hoax on a devoted widow?”
Beatrice blinked twice and then turned abruptly thoughtful. “Do you know, that is a rather brilliant notion, Venetia. Who can challenge you? You are Gabriel Jones’s widow, after all. You knew him better than anyone. Unless this fraudulent person can prove his identity, the public will be on your side.”
Amelia contemplated that for a moment. “You may be right. Handled well, the notoriety could be turned to our advantage. I can foresee the possibility of generating a great deal of public interest and sympathy for Venetia. Why, curiosity alone will bring many potential customers into the gallery. Everyone loves a sensation.”
Venetia smiled slowly as the plan took shape. “It just might work.”
The muffled clang of the door knocker echoed from the front hall. Mrs. Trench’s footsteps sounded in response.
“Who on earth would call at this hour?” Beatrice asked. “The post has already arrived.”
Mrs. Trench’s sturdy frame appeared in the doorway of the breakfast room. Her broad face was uncharacteristically flushed with excitement.
“There’s a gentleman at the door,” she announced. “He says his name is Mr. Jones. Asked to see his wife, if you can believe it. Said her name is Mrs. Venetia Jones. I didn’t know what to do. The only thing I could think of to say was that I would see if the lady was at home.”
Venetia was dumbfounded. “How bold he is. I cannot believe he has the nerve to turn up on our doorstep like this.”
“Good heavens,” Amelia whispered. “Shall we summon the police?”
“The
police?
” Mrs. Trench’s red-faced excitement transformed into alarm. “See here, when I agreed to take this post there was no mention of dangerous callers.”
“Calm yourself, Mrs. Trench,” Venetia said quickly. “I’m sure it will not be necessary to summon a constable. Please show the gentleman into the study. I will be in shortly.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Mrs. Trench hurried away.
Amelia waited until the housekeeper was gone before she leaned forward and said in low tones. “Surely you do
not
intend to confront this blackmailer, Venetia?”
“How can you possibly even consider such a thing?” Beatrice demanded.
“We must discover as much as possible about what we are dealing with,” Venetia said, trying to strike a note of calm authority. “It is always important to know the enemy.”
“In that case, we will accompany you to meet this man,” Amelia stated, starting to rise from her chair.
“Of course,” Beatrice agreed.
“I will also come along to help protect you, Venetia,” Edward said.
“I think it would be best if all three of you wait here while I interview our visitor,” Venetia said.
“You cannot go in there alone,” Beatrice insisted.
“I am the one who brought this problem down upon our heads by choosing to use Mr. Jones’s name.” Venetia crumpled her napkin and got to her feet. “It is my responsibility to discover a solution to it. Besides, this impostor will no doubt reveal more of his true intentions if he thinks that he has to deal with only one person.”
“There is that,” Beatrice admitted. “In my experience, a man who finds himself alone with a woman is generally inclined to believe that he has the upper hand.”
Edward frowned. “Why is that. Aunt Beatrice?”
“I have no idea, dear,” Beatrice said absently. “I suppose it is because they are often somewhat larger in size. Very few appear to understand that it is intelligence, not muscle, that matters most.”
“The thing is,” Amelia said anxiously, “this particular man may present a threat to your person, Venetia. And in that sort of situation, size does, indeed, matter.”
“I don’t think he will try to harm me,” Venetia said. She shook out the black skirts of her gown. “Whoever he is and regardless of his plans, he is highly unlikely to murder me in this house.”
“What makes you so certain of that?” Edward asked
Beatrice blinked twice and then turned abruptly thoughtful. “Do you know, that is a rather brilliant notion, Venetia. Who can challenge you? You are Gabriel Jones’s widow, after all. You knew him better than anyone. Unless this fraudulent person can prove his identity, the public will be on your side.”
Amelia contemplated that for a moment. “You may be right. Handled well, the notoriety could be turned to our advantage. I can foresee the possibility of generating a great deal of public interest and sympathy for Venetia. Why, curiosity alone will bring many potential customers into the gallery. Everyone loves a sensation.”
Venetia smiled slowly as the plan took shape. “It just might work.”
The muffled clang of the door knocker echoed from the front hall. Mrs. Trench’s footsteps sounded in response.
“Who on earth would call at this hour?” Beatrice asked. “The post has already arrived.”
Mrs. Trench’s sturdy frame appeared in the doorway of the breakfast room. Her broad face was uncharacteristically flushed with excitement.
“There’s a gentleman at the door,” she announced. “He says his name is Mr. Jones. Asked to see his wife, if you can believe it. Said her name is Mrs. Venetia Jones. I didn’t know what to do. The only thing I could think of to say was that I would see if the lady was at home.”
Venetia was dumbfounded. “How bold he is. I cannot believe he has the nerve to turn up on our doorstep like this.”
“Good heavens,” Amelia whispered. “Shall we summon the police?”
“The
police?
” Mrs. Trench’s red-faced excitement transformed into alarm. “See here, when I agreed to take this post there was no mention of dangerous callers.”
“Calm yourself, Mrs. Trench,” Venetia said quickly. “I’m sure it will not be necessary to summon a constable. Please show the gentleman into the study. I will be in shortly.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Mrs. Trench hurried away.
Amelia waited until the housekeeper was gone before she leaned forward and said in low tones. “Surely you do
not
intend to confront this blackmailer, Venetia?”
“How can you possibly even consider such a thing?” Beatrice demanded.
“We must discover as much as possible about what we are dealing with,” Venetia said, trying to strike a note of calm authority. “It is always important to know the enemy.”
“In that case, we will accompany you to meet this man,” Amelia stated, starting to rise from her chair.
“Of course,” Beatrice agreed.
“I will also come along to help protect you, Venetia,” Edward said.
“I think it would be best if all three of you wait here while I interview our visitor,” Venetia said.
“You cannot go in there alone,” Beatrice insisted.
“I am the one who brought this problem down upon our heads by choosing to use Mr. Jones’s name.” Venetia crumpled her napkin and got to her feet. “It is my responsibility to discover a solution to it. Besides, this impostor will no doubt reveal more of his true intentions if he thinks that he has to deal with only one person.”
“There is that,” Beatrice admitted. “In my experience, a man who finds himself alone with a woman is generally inclined to believe that he has the upper hand.”
Edward frowned. “Why is that. Aunt Beatrice?”
“I have no idea, dear,” Beatrice said absently. “I suppose it is because they are often somewhat larger in size. Very few appear to understand that it is intelligence, not muscle, that matters most.”
“The thing is,” Amelia said anxiously, “this particular man may present a threat to your person, Venetia. And in that sort of situation, size does, indeed, matter.”
“I don’t think he will try to harm me,” Venetia said. She shook out the black skirts of her gown. “Whoever he is and regardless of his plans, he is highly unlikely to murder me in this house.”
“What makes you so certain of that?” Edward asked
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