Chapter Seventeen #2
“Take a few deep breaths.” Bridget put a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “What’s the urgency? You shouldn’t tire yourself so.”
Harriet was a woman in her sixties who was more accustomed to doing hair and darning dresses than performing any physical labor.
Now she breathed through her pinched nose, and Nate wondered if she was getting any air into her lungs.
Her small nostrils flared, and her brown eyes watered as she tried to catch her breath.
Eventually, the woman’s breathing returned to normal, and she was able to speak.
“Your aunt sent me to fetch you. She says you must come with me immediately. Don’t ask the reason, just follow me as though it were a normal day. We don’t want to alarm the guests, should any be about yet.”
“It is a normal day,” Nate said with a sinking feeling in his stomach. “Why should we alarm the guests?”
“It’s best I don’t say anything now—Mrs. Marianne’s orders. She is waiting for you. That is all I am at liberty to say.”
Nate shared a concerned glance with Bridget. “Very well,” he said. “Take us to her.”
*
Bridget called for Bijou, who raced after her as she and Nate followed Harriet inside the villa and up the stairs to the first floor.
Most of the guests were still in their rooms, but their lady’s maids and valets could be seen entering and or exiting their masters’ and mistresses’ rooms. Harriet stopped in front of Lady Matheson’s room.
“In here,” Harriet said and wrenched open the door. “Quick.”
Nate shared another puzzled look with Bridget before she stepped inside with Bijou at her heels.
Still, he hesitated before following Bridget.
It wasn’t every day that he entered a lady’s chamber without being invited inside by the lady herself.
But when Harriet gave him a panicked look, he quickly stepped into the room.
He heard Harriet shut the door behind him as he looked around the bedchamber.
It was in disarray. Drawers stood open, and articles of clothing lay on the floor.
It looked as though someone had been searching for something.
Bijou navigated the items on the floor, sniffing them with great interest. Aunt Marianne stood with a comforting arm around Lady Matheson’s crying lady’s maid, Louisa.
And Bridget hovered near Lady Matheson’s canopy bed, her face as white as a winter lily.
“Bridget,” he said, not wanting to approach Lady Matheson’s bed, partly out of fear of what he’d see behind the canopy and partly out of an absurd sense of modesty. “What is it?”
Bridget turned to him. “She’s dead. Lady Matheson is dead.”
“What?” Nate rushed to Bridget’s side and looked at Lady Matheson, who lay stiff in her bed.
Her lovely chestnut curls were fanned out across her pillow, and her amber eyes stared lifelessly at the paneled ceiling.
But more noticeable were her lips, which had a blueish tinge to them.
Nate scanned the surrounding area, and his eyes fell on a teacup next to her bed.
He picked up the cup, which still contained some of the now-cold liquid.
It looked considerably darker and thicker than normal tea.
“Did she take anything in her tea?” he turned and asked the distraught maid.
“Lots of sugar but no cream. And oftentimes at night, she mixed in a little laudanum to help her sleep. That’s why she liked a lot of sugar, to mask the bitterness.”
Just then, the chamber door opened, and Harriet ushered Dr. Elias and Magistrate Hunt inside.
They went directly over to Lady Matheson’s bed, and Dr. Elias inspected the body, listening to her heart and feeling for any breath or sign of life.
Nate thought that somewhat unnecessary, as the woman was already stiff.
“She’s been dead for several hours,” the doctor said. “I’d say she died last night.”
Lady Matheson’s maid gasped and began to sob anew.
“Calm yourself, dear,” Aunt Marianne said.
“There’s a cup of cold tea on the dresser,” Nate said. “Her maid says she may have mixed in a little laudanum to help her sleep.”
“Well, that’s common enough. A little laudanum powder wouldn’t harm her.” The doctor picked up the cup of tea and inspected the contents, shrugged and put the cup down again.
Magistrate Hunt turned to the sobbing maid and said, “Where does she keep it—her laudanum powder?”
Louisa pointed to the small pedestal table beside Lady Matheson’s bed. “In that snuff box. She doesn’t take snuff, but she thought the box pretty, she said. That’s why she used it for her laudanum powder,” the maid said, then buried her face in her hands.
Nate looked at the rectangular porcelain box, decorated with tiny painted bluebells and sparrows. It looked innocent enough.
Dr. Elias picked up the snuff box and opened it. He shook the box, studied its contents, and even gave it a sniff. “It’s laudanum powder, as you said. Nothing suspicious here.”
Magistrate Hunt glanced around the room.
“Was someone in here? Is the lady’s room always such a mess?”
