“Not at all!” She straightened her shoulders and glared in the detectives’ direction. “I demand to know what this silliness is all about.”
Detective Carson stood—something he should have done when Lady Wethington entered the room—and arranged his features into an almost-pleasant mien. “Lady Wethington, I suggest you do as your son said and remove yourself from the room.”
“Remove myself? This is my home, sir.” She raised her indignant chin. “I will not be ordered about by the likes of you.” With those words, she let out a soft sigh, her knees crumpled, and she slid to the floor in a faint.
“Shite,” Detective Marsh mumbled, and slapped his notebook closed.
William and Amy both rushed to his mother’s side. Amy got down on her knees and turned to Carson. “I suggest you leave now, Detectives. Apparently the stress of your assumption has thrown her ladyship into a faint. She needs our attention.”
Carson gritted his teeth, then pointed his finger at William. “I am warning you”—he swung his attention to Amy, still on the floor—“and you as well, Lady Amy. Stay out of our business.” And with that, the two detectives left the room.
Once the sound of the front door closing had reached them, Lady Wethington opened one eye. “Are they gone?”
William and Amy burst out laughing.
* * *
Later that evening, Amy joined her papa, brother, and Aunt Margaret in the front hall as they prepared to leave for William’s house. After she and William had helped his mother up from the floor that morning and he had assured her he was not a murder suspect, Amy had taken her leave, never having learned what this two-family dinner was all about.
Since William had seemed confounded by her questions and had told her he’d had no idea her family had been invited until that very morning, she felt a bit more confident that she would not have to endure an embarrassing moment.
Once they all settled in the carriage, Amy looked to her papa. “Papa, I find it hard to believe you and Michael traveled all the way from London for dinner.”
“We were invited, daughter, and you know I am quite fond of your young man. It would be nice to meet his mother. Additionally, we are considering another business venture here in Bath, and ’twas a good time to investigate that potential acquisition.”
Amy bristled. “He is not my young man, and why would you be interested in meeting Lady Wethington?” She still felt a bit uneasy. Not that she was as much against marriage as she’d been at one time, but she certainly wasn’t interested in being pushed to the altar anytime soon, which seemed to be Papa’s favorite pastime.
Papa shifted in his seat so that he was able to look her in the face. “Amy, Lord Wethington appears to be a nice lad. I’ve been asking around, and he is well thought of in both London and Bath. Furthermore, it seems every time I visit Bath, he is hanging about the place.”
Amy groaned. Papa had been “asking around” about William? She gritted her teeth. “And?”
“And perhaps Lady Wethington also feels as though you and he would suit.”
“Aha!” she almost shouted. “I knew you had ulterior motives in this.”
Papa frowned. “Settle yourself, daughter. We have no ulterior motives. I merely plan on having a nice dinner with a well-bred family of the nobility and then spending some time perusing the business in which we are interested.”
They were all silent for the rest of the trip.
Amy had to smile when they were led to the drawing room and William walked toward her. He looked fine and dandy in his charcoal trousers, striped waistcoat, fashionably tied cravat, and deep-blue jacket.
“Good evening, my lady.” William turned to Aunt Margaret, bowed to her, and addressed Papa. “My lord, may I present you to my mother, Lady Wethington?”
Lady Wethington glided across the room, moving much like Aunt Margaret. Amy feared she would never acquire that grace. She would forever fumble her way through life, always looking for the handle.
William’s mother extended her slim hand, and Papa accepted it with all the dignity and arrogance of his station. He bowed. “Good evening, Lady Wethington.”
William continued. “Mother, this is Lord Winchester, his son, Lord Davenport, and of course you are already acquainted with Lady Amy’s aunt, Lady Margaret.”
“How very delightful for you all to join us this evening.” Lady Wethington turned to Amy with a warm smile. “I have simply fallen in love with your daughter, my lord. Lady Amy is charming, witty, and a pleasure to visit with.”
