Chapter Fifteen #2
Nate nodded. Perhaps Groby was guilty. If he could not prove otherwise in three days, then he would have to accept the fact that he and Bridget had tried their best to ensure that an innocent man did not hang.
After all, it was Bridget’s determination not to see another innocent man die like a criminal, the way her poor papa had.
That was truly what all this was about. His motivation was to alleviate further pain and suffering for Bridget, not necessarily to save a man of whose innocence even he was uncertain.
“Thank you for your time, Magistrate.” He stood to leave when he remembered Lady Matheson’s request. “There’s one more thing,” he said, sitting down again.
“Otis’s body. Where is it? Lady Matheson is insistent on exhuming the body, so she can bury the poet herself—or at least give him the burial she thinks he deserves.
I told her that it would be difficult, but she is adamant.
She said she didn’t care what it cost. But I can’t imagine anyone will want that job. ”
“Oh, someone would, mark my words. If you pay enough, you can always find people to do your bidding. But I didn’t bury the body,” Magistrate Hunt said. “Mr. Otis’s family came up from Knaresborough a few days after the murder.”
“His family? I thought Otis was an orphan.”
“Yes, so did I. I’m uncertain why he made that claim.
But I take it there was some type of family rift between the parents and their son.
Nonetheless, when they read about Otis’s death in the newspaper, they wanted to bury him at home.
So, after they identified their son’s remains, I released the body for transport.
” Magistrate Hunt leaned back in his chair and rested his hands on his rotund belly.
“You can tell Lady Matheson that her wish has been granted. The poet has received a proper, Christian burial at no expense to herself.”
“Knaresborough?” Nate said, thinking out loud. “That’s near Harrogate.”
“Yes, just outside.”
“But when did Mr. and Mrs. Otis come and collect George’s body?”
“About four days after his murder. When you were in York, I believe. But his parents aren’t called Mr. and Mrs. Otis. That wasn’t Otis’s name—or at least not his complete name. His full name was George Otis Phillips.”
“Phillips!” Nate almost jumped out of his chair.
“Yes. He must have dropped the Phillips part after his rift with his parents—the Reverend and Mrs. Phillips from Knaresborough.”
“Phillips is the name of the student who reported Collins to the headmaster of St. Joseph’s.
Don’t you see! George Otis was responsible for Collins being dismissed from St. Joseph’s and losing Alice.
Then, over three years later, Collins arrives in Westmorland only to find Otis is there giving Alice reading lessons!
” Nate shook his head and laughed. “It all makes sense now. Otis must have tracked Alice to Westmorland, and Collins would have been enraged to find that Otis had wormed his way into Alice’s life after all the damage he had done.
He must have wanted to get rid of him once and for all. Collins has to be the killer!”
“That doesn’t prove anything. It’s all hearsay,” Magistrate Hunt said after Nate explained the full extent of Otis’s relationship to Collins.
“Of course, it does,” Nate said. “Otis ruined Collins’s life.
It is entirely his fault that Collins lost his position as a master at St. Joseph’s and, if that wasn’t bad enough, he ended up losing the love of his life as well.
Then, when Collins finally reconnects with Alice, Otis arrives and ruins everything yet again. ”
Magistrate Hunt shifted in his seat. “But we have a near confession from Groby. He is the one who declared he’d butcher Otis, not Collins. The people have decided he is guilty.”
“The people?” Nate said. “They are in no position to judge. They’ve been whipped into a frenzy by the horrific details of the murder. Their judgment is clouded.”
“It’s not their fault—they are good people—they want justice. Groby needs to hang, and his body needs to remain rotting in public for all to see—not because we are bloodthirsty, but because—”
“What if we can get a confession from Collins?” Nate interjected.
“How? Do you intend to beat it out of him?”
“Of course not. But let’s pay him a visit and see what happens when he realizes we know that George Otis is George Otis Phillips.”
Magistrate Hunt sighed. “I don’t know—”
“How long have you known John Groby?” Nate asked. “Thirty years or more? And in all that time has he ever acted aggressively or caused any trouble?”
“No,” Magistrate Hunt said. “He’s been quite an upstanding citizen.”
“Exactly. Yet you choose to ignore the possibility that a stranger, newly arrived in Braithwaite, who has a strong connection to the victim, might be the killer? Don’t you owe Groby—an ‘upstanding citizen’ in your own words—better than that?”
The magistrate nodded. “You’re right. Let’s go and pay Collins a visit.”
