The Sign of Death

by Callie Hutton

  “Certainly. Lady Margaret, if you wish to stay, I can arrange to have my carriage return for you.”

  “No. I am ready as well.”

  They made their way out of the room and down the stairs. After shrugging into their coats, they stepped into the cool, misty air. A footman waved their carriage forward and followed them to open the vehicle’s door.

  Once they were all settled and the carriage began the ride to Amy’s house, Lady Margaret said, “Amy, I think it is time to tell William what Mrs. Whitney had to say. I am sure he will be quite interested.”

  CHAPTER 12

  William listened with growing amazement as Lady Margaret and Amy related their conversation with Mrs. Whitney.

  “Much like Miss Gertrude when she was conversing with you, Mrs. Whitney spoke with such vehemence about Mr. Harding that I would have no trouble believing her capable of tossing him in the river,” Amy said.

  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.”

  “I am. A good night’s rest eased my headache tremendously.”

  “I am so glad to hear that. We missed you last evening at the Assembly.” She turned toward Aunt Margaret. “May I present to you my aunt, Lady Margaret Lovell.”

  The two women nodded at each other. “Do you live together?” Lady Wethington asked.

  “Yes,” Amy said, “Aunt Margaret practically raised me, since my mother passed away when I was ten years old.”

  “Oh, how very sad. But I’m sure you received a good deal of love and attention from your aunt.”

  Amy beamed at her aunt. “Indeed. Aunt Margaret and I are great friends too.”

  Lady Wethington linked her arm in Amy’s as they strolled down the aisle of the church. Normally they sat in the Winchester pew, but this week William led them to his family’s pew.

  Lady Wethington entered first, with Aunt Margaret right behind her, followed by Amy and William. It did not slip Amy’s notice that William’s mother purposefully maneuvered them so that Amy and William sat together. It would probably interest her ladyship to know that they usually sat together even without her machinations.

  “Ladies, I would love for you both to join us after church for lunch,” said Lady Wethington. “William told me you generally entertain him, but I thought it would be nice to return the favor and have you to our home.”

  “I would like that.” Amy touched Aunt Margaret’s hand. “Are you free to join us at William’s house f
or lunch?” Amy prayed her aunt did not have other plans, which she sometimes did. Being alone with Lady Wethington and that gleam in her eye made her anxious. The woman seemed to turn most conversation to weddings, something Amy sensed she was growing closer to but didn’t want to hear about quite yet.

  “Yes, I would be honored to join you. Thank you so much.” Lady Margaret got the words out just as Mr. Palmer stepped into the sanctuary and addressed the congregation. Amy settled back and looked forward to her one hour of peace for the week.

  As usual, Miss Gertrude and Miss Penelope were in their seats two rows down and across the aisle from Amy’s family bench. Amy glanced over at William and smiled when Miss Gertrude’s voice could be heard above all the others. Her enthusiasm for life had certainly increased since Mr. Harding’s death.

  Should they really consider Miss Gertrude a suspect? Yes, she was tall, and though slender, she appeared muscular. But would someone who looked so innocent, with her flowered dresses and straw hats, be a killer? Amy shivered, realizing that, were she writing this story, a suspect such as Miss Gertrude would be a wonderful twist.

  The service ended with Mrs. Newton playing the organ with gusto despite her off-key rendition of “Amazing Grace.”

  As they rode in their carriage toward William’s house right outside Bath, Amy said to her aunt, “I’m so glad you agreed to accompany me.”

  “Why? Lady Wethington seems like a lovely woman. And she seems quite fond of you.”

  Amy huffed. “You noticed? That’s why I’m glad to have you along with me.”

  “Ah. I think I understand. Do you feel like she’s pushing you and William together?”

  “I hardly think pushing is the word I would use. More like thrusting with a heavy boot.”

  Aunt Margaret reached over and took Amy’s hand. “I know I have been a bad example for you when it comes to marriage. Just because I chose the single life doesn’t mean you have to follow in my footsteps.”

  Amy frowned and dared to ask something she had always wondered. “Why did you decide not to marry? You obviously would have had offers over the years. I know my papa has made his frustration known at your not accepting a husband.”

  Aunt Margaret sighed and stared off into space. “After the disaster with James, I decided to take my anger out on my brother and refused any offers he received for my hand. However, I found as the years went by that I became comfortable with my single life. As you know, life can be difficult for a married woman, although I have hopes that will change soon.”

  “What about Lord Pembroke? You saw quite a bit of him last year.”

  “Ah yes, Oliver.”

  Amy’s brows rose. “Christian names?” She grew amused at the flush on Aunt Margaret’s face.

  Aunt Margaret smoothed her skirts, avoiding Amy’s eyes. “Yes, we did see a bit of each other. However, he has various investments out of the country and took a trip a few months ago to visit his properties. I expect him back sometime soon.”

  “Oh my.”

  “Never mind.” Aunt Margaret waved her finger at Amy. “There is no oh my about it. We are merely friends.”

  “I see. Just like William and I are merely friends.”

  Her aunt stared at her, then nodded. “Yes. The same.”

  Amy decided to veer from that subject. She would have a difficult enough time trying to avoid Lady Wethington and her suggestive looks without adding Aunt Margaret to the mix.

  They arrived at William’s house. Amy watched William help his mother from his carriage, which was parked directly in front of theirs. “I think I shall ‘gird up my loins,’ as Proverbs says, and try to consume my meal without accidentally ending up betrothed.” She spoke over her shoulder and then smiled as William opened the door to help her out.