If only the floor would open, allowing her to drop through, Amy would donate her yearly allowance to the church.
Sensing her embarrassment, William stepped in. “Why don’t we all relax with a drink before dinner is ready?”
Beverage preferences were noted, and William and Michael poured for everyone while Amy, her papa, and Aunt Margaret joined Lady Wethington in a cozy corner of the room between the long windows and the fireplace, which gave off toasty warmth to those within its reach.
Michael and William delivered the drinks to Papa and the women. Instead of sitting, they both chose to stand as they swirled their drinks. Amy knew she was not imagining the looks her brother cast at William. Good grief, they looked like two warriors from times past, eyeing each other up for a duel.
Amy glanced at William, who winked. Perhaps he was as uneasy about this cozy family gathering as she was.
Despite Amy’s misgivings, the dinner was fine, the food wonderful—no one commented when she ate the roast beef—the conversation light and harmless. Lady Wethington and Papa got on quite well, and it disturbed her the way the two of them glowed with happiness whenever William spoke to her. If William noticed or felt uncomfortable with the attention, it didn’t show.
After dinner, they retired back to the drawing room for tea. It had grown close to the time for their departure when Lady Wethington said, directing her comments to Papa, “I was quite pleased when I visited the book club the children belong to.”
The children? Amy almost lost her dinner. She threw William a side glance. He looked as stunned as she felt.
“It’s a lovely place, but the most exciting thing I heard was that the bookstore is having a book festival.”
Papa smiled. “Indeed? That sounds wonderful. I am a great believer in reading, myself.”
“And”—Lady Wethington stopped to make sure she had everyone’s attention—“the owner of the bookstore has promised to have the very well-known author E. D. Burton at the festival to meet his readers and autograph books!” She grinned at the great news.
Aunt Margaret choked on her tea.
William closed his eyes and groaned.
Michael laughed and downed his brandy.
Papa glared in Amy’s direction.
Amy offered him a sick smile and again prayed for the floor to open and swallow her. Two years’ allowance to the church.
* * *
The following Monday, Amy’s ears still blistered from the tongue-lashing Papa had given her on the ride home from William’s house. To say he was displeased was a gross understatement.
It had been quite surprising—and painful—when Lady Wethington made her announcement. If she noticed the strange reactions from everyone else in the room, she did not show it.
Shortly after that, Amy and her family had taken their leave.
Presently, she was waiting for Aunt Margaret to join her in the drawing room. They were making afternoon calls, something Amy viewed as akin to suffering from ague.
Her main motivation was Aunt Margaret’s assurance that Mrs. Whitney would be at one of the three places they planned to visit. Amy prayed she was at the first one so she could return home with her brain still intact. Gossiping women turned her mind to mush.
“I’m ready.” Aunt Margaret sailed into the room, pulling on her gloves. As always, she looked wonderfully put together. Her deep-green wool suit with black piping accentuated her warm brown eyes. Although her aunt bemoaned he
r straight brown hair, she always managed to keep every hair slicked back and in place.
Amy, on the other hand, dealt with her messy curls by fixing them into a sort of chignon from which obstinate strands escaped before she had even put on her hat. Whereas Aunt Margaret was always impeccably dressed and graceful as a swan, Amy was not at all graceful or stylish, and considered herself well dressed if her shoes matched.
Giving her niece a quick once-over, Aunt Margaret rolled her eyes and turned toward the door. “Time to leave.”
Amy looked down at herself. Did she truly look that bad?
Their first stop was the home of Lady Ambrose, a woman Amy had difficulty tolerating. Lady Ambrose loved gossip and scandal more than most. She had relished telling Amy all sorts of newsy gossip last year when Amy was forced to abide the woman’s company to gain information on Mr. St. Vincent’s murder.
Lady Ambrose also hosted a sewing circle each week in which the ladies made baby clothes for the unfortunate. Amy liked to think that this at least revealed some goodness in the woman.
