Chapter 18
Eighteen
Had Henry returned to work as planned?
Amelia wished she knew. She had enjoyed visiting him and his parents the last three days. He’d looked pale by the time their dinner had ended the previous evening, but hopefully a good night’s sleep—and judicious use of the peppermint oil she had left—had eased his pain a little more.
Though worry continued to sit on her shoulder, ever present and impossible to ignore, she refused to let it rule her day.
Amelia sighed as she settled at her desk in the drawing room, pulling toward her the book on forensic practices, a notebook, pen, and ink at the ready.
There was no particular case she could assist with at the moment, but she wanted to be familiar with the methods in the book.
That way, she would know what to offer when the time came.
She was also scheduled to meet with her editor from London Life that afternoon.
Though she’d intended to suggest a story idea, none truly worthy had yet come to mind.
Chances were Mr. Stearn had an idea or two which would stir her interest—and since Henry had presumably returned to work, that meant she should as well.
Nothing fulfilled her more than having her own purpose, something she’d struggled with since losing first Lily, then Matthew.
Though it was up to her to discover that purpose, since she no longer had a family of her own to care for, article ideas had been few of late.
Was it any wonder therefore she tended to involve herself in Henry’s cases?
After spending the morning making notes on forensic procedures, she enjoyed a light luncheon, advised Fernsby of her plan, then decided to walk to the nearest cab stand.
The late May weather was delightful, the temperature now warm enough to wear a pelisse rather than a cloak, and she felt lighter for it.
She paused to appreciate the daffodils and crocuses blooming along the walk and magnolias scenting the air, peace filling her, before continuing on to the cab stand.
Less than half an hour later she arrived at the offices for London Life, located on the Strand where several other publications had their offices.
The building, with its stone facade, arched windows, and ornate cornices, matched the periodical and her editor in Amelia’s mind—old-fashioned, timeless elegance. She was proud to be a part of it.
After a few minutes waiting in the small reception area, she was escorted to the second floor, where her editor’s office stood against one wall, offering a lovely view.
Paul Stearn walked around his desk and offered his hand to clasp hers after she was shown in. “Mrs. Greystone. The very person I was thinking about. I hope the day finds you well.” As always, the older man was well-dressed in a fine woolen suit, his beard closely trimmed.
His appearance made her pleased she’d taken time with her own. She’d set aside her normal gray attire for a violet gown with a modest bustle and liked to think she looked like she belonged there. Now she just needed to settle on a topic for an article to feel the same.
“It does, and I hope you are also well.” She smiled, releasing his hand to take the chair he gestured toward.
“I am. What brings one of my favorite correspondents by this afternoon? Dare I hope you are here to propose a new article concept to me?” he asked with a questioning look.
“That is why I came by.” Yet as she started to form the question about his own ideas, she realized one had been simmering in the back of her mind since she and Henry had first visited Hollowgate Heights.
The topic felt right, and she hoped Mr. Stearn agreed.
“I am still mulling over the details, but I have recently noticed how many supposed miracle cures are floating about. The number of advertisements for such remedies is alarming, as are their claims.”
Mr. Stearn nodded as he appeared to consider the idea. “Many people seem to be in search of any easy answer for whatever ails them.”
“Given my interest in chemistry,” she continued, gratified by his response, “I would like to test some of the products to determine the actual ingredients of the remedies. To see if it is even possible that they could cure anything. I could also interview physicians to ask their opinions.”
“I like it.” Mr. Stearn’s eyes lit with interest. “A survey of London’s miracle cures, or something of the sort. I can think of no one better suited to write this article than you, Mrs. Greystone.”
Amelia smiled, appreciating his confidence in her. “There are so many products offered. Do you have a suggestion on how best to narrow them down to half a dozen or so?”
They discussed the details at length, with Mr. Stearn pulling out one of the morning’s papers to see which advertisements were the boldest and most outlandish.
“I think our readers would be pleased to learn more about some of these—send your receipts to me and I’ll ensure you are reimbursed.
