Chapter Ten
Bridget’s conversation with Nate continued to sting long after she’d returned to The King’s Head on Low Petergate, where she was sharing a room with her aunt.
She hadn’t been able to stop herself from pressing Nate about the self-murderers’ fates in the Inferno.
And now it ate away at her heart. Was her dear papa suffering torments for his final act?
She refused to believe it. Dante’s Inferno was only a story, and the punishments in his hell were all figments of his imagination.
But his message was correct. The Lord was just, and He knew that her papa had been decent and kind his entire life.
He knew that her papa belonged with her mama, who was with the angels.
Still, she would never know for certain—at least, during this lifetime—and that left her stomach in a knot of pain.
“Well, Bridget. What do you think of the gloves?” Aunt Marianne asked as she admired a set of white gloves laid out on the bed.
Bridget petted Bijou absentmindedly and glanced down at them. “Oh, yes. They are lovely, Aunt.”
Aunt Marianne was very pleased with herself after purchasing Jane Harley a new pair of gloves to thank her for tending to Villa De Lacey and their guests while she and Bridget traveled to York.
“Perhaps, I should have gotten a pair for you, too, Bridget. I saw a lovely blue pair that would make your eyes sparkle. It’s been a year since your papa’s death. You no longer need to wear mourning dresses.”
“I know, Aunt,” Bridget said. She had transitioned to wearing half-mourning colors of lavender, gray, and white, but could not bear to shed her mourning wear so soon. One year had flown by, and it seemed to Bridget that she’d lost her papa only days ago.
“I don’t like how glum you look, dear. I believe this murder has upset you greatly.”
Bridget forced a smile and placed Bijou in his basket. The terrier was no doubt exhausted from his day out with Aunt Marianne. “I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”
Aunt Marianne picked up the gloves and placed them back in their ribboned box. “I do wish you’d leave things up to Magistrate Hunt this time,” she said. “We don’t want a repeat of what happened last summer when you ended up getting hurt.”
“How can I do that after everything we have discovered about Mr. Collins and Mrs. Groby’s ongoing dalliance?”
“Really, Bridget!” Aunt Marianne’s cheeks turned pink. “A young lady should not be so outspoken about such things.”
“I’m sorry, Aunt, but we cannot ignore that fact because it may mean they schemed to kill George in order to frame Mr. Groby for the murder. After all, they must have wanted to be rid of Mr. Groby.”
“And how will you prove such a thing?”
That is the real dilemma. “Well, for a start, we will need to go to Harrogate tomorrow.”
“Harrogate!” Aunt Marianne exclaimed.
“Yes, there’s someone we need to interview. You don’t mind staying in York an extra night, do you?”
“What about Jane?”
“I think she’ll be fine for an extra day.”
“Well, I don’t like it, Bridget,” Aunt Marianne said. “Poking around and asking questions might lead to you being harmed again. And I—well, if anything were to happen to you, I don’t know what I would do. Your poor father would never forgive me.”
Bridget’s heart contracted. She wasn’t the only one who’d suffered after Papa’s death. Poor Aunt Marianne had lost her brother and the quiet, peaceful life he’d provided for her since the death of her husband.
“You don’t have to worry, Aunt,” she said. “I shouldn’t be able to forgive myself if anything I did led to you being miserable.”
“Then you’ll drop this nonsense and leave it to the magistrate?”
Bridget walked to the window of her inn and gazed out at the cobbled streets lined with overhanging timber houses.
“No, but I do promise to be careful,” she said.
That was the best she could do to comfort her aunt, but she had no idea if being careful would be enough.
George’s killer was a dangerous and vengeful person who would not be afraid to strike again if he felt cornered.
She and Nate would need to move carefully but quickly.
A crime of this magnitude could not go unpunished for long.
*
After a two-and-a-half-hour journey to Harrogate, Nate and Bridget were disappointed to find that the black iron gates to St. Joseph’s Grammar School for boys were shut.
And the school building that stood behind them looked to be in disrepair.
The green in front of the building was overgrown and neglected.
“It’s no longer in operation,” Nate said. “I wonder why?”
“Perhaps it had something to do with the scandal Headmaster Egan was talking about.”
“Perhaps.” Nate sighed. “The question is, who can tell us?” He scanned the area, and his gaze landed on a church that stood beside the old school building.
It was exactly what he’d been looking for. Most public schools were tied to churches, so the chance of the vicar knowing something about Collins and the scandal at St. Joseph’s was high. The chances that the vicar would talk to them, on the other hand, remained to be seen.
He turned back to the school and rattled the locked gates in frustration.
“I’m afraid that won’t help. They’ve moved,” someone said behind Nate.
He immediately let go of the gates and turned around to see a short, balding man wearing the vicar’s cloth standing a few feet away.
“I saw you from across the street”—the vicar pointed to his church—“and I was wondering if there was anything I could help you with.”
Nate straightened his jacket and cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said and proceeded to tell the vicar why they’d come.
The vicar clasped his hands together and nodded. “I knew a Mr. Douglas Collins. But he wasn’t a pupil at St. Joseph’s. He was one of the masters.”