When they arrived, one of the first women they spotted was Mrs. Whitney—thank you, lord—enjoying tea, along with Miss Everhart and Mrs. Welling.
With a little help from Aunt Margaret, Amy managed to finagle her way into the seat right next to Mrs. Whitney’s.
The ladies were listening to Mrs. Welling tell the story of her daughter and how ungrateful the young lady was because she refused to allow Mrs. Welling to move into her house with her husband and five children.
Amy couldn’t help but think that Mrs. Welling must be a difficult person to live with, since her daughter had passed on the opportunity to have her mother’s help with all those children.
Once Aunt Margaret began what Amy knew was going to be a very lengthy story about her recent visit with the Woods family, Amy used the time to strike up a side conversation with Mrs. Whitney.
“It’s so nice to see you again, Mrs. Whitney. Did you enjoy the Assembly dance last week?”
The woman smiled brightly, the fine lines at the edges of her eyes more visible. “Yes. I did. It was a pleasure meeting you.”
Mrs. Whitney bent closer to Amy and spoke softly. “I heard that you and Lord Wethington are trying to uncover who killed Mr. Harding.”
Well then. It seemed gossip and news did spread fast in the community.
“We are asking a few questions, but only because Lord Wethington employed Mr. Harding and he is now concerned about some of his holdings.”
Mrs. Whitney snorted. “I certainly didn’t trust him. I wasn’t happy when my husband’s will was read and I learned that Mr. Harding was the trustee of my trust. I just hope that when the court appoints a new trustee, he can learn how much Mr. Harding stole from me.”
Mrs. Whitney paused as she took a sip of tea. “I will tell you what my main concern is.” She leaned even closer and lowered her voice again. “My stepson Patrick.”
“Oh, why is that?”
She twisted the handkerchief she held in her hands. “He was also concerned that Mr. Harding was stealing from me and made some vague threats. Patrick disappeared right around the same time Mr. Harding was killed. I haven’t seen him since.”
CHAPTER 15
Amy sat patiently in the drawing room, waiting for William to arrive. She’d told William at church two days before that they needed to discuss Mr. Harding’s murder and their next steps. After Mrs. Whitney’s revelation at Lady Ambrose’s tea yesterday about Patrick going missing, she felt they had a genuine lead to follow. It was too much of a coincidence that the stepson had disappeared the same night Harding was killed. Especially if he had learned that Harding was stealing from his stepmother’s trust.
It had stuck her as quite odd, however, that a stepson would be so concerned about his stepmother’s finances. Unless he was expected to support her once the money was gone.
Papa entered the drawing room, breaking into her musings. “Good afternoon, daughter. It looks like you’re planning on stepping out today. With Lord Wethington?”
Amy gritted her teeth. “Yes.”
Papa and Michael had taken up residence while they explored the possibility of purchasing the new business they were considering. Ever since the dinner at Lady Wethington’s, whenever Papa hadn’t been scowling at Amy about the book fair, he had been watching her with a gleam in his eyes.
For that reason, she was reluctant to have William visit, but they needed to get together to continue their investigation.
She glanced out the window, happy to see William climbing the steps to the front door. “He is here.”
“Excellent!”
She gathered her things and moved around Papa. “I’m leaving.”
“No. Wait a minute,” Papa followed her to the front door. “Good afternoon, Wethington. I see you and my daughter are off for a jaunt this afternoon.”
William attempted to remain friendly, but Amy saw the unease in his stance. “Yes, my lord. We are off to the Pump Room, then to a shop for tea.”
Papa slapped William on the back. “Good, good. Have a wonderful time. No need to hurry back. I know my daughter is in good hands.”
Amy pushed William toward the door. “Good-bye, Papa.”
Once they settled in the carriage, she let out a deep breath. “I apologize for my papa, William. He’s been acting quite strange since dinner at your house the other night.”
