cobblestone path to the front door of the Roman Baths, the little dog sniffing everything she came across. The smell had already reached them before Amy opened the door.
The Grand Pump Room, adjacent to the Roman Baths, offered refreshments as well as water from the bath’s hot springs. It served as a gathering place for residents as well as visitors to the city.
Couples and groups of visitors strolled the room. There were several children present, being encouraged—not too successfully—by their parents and nannies to drink the foul-tasting water that was heralded as being good for one’s system.
“Lady Amy, how lovely to see you! And Miss Spencer.” They turned in unison to see Lady Ambrose and a few of the ladies from her sewing circle enjoying a stroll about the room. Mrs. Richmond and Lady Graham and her daughter, Lady Susan, all offered a slight hug and air kisses.
“Oh, my, I just love your outfit!” Lady Susan gushed. “You look just wonderful in that color.”
“Thank you. Yellow always makes me feel happy.”
Lady Susan latched on to Eloise while Lady Ambrose took Amy’s arm and moved her forward. “It is too bad Miss Hemphill doesn’t have a color to make her happy.”
Amy’s ears perked up. “Oh, dear. Is something the matter with Miss Hemphill?”
Lady Graham sighed. “We are afraid so, but she won’t tell us what is troubling her. We have our sewing circle this afternoon, but Miss Hemphill declined our invitation to join us here at the Baths this morning.” She leaned in close. “Frankly, I believe the poor girl would benefit from the waters. I am afraid she’s contracted something and is not taking proper care of herself.”
“The girl looks absolutely frightful,” Mrs. Richmond added from behind Amy and Lady Graham. “The poor dear’s nerves are so strained that she is having stomach upsets now.” The woman shook her head. “I do wish she would see a doctor.”
“She has not seen a doctor?” Amy asked as she tugged on Persephone’s leash, since the dog seemed anxious to move faster than the women were strolling.
“No. I offered to go with her one afternoon, but she declined.”
Amy’s mind was in a whirl. So strained by nerves that she was physically ill? Could it be guilt that plagued the woman? Guilt because she had killed Mr. St. Vincent?
“Persephone, stop pulling.” Amy bent to attempt to soothe the dog, but the little animal pulled hard enough that she tugged the leash from Amy’s hand. “Stop!”
As she stood, Amy saw what had her dog so frantic. A cat darted across the room, Persephone on her tail. “Persephone, stop!” Amy ran from the group of women and shouted and waved frantically at two young boys. “Please, grab my dog.”
To the sounds of the women calling Persephone, the lads tried to catch her, but they ended up on their bottoms when the cat jumped up on one of the boys and flew off his shoulder to land on a ledge. The cat licked its paws as it looked down at Persephone, who was now barking wildly.
Out of breath, Amy caught up to her dog and reached for the leash. Persephone raced off again, even though the cat was still perched on the ledge. The dog had apparently enjoyed her romp around the room and had no intention of stopping.
By now Amy had gained the attention of just about everyone in the Pump Room. Eloise had joined in the effort to catch the dog and barely missed grabbing her as the blasted animal darted in the other direction.
Amy could have sworn she heard the dog laugh.
She continued to chase the dog, several people attempting to grab Persephone as the animal raced by. Eventually the dog made a quick left turn, skidded as she attempted to gain purchase, and slammed right into the back of a man’s leg. He stood with another man, both of them deep in conversation.
When Persephone crashed into him, the two startled men turned and faced Amy.
Mr. Harris and Mr. Miles.
CHAPTER 17
The two men glanced at each other, then looked back at her. “Good afternoon, Lady Amy. Such a pleasure to see you.” Mr. Miles recovered first and gave her a slight bow
.
Amy dipped her head. “Mr. Miles.” She turned to Harris. “Good afternoon, Mr. Harris.”
“Good afternoon,” he mumbled. For a man who had recently proposed marriage to her, he now regarded her as something nasty on his shoe.
Eloise joined them, her face flushed, her chest heaving with breathlessness. “Hello, Mr. Miles.”
Mr. Miles nodded, ignoring good manners by not introducing Mr. Harris. Persephone had run off while the four of them stood and stared awkwardly at each other. Amy cleared her throat. “I, um, need to catch my dog.”
