The admiral’s ears perked up at the word reorganizing. “Not at all. Glad you could come. Restructuring a garden is no small task. It takes planning, patience, and logic.”

  Not the three words I would have associated with gardening, but no matter. Amelia smiled. “My thoughts exactly.”

  The admiral tilted his chin toward the sky. “I recommend we start with a short tour first. Rain is headed in our direction.”

  “Excellent idea,” agreed Simon. “Lead the way, Admiral.”

  Up close, the gardens were even more striking than they were from a distance, and Amelia didn’t have to pretend to be interested. She would love a garden such as this one. It reminded her of Kitty’s, except Kitty’s was smaller and stood below the balcony of her tall London home. Here, the lushness sprawled into a copse of English oak, giving one the impression of endless time and space. English roses as lovely and as round as tea saucers spoke to time-honored traditions yet were no match for the white magnolia blooms, which were as fragrant as they were full. Hydrangeas splashed lavender and pink into a border that led to the garden like a riotous band. In the shade of the house, and closest to the windows, a fernery gave one pause from the explosion of color, a menagerie of soft green, blue-green, and the palest mint.

  “What size is your garden?” asked Admiral Edwards as they passed the gate.

  Amelia gave him an approximation.

  The admiral stopped, appearing to do a quick calculation in his head. “Your property is in Mayfair?”

  “Correct,” she said. He continued walking, his strides short but brisk, and she had to hurry to keep pace.

  “The purpose is to impress, then,” he continued.

  “Not at all,” answered Amelia. “I would like something simple yet beautiful, like this.”

  “Ah, but it should impress. The worst thing a garden can be is out of place. You must consider the setting first and foremost.” He paused at the fountain, the sound of tinkling water filling the void of his boisterous voice. “In London, this garden would be very much out of place. Its size would be garish and overwhelming. What you need is something upright and refined. Something that fits with the elegant homes in the area.” He put a stubby finger to his temple. “Keep that in mind.”

  “Excellent advice.” Simon nodded. “I see your expertise expands beyond the sea.”

  Admiral Edwards smiled. “When you consider it, the sea and the land are not so different. They both require firm control. It’s a matter of organization.”

  “Which reminds me,” added Simon, “I have a question regarding a ship. A situation off the African coast.”

  “Do you mind if I wander around while you gentlemen discuss?” asked Amelia. “I’d like to cover as much ground as possible before the rain arrives.”

  “Not at all.” The admiral gestured ahead. “Take your time.”

  Amelia walked in the direction of the bench where she’d originally seen the old woman. It took several turns to get there, and she understood what the admiral meant about organization. The garden reminded her of small rooms, each connected to the next. It was quite impressive, when she thought about it. As the admiral had said, beautiful gardens took a good deal of planning for the separate areas to flow together so seamlessly.

  Unfortunately, when she reached her destination, the bench was empty. She scanned the surrounding area, stopping to examine a copious vine of purple wisteria. The flowers were a brilliant shade of violet under the day’s cloud cover. She reached out to touch the velvety bloom.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I was you,” came a voice from behind.

  Amelia spun around. “Why not?”

  The old woman stood before her. Barely five feet tall, she was short and stout, wearing a shapeless black dress. Her face, too, was cloaked in a scarf that disguised her features.

  The woman lifted her chin, revealing blank eyes that were vaguely frightening. “They don’t like it.”

  “The Edwardses?”

  “The flowers.” The woman clicked her teeth. “They don’t like to be touched.”

  “I understand.” Amelia swallowed, determined not to let her first impressions get the best of her. She stuck out her hand. “I’m Amelia Amesbury. I’m here with Lord Bainbridge.”

  The old woman wiped her palm on her dress before taking Amelia’s. “I’m the queen of England.”

  Though gnarled, the woman’s hand was surprisingly soft. Perhaps it was the plumpness of it. “You must be the admiral’s sister-in-law. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  “I doubt that, deary. My brother-in-law pretends I don’t exist.”

