The Sign of Death (Victorian Book Club Mystery 2)

They came to another stop to allow traffic to proceed. The Roman Baths and the Abbey were a mere block away. She could see the church steeple from where they stood. There were more people about than Amy would have expected for January and the nasty weather. “Of what do I need to be aware?” she asked.

He looked her in the eye, humor clearly written there. “She intends to marry me off. Sooner rather than later.”

CHAPTER 2

A light tap on Amy’s bedchamber door drew her attention from the bracelet she was struggling to clip onto her wrist. Every time she neared snapping it closed, it slid off.

She blew out a frustrated breath. “Come in.”

Aunt Margaret entered and frowned at Amy. “My, you look exasperated. Whatever is the matter?”

Amy held out her arm. “I’m trying to fasten this bracelet. One would have assumed jewelers made these clasps a little easier to affix.”

“Why didn’t you call for Lacey?” Aunt Margaret moved to Amy, took the bracelet from her hand, and had it closed in two seconds.

“It is Sunday morning, remember? She is off until dinnertime.”

The two women shared the Winchester townhouse. Aunt Margaret, the younger half sister of Amy’s father, had stepped in to raise young Amy after her mother passed away when she was ten years old.

Aunt Margaret was a wonderful companion; the bane of her brother’s existence, since he’d never gotten her married off; and Amy’s best friend. Aunt Margaret was the proud owner of a thirty-year-old cockatoo who quoted Shakespeare—unlike Amy’s fluffy Pomeranian, who made her thoughts known with a swish of her missing tail.

Only fifteen years apart in age, aunt and niece were more like sisters. While Amy was of medium height and filled out her clothes quite well—in some cases more than quite well—Aunt Margaret was tall and willowy. And as expected, both women wished they had the other’s figure.

“Is William coming to escort us to church?” Aunt Margaret bent to view herself in the mirror over Amy’s dressing table. She moved her hat around and stuck a pin in the center. Satisfied, she straightened and picked up her reticule and Bible from the table.

“Yes. He should be here any minute.” Amy placed her own hat on her head, made a face, and took it off. She rummage

d in her wardrobe for another and pulled out one of her favorites, which unfortunately had been crushed.

“I will meet you downstairs then,” Aunt Margaret said as she left the room.

Amy waved her on and pulled out two other hats. Neither of them looked right with her outfit. She sighed and went back to the first one.

She truly had to get herself better organized. While involved in writing a new murder mystery, she let everything else go. The project took over her life to the extent that on occasion she even forgot to go downstairs for dinner. Not one to deny herself food, however, she spent many a late night raiding the kitchen for cold leftovers.

She plopped the original black-and-white straw hat back on her head and anchored it with a pearl hatpin. She picked up her gloves, retrieved her reticule and Bible, and joined Aunt Margaret at the front door.

Aunt Margaret glanced at Amy’s feet. “You have on two different shoes again.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Amy ran back upstairs, frustrated at her lack of attention. She often bought duplicates of the same pair of shoes so she didn’t have to worry about wasting time searching for a missing one.

Were she an old lady, they would have called her eccentric. Instead, she was afraid those close to her merely thought of her as harebrained. Except, she assured herself, it took quite a bit of intelligence to write her wonderful murder books.

Back downstairs again, Stevens helped her into her cloak. The door knocker dropped just as Amy finished buttoning up.

“Good morning, ladies.” William bowed in their direction, the warm smile he always greeted them with fully in place. He nodded at Amy. “Fix your hat.”

She looked in the mirror, readjusted the headpiece, and seriously considered returning to bed and waking up the next day.

“Good morning, my lord.” Aunt Margaret smiled back at him.

He stepped out into the cool morning air and allowed them to precede him down the steps.

They were on their way to St. Swithin’s Church on the Paragon in the Wolcot area of Bath, where they worshiped every Sunday morning. It was a lovely old church that Amy had attended with her mother and Aunt Margaret since she was a small child.

When her mother was alive, her parents had maintained an amicable relationship but lived their lives separately. Papa and her brother, Michael, had resided in London, and Amy and her mother had lived in Bath with Aunt Margaret.

Mother had hated the noise and smell of London, whereas Papa loved the hustle and bustle of the city. Since there were two children of the marriage, there had to have been a time when they lived together, but for as long as Amy could remember, they’d had separate residences. She’d never questioned the arrangement, because it hadn’t seemed odd to her at the time. Not until she became a woman had she wondered about it.