*
Alice Groby arrived at Villa De Lacey with her two children in a horse-drawn cart.
She wore a pale-green dress that showed off her slim figure and complemented her lovely green eyes.
Her light-brown curls were set in a loose bun and ringlets around her face.
She had a creamy complexion that showed no trace of the hardships she’d suffered through in her life.
As she climbed down from the cart with the footman’s help, Bridget approached her.
“Welcome,” Bridget said. “I’m so glad you could come. This is my friend Mrs. Jane Harley. I hope you don’t mind if she joins us today.”
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Harley.” She smiled at Jane. And then, turning back to Bridget, said, “Thank you for inviting us. It’s good for the children to have an outing.”
Bijou, who’d been off in the garden, came racing toward them, wagging his tail. Edmund clung to his mother’s leg as the dog approached.
“Don’t be afraid, Edmund. Bijou wants to be your friend.” Bridget petted Bijou. “He likes to be petted. Do you want to try?”
Edmund nodded and came forward to pet the dog. Bijou jumped up and put his paws on the boy’s chest, making him giggle.
Little Charlotte kicked her legs and squealed in her mother’s arms.
“Shall we go down to the lake? Cook has prepared a delicious picnic for us to enjoy.” She held up the basket containing the feast.
“Oh, yes,” Alice said, and Bridget was pleased that the woman appeared relaxed, but she dreaded the conversation they’d need to have later in the day.
Once they were settled on a blanket on the shores of Lake Windermere, Bridget laid out the bread, cheese, cake, biscuits, and tea that Cook had prepared for them. After a few minutes of munching heartily, the women sat back and watched Edmund as he played with Bijou.
“Oh no,” Alice said as Edmund wandered too close to the water. “He can’t swim.” She started to get up.
“Sit,” Jane said. “I’ll go. I should like to stretch my legs a bit after all those lovely biscuits and cakes.”
“Thank you,” Alice said as she watched Jane race toward Edmund.
Bridget smiled to herself. Jane was going to make a wonderful mother.
“It’s good to see him so happy.” Alice pulled Charlotte onto her lap and handed the child a biscuit. “They need more days like this. But with Mr. Groby gone…”
“How are you coping—especially with little Edmund?” Bridget asked.
“It’s difficult. He wants to know when his papa is coming home. Charlotte is young yet, but it’s been hard for Edmund. I don’t know how I’m going to explain things to him if his papa is…” She shook her head.
Bridget bit her lip. Was all this an act to appear innocent on Alice Groby’s part? Or was she indeed ignorant of what had happened to George? Dare I mention the prospect of Groby being gibbeted in Braithwaite?
“If not for Mr. Collins, I don’t know where we would be. He’s been a great help with the farm and slaughterhouse.”
Bridget opened her mouth to comment, but the words wouldn’t come out. She needed to take this opportunity to question Alice about her relationship with Collins, but it went against her very nature to do so. It felt horribly impolite.
“I know what people are saying about us,” Alice said as if reading Bridget’s thoughts. “But they’re wrong. Douglas—Mr. Collins is—well, he’s a dear friend, and I couldn’t manage without him.”
“It does seem rather convenient that he was ready to take over from Mr. Groby the day he was arrested,” Bridget said, hating herself.
“I know it looks that way, but me and Mr. Collins have a history. We was friends before I were married. He used to work for my father, you see. That is why he were so quick to help me.”
“Yes,” Bridget looked down at her lap. “I know about that.”
“Oh?” Alice said.
Bridget inhaled and looked Alice in the eyes. “The fact is, you weren’t merely friends, were you? Mr. Collins followed you to Westmorland. And the two of you started a romance again in secret. Mr. Collins has already confessed as much to Mr. Squires.”
Alice lowered her gaze and smoothed her daughter’s frock.
“I did love Mr. Collins once. He were the first man who were kind to me. My papa was…well, he treated me cruelly. I were grateful for Mr. Collins’s love.
So grateful that I gave myself to him before marriage.
And he would have married me too. I know that.
He loved me then, and he still does. But my father had other plans for me.
I thought I’d die when he forced me to marry Mr. Groby, a man I thought would be a monster like my father.
But he weren’t. He were good to me, and he gave me a good life—a better life than I’d ever known.
We had a family and were happy. I grew to care deeply for John. ”
“That’s what I’d always thought. Despite the gossip in the village, you seemed very happy with Mr. Groby. He is a good man. So, what happened?”