The Matchmaker's Lonely Heart

by Nancy Campbell Allen

  He laughed, and Winston, who had returned to speak with them, grinned. “If he does not deputize you, Miss Hampton, I will, gladly.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Dr. Neville would like to transport you to the hospital now.”

  “Stay with me, Michael?” she mumbled and coughed again, shivering.

  “Of course.”

  “I have so much to tell you.” She stiffened in his arms and lifted her head, squinting through the fog toward the bridge. “Is he dead?” Her voice was flat, and he wondered how long it would be before the shock wore off and her emotions tumbled free. Even the most hardened policemen experienced a level of disruption in the aftermath of violence, and he wished he could spare her.

  He looked at Winston, who lifted a shoulder. “He was alive but unconscious when I crossed the bridge. They were loading him into the police wagon, probably for transport to the prison hospital.”

  She swallowed, frowning, and her brows knit. “He was killing me. I only wanted him to stop.”

  Michael shook his head and touched her cheek. “You acted in self-defense. I am so proud of you.”

  Her eyes sharpened their focus, and she looked at him. “He threw me from the bridge.” She paused, then said it again, her voice still a whisper but increasing in intensity. “He threw me from the bridge.”

  “I know, dearest. He is going to stand trial on multiple charges, if he lives.”

  The orderlies brought the stretcher to them, and she shifted, wincing. “Where did I stab him?”

  “In the neck.” He watched her reaction.

  She appeared to take the information in stride, looking at the bridge. “Michael,” she said as she shifted over to the stretcher with a pained groan.

  “Yes?”

  “If you hadn’t given me that hatpin, I would be dead.”

  He smiled and touched her cheek. “Well then, I am very glad I acted on the impulse.” The thought that what she’d said was literally true was too much to absorb in the moment.

  “I’ll ride alongside,” he told the orderlies.

  The attendants carried Amelie on the stretcher to the ambulance, and Michael followed next to Winston.

  “Nathaniel, I—”

  Winston held up his hand. “No need. I won’t pretend I didn’t suffer apoplexy when I saw you jump off the bridge, but you can make it right by paying for my lunch next week.”

  Michael laughed, then sobered. “Thank you. For everything. For helping me guard my family, for helping save her life—truly for everything. I am fortunate to have you as a partner and a friend.”

  Winston blinked and nodded, stepping back. “Likewise. Now get in the wagon before they leave you behind.”

  Michael touched a finger to forehead in a salute and smiled. He climbed into the ambulance beside Amelie. A medic had covered her with additional blankets and placed a pillow carefully beneath her head. He had also retrieved a roll of bandages and clean cloths, dabbing at the side of her face.

  “How did you find me?” she asked Michael as he took her cold hand and warmed it between his. “I told Charlotte to telegraph the address, but then we changed carriages and left.”

  “She telegraphed from a station not thirty seconds’ ride from the first location. When she returned to the address, she realized Radcliffe had taken you away in a different carriage. She searched the nearby streets for any sign of you. By then, we’d deployed the cavalry and dispersed to cover more ground. We heard the commotion, followed the shouting to the bridge, and—”

  He pressed his lips to her hand and held it there, closing his eyes. “When I found the carriage and Radcliffe but saw no sign of you . . .” He shuddered involuntarily. “We could be facing a very different outcome now, and I wonder if I shall ever recover.”

  “We are not facing that outcome though, are we?” Amelie’s voice was still thin, and she coughed. “Let’s not dwell on something that did not happen.”

  He pressed another soft kiss on her knuckles. Her advice was sound, but his heart still raced.

  “I think Eva should photograph my wounds,” Amelie said. She coughed again, and the medic helped her turn to her side.

  Michael pulled himself to the present. “Amelie, that seems rather . . . I mean, there are many other times she can memorialize you on film—”

  Amelie shook her head. “No, no.” She sighed. “If he is not dead, he will stand trial. He said something about fighting the findings from the French autopsy report because he hadn’t given permission for it. He would probably be convicted anyway, but if he is not, we will never be safe. The only witness to the events on the bridge was his driver, and I do not know if he could be compelled to testify. If I do not have proof of what happened here, I may not be believed on my word alone. Nobody actually saw me going into the water; he could claim I was hysterical, stabbed him, and then jumped.”

