The Sign of Death Callie Hutton (color ebook reader .txt) 📖

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