At the very least, we will remind them to be cautious about their purchases and consider whether the promises made can truly be believed. ”
“If I could accomplish that, I would be more than happy.” Amelia liked the idea of educating the periodical’s readers; after all, she truly enjoyed learning new things.
“Perhaps your efforts will help to motivate those making the remedies to be more honest,” Mr. Stearn declared.
“Then the article would definitely be a success.” If only she could’ve done something similar with the sanatorium before Louisa entered it. Her friend still weighed on her.
“We may lose a few advertisers over this, but the safety of our readers must take precedence over that.”
Amelia nodded in approval. That was one of the many reasons she respected Mr. Stearn.
He folded his hands on his desk and regarded her with a sympathetic look. “I read in the newspaper that your Inspector Field was injured in the bombing at Scotland Yard. How is he?”
Amelia had mentioned her friendship with Henry during one of her visits after she’d decided against writing an article about Mary Nettle, a woman who claimed to communicate with the spirit world.
Henry had become involved when Amelia’s acquaintance with Mrs. Nettle had taken an unexpectedly dark turn—one involving murder.
“He was hurt quite badly, but I believe he returned to work today.” She hoped he wasn’t pushing himself too hard. A knock to the head…
“To think three bombs were set just like in February.” Mr. Stearn shook his head. “What is the world coming to?”
“It’s difficult to understand the desire to cause harm to innocent people to make a point.” There was enough heartache already in the world, as far as she was concerned.
“I suppose that’s the only way they think they will be heard.
” He shook his head. “That certainly doesn’t make it right.
” The editor leaned back in his chair. “At any rate, I’m pleased to hear Inspector Field’s life isn’t in danger.
I hope they’re able to find who did this before another bomb is set. ”
The thought alone was enough to shake Amelia—but dwelling on the possibility didn’t help. Nor did it ease her concern for Henry.
“As do I.” She returned her notebook to her reticule and stood. “I will see which remedies I can purchase and begin the testing.”
“Excellent. I look forward to learning what you discover.”
Amelia departed, pausing a moment as she stepped outside.
The talk of another bomb exploding only increased her worry about Henry.
Since the Fenians had managed to detonate one at Scotland Yard, would that satisfy them?
Or would they do it again with the hope of destroying the building and as many officers as possible?
Was he, in fact, just stepping back into the same danger?
Fear threatened to steal her breath. Worrying over such things wouldn’t help. Her time would be better spent focusing on her article—anything to keep that fear at bay.
If she remembered correctly, there was an apothecary on the next street over which might carry some of the remedies she wished to test. She’d be able to start the process tomorrow if she purchased them today; the perfect distraction.
Setting aside her troubled thoughts as best she could, Amelia crossed the busy street, avoiding a cart rumbling past and nodding to a few passersby. It was good to step out of the house once again, to experience the bustle of the city as people hurried to wherever they were going.
As she walked, she watched a mother and daughter pass by holding hands, a familiar ache blooming in her chest. There were times when she wondered what might have happened if...
If Lily hadn’t succumbed to illness.
If Matthew hadn’t chosen such a disastrous path.
What might her life have been like with them?
She briefly closed her eyes, refusing to dwell on the question.
Life had a curious way of unfolding, but not for a moment could she regret meeting Henry, and she much preferred to look forward than back.
It was only Henry’s injuries that had her wondering about the path her life was taking, nothing more.
A man brushed past her without bothering to apologize. Amelia frowned at his rudeness but he paid her no mind, his gaze sweeping the street as if suspicious of everyone. She paused to watch him, thinking the long, brown, heavy coat a strange thing to wear on such a fine warm day.
Several doors down the street, he paused before the door of what appeared to be a newspaper office and bent to leave a small bundle on the ground before continuing to walk quickly away.
She wasn’t close enough to see what it was, but something about the situation and the man…it didn’t feel right.
Indecision gripped her as she considered what to do. He was already too far away for her to call out, and what would she say if she did? It was no crime to deliver post. No one else along the street seemed to notice his odd behavior.
Amelia started toward the bundle, thinking to advise the newspaper office of what she’d witnessed. If nothing else—
A bright light burst before her, the explosion shoving her back and knocking her from her feet.