William chuckled. “You want to see strange, stop by and visit with my mother.” His eyes grew wide. “No. Forget I said that. Do not stop in to see my mother. She will send for the modiste to take measurements for your wedding gown.”
Shocked at his words, they stared at each other. William swallowed. Amy cleared her throat. They both looked out opposite windows.
Silence reigned as the carriage made its way through town to the Pump Room next to the Roman Baths. Even though the weather was cold—normal for February—the unexpected sunshine had encouraged strollers to leave their homes. The mall, surrounded by shops, the Abbey, and the Roman Baths, was crowded with visitors.
Amy and William wandered the Pump Room, paused for the obligatory drink from the famous waters, and stopped to chat with friends and acquaintances.
“We need privacy to discuss our information. I believe it’s time for tea,” William said as he steered her out of the Pump Room.
They walked onto the cobblestone pathway, which had dozens of shops on either side, and found a teashop that looked large enough to give them some anonymity. Once they settled into their seats and ordered tea, Amy glanced around the room and lowered her voice. The shop was busy, but no one seemed to be paying them any attention.
“I had time to visit with Mrs. Whitney Saturday afternoon when Aunt Margaret and I made afternoon calls,” Amy said. “Well, actually only one call, because Mrs. Whitney was blessedly at the first place we stopped.”
The waiter returned with the tea and a tray full of small sandwiches, tarts, and biscuits. Amy eyed them, then shook her head and poured their tea. She handed William a plate, which he immediately filled up.
“Aren’t you having anything besides tea?”
Amy sighed. “I’m afraid not. I think I need to cut back on treats.”
“Why?” He looked genuinely surprised, which warmed her heart.
“Because I need to lose a bit of weight.”
He shook his head. “No you don’t.” He popped a piece of lemon tart into his mouth. “This is very good.”
Attempting to distract herself, she said, “Mrs. Whitney is beside herself with concern over her stepson, Patrick. Mr. Harding was the trustee for the trust Mrs. Whitney’s deceased husband set up for her in his will. She is afraid Patrick learned that Mr. Harding was stealing from her and went after the man.”
“Does she think Patrick may have had something to do with Harding’s murder?”
“She didn’t say that exactly, but she did say that her stepson went missing around the same time Mr. Harding was discovered in the riv
er.”
“I’m beginning to believe James was truly a wicked man.” William picked up a tart and placed it on her plate.
She eyed the treat but attempted to ignore it. With one finger, he pushed the plate closer to her. When she looked at him, he winked. She picked up the tart. “Just one bite.” She closed her eyes and groaned. “This is delicious.”
William laughed. “Continue.”
Amy wiped her mouth. “She didn’t say, but I got the impression from her demeanor that she is worried his disappearance might have something to do with Mr. Harding’s death.”
“Based on that, we will place him firmly on our list.”
“Exactly.”
William slid his empty plate aside. “Another thing that I’ve been considering lately. The man we met at the King’s Garden who told us about Harding meeting people there on a regular basis mentioned he marked information down in a book.”
Amy’s face lit up as she straightened in her chair. “Yes. You are right. We have to get our hands on that book.” Amy scowled. “Unless the police already have it.”
William shook his head. “No. They were thrilled to get the files. I don’t have a lot of faith in our police, so it’s quite possible they would not consider a general ledger for recording names and payments to be important.”
“My lord, I believe I will turn you into a private detective yet.”
He bowed toward her. “Clearly.”
Once William paid their bill, they strolled back to where they had left the carriage. “Will you be at the book club meeting this Thursday?” Amy asked.
“Yes. I am mostly caught up on my work. Without my file from the police, however, there are some facts I am missing. I visited the bank, and their numbers do not correlate with mine, but I’m sure Harding’s file of my affairs from his end will give me an idea where the discrepancy lies.”
“I am going to attempt to have a private conversation with Miss Gertrude Thursday. She and her sister generally arrive early and spend some time browsing the bookshelves in the store before the meeting.”
The Sign of Death Page 12
