After a discussion on that point, Amy leaned over to William. “You mentioned a matter you wanted to raise about the story.”
He grinned. “Your curiosity got the best of you, Lady Amy?”
William raised his hand and was recognized by the moderator. “Yes, Lord Wethington, did you have a comment?”
“Yes, I do. One thing I would like to point out with regard to A Study in Scarlet is, if anyone has read ‘The Murders in the Rue Morgue’ by Edgar Allan Poe, the similarity between the two stories almost borders on plagiarism.”
A few gasps followed, and Amy hurriedly added, “Mr. Doyle has indeed mentioned his inspiration came from Mr. Poe’s work.” She didn’t know why she felt she had to defend William’s statement. Perhaps because he had come to her defense about women.
“Lord Wethington, surely you are not accusing Mr. Doyle of plagiarism?” Mr. Davidson raised his arrogant voice, and the heated discussion began.
Despite the disagreements that came from William’s observation, the rest of the meeting went quite smoothly, with Mr. Colbert’s expertise in moving things along. Once the meeting was declared over, Amy remained behind with Eloise, Mr. Colbert, William, Lady Carlisle, Mrs. Morton, and Mr. Miles and his mother, Mrs. Miles, who all generally partook of a light supper at a nearby pub after each meeting. Lord Temple and his daughter, Lady Abigail, had elected to join the group this week as well.
They enjoyed a lovely repast of cold cucumber soup, various meats, cheeses, warm bread, coffee, tea, and small tarts. The conversation was lively and relaxed without the difficult Mr. Davidson present.
Amy wiped her mouth after taking her final sip of tea, wondering if she’d have to let out the skirt she wore. She really needed to cut down on these lovely desserts. In an ironic twist of fate, she often admired Aunt Margaret’s lean, slim figure, while her aunt despaired of ever having proper curves to fill out her clothing as Amy did.
Laying her napkin alongside her plate, Amy addressed the group around the table. “I have been looking all over London for a book and cannot find it. I wonder if any of you have ever heard of Unsolved Gruesome and Ghastly Murders of London by Melvin Fulsom?”
William, sitting to her right, almost spit out his tea. “What?”
Expecting another discourse on the proper behavior of women, she sniffed and raised her chin. “I am interested in unsolved murders.”
Eloise, the only person at the table who knew of Amy’s alternate persona, said, “Yes. Even I couldn’t find the book.” That, itself, was a remarkable thing. Amy was quite sure there were no books Eloise hadn’t read, or at least didn’t know where to obtain.
Lord Temple frowned. “Is that not a rather unpleasant hobby for a gently reared young lady?” He glanced at his daughter, perhaps believing she should never have been subjected to such a conversation.
Gently reared young lady. How she hated that term. Those were the words that generally preceded comments on her personal lack of the married state. She shrugged. “I believe some would think so—”
“As do I,” William said.
She glared at him. As much as she would like to reveal that the reason for her interest was research on the book she was currently writing, she was bound by the promise she’d made to Papa.
Yet another way that women were inhibited. If she had been writing romances like Miss Austen or the Brontë sisters, it would have been accepted. But the subject of murder and mayhem was not a ladylike pursuit. But then there was The Modern Prometheus by Mary Shelley, one of Amy’s favorite books.
“But I find the subject fascinating.” She glanced from face to face around the table. “Well, it appears most of you disapprove of my pastime.”
Eloise snorted. “I don’t disapprove. I think women should be permitted to read anything. After all, we are not children.”
“I don’t believe it is that we do not approve, my dear. I think, if anything, we are taken aback by your request.” Mrs. Morton patted Amy’s hand. “I am sure you can’t find a copy because respectable people have no need for such horrible things.”
William cleared his throat. “As a matter of fact, I have a copy of the book in my library.”
Gasps came from those at the table. Except for Amy, who traded grins with Eloise. “Indeed?” She looked at the others. “I guess I am not the only oddity in the group. May I borrow it, Lord Wethington?”
“If you are certain you won’t stay awake nights fearing an attack from a crazed knife-wielding maniac.” She had to grant him credit for casting her a grin rather than a smirk.
Thinking back on some of the frightening scenarios in her books, she waved her hand in dismissal. “Nonsense. I am not subject to the weak sensibilities of other young ladies.”
“Apparently not,” he said, as he lifted his cup in a salute before taking a sip of tea.
Amy studied William as he continued to converse with the rest of the group. Although over the years they had enjoyed a warm and companionable friendship, at one time she’d thought perhaps he would request to court her. But he never had. He remained a bit of an enigma, never revealing much about himself.
He was a private man, and at a time when many large titled estates were floundering, their owners seeking rich American brides in search of a title, William had managed to keep his holdings profitable.
She’d heard from her brother, Michael, that William had gotten involved in railroads at a time when most gentlemen were skeptical of the new mode of transport. Being clever himself, Michael had convinced Papa to join in the venture, and consequently the Winchester house was doing quite well.
The conversation had veered away from her unusual request, for which she was grateful. William leaned in, close to her ear. “I must travel to London for a few days, but if you are at home next Tuesday evening, I can bring the book to you. That is, if you are absolutely certain you want it.” His raised eyebrows made her laugh more than scowl. Even though he’d refuted what Mr. Davidson had said, like most men, he likely still held an ingrained idea of what women could handle. They were all so wrong. After all, women gave birth, didn’t they? She shuddered. A messy business, that.