The Sign of Death (Victorian Book Club Mystery 2)

William shook his head at this information. “Mrs. Whitney seems quite attractive. Do you think it’s a case of a woman scorned, in addition to being robbed?”

“From experience, I can say it is a possibility,” said Lady Margaret. “Although I didn’t think about doing away with James when I returned to Bath to find him happily courting Miss Daniels, his blasé attitude about it all did raise an ire in me I had never felt before—and have never felt since.”

Amy added, “We did ascertain from Mrs. Whitney that her situation was a matter of stealing, not blackmail. It seems her deceased husband left her with a nice, tidy sum of money that should have lasted her the rest of her life.

“Mr. Harding was named as trustee to the trust established for her benefit under her deceased husband’s will. She has reason to believe a portion of it has gone missing.”

William gave a soft whistle.

“Additionally, Mrs. Whitney has a stepson, Patrick. With some prodding, we found out that her late husband had been well into his fifth decade when he died and that his son is much closer in age to Mrs. Whitney herself. According to the woman, Patrick was quite angry when he learned about his stepmother’s loss.”

This revelation left William with quite a bit to think about. Although he’d worked with Harding for three years, it seemed he had never really known the man. There seemed to have been an entire side of himself that he’d kept hidden.

William mused aloud. “At present we have two suspects on our list: Mrs. Whitney and Miss Gertrude. They both have been quite open about their feelings for Harding, none of which were particularly warm. Would they be so open about their animosity if they did actually kill him?”

Amy shrugged. “It’s hard to say. I used a female killer in one of my books, but she employed poison, which I felt was more suited to a woman than getting a man drunk and shoving him into the river.”

“This is real life, Amy, not fiction,” Lady Margaret said. “Those women were mad. Very, very mad. Who knows what they would be capable of in a fit of anger?”

They remained silent for a while, each absorbed in their own deliberations. The cool mist had turned to a slight drizzle, slowing traffic and lengthening the trip, which allowed them time to contemplate what they had learned so far. The clatter of the horses’ hooves on the cobblestones gave them a soothing, rhythmic ride.

William presented another thought. “Aside from Miss Gertrude, we don’t know if the individuals in the hidden files were being blackmailed or if they were being cheated and stolen from.”

“Do you think that would make a difference?” Amy grabbed the strap near her head as the carriage bounced over a hole in the road.

“Probably not. I believe we had decided that the files kept separate were singled out for nefarious purposes. It would be interesting to speak with the men on our list—Lemmon once again, and then Montrose to see if they have the same vehemence toward the man as the two ladies with whom we spoke.”

They reached the Winchester townhouse. Once the driver opened the door, William jumped out and held out his hand to help Lady Margaret and Amy out of the carriage. He walked them up the steps, holding his umbrella over them.

“Will Lady Wethington be joining you for church tomorrow?” Amy asked.

“I am certain she will.”

“We will see you then,” Lady Margaret said, as she entered the house.

“Good night, William.” Amy turned to follow her aunt, and William took her hand.

“Good night.” He bent and slowly lowered his head and kissed her, enjoying her surprise that turned quickly to acceptance. Aware that they stood on her front steps, he pulled back, offered a slight smile, and hurried to this carriage.

He smiled all the way to his house.

* * *

The Church of St. Swithin on the Paragon was a lovely and stately church. The building dated back to the late eighteenth century, but a worship house had stood on its grounds as far back as the tenth century.

Beloved author Miss Jane Austen’s father was buried at the site. Amy’s parents had been wed in St. Swithin’s and she and her brother baptized there. At one time she had thought to be married at St. Swithin’s, but as the years passed and she had grown more and more against the idea of matrimony, that thought had slowly died.

Lately, however, the idea of the married state had begun to interest her once again. Provided, of course, it was to the correct man. She wondered if the idea had anything to do with her growing relationship with William and the kiss he had bestowed on her the night before.

You are not a stupid woman, Amy.

As she and Aunt Margaret made their weekly trek to the fine old church, Amy looked forward to the inspiration and peace she always found there on Sunday mornings.

Once free of their carriage, they entered the building, greeting other congregants as they walked along the path. After days of cold, miserable rain, the sun had finally made an appearance, which lifted Amy’s spirits considerably. Although they had months to go before spring even began to raise its head, the few good-weather days in the winter reminded her that gloomy, cold weather would not last forever.

Just as they reached the door, William and Lady Wethington walked up to them. “Good morning, Lady Amy. How pleased I am to see you again.” Lady Wethington gave Amy a warm hug and another one of those looks that made her a tad nervous. Amy might have been rethinking her position on marriage, but she certainly did not want her ladyship pushing her. Or William.

Amy smiled back. “So nice to see you as well, Lady Wethington. I hope you are feeling well this morning.”