Bridget gasped. “A schoolmaster!” She glanced at Nate, and he knew what she was thinking. The mystery of Mr. Collins’s age had been solved. He had been too old to be a pupil at the school, but he was not too young to have been a teacher.
“He was only a young man. In his first or second year of teaching,” the vicar said, “but very clever. He’d received an excellent education—although I cannot recall where he’d studied.
” The vicar scratched his lined forehead.
“Anyway, he seemed a respectable sort. And he was popular with the boys, but maybe a little too gentle for the headmaster’s liking.
He used to complain that Collins wasn’t fond of corporal punishment.
” The vicar stuck out his chin in apparent disapproval.
“I must say, the headmaster had a point. Young boys need a firm hand, you know. And there’s nothing wrong with a smart cane to keep them in line. ”
Nate flinched as if a thin wooden cane had come down against his flesh. The sound, the sting…those were memories that could never be erased. He swallowed. “Can you tell us what caused him to leave his post at St. Joseph’s?”
“He was terminated.” The vicar sighed. “It was an unpleasant business, but it had to be done.”
“May I ask why?” Nate tried to keep the eagerness out of his voice.
“I was wanting to ask the same thing of you. Why are you so interested in Mr. Collins? Did something happen to the man? Or are you looking to employ him?”
“Indeed, I am,” Nate lied. “As a tutor for my son.” He could feel Bridget’s eyes on him. How can you lie to a vicar? He heard her scold him in his mind.
“Oh, well, in that case, I’d better explain everything and give you fair warning.”
Nate glanced again at Bridget, suppressing his smile. He’d told a small lie to the vicar, but it had worked. The man was now eager—if not determined—to tell them everything he knew about Douglas Collins.
“I’m afraid Mr. Collins was involved in a scandal of a somewhat delicate nature.”
“Oh dear,” Nate said, continuing his charade.
The vicar glanced at Bridget and rocked back and forth on his heels, indicating that he was uncomfortable saying what was necessary in front of a young lady.
Bridget must have understood immediately because she said, “I’m just going to have a look inside your lovely church.”
“Excellent idea. Be my guest.” The vicar gestured toward the building.
Nate watched her go. He knew it must have irked her to leave, but he admired the grace and understanding with which she had handled the situation. The vicar would likely not have spoken freely in front of her.
Once Bridget was out of earshot, the vicar continued eagerly, “One of the students claimed he caught Mr. Collins in a ‘lewd act’ with a young woman. He told the other students, and word spread like fire around the school. Disgusting things were said, which I am certain were exaggerated, but that was of no matter. The man’s reputation as a respectable teacher and gentleman was tarnished.
The headmaster had to act swiftly. Boys at St. Joseph’s come from good Christian families, and the school prides itself on producing upstanding, moral young gentlemen. Their reputation depends upon it.”
“Understandable, of course,” Nate said. “But did Mr. Collins admit to these charges against him?”
“He didn’t deny knowing the young lady in question, but he vehemently denied having engaged in any…well…ungentlemanly behavior. Of course, none of that mattered. The scandal was enough to ruin him. So they had to get rid of him.”
“Do you happen to recall the name of the young lady in question?”
“I’m afraid not. All I know is that her father had a farm. I believe he’d sell his meat and buy cattle in Harrogate on market days. And that’s how Mr. Collins became acquainted with his daughter.”
Sell his meat? So, she was a butcher’s daughter.
“And what about the student who reported Collins? Do you recall his name?”
“Oh, yes. Mr. Phillips.”
“Is he perhaps still a pupil at St. Joseph’s? Was he one of the younger lads?”
“Oh no. Phillips was eighteen. He was in his final year.”
“Does Mr. Phillips still reside in Harrogate?”
“I have no idea. I typically lose touch with the pupils after they leave St. Joseph’s, and now that the school has moved, I don’t have contact with any of them.”
“Well, do you remember anything about his family? Anything at all that could help us locate him today?”
The vicar scrunched his eyes. “I don’t recall much beyond his name. He wasn’t one of the charity boys, that I do know. The charity boys tended to get bullied by the others, and they would often seek comfort in my church, so I knew most of them well.”
“Would the current headmaster of St. Joseph’s know more about the student in question?” Nate asked.
“I doubt it. The current headmaster has only been serving for two years. The headmaster at the time of the incident has since passed away.” The vicar eyed Nate.
“But why should you want to locate Mr. Phillips? I think you have sufficient information regarding Mr. Collins. Even if Phillips was lying, you wouldn’t consider hiring a man with a tarnished reputation to be your son’s tutor, would you? ”
“Of course not,” Nate said and looked toward the church. He was anxious to tell Bridget what he’d learned. “You have been most helpful, Vicar. I thank you for your time.”
“Yes, I’m sorry I couldn’t give you better news. Mr. Collins would have been an excellent tutor for your son. He taught the classics at St. Joseph’s, and I remember him being well-versed in them. He was a bright young man.”
Nate blinked. A classics master. So, Collins would have been familiar with Dante’s theory of contrapasso. And what classics master didn’t love poetry, both classical and contemporary? Collins would most certainly have read Wordsworth’s most popular poem. It was all starting to make sense.