“Here she is, miss.” The young boy who had landed on his bum after the cat ran up his body called to her as he led Persephone in their direction.
She took the leash from the lad and backed up, almost tripping over the dog. “I must be on my way. Have a nice afternoon.” Amy grabbed Eloise’s hand and dragged her along, leading them and Persephone out of the Pump Room and past the Abbey. They turned the corner before she took a deep breath and stopped for a moment. She looked at Eloise. “Mr. Harris and Mr. Miles? Together?”
“Was that the man with Mr. Miles? That is your fiancé’s nephew?”
“Ex-fiancé.” Amy nodded. “It is possible they knew each other and were merely having a friendly chat, but when I ran up to them, I noticed how absorbed they’d been.” She began to walk slowly toward home. “Also, the fact that they both seemed uncomfortable with us seeing them together is suspicious.”
“From what you’ve told me, both of those men are on your list of murder suspects. Odd to see them together, off alone in a corner and deep in conversation.”
They continued their walk home, Eloise leaving Amy and Persephone when they came to her house. Amy and the dog continued on, surprised to see William arriving at that moment. He walked up to her, eyeing Persephone cautiously.
“Have no fear, William, I have just returned from the Pump Room, where my darling little dog escaped me and did so much running about that I don’t think she has the energy to attack you.”
They made their way up the stairs and entered the house, where Amy turned the leash over to Lacey. “See that she gets a treat, and she surely needs a nap.”
“Causing trouble again, milady?” Lacey grinned as she bent to pet the dog.
“Yes, indeed. She is not the only one in need of a nap.”
Amy’s stomach gave a slight—and hopefully unheard—rumble. “Have you had luncheon yet, my lord?”
“No. I have not.”
“Wonderful, because I am quite hungry. Chasing a dog all around the Pump Room will work up an appetite. Just give me a moment to let Cook know there will be two for lunch. I will meet you in the drawing room.” Amy hurried down the corridor to the kitchen.
“Good afternoon, milady. What brings you to the kitchen?” The Winchester townhouse cook had been with the family since before Amy was born. She was of undetermined years, round in the middle, a perpetual smile on her face, and produced the most wonderful food one could imagine. Like her kitchen, she was always surrounded by wonderful smells of cinnamon, lemon, and fresh-baked bread.
Papa had tried several times to steal her away for his house in London, but Cook had been born and raised in Bath and refused to move to “smelly London,” much to Amy’s delight. Her biscuits and lemon tarts were the best Amy had ever tasted.
“I wanted to tell you we have a guest for lunch. Lord Wethington is joining me.”
Cook broke into a bright smile. “Is that the lad who has been hanging about?”
Amy huffed. Cook also felt she was Amy’s maternal replacement. “His lordship is hardly a ‘lad,’ and, yes, he has been ‘hanging about.’ We are working on a project together.”
Cook wiped her hands on a towel and walked closer to her, lowering her voice. “You are not trying to find Mr. St. Vincent’s killer, are you?”
“No.” Amy shook her head. “Why would you say that?”
“Because I know your father told you not to do that, and I also know that if you are, it could be very dangerous for you. Whoever did that horrible thing to the man would not be happy to know you’re snooping around.”
Amy patted Cook’s hand. “Don’t worry, I am not in danger, I can assure you.” Wishing to move the conversation away from that topic, she said, “What have you prepared for lunch?”
Cook hesitated for a moment, looking like she hadn’t fallen for the switch in subjects, but then said, “Whitefish, carrots and turnips, and roasted potatoes.”
“Excellent! I am quite hungry.”
“’Twill be ready shortly.”
Amy left the kitchen before Cook could question her further and joined William in the drawing room. “You will never guess who I saw at the Pump Room just now.”
He turned from the window and crossed the room to join her on the settee. “Who?”
“Lady Ambrose and a few of the ladies from the sewing circle. They talked about how poorly Miss Hemphill has been feeling lately.”
“Really? I do think we need to gather more information on her.”
“Yes. I agree. I am trying to come up with a reason that would allow me to talk to her. I have a strong feeling that whatever malady she is currently feeling has to do with St. Vincent.”