  Michael felt that they had more than enough evidence of Radcliffe’s crimes to see him hanged, but her idea was sound. He nodded. “As soon as we reach the hospital, I’ll send a messenger to your family. Eva can bring her camera, and we’ll take some photographs. I do not mind telling you it will not be pleasant to open his case file and be confronted daily with reminders of your ordeal.”

  She half smiled and closed her eyes. “I shall have Eva take a formal picture of me that you can keep on your desk.”

  “Do you remember our discussion by the water?”

  She chuckled. “Your grand gesture?”

  “Ah, good. I was concerned you’d think it was part of a nightmare.”

  “It was the only good part of a nightmare.” She cracked an eye open. “You’ve no regrets for said gesture?”

  “None. My only question is how long must I wait?”

  She lifted her hand and dropped it back down. “No need to fret on that score. I know a place where we can procure forged legal documents.”

  He blinked. “I’m sorry?”

  She laughed.

  Dear Diary,

  I have survived to my wedding day! As I reflect on recent events, I find it odd to be grateful to Harold Radcliffe for one thing: If not for him, I’d never have met Michael Baker.

  I feel as though I am on the brink of a marvelous adventure. Perhaps, for some, love strikes like lightning, but for me, it crept upon me like a thief in the night. A very handsome thief, who has quite stolen my once-lonely heart.

  Amelie and Michael smiled as Eva ducked under the hood attached to her camera. “Perfect,” she said, lifting her head back out. “Hold.” She triggered the mechanism and finished the last of the wedding photographs.

  “Thank you, Eva, for accommodating such a large party.” Amelie sighed.

  Eva chuckled. “I’ve known most of these people all my life, silly. I’ve had years to mentally prepare.”

  “No, Mae, do not eat that,” Charlotte said as she carried Michael’s niece away from several sweets that had fallen on the ground in the garden. “Now that this child is mobile, she is an absolute menace.” She tickled the baby as she wandered back toward the house. “Your mother is speaking with a very kind gentleman,” she whispered to Mae she walked. “We must be on our best behavior as to not frighten him away.”

  Amelie looked at the Notorious Hamptons who were gathered for Amelie and Michael’s wedding celebration. While she was happy to have everyone there to celebrate, and happier still for the reason they celebrated, she was restless.

  Michael placed his arm around her waist and pulled her close. “We can leave anytime, you know.”

  She chuckled. “You mustn’t tempt me. We must at least enjoy dessert. Besides, my grandmother has been dying to know all about your tailoring skills. She refused to believe me when I told her.”

  “And how glad I am that you told her.” He looked at her flatly and then shook his head.

  “I found it a worthy distraction. She do
es not understand why I would choose working as a detective’s assistant over writing for the Gazette.” She paused. “Truthfully, she does not understand why I want to continue working at all.”

  He winked. “She hasn’t taken a good look at your esteemed colleague, apparently.”

  She pushed his arm. “Please go chat with her. I shall eat some petit fours with Alexander and the Van Horne sisters, and then we shall leave.”

  He sighed, but kissed her quickly and went in search of her grandmother. Amelie gazed fondly at the gardens, the lovely spring blossoms, and was grateful the weather had cooperated for the party to spill outdoors. Naturally the wedding had been held at Hampton House, and as she looked at it now, she knew she would miss it. It had been her first venture into the world away from home, and she regarded it with misty nostalgia.

  The new home Michael had purchased for them was lovely, and she had enjoyed setting it up with Charlotte and Eva. She had no regrets, and while it was a bit farther from the center of Town, she had quick access to both Hampton House and the city by rail.

