Chapter Twelve #2
“I don’t think it will be difficult to get them to confess.
I believe they are, in all probability, proud of what they’ve done.
It’s a statement, you see. They’ve taken action on behalf of their friend.
Just as they did in getting Groby arrested and locked away.
It’s the only way they can help him and preserve his dignity now. ”
Bridget sighed. “Death has a way of making the living feel helpless,” she said. “Poor Rupert and Charlie. What will you do?”
“The only thing that can be done,” Nate said. And I won’t be sorry to see the back of them.
“Then, you’ll throw them out?” Bridget said, and Nate could hear the distress in her voice.
“I have no choice,” he said, and he meant it. Despite being happy to have Rupert gone, he really did not have a choice.
“I think you might have a difficult time of it. They seem to have made some friends here.” Bridget looked toward the Villa as she spoke, and Nate followed her gaze.
Then his heart sank. Rupert had exited the villa in the company of Helen and Henry.
Nate’s son stood between the pair, each of whom held one of his dear little hands.
Nate watched as they lifted the child off the ground and swung him in the air between the two of them. The child laughed hysterically.
“She’ll accuse you of being jealous,” Bridget said.
“I know,” Nate said, his chest tightening with every breath.
“Then it’s best you leave well enough alone.
We can’t prove that Rupert did anything to those paintings.
And if I’m not mistaken, I saw an empty bottle of brandy next to Mr. Angert’s bed.
For all we know, he could have done that damage himself when inebriated.
His behavior is a little strange at times. ”
“Strange is an understatement,” Nate said, his eyes still fixed on Helen, Henry, and Rupert.
He could not believe Helen was making such a spectacle of herself.
How long would she punish him for disappearing for three days with Bridget and her aunt?
Helen had taken it as a personal insult, which was ludicrous.
She thought the entire world revolved around her.
Whatever happened, he could not let her think she had any control over his life or his emotions.
“It certainly looks like Rupert’s mood has improved,” Bridget said. “It’s almost as though he’s taken George’s place as the popular young poet among the ladies.”
“I don’t know. I think he’s just Helen’s pet project at the moment. She must have the attention of every man in her vicinity. What I don’t like is her palming off my son to every man who takes her fancy,” Nate said, lowering his voice as the trio approached them.
“Oh,” Helen said, clearly pretending to be startled at seeing Nate. “You’re here.”
“Yes.” Nate smiled at Henry and crouched to the child’s height. “Hello, Henry. Have you been having fun?”
The child nodded.
“I was wondering, do you like horses?”
Henry nodded again. “I like Prince.”
“Prince? Is he your pony?”
Another nod and a grin.
“How would you like to come riding with me someday? My horse is very tall, probably not like your Prince, but you can sit in the saddle with me. Would you like that?”
“Yes!” The child’s round face beamed.
Nate stood and faced Helen. “How about tomorrow?”
“Not tomorrow. Rupert and I are taking Henry on a picnic. Perhaps another day. It all depends.”
“On what?” Nate asked, his chest tight with both disappointment and anger.
Helen merely shrugged and gave Bridget another cold stare before sauntering away, taking Henry and Rupert with her.
*
Nate sighed as he watched his son leave. “I suppose it’s for the best,” he said. “I do need to go and have that talk with Collins.”
“You don’t expect him to admit anything, do you?”
“He might if he is innocent. If he and Mrs. Groby do have a history together, it doesn’t mean he killed George, but it is something we need to know. I got the distinct feeling that the vicar in Harrogate wasn’t telling me the entire truth.”
“Perhaps I should have another chat with Mrs. Groby,” Bridget said. “She might be more willing to—”
“Not yet. We don’t know enough about these people. If, indeed, they worked together to kill George and frame Groby, then they are dangerous individuals. I can’t risk you going into that house alone and confronting her.”
“You’ll want to be careful too,” Bridget warned.
“Are you afraid he will chop me up right there in the slaughterhouse?” He grinned.
“Don’t make light of it,” Bridget said, remembering George’s hacked chest with a shudder.
“Although it is strange. He doesn’t strike me as being dangerous.
He seems to be quite the gentleman. The vicar in Harrogate even said that Collins was reluctant to use the cane on his pupils, which would indicate that he’s not inclined to violence.
If I didn’t know Mr. Groby, I’d certainly think he was more inclined to be a killer than Mr. Collins. ”
“Agreed. Collins seems quite amiable and genteel to me too. But haven’t we learned that killers don’t always look and act the part?”
A pain shot through Bridget’s heart. The events of the last summer were still raw. “Perhaps you should ask him to come to Villa De Lacey, then?”
“No, I don’t want him lurking around Villa De Lacey. I prefer to keep the investigation as far from us as possible. I think it will be best to invite him for a drink at The Black Horse. He will be on his best behavior there, wanting to keep himself in check in public.”