“Oh, I am absolutely sure of that as well.” William shifted on the seat and turned toward her. “I did not meet with success in searching out Mr. Harris or Mr. Miles at the clubs I visited, both last night and this morning. I checked the roster at two of the clubs, and Mr. Miles is a member at both. Harris’s name did not appear, but since he has only been in Bath a few weeks, it’s possible he hasn’t joined or been accepted just yet.”
“But he could be there as a guest? If he was with another member?”
“Yes.”
She smirked. “What about women?”
He eyed her suspiciously. “What about women?”
“Can I go to one of your clubs as your guest?” She loved the outraged expression that crossed his face. For goodness’ sake, one would have thought she had asked him to escort her to a brothel. “What?”
“Women are not permitted in men’s clubs,” he answered stiffly.
“Why not?”
He leaned forward and spoke slowly, as if to a small child. “That is why they are called men’s clubs. They are for men.”
“What if I dressed like a man and—”
William held up his hand. “Do not continue. You will not dress as a man. I will not take you to a club. And, furthermore, you will never carry a gun.”
Amy’s jaw dropped. “Who mentioned a gun?”
“You did. The other day.”
“Milady, luncheon is served.” Lacey must have caught the last part of their conversation, given the grin on her face.
With her chin held high, Amy walked with William to the dining room. The aroma of the items Cook had mentioned had her stomach rumbling again.
Once they were settled in their seats and had served themselves, Amy took a bite of the delicious fish, closed her eyes, and gave a slight moan. Her eyes snapped open at the sound coming from William sitting across from her. “What?”
He was staring at her, his fork halfway to his mouth. He shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Besides seeing Lady Ambrose and her sewing circle at the Pump Room, I also had the opportunity to observe something that I found quite interesting. I am sure you will as well.”
William took a sip of water. “What is that?”
“Mr. Miles and Mr. Harris, together at the Pump Room, off in a corner, heads together in deep conversation.” She added the story of Persephone running off to chase the cat and then sliding on the floor to slam into Mr. Miles’s leg.
“And here I spent last night and this morning searching for either one of them, and you stumble upon them in, of all places, the Pump Room.” William wiped his mouth with his napkin and placed it back on his lap.
“They were quite surprised to see me, and obviously uncomfortable the entire time I was in their pr
esence.” Uncomfortable would have described Mr. Miles, but Mr. Harris had looked as though he wished her gone from the planet. The man clearly did not take rejection well.
“The day after tomorrow is our book club meeting. I will be unable to attend once again, since my presence is required in London. It will be interesting to learn if Mr. Miles tries to speak to you about you running into—well, actually your dog running into—them at the Pump Room.”
“That’s the thing. If they were there simply as friends, just passing the time, surely they would not have looked so very uncomfortable. Almost guilty.”
They pondered that thought while Lacey and another maid cleared the table and left them with a pot of tea, cheese, and fruit. Amy picked up an apple, placed it on her plate, and began to cut it into slices. “I believe I will stop by Lady Ambrose’s house this afternoon for her sewing circle. If Miss Hemphill is there, I might have the opportunity to speak with her.”
“If she doesn’t faint at the sight of you first,” William drawled.
* * *
Amy didn’t see William at all that week, as he had gone to London as he’d told her to attend to business. He sent around a note on Friday that he had returned and asked to escort her to the Assembly Rooms on Saturday night.
Amy looked forward to seeing him—not for any reason other than having someone with whom to discuss the case, she told herself. As much as she enjoyed talking to Eloise about it, her friend didn’t have the same dedication to solving the mystery. But then, it wasn’t her neck that would feel the rope around it if Amy was found guilty.
It was time to face it: she was at an impasse. Pacing back and forth in her room as she waited for William, she ticked off the irritants. So far she’d had no success with Miss Hemphill. Then Mr. Miles had also been absent from the book club meeting, so she had learned nothing more about his meeting with Mr. Harris. The two detectives who plagued her life had sent along a note requesting an interview. Only hours later, Sir Holstein’s missive had arrived with the same purpose.
A Study in Murder Page 17