  Radcliffe had survived Amelie’s attack with the hatpin and now sat in a cell, charged with several crimes. He had dragged the court proceedings on with countersuits about his late wife’s autopsy, but Amelie had the comfort of knowing that he was not a free man, nor would he be.

  Police detectives in Wickelston were opening an investigation into the rumors about Reverend Flannery’s administration of the boys’ home. It was early, yet, but there was talk of Detective Nathaniel Winston taking the lead.

  Charlotte emerged from the house, still holding Mae, who was happily chewing on her favorite toy bunny. Eva was behind her, followed by Sammy White. He was Eva’s shadow, whenever possible, and accompanied her to photography assignments all over town. She directed him to the final piece of equipment that needed to be put away. He said something—probably cheeky—and grinned. Eva tousled his hair and shook her head, smiling as she joined Amelie and Charlotte.

  “The dress is splendid, and you will look lovely in the photographs,” Eva said to Amelie as she placed an arm around her and Charlotte. “I would call the day a success, wouldn’t you?”

  Amelie nodded and leaned her head on Eva’s shoulder. “Is Clarissa enjoying answering correspondence for the Gazette?” Amelie asked. “I worry my leaving has made too much work for everyone else.”

  “She is doing very well,” Charlotte answered, bouncing Mae. “She does most of it from home, and when she comes to the offices, she brings this little menace!” She nuzzled the baby’s cheek with her nose, and Mae laughed. Charlotte glanced at Amelie. “Do not fret, darling. While we certainly miss you, we are managing well.”

  “Have you spoken with Sally about her offer to pay for school?” Amelie asked Charlotte.

  Charlotte frowned. “Not yet. I am still undecided.”

  Eva gave Charlotte a squeeze. “It is fine, Char. We are all afraid now and again.”

  “I am not afraid,” Charlotte snapped, and Eva winked at Amelie.

  “I am merely saying,” Eva continued, “that big decisions are overwhelming at times. And even though something that may be perfectly suited to one presents itself—dare I say, is practically handed to one on a silver platter—one often shrugs it aside and doesn’t give a fig for the possibility of regrets.”

  Amelie laughed, and Charlotte scowled at them both. “This baby has eaten far too many sweets today. I am going to hand her straight to you when I see the tell-tale signs of her discomfort.”

  The back door opened, and Amelie heard Michael saying, “And that is how I would hem a pair of tweed trousers.” He poked his head outside and looked at her directly, neither smiling nor frowning.

  Amelie laughed again, and Charlotte, smirking, said, “I cannot believe you sent him into the lion’s den. Between your grandmother, the siblings, the aunts, uncles, and unruly cousins, it’s a wonder he’s still here.”

  Eva hugged Amelie and kissed her cheek. “You’d best rescue the poor man. Enjoy your holiday. We will be here when you return.”

  “I love you, girls.”

  “We love you too,” Charlotte said, her eyes bright. She waved her hand. “Now go!”

  Amelie caught Michael just inside the door, and they headed for the parlor, where Sally was explaining the resurgence of the Arts and Crafts movement to a small crowd of detectives from the Yard, Director Ellis, and Charlotte’s six elder brothers, who were surprisingly mellow with age.

  She grasped Sally in a warm embrace. “It is time we were off.”

  “I am so very proud of you,” Sally whispered in Amelie’s ear.

  Amelie’s eyes burned. “I love you, Sally. Thank you for always taking care of me. From the very beginning.”

  Michael waved, Amelie made her goodbyes, and they escaped out of the front entrance where their carriage was waiting, their luggage already secured in place.

  They climbed inside, but before Amelie could settle into the seat, Michael pulled her onto his lap. She laughed as he kissed a spot on her neck just behind her ear, but soon relaxed into a sigh as the carriage pulled forward and Michael traced his lips along her jaw.

  “I adore you, Mrs. Baker,” he whispered.

  “I adore you, Detective Baker.” She took his face in her hands and softly kissed his lips. “How glad I am you caught me spying all those months ago.”

  “Fortunately for me, you let me catch you.” He smiled against her mouth and softly nipped. “And now I have the benefit of a wife and a deputy all in one.”

