Chapter Two #2
Bridget knew he was referring to the murders last summer.
She squeezed her eyes shut. She could not think about that.
It was all too raw. She could not reconcile the horror of it in her mind.
And to think it should happen again—that someone she trusted and thought she knew was, in fact, someone else entirely.
No! It cannot be. Is anything what it seems?
Still cradling Bijou, she pressed one hand against her stomach to stave off the nausea.
“I know you’re right,” she told Nate as she watched the magistrate’s men lift George’s wrapped body onto a stretcher, ready to transport it to Dr. Elias for examination. “But to cut a man’s heart out. It’s unimaginable.”
“It seems quite plausible to me,” Magistrate Hunt said. “As much as I hate to think Mr. Groby capable of murder, the man is a butcher. He has the tools and the know-how to do it. And I imagine you become desensitized to blood and organs and such in that profession.”
“What are you saying?” Rupert, who’d been focused on the men preparing to cart George’s body away, suddenly turned to face the magistrate.
“Are you saying that butcher carved George up like a piece of meat—cut out his heart and fed it to his pigs?” The young man’s face was ashen, and his dark eyes widened with horror.
Charlie stood beside him and looked as though he might swoon. He was a sensitive young man with a boy’s face. Bridget’s heart went out to him.
“Unfortunately, that is the case,” Magistrate Hunt said gravely. “Your friend was murdered, and his body desecrated most savagely.”
“Good God!” Rupert stumbled backward. “That brute! That monster!”
“I’m so sorry,” Bridget said, feeling wretched that the young poets had heard the gory details of their friend’s brutal murder because of her carelessness in speaking about it out loud—and while she was trying to defend the potential killer!
“It’s awful. It truly is, but you mustn’t jump to conclusions.
Mr. Groby must be given a chance to explain himself—”
“Don’t say that man’s name to me,” Rupert growled. “I won’t rest until I see him hanged by the neck.”
Bridget took no offense to Rupert’s harsh tone and words. She knew exactly how he felt. The agony of knowing her papa’s body had been violated and buried at a crossroads in London, far out of her reach, was something from which she’d never recover.
“Now, let’s all stay calm, shall we?” Nate said.
“Why don’t we go inside and have a strong drink?
” he offered the men. “It’s early yet, but I know I can use one.
” He turned to Magistrate Hunt. “You too, Magistrate. I imagine you’ll want to question our guests.
We can all have a drink and calm down a bit, and then, once the guests have breakfasted, I’ll tell them to gather in the drawing room.
That way, you can address everyone at once. ”
“I’m not sure we’ll get that chance.” Bridget looked toward the villa and saw Colonel Kendall striding toward them. “It’s the colonel.”
The colonel was a stout man with a curvy gray mustache and bright eyes who had come to Westmorland for a bit of relaxation after retirement.
But Bridget was convinced that he’d chosen Villa De Lacey on purpose because he hated relaxation and wanted to retain a bit of excitement in his life.
He was one of those guests who’d heard about the “murder inn” and secretly hoped there’d be another murder during their visit.
And now—unbelievable as it seemed—there had been.
“Good Lord! He’s the last person we need,” Nate said, taking a step forward to go and intercept the man and stop him from approaching, but Bridget’s warning came too late. The colonel had spotted the corpse on the stretcher and headed toward it.
“I say, what’s going on?” Colonel Kendall pointed his walking stick at the magistrate’s retreating men, each of whom held one end of a makeshift stretcher. “Stop!” Colonel Kendall bellowed. “That’s an order, do you hear?”
Bijou lifted his head in the direction of the commotion and growled softly. Bridget could feel his little heart beating wildly as though he sensed danger.
Unbelievably, the men did as they were told, causing Magistrate Hunt to snarl under his breath, “Keep moving, lads!”
The colonel marched toward the men and pointed his walking stick at the blood-stained sheet concealing George’s body. “Good God, has there been a murder?”
The magistrate’s men stood frozen as though unsure of this new authority figure and whether or not he was someone they ought to take seriously.
“Oh dear,” Bridget said as they watched the scene unfold from a few feet away.
Nate groaned. “We had better get him inside and put a brandy or two in his hand. We don’t need him spreading hysteria among the guests by telling everyone there’s been another suspicious death.”
“Why don’t we all go inside together and let the magistrate finish his work here?” Bridget gave Charlie and Rupert a sympathetic smile and then turned to Magistrate Hunt. “You will join us when your tasks out here are complete, won’t you, sir?”
