A Study in Murder (Victorian Book Club Mystery 1)

The maid twisted her hands in her apron. “Oh, milady, do you suppose they will hang you?”

The little bit of breakfast Amy had managed to swallow earlier made a reappearance at the back of her throat. “Of course not, Lacey. I did nothing wrong.”

Taking a deep breath, she rose from the seat by the window, where she pretended to read a book to get her mind off the events of the prior evening. She’d tossed and turned all night, unable to forget the sight of St. Vincent staring up at her with blank eyes, his body stiff and pale.

Whatever had he come to see her about, anyway? She’d made it clear their betrothal was at an end. Was it possible the reason for his visit had something to do with his murder? She rubbed her palms up and down her arms, feeling as though she would never be warm again.

Grabbing a thick plaid woolen shawl that Aunt Margaret had brought her from her last visit to Scotland, she scooped Persephone into her arms and made her way downstairs. The knocker on the door sounded as she reached the bottom step. Stevens opened the door and stepped back to admit William.

Not quite sure why, Amy felt a bit calmer at the sight of him. He bowed to her after handing off his gloves, hat, and coat to the butler. “Has the barrister yet arrived?”

“I don’t know. I was just summoned to the drawing room.”

Papa and another man both rose as she and William stepped through the doorway.

“Ah, here is my daughter now.” Papa came from around his chair and took her hand in his to draw her forward. “This is Lady Amy.” He nodded in William’s direction. “And the young man I told you about who happened upon the scene last night. Lord Wethington.”

At least he hadn’t called him boy again.

Both men shook hands.

“Amy, Mr. Nelson-Graves is a barrister and has agreed to assist us in this matter.” He turned toward William. “He has been highly recommended by my solicitor, Mr. David Hearns.”

Ever the hostess, Amy gestured to the chairs forming a slight semicircle around the low table near the fireplace. “Shall we be seated? I will send for refreshments.”

They managed small talk about the weather, politics, and the arrival of spring while they waited for the tea cart. Amy wished they could just get to it. The horrid detectives from the police the night before had never mentioned what time they would be arriving for their return visit.

The housekeeper entered the room, followed by a footman pushing the tea cart. With Amy feeling as unsettled as she did, she asked Mrs. Brady to pour so she would not scald one of the men with hot tea to add to her crimes. She continued to smooth her palm over a very contented Persephone. The movement was a comfort to her and a joy to her beloved dog.

The latch on the drawing room door clicked softly as the servants left, and the group grew silent. Mr. Nelson-Graves cleared his throat. “Perhaps it would be best if you told me, in your own words, Lady Amy, how the events of last night progressed.” He placed his teacup in the saucer and picked up a pad of paper and a pencil.

Her stomach churned, and she looked to William for support. Prior to now, her friendship with him had been lengthy, but confined to not much more than a few dances at the Assembly Rooms and debates at the book

club. However, she felt connected to him. Most likely that happened when two people stood side by side and gaped at a bloody murdered man at their feet.

William nodded at her, and she took a deep breath. “A few days ago, I summoned Mr. St. Vincent to my home for the purpose of advising him that I intended to call an end to our betrothal.”

“And why was that?”

Amy glanced over at Papa, hoping she had misunderstood this question. “Why was what, Mr. Nelson-Graves?” She took a delicate sip of tea, hoping she looked very innocent. Perhaps that would work when the detectives arrived.

The barrister looked up from his notes. “Why did you break your engagement?”

“I felt that we no longer suited.”

Papa snorted and jumped up. He strode across the room and poured himself a brandy. He held the bottle up. “Lord Wethington?”

“No, thank you, my lord. The tea is fine.”

Papa returned to his seat. “Not for me. Don’t care how early in the day it is. I don’t like my daughter being under suspicion of murder.” He waved at Nelson-Graves, who had stopped writing to observe Papa. “Continue.”

The barrister looked at her. “And how did Mr. St. Vincent take this news?”

Papa leaned back, swirling the brandy around in his glass, his eyes never leaving her. Although he had harangued her into accepting Mr. St. Vincent, he’d said many times that he only wanted what he thought was best for her. Not unlike other women of her station. Marriage, a home of her own to manage, and children to raise.

He’d told her years before that since he’d not been successful with his sister, he would not make the same mistake twice. Hence his determination to push Amy headlong into marital bliss.

Truth be told, marriage was not something she had anything against, except she wanted more from a lifelong commitment than merely convenience. Her ideal marriage partner was just that. A partner. Certainly not someone who would expect to rule her life and oversee her every move. “I’m afraid my interview with Mr. St. Vincent did not go well.”