  * * *

  The following Tuesday afternoon, Amy pushed her notebook away and tossed her pen onto the desk, ink splattering across the blotter. No matter how many times she thought she had come up with the best situation to get her main character into, it didn’t seem right.

  “My lady, Lord Wethington has arrived.” Lacey poked her head into Amy’s small office with her announcement.

  Thankful for the break, Amy pushed her chair back and stood. “Tell his lordship I will be right down.”

  She fussed a bit with her hair, which was generally a lost cause, since the curls never stayed where they were supposed to and the hairpins didn’t always help. She plopped a hat on her head, stuck in a pin that scratched her scalp, and grabbed her gloves and reticule before leaving the bedchamber.

  They were going to visit the three pubs nearest the site on the River Avon where Mr. Harding’s body had been found. William had learned from someone he knew at the police station that the autopsy had revealed that the victim had not been in the water more than twelve or thirteen hours.

  William had used the tide, the time of day, and the weather conditions on the day before Harding’s body was discovered to determine the general area where the killer had met with Harding to ply him with alcohol—or something to make him lethargic—and then place the flask in his pocket before shoving him into the river. Most likely this had all taken place under cover of darkness, but William had refused to go at night if he was to take Amy with him. He’d insisted it would be too dangerous, and when she’d again suggested that they bring a gun, he hadn’t even answered her.

  Hopefully the bartenders and tavern wenches they would meet in the afternoon also worked in the evenings.

  The first pub, the Owl and the Mouse, was a mere quarter mile from the banks of the river. Amy wore one of her older, less fashionable dresses for the occasion. She borrowed Lacey’s coat and didn’t look anything like a lady of the ton descending upon the underclass.

  William had also dressed more like a working-class man, with a cap pulled low over his forehead. “Remember, this is not one of your usual high-class teahouses. It’s a low-class pub.”

  “For goodness’ sake, William, I’ve done research before. I’ve been in some derelict places,” she huffed.

  “And I can assure you that will never happen again.” He took her by the arm and escorted her into the pub.

  Whatever did that mean? Was he already trying to tell her what she could and could not do? Did he think one little kiss—all right, several more than one, and not so little—gave him rights where she was concerned?

  Before she could give him the rough side of her tongue, he walked her to a table, one of the few empty ones left in the room. Even though it was the middle of the afternoon, most of the tables were filled with men, all of them with glasses of ale in front of them.

  “Why aren’t they at work?” she asked.

  “They are probably dock workers. The ships that go out of Bristol pick up men here and all along the road. Most of these men are waiting for a captain to arrive and offer them a job.”

  “And they drink while they wait?”

  William shrugged. “It passes the time.”

  A young woman with a dress sporting a bodice considerably lower than Amy had ever seen approached their table. Amy watched her, amazed that her charms didn’t fall out onto the table. “What’ll be, laddie?”

  “Ale for both of us.” William’s accent changed a bit, which brought a smile to Amy’s lips.

  When the lass returned with the ale, William said, “I’m lookin’ for someone ’oo I fin’ might ’ave been ’ere a couple of weeks ago.”

  Amy almost choked on the watered-down ale, and the wench snorted. “Good luck wif that, laddie. I ain’t got the bloomin’ nickle and dime ter keep track of ’oo comes in ’ere. They aw butcher’s alike.”

  “This geeza ’ad a silver flask. It belongs ter me.”

  She shook her head. “Ain’t seen notin’ like ’at, laddie.” She sauntered off, hips swaying, but not before she gave William a look that Amy found quite annoying.

  The next pub they entered, ridiculously named the King’s Garden, was a bit more tasteful, but still not something
Amy would ever patronize. They took seats at a table. This pub was more than half-empty. The woman who approached their table this time was older, with missing teeth in the front of her mouth. She was bosomy, cheerful, and relatively clean.

  William asked his usual questions and got the same results. The woman had seen nothing and knew nothing. He was urging Amy to finish her ale—which she had no intention of doing, since the cleanliness around the rim of the glass was questionable—when a man approached their table.

  He was no more than thirty years old, but it was obvious he’d lived a hard life. He dragged over a chair, turned it around, and sat, resting his forearms on the back. “I hear yer lookin’ fer a toff what stole your flask.”

  William regarded the man with casual hesitation. “Yes. Do yer ’ave information about that?”

  “What’s it worth to ya?”

  “It depends on wot yer ’ave ter say.”

  The man spit on the floor. “I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ till I see a coin.”

  William removed a coin from his pocket and placed it on the table, about halfway between the man and William. “Talk.”

  The man edged his fingers toward the coin, but William moved it back. The man finally looked up at William and grinned, the few teeth left in his mouth brown. “There’s a toff wot comes in ’ere every couple weeks. I ’eard ’e drahn in the river.” He gestured toward the window that faced the water.

  “Did ’e ’ave the flask?” William asked.

  “Nah, but I thought ye might wanna know ’bout the toff—since ’e’s wahn of your kind—that ’e met people ’ere and they give ’im bread and honey. He wrote dahn information in a butcher’s book he carried wiv ’im.”

  Amy took that to mean this “toff” had been receiving money from the people here on a regular basis.

  Also, their apparent attempt to dress as though they could fit in and William’s attempt at cockney hadn’t worked. At least it hadn’t fooled this man, who had identified them as members of the upper class with no problem.