“I shouldn’t think so,” Rupert interjected before the magistrate could respond. “He needs to get over to Braithwaite and arrest Groby.”
“Arrest?” Bridget could not believe her ears.
“Now, wait a minute,” Nate said, taking his eyes off the colonel and turning to Rupert. “Isn’t that a bit rash? There must be a proper investigation.”
“What for? We all heard what Groby said at The Black Horse,” Rupert exclaimed.
“He’s right,” Magistrate Hunt said. “I see no need for an investigation when I have two witnesses here who heard the man admit that he planned on carving up Mr. Otis with his knife.”
In that moment, the colonel left the magistrate’s men to their task and strode toward them. “I say, what’s going on? I just saw a dead man being carted away on a stretcher.”
“That’s right, Colonel,” Rupert said. “Our friend George Otis was murdered—slaughtered most savagely with his heart ripped from his chest.”
“I knew it!” Colonel Kendall said in a triumphant tone. “Those insubordinates refused to tell me anything, but I’m no fool. Heart ripped from his chest, you say? How ghastly! Who would do such a thing?”
“Come with me, and I’ll tell you all about it over a glass of brandy.” Nate interjected, placing a gentle hand on the colonel’s back and steering him away before Rupert could reply.
“Well, it’s a little early, but I don’t mind if I do—considering the circumstance, I mean,” Bridget heard the colonel say as he walked off with Nate.
“Please, gentlemen,” Bridget said when Nate and the colonel were out of earshot. “We mustn’t jump to conclusions. Mr. Groby was inebriated. People say all sorts when they’ve had too much. It’s not proof.” She tried to reason with the men.
“It’s proof enough for me,” Rupert said. “I know he murdered George.”
“I agree,” Magistrate Hunt said. “With all due respect, Miss De Lacey, the events of last summer do not make you a magistrate. You must leave the investigating and the arresting to me.”
“May we come back to the village with you?” Rupert asked the magistrate. “We owe it to George to see that brute arrested and locked away.”
Magistrate Hunt nodded. “Very well. I suppose you deserve that much. Now, Miss De Lacey, if you’ll excuse me, I have things to attend to.” He gave a slight bow and then strode into the field of daffodils, where he bent to pick up the rock that had been used to kill George, tucking it under his arm.
Charlie stepped forward to follow the magistrate, but Rupert pulled him back.
“When the magistrate is in with Dr. Elias, we’ll spread the word about what Groby has done.
I wager the whole town will want to see him locked up after they find out what he did to George. I’ll not let that butcher escape.”
“No!” Bridget cried, alarmed. “Mr. Groby has little ones. You’ll frighten them and his wife to death.”
But Rupert and Charlie paid her no heed and raced after the magistrate.
Good heavens! Bridget’s chest tightened as her panic rose. I need to get to Braithwaite and warn Alice Groby that a mob is about to descend on her home.
*
“Is it true?” Mrs. Jane Harley almost collided with Bridget as she intercepted her flight to the kitchen. She wanted to place Bijou safely with Cook before she went to Braithwaite. “Has there been another murder?”
Bridget paused to catch her breath. Jane had come to Villa De Lacey in the summer with her husband and, despite having witnessed the terrible summer murders, had elected to stay for an extended period rather than return to London, where they had lived with her husband’s bully of an aunt, Lady Darby.
Jane had changed immensely in the months she’d been at Villa De Lacey.
She’d arrived as an exceedingly pale, frail, and downtrodden woman who’d been driven to desperate measures by the vile aunt.
But she’d since transformed into a more robust woman with a much healthier complexion and a zest for life.
Her light brown curls were shinier, and her downturned blue eyes brighter.
Despite a rocky start to their relationship, Jane and Bridget had become fast friends.
“Well?” Jane said. “Has there been another murder?”
Bridget chewed her lower lip. Nate had said to inform all the guests at the same time. She glanced at the villa. But where is Nate? And who’d told Jane about the murder? “What makes you say that?” she asked, trying to play it safe.
“Colonel Kendall. He burst into the breakfast room and announced it to everyone. He said a man lay dead among the daffodils with his heart ripped out of his chest. I thought perhaps it was some type of gruesome game. He’s that sort, you know.
The kind who dreams of becoming embroiled in a real-life murder.
He’s up there now, trying to convince everyone to follow him outside. ”