  “Families can be challenging.” Amelia sat on a nearby bench, hoping the woman would join her. “I have three sisters, and they might say the same thing. I haven’t been in contact with them much since my husband passed away.”

  The old woman turned an ear toward her. “What’s that, you say? Your husband died?”

  “Two years ago,” Amelia confirmed. “He suffered from a debilitating condition. He had been sick for a while.”

  “You must be cursed, like me.” She shuffled toward the bench but didn’t sit down. “My husband died, too.”

  Henry had said her husband had died on their wedding day. He hadn’t said how. Maybe Amelia could find out. “I’m sorry to hear that. Was he ill?”

  “No. It had nothing to do with him.”

  Amelia’s brow furrowed in question.

  “I said I was cursed, didn’t I?” The woman’s voice rose sharply. “All the Engelthorpe women are cursed.”

  Amelia saw her chance to bring up Flora and took it. “You mean Flora.”

  The old woman’s eyes flashed. “Yes, Flora. She’s dead now, too.”

  “I heard it was an accident, not a curse.” A raindrop fell on Amelia’s dress, and she brushed at it. “She had a habit of sleepwalking, I’m told.”

  The woman scooted next to Amelia. “My husband died the day of our wedding. He was bucked from his horse and broke his neck. I warned Flora of the curse, but she wouldn’t believe me. That one was stubborn.” She grinned, revealing a missing tooth. “I bet she believes me now.”

  Despite the cool day, a prickle of sweat formed on the back of Amelia’s neck. “Were you there? Did you see her fall?”

  “Of course not. I was in bed, asleep.” She tilted her head. “But I heard her scream, and I knew. You never forget a sound like that.” She took a haggard breath. “Sometimes I hear it in my dreams.”

  The scream haunted the old woman’s dreams. Maybe it was because she was the one who had pushed her. The old woman was stout enough. Still, it didn’t add up. She lived here, in Dartford. Yet the trouble continued in London, first with Flora, then Charlotte, and finally the threatening letters. “Have you been back to London since then?”

  “No.” She pressed her lips together. “I never want to go back. I like it here, in my garden.”

  Several raindrops fell in succession. “We should find the admiral.” Amelia put a hand on the woman’s arm. “The rain has started, and you’ll catch a chill.”

  The woman leapt up as if bitten by a snake. “I told you, they don’t like to be touched!”

  “I apologize. I won’t touch the flowers again.”

  “I am the flowers! I am the flowers!” She stumbled in the direction of the house, uttering the sentence over and over.

  Amelia stared after her, popping up her parasol. The old woman was daft. Maybe even dangerous. Amelia couldn’t trust what she said. Still, she needed to consider the possibility that Flora’s and Charlotte’s deaths were unconnected. The old woman could have killed Flora but not Charlotte. Even as she contemplated the idea, her brain rejected it. They had to be connected. What other explanation could there be? Two separate killers?

  “There you are,” called Simon. “The rain is here. Good. You’re protected.” He peeked under her parasol, lowering his voice. “The admiral’s waiting inside with tea. Did you talk to her?”

  Amelia slowly nodded.

  “And?”

  “She is stark raving mad.”

  Chapter 27

  Dear Lady Agony,

  I wonder if you know anything about weather? Not the weather, specifically, but its effects on the human condition. What is one to do when it rains like this? How is one to overcome the longing to be outside and away from people?

  Devotedly,

  Soaking Wet

  Dear Soaking Wet,

  Never underestimate the power of rain. Someone famous said that, or if they didn’t, they should have. Bad weather has the ability to shred our patience. But one burst of sunshine is all it takes for optimism to break through. Until that sunny day, dear reader, stick to your dry corner and take a good book. It is the cure for the rainy-day doldrums.