“That seems like a good idea.” The tension in Bridget’s body eased somewhat.
“Well, I suppose I’d best get that message written and sent, then.
” Nate glanced in the direction of Henry again, and Bridget followed his gaze.
The party of three had reached the end of the garden.
Lady Luxton and Rupert were still periodically swinging Henry between them.
Nate slipped his hands into his pockets and watched until they exited the gates.
Then he sighed and excused himself, saying, “I’ll be off now. ”
Bridget silently cursed Lady Luxton as she watched Nate go. Not only was she using Rupert, but she was toying with the bond Nate was forming with Henry. But there was little Bridget could do. Perhaps if she kept her distance from Nate, it would help the situation.
She called for Bijou, who was rolling on his back in the grass. He jumped up upon hearing his name and raced toward her. She crouched to receive him with open arms. The terrier sprang up to lick her face while letting out a series of excited yips.
Once inside, she headed upstairs with Bijou in tow, intent on finding Charlie. She guessed he would be in the library, working on his poetry, and she was correct.
Charlie sat on the window seat with some papers on his lap.
He appeared to be in deep thought. Bridget loathed to disrupt him and considered leaving when Bijou trotted into the room and curled up in his little basket that sat permanently next to the fireplace.
Charlie turned and smiled at the dog. Then he saw Bridget.
“Miss De Lacey.” He scrambled to his feet. “I hope I have not taken your seat. I’ll just gather my things and—”
“Oh, no, please, sit down. How are you enjoying your stay at Villa De Lacey?”
“It’s a lovely house.” Charlie remained standing despite Bridget’s invitation for him to sit. “This library suits my needs very well.”
“It’s my favorite room,” Bridget said. “And I don’t mind sharing it.” She smiled. “George loved it in here too.”
Charlie pressed his lips together, and Bridget could not tell if he was suppressing a grimace or a smile.
“I’m going to ask you a question that might seem a bit unfair, but I’d like you to be honest with me.” Bridget waited for his reaction.
“You want to know if I slashed Mr. Angert’s paintings,” Charlie said.
“Actually, yes.” Bridget felt somewhat relieved that Charlie had been expecting her question. “I couldn’t blame you if you did. They were tasteless.”
“Well, you can put your mind at ease. I didn’t. Although I’m not sorry someone did it. He’s an awful man.”
“What about Rupert?”
“He didn’t do it. He’s been spending all his time with Lady Luxton.” There was a hint of bitterness to his tone.
“Does that upset you?”
Charlie shrugged. “He’s forgotten, that’s all.”
“Forgotten?” Bridget said. “What do you mean? What has he forgotten?”
“What some rich people are like. She’ll discard him when she no longer has a use for him.”
Bridget couldn’t argue with that. She paused. The young man had had some kind of experience in his past, and she wanted to find out what it was.
“When did you meet George?” she asked.
Charlie gazed out the window as if recalling a memory. Bridget noticed that his body stiffened. “I’m sorry if this is too difficult for you,” she said. “We don’t have to continue this conversation.”
He seemed to slump and turned to look at her.
“We only met about six months ago,” Charlie said, “through some friends. We were all aspiring poets and such. At first, I wasn’t sure about George.
He was different. Posh. But he claimed to be an orphan.
He didn’t like to talk about his past. It seemed to make him cross. ”
“Six months ago? I thought you’d been friends for years.”
“We bonded over our mutual love for poetry. George was…well, it felt like we’d known him all our lives even if we hadn’t.”
“Yes, he did have that effect on people.” Bridget felt a tinge of sadness. “What about you and Rupert? Where are you from?”
Charlie gave her a faint smile. “Dorset. Our father was a groundskeeper for a wealthy gentleman, Mr. Wareham. He was part of the landed gentry. He had no children of his own, so we had access to a great deal of books from the family’s library.
He even paid for us to have a private tutor.
I daresay, we had as good an education as George. We were lucky in that respect.”
“And is your father still in Dorset?”
Charlie shook his head. “No, he passed away last year, right after Mr. Wareham died. Wareham’s estate went to his next of kin. But the kind old gentleman left Rupert and me a little money. We took it and traveled up north to York. That was our first stop before Westmorland.”
“York? And that’s where you met George?”
“Yes. He was heading to Westmorland too. He had one of Wordsworth’s guidebooks, just like us. So we came together.”
Bridget frowned. “I don’t remember George saying he was from York.”
“He wasn’t. I believe he was from Harrogate—or at least, he went to school there.”
“Harrogate,” Bridget said with a sinking feeling in her stomach. Did George and Mr. Collins have a history together? Or was it simply a coincidence that they both had been at schools in Harrogate?