  She laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. “One of these days, I do hope you make it official.”

  “I believe I just did.” He smiled, and then he kissed her, and as the carriage traveled the short distance to the train station, she lost all desire for any further conversation.

  This book was written during a global pandemic, and while it ought to have been a simple endeavor, I found it very difficult. As always, though, the writing process itself was a familiar comfort. Even while the world was full of chaos, I took refuge in solving Amelie’s and Michael’s problems. That much, I figured, was under my control.

  To my family—my humble and grateful thanks, especially to my little niece, Lucy, who gifted me with her seven-volume series about a flower, complete with illustrations. Along with the stories, she included a note of encouragement that I carry with me all the time.

  To Shadow Mountain, specifically Lisa Mangum and Heidi Taylor Gordon, along with Chris Schoebinger, Heather Ward, Rachael Ward, Troy Butcher, and Callie Hansen—thank you all for helping and cheering this process along.

  To my agents, Pam Pho and Bob DiForio—gratitude always and forever. I can—and do—email with questions day and night, and the responses are always quick and reassuring.

  To my writing community, and especially Jennifer Moore (Inventing Vivien), Josi Kilpack (Rakes and Roses), Cory Anderson (What Beauty There Is), and Margot Hovely (Time’s Dagger)—this would be a painful and lonely process without you. Every time I have plot problems, a brainstorming session fixes everything.

  To readers and reviewers and everyone posting amazing pictures of my books on Instagram—thank you for your support! I am in awe of this community and the support you offer; glowing reviews as well as tactful constructive criticism for books you might not have loved means so much to an author. Your kindness and professionalism is so very much appreciated.

  1. The “Lonely Hearts” advertisements were essentially the social media dating platform of the Victorian Era. Do you think dating and finding a partner is easier now than it was then? What elements have remained the same? If you were to write a Lonely Hearts ad for yourself or a friend, what would you say?

  2. Amelie believes that true love is sudden and inevitable, like fireworks, but comes to realize that it can also be a slow and subtle change, like the warmth of a cozy fireplace. What point
s in the story helped trace Amelie’s changing feelings about love? Do you believe in “love at first sight”?

  3. Detective Michael Baker loves his job despite its inherent dangers, and he has sworn to never marry in order to protect those he loves—and himself—from future heartbreak. Do you think he was right to do so? Is love always worth the risk?

  4. Amelie and her cousins, Eva and Charlotte, take pride in being “Women of Independent Means.” What do you think that phrase meant in Victorian England? What do you think that phrase means in today’s society?

  5. Both Amelie and Michael have a strong support system with their respective families. Amelie’s cousins are always there to cheer her on and consult with her. Michael’s sister and nephew provide him a safe place to relax and leave behind the stress of his job. Who do you have in your support system who are your cheerleaders and your protectors?

  6. Ethel and Margaret Van Horne are eccentric sisters who love Egyptian history. What hobbies, pursuits, or collections do you have that might surprise others to learn of?

  7. Sally Hampton has traveled the world and brought back many souvenirs and items of interest. If you could travel anywhere in the world, where would you go, what would you see, and what would you bring back home with you?

  Nancy Campbell Allen is the award-winning author of eighteen published novels and several novellas, which encompass a variety of genres, ranging from contemporary romantic suspense to historical fiction. Her most recent books, which include Regency, Victorian, and steampunk romance, are published under Shadow Mountain’s Proper Romance brand, and the What Happens in Venice novella series is part of the Timeless Romance Anthology collection published by Mirror Press. She has presented at numerous conferences and events since her initial publication in 1999.

  Her agent is Pamela Pho of D4EO Literary Agency.

  Nancy loves to read, write, travel, and research, and enjoys spending time with family and friends. She nurtures a current obsession for true crime podcasts and is a news junkie. She and her husband have three children, and she lives in Ogden, Utah, with her family, one very large Siberian Husky named Thor, and an obnoxious but endearing YorkiePoo named Freya.