A Death of No Importance_A Novel by Mariah Fredericks

Author:Mariah Fredericks [Fredericks, Mariah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B075QJG2J8
Publisher: Minotaur Books
Published: 2018-04-10T00:00:00+00:00

14

Mrs. Amelia Ramsay, formerly Shaw, was, in appearance, a near copy of her sister: not tall, with a plump, rounded figure, and shining hazel eyes. But where Mrs. Benchley’s eyes were kind and eager, Mrs. Ramsay’s eyes were sharp and critical. Where Mrs. Benchley had the habit of fretting the air with her hands when she was anxious, Mrs. Ramsay used her hands to emphasize and correct. Mrs. Benchley’s mouth, when it was not speaking a mile a minute, was either smiling or half open in confusion. Her sister’s was set in a thin, disapproving line. I did not envy Louise having to keep her company for the week.

Amelia Shaw had not married half so well as her sister. She lived in a rather modest town house in a quiet street in a lovely residential area. Philadelphia itself was altogether a more conservative city than New York. Here, there was no glamorous impropriety, no titillation. The realms of proper and improper were strictly defined, and woe betide those who crossed the line. Louise crossed it the moment she entered her aunt’s house. Mrs. Ramsay took one look at her trunk and narrowed her eyes at its size.

“Whatever do you need so many clothes for?” she demanded.

“Oh…” Louise looked doubtfully at her trunk, which she had had no hand in packing.

“We were worried about the weather,” I said. “Miss Louise has a weak chest.”

“Perhaps if she stood up straight, her lungs would have room to expand,” said her aunt.

“That’s what Jane says,” said Louise weakly. “Although not the part about the lungs.”

Louise’s main activity was to be reading to her aunt. Not that the week was to be entirely free of festivity. The two ladies would attend a string quartet concert, hear a lecture on the social ills of intemperance, and pay calls on Mrs. Ramsay’s eminent acquaintances. If Louise’s behavior was exemplary, she might be allowed to indulge in some needlepoint.

That evening, as she watched me unpack her things in a small upstairs bedroom, Louise said, “I wish you didn’t have to visit your relatives. I didn’t know you had family in Philadelphia.”

I felt bad lying to Louise. She believed anything, which made it even more despicable to deceive her. But Mr. Benchley had been firm on this point, and he was paying for the trip. “I didn’t either,” I said. “They just contacted my uncle recently. It’s very kind of Mr. Benchley to allow it.”

“I bet they’re more fun than Aunt Amelia,” said Louise, glumly examining a copy of Pilgrim’s Progress.

Mr. Behan had traveled to the city separately and was staying in a hotel. The next morning, he presented himself at Mrs. Ramsay’s door as my cousin Henry. Mrs. Ramsay looked disbelieving, but she had been instructed by Mr. Benchley to let me go, and so she did.

When we were safely away from the house, Behan asked, “How’s life with Auntie?” He was bright and cheerful, like a dog on the scent.

“Poor Louise. She’s certainly suffering to clear her sister’s reputation.

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