  Yours in Secret,

  Lady Agony

  Simon and Amelia enjoyed the rainy afternoon with Admiral Edwards by a cozy fire and a delightful assortment of sandwiches and cakes. The rain, soft droplets at first, was coming down in slanted sheets now. The road was becoming a real concern, as it quickly turned to mud in the country. Rain was as certain as sherry before dinner, but not downpours like this. Even Simon looked worried. Despite the admiral’s engaging story, he kept checking the window. A deep rumble rattled the glass in the windows, and Amelia jumped.

  “Terrible weather.” The admiral picked up a hand telescope from the table and aimed it out the window. He closed one eye as he peered into the instrument. “I don’t think you’ll be leaving anytime soon, Bainbridge.”

  “We cannot be delayed,” Amelia insisted. “Winifred’s recital is the day after tomorrow. There’s much left to attend to.”

  The admiral laid down the scope. “No changing the weather, as much as we’d like to. Just be glad you’re next to a warm fire and not out at sea. You wouldn’t believe what it can do to a grown man’s fortitude.”

  “We’re grateful to be here, inside.” Simon turned to Amelia. “The admiral is right. There’s no changing the weather. We will have to wait it out.”

  Amelia knew it was true, but she also knew she had to get home to Winifred, who was anxious about her first performance. Amelia would move fire and mountains if it got to that point. She squinted at the window, streaked with rain. Hopefully the storm would pass as quickly as it had arrived.

  Admiral Edwards picked up his teacup. “Was your walk in the garden inspirational?”

  “Very much,” answered Amelia. “The fernery in particular is striking. How do you manage it all? Does it require a large staff?”

  “You might be surprised.” Admiral Edwards paused to sip his tea. “With the right help and consistent care, you can do very much with very little, and my sister-in-law, Dahlia, tends to it regularly. She might not be good with people, mind you, but she is very good with plants. The key is consistency. If a day goes by without attention, you’ll find yourself behind.” He frowned. “That’s my problem in London. Being down one maid has set the entire house off course. I haven’t been successful at finding a replacement.”

  His lament sparked an idea in Amelia. “Tabitha Amesbury is an expert on household management. You would appreciate her attention to detail.” She paused for a moment as she considered the pair. Actually, they would make a nice couple, romantically. A lightning bolt flashed, returning her thoughts to the present. “She could suggest someone.”

  Like the sky, the admiral’s face lit up. “Would she? It’d take a considerable load off my mind. I’m hesitant to move staff from this house, because they prefer it here, in the country, but I need someone for Rose straightaway. Her first season has already had its hurdles.”

  “Flora’s passing?” asked Simon.

  Admiral Edwards bristled. “That, among other things.” He returned his teacup and crossed one leg over the other. “You know young men, Bainbridge. They can be very convincing when they want to be, but Rose is young and ignorant. Her mother has been gone many years, bless her soul, and Flora was her trusted mentor. Without her, I’m afraid Rose will be lost.”

  “What about Hyacinth?” asked Amelia. “She’s older than Rose.”

  Admiral Edwards swatted away the thought. “Hyacinth doesn’t have the same constitution Flora had. Flora was like me. Hyacinth is like a seed in the wind. She travels whichever way the wind blows.”

  Now it made sense why the admiral rejected a memorial garden. Flora had been his daughter, good with ships and numbers. He wouldn’t want a memorial garden for her any more than he would want one for himself. Simon was right. He wasn’t being callous. He was just being himself.

  “Hyacinth flung herself at her sister’s own fiancé,” continued the admiral, shaking his head in disgust. “He, of course, wants nothing to do with her. He was crushed by Flora’s passing, which makes it worse for everyone. In fact, it would be better for everyone if he just disappeared. His moping about helps no one.”

  Simon’s eyebrows rose at the comment.

  The admiral noted the change. “I’m sorry, Lady Amesbury. That was insensitive of me to say out loud. Flora’s death has hit me harder than I care to admit.”

  Amelia held up her hand. “No need to apologize. I understand what it means to grieve.”

  “Yes, you do. Your husband was a fine man. You can take comfort in that.”

  A new sheet of rain pelted the window, and the admiral stood. “I’m going to inform the cook you’ll be staying for dinner. Not a chance you’ll be leaving tonight.”

