Mrs. Morton’s house was in one of the best sections of Bath on Dunsford Place. Her husband, a very pleasant man, made his money in stocks and railroads and had risen from near poverty to the elite of Bath society. It was rumored that Mrs. Morton had been a scullery maid before she married Mr. Morton, who had himself been a clerk. He apparently had quite a head for business, however, and after receiving a small inheritance, he’d spent the following ten years turning it into a fortune.
His wife had taken on airs once they had received their first investment check and never turned back. That was one of many reasons Amy disliked the woman. That and her way of asking questions or making statements that could be taken differently than the words spoken.
Amy’s stomach fluttered at the sound of lively chatter, which led them to the room where they were announced.
If a mouse had decided to eat a biscuit at that moment, the munching would easily have been heard by the seven women in the room. Stunned silence greeted the three entering.
Mrs. Morton rose, her hand plastered against her chest. “Oh, my dear, dear, Lady Amy. How very, very horrible for you.” She floated across the room, her obvious delight at having the notorious woman whose ex-fiancé had been murdered right in her drawing room simply too much for her to hide. “You must be devastated. I cannot imagine how you were even able to rise from your bed.”
Since it was not considered good ton to smack one’s hostess over the head with one’s reticule, Amy merely smiled and allowed herself to be swept into Mrs. Morton’s arms and hugged until she thought she would faint from lack of air.
She took in a deep breath when the woman finally released her and studied her carefully. “How are you holding up, my dear?” Then Mrs. Morton took to fluttering a handkerchief that had miraculously appeared in her hand. She patted the corners of her eyes. “I am so very, very sorry to hear of your troubles.”
“That is quite enough, Isabel.” Aunt Margaret scowled. “May we at least be seated and offered some tea?”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Mrs. Morton ushered them to the settee closest to her, glaring at Miss Davies, who currently occupied that seat. Miss Davies quickly removed herself to another chair. Aunt Margaret and Eloise were then forced to sit farther down in the room, leaving Amy to deal with Mrs. Morton by herself.
“Here, my dear. Just sit yourself down and I will see that you have a strong cup of tea.”
“Isabel, for heaven’s sakes, the girl is fine,” Aunt Margaret snapped, then swept her eyes around the room, glaring at all the goggle-eyed guests. “In fact, my niece had already broken her engagement with Mr. St. Vincent before he died.”
“You mean was murdered,” Lady Ambrose said, whipping her flowered fan so hard the curls alongside her hair bounced.
“Well, yes. He was murdered. But there is no reason to assume Lady Amy is heartbroken or in need of consoling.”
“Is it true you found his body?” Miss Everhart, a young miss barely out of the schoolroom, pushed her spectacles back up her nose, then gripped her throat, her eyes huge. Everyone else leaned forward as well, the anticipation on their faces alarming. And William seemed to think women were too delicate to write about murder? Amy was willing to bet just about every woman in this room had read one of her books.
Amy accepted a cup of tea from the maid and took a sip. “Yes. I was unfortunate enough to find his body.”
Gasps ricocheted around the room. “Oh, how very unpleasant.” Lady Ambrose gave her fan another flutter.
Aunt Margaret looked over at Amy and shook her head slightly. Amy wasn’t sure if her aunt was commiserating with her or silently warning her not to toss her teacup at Lady Ambrose’s head.
“These are wonderful biscuits, Mrs. Morton,” Eloise said from across the room. “Do you think your cook would share the recipe?”
“Have the police found his murderer?” The delicate, sweet, simpering Miss Everhart totally ignored Eloise and was at it again, dripping with avid curiosity.
Suddenly everyone in the room was extremely interested in their teacups. Uh-oh. Apparently word of her being the main suspect had spread far and wide. Well, she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of again tossing pitying looks her way combined with fake shock and suppressed glee at her dilemma.
She raised her chin and looked Miss Everhart in the eye. “No. As a matter of fact, they have not.” She took another sip of tea and turned toward Miss Davies. “Miss Davies, I must say that is a lovely dress you are wearing. That color suits you quite well.”
Unfortunately, the group was still not about to surrender. Miss Davies barely got her thanks out before Mrs. Morton said, “Lady Amy, dear, surely you must have some idea of at whom the police are looking.”
“I read in this morning’s paper that the investigation is continuing, and no one has been arrested.” Amy wanted to kiss Mrs. Welling, who had remained silent up to that point.
“Yet,” Mrs. Morton said, waving her finger at Mrs. Welling. “Not yet.”
“I wonder how poor Miss Hemphill is holding up.” Lady Ambrose tsked and took a bite from her tart. Considering how her
bulk tested the seams of her dress, ’twould perhaps have been better if the woman had left the array of treats alone.
“Miss Hemphill?” Aunt Margaret asked, glancing over at Eloise, who looked as surprised as Amy felt.
“Oh, yes, my dear.” Lady Ambrose waved her hand. “But that is not news. Just about everyone knew she expected Mr. St. Vincent to make her an offer of marriage before she set off for London a couple of months ago. I understand she has recently returned”—she glanced in Amy’s direction, then away—“but found the man had already betrothed himself to Lady Amy in her absence.”
St. Vincent had been expected to make an offer to Miss Hemphill? How the devil had Amy not known that? She looked over at Aunt Margaret, then Eloise, who both gave her a slight shrug. Hopefully one of her cohorts would not let the story die there.
“Did you say Miss Hemphill was expecting an offer from Mr. St. Vincent?” Her saving grace came from Miss Everhart, who apparently was as ignorant as Amy about this expected proposal.