Chapter Sixteen #2
“If those three were responsible for murdering Otis, they would likely have picked Trent to do the deed. After all, he is the strongest of the three. And he would most certainly not have bashed Otis over the head several times with a rock and then cut his heart out. Trent is a pugilist. He would have beaten the man to death with his fists. Furthermore, why would he or any of the others want Otis’s heart?
I’m afraid you are grasping at straws, Mr. Squires, and I am not sure why.
Groby is the only one who made a threat against Otis’s life, so he is the guilty party in my mind and the minds of the good people of Westmorland.
” Magistrate Hunt mounted his horse. Then, looking down at Nate, he said, “I must ask that you not disturb me with this business again. If anything, tonight’s events have convinced me that what this town needs is to put this murder behind them.
And the only way to do that is to try the culprit in court, and if he is found guilty, hang him as soon as possible.
And now, sir, I must bid you goodnight.” He tipped his hat at Nate and spurred his horse forward.
Nate sighed as he watched Magistrate Hunt ride away.
He had tried his best to convince the magistrate to see reason and consider that many other suspects could have committed this murder.
But perhaps he’d gone too far today by trying to put suspicion on Trent, Morris, and Hornby.
They didn’t strike him as clever enough to frame Groby, and today’s event likely had nothing to do with the murder.
Collins had stepped out of bounds, and he’d been put back in his place by the locals.
Moreover, Nate still believed Collins to be the most plausible suspect for the murder.
All this trouble had started when Collins had come to town in a bid to reclaim Alice.
Now Otis was dead, and Groby was in prison facing hanging.
That certainly took care of both his rivals.
Although battered and bruised, Collins was still looking victorious.
*
When Nate arrived at the Villa, dinner had already been served.
“Shall I bring you a plate to your room, sir?” Bennett asked.
“That would be nice, Bennett. But I require a bath first.” Nate could still smell the stench of blood and death on his body, not to mention the sweat and ale smells that clung to him after his visit to The Black Horse.
“Very good, sir. I will tell the scullery maid to start boiling the water for you immediately.”
“Thank you, Bennett. I’ll be upstairs shortly.”
He mounted the stairs and went to the library, where he knew Bridget would likely be sitting by the fire, reading one of those Austen novels of which she was so fond.
Just the thought of seeing her put a smile on his lips, but that was nothing in comparison to what he felt when he walked into the library and saw her sitting with her nose in a book, just as he’d expected.
His heart lifted, and the day’s troubles floated away as he was transported to another time and place in his mind—a time and place where Villa De Lacey was no longer an inn but his home, and Bridget was no longer the hostess but his wife.
In this place, she put down her book and stood up to greet him, holding out both hands to him.
Nate walked to her and clasped her hands in his.
Then he pulled her close and pressed his lips to hers.
He felt giddy with happiness. When they parted, she said, “My darling, we’ve been waiting for you all evening. ”
We? He glanced down and saw Henry smiling up at him, his small hand clasped in Bridget’s. And his heart almost burst with happiness.
“Nate,” Bridget said. Nate blinked. He was still standing in the doorway of the library, and she was walking toward him. “Did something happen? Where were you? You missed dinner. I can ask Cook to…”
“Bennett is bringing a plate to my room. But I wanted to let you know that I was home.”
“Is that…blood?” She pointed to his beige waistcoat.
He glanced down and saw that there was indeed a large blood stain on his waistcoat. “It’s not mine,” he said. “It’s Collins’s blood.”
“Mr. Collins’s blood?” She gaped at him. “Why on earth would his blood be on your waistcoat?”
Nate was about to explain when he caught a glimpse of Rupert and Charlie sitting at a writing desk in the corner of the library.
Each held a quill pen, and papers littered the desk.
They were both staring at him, presumably having overhead Bridget’s exclamation.
Nate felt as though a private moment had been invaded.
Why was Rupert everywhere all of a sudden?
And how had he not noticed the poets before?
He stiffened, and Bridget must have sensed why because she turned and looked at them. The two quickly returned to their work.
“It’s nothing,” Nate said. “You’re not to worry. No one else is dead.” Then he turned stiffly and walked out of the room.
A little later, when he’d sunk into his steaming tub and was soaking his aching muscles, Nate felt some of the day’s tension ease out of him. Still, he could not quite put his mind at rest.
He tried to work out what was troubling him the most. Was it the unsolved murder? Groby’s impending trial and inevitable guilty verdict? The prospect of his horrendous gibbeting?
Or was it Rupert, who’d been enjoying long days with his son, stealing that time from Nate?
And then there were his growing feelings for Bridget.
Did she feel the same toward him? How could she?
She’d only just come out of official mourning for her papa, and her heart was still broken over that loss.
He’d be a cad to try and take advantage of her vulnerability.
Moreover, she depended on him for her security, safety, and livelihood.
It wouldn’t be fair for him to put her in a position of having to reject him.
If he acted on his feelings, everything they’d built together could be ruined.