  After he left, Amelia twisted to face Simon. “What are we going to do? I cannot be stuck here all evening.”

  “Nothing can be done about the weather.” Simon lifted his eyes to the window. “We have to wait it out.”

  “Winifred needs me,” Amelia pressed. “I need to get home to her.”

  “Winifred needs you home alive. Leaving in this storm would be foolish. It would put your life in jeopardy.”

  That was an overstatement. She’d ridden in storms worse than this one. A thunder crack vibrated the walls. Perhaps not worse than this one, but at least similar. “What did you think of the admiral’s comments about Hyacinth? Do you think she might have killed Flora to have Henry Cosgrove for herself?”

  “The idea has crossed my mind.” Simon paused for a moment. “But I’ve known Hyacinth as long as I’ve known the admiral. She was always a flighty little girl and hasn’t changed. I can see her pushing her sister off the balcony in a fit of hysteria, but killing Charlotte?” He shook his head. “I don’t believe she has it in her to plan something.”

  She ran the idea past him that struck her in the garden. “Do you think we have two murderers?”

  “I don’t,” Simon quickly dismissed. “Too many similarities exist. Plus your letters.”

  Amelia leaned back in her chair. “I thought the same thing about the admiral’s sister-in-law. She might have hurt Flora but not Charlotte. It’s impossible.”

  “We have to follow where the clues lead us.” Simon shrugged. “It’s all we can do.”

  They had no other choice but to eliminate possibilities one at a time. Amelia scratched her head. It felt as if she was missing something.

  The admiral returned, asking if they’d like to see his maritime memorabilia, and they followed him into the library. It was musty and damp, and the pages of a book on Robert Heriot Barclay stuck together as Amelia turned them. The admiral had had a long, illustrious career and talked about missions, crews, and men of distinction. Simon seemed fascinated, but Amelia was distracted. Her mind kept straying to Winifred and how to get back home. When the admiral mentioned a particular ship, however, she saw a way to introduce Fair Winds. She seized the opportunity to discuss his clerk William Donahue.

  “You know what it takes to make a seaworthy vessel,” Amelia interceded. “Is that why you went into business?”

  The admiral’s barrel chest swelled. “That and my years at sea. Of course, the navy can’t have us old men hanging around forever.” He and Simon shared a look. “It’s up to young captains to lead their crews. But I missed being on a ship, which is why I turned to building them. It satisfies me a good deal.”

  Amelia set down the book she was thumbing. “I’ve met your clerk William Donahue. He seems very dedicated to the business.”

  “Donahue is a good man,” he said. “His uncle is an earl, you know, and his father owns land around here. I’ve thought of him often for Rose. He’d be a worthy suitor . . . and solve this business of a season.” He rubbed his forehead. “The sooner it comes to a conclusion, the better.”

  “What do your daughters think of him?” asked Simon.

  “Flora didn’t care for him. She considered his bookkeeping deficient, but that’s because she was better at it than he was.” He smiled a lopsided smile. “Don’t share that with Donahue, though.”

  “We won’t.” Amelia returned his smile.

  “But Rose enjoys his company,” the admiral continued. “Maybe a little too much, if you get my meaning. Hyacinth has higher aspirations, which is to be expected since she is now my eldest daughter and Flora was engaged to a duke.”

  “Did Flora find fault with William’s bookkeeping?” asked Simon. “Was that the trouble between them?”

  The admiral picked up the compass on the table, watching the needle as it moved. Earlier, he’d said it had been passed down from his great-grandfather, who had also been an admiral. The gold, while dull, still glimmered in the spark of the firelight. “Now that you mention it, yes. She did say something about an error in the books. What that error was, I couldn’t say. We never had a chance to discuss it, and it does not matter now.” He put the compass down and smiled a sad smile. “It’s funny how what seemed important then is not so important now.” He clapped his hands on his thighs. “But enough of the past. How about a drink before dinner?”

 

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