“I’m sorry,” Louisa said. “I were so afraid when I saw my lady that I didn’t straighten her things…I…”
“Don’t worry about that now,” Aunt Marianne soothed the maid.
“Yes, but what I’m asking is, how did it get to be such a mess? It’s as if someone were in here searching for something. Was it like this when you brought in her tea last night?”
“No, it were tidy. I promise.” Tears pooled in Lousia’s red-rimmed eyes, and she pressed a handkerchief to each of them as she sniffed, “I wouldn’t leave my lady’s room a mess.”
“So, it’s possible someone was in here after you left?” Magistrate Hunt asked.
“I don’t see how. My lady keeps her door locked. She always said a lady sleeping alone should never leave herself vulnerable, but I didn’t know exactly what she meant by that. I had to get Mrs. Marianne to open her door with the master key this morning when I got no response from my knocking.”
Magistrate Hunt frowned. “Could she have been looking for something, perhaps? Something, she misplaced?”
“Oh, yes. She often misplaces things. She can be forgetful at times, and she’d been acting worse of late—since Mr. Otis’s murder.”
“What do you mean by ‘acting worse,’ exactly?” Magistrate Hunt asked.
“I…only mean that she’s been strange—sad and cross at times, and giddy at other times. Sometimes, she’d rage over nothing. And then a few hours later, she’d be her charming self again. It frightened me. I didn’t know what to expect from her.”
“Well, if her door was locked from the inside, then she could not have been murdered. What do you suspect killed her then, Doctor?” Magistrate Hunt asked.
“It’s difficult to know unless I open the body and examine it. But I couldn’t do that without her family’s permission or unless you suspect foul play, which you do not. In that case, I’d say it was likely her heart.”
“She died of a broken heart?” Louisa said, and then began sobbing into her handkerchief again.
“I suppose you could say that. The heart can be a mystery. One thing we do know is that it can sometimes stop beating, quite suddenly, and for unknown reasons. And that appears to be the case here today.”
Nate frowned. Dr. Elias seemed to be making up a reason for Lady Matheson’s death. He couldn’t know for certain it was her heart unless he examined the body, and he would not do that, so the heart seemed as good a reason as any.
Magistrate Hunt stroked his bushy gray beard. “What do we know of her family? Anything?”
“She was a widow,” Bridget said. “And I never heard her mention any children.”
“Is that correct, Louisa?” Nate turned to the lady’s maid.
She nodded.
“Where was her main residence?” Magistrate Hunt asked.
Louisa attempted to answer but was unable to get the words out. Her chest heaved, trying to catch her breath between sobs. Her hand trembled as she lifted the handkerchief to her nose, which was now running in a most undignified way. Finding her mistress dead had shocked her to the core.
“Why don’t I get all the necessary information from the poor girl in a little while?” Aunt Marianne said. “She’s too distressed to talk now.”
“Give her a pinch of laudanum.” Dr. Elias handed the snuff box to Aunt Marianne. “It will help calm her nerves. Perhaps, give her enough to allow her to sleep. When she wakes, she’ll feel a lot calmer.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Aunt Marianne said, taking the box and pressing the cover into place. Then she led her trembling charge out of the room, the box clenched in one hand, maid’s arm gently clasped with the other.
“Well, I suppose my job is complete here,” Magistrate Hunt said. “The lady, bless her, died of natural causes.”
“Will your men be taking the body with you now?” Nate asked.
“Taking the body? Where shall I take it? The lady wasn’t murdered, so it’s not evidence, and it’s hardly proper to leave her with the carpenter.
He has been known to keep a body or two while he prepares the coffin, but someone of this stature—a lady—ought to be prepared and dressed by her maid before burial.
You will need to store the body in one of your spare rooms. Once you find out where the body needs to be transported, you can arrange as much with the carpenter. He has a wagon for that purpose.”
“Store the body here?” Bridget said. “Impossible! That will be very disturbing to the other guests.”
“Bridget is right. We cannot keep her here!” Nate said.
“We need to lay her to rest in the churchyard immediately. If her family is in London, it won’t do us any good to wait for them.
Two weeks in this weather isn’t feasible.
Tell the carpenter to come immediately with his finest coffin. I’ll pay double his asking price.”
Magistrate Hunt nodded. “Very well. I’ll let it be your decision. She’s your guest, after all.”
Nate looked at Bridget. “I suppose it’s time we go and announce her death to the others.”
Bridget squeezed her hands together. “This does not bode well for the inn. I imagine it will unsettle them a great deal. But at least it isn’t another murder.”
*
Not a tear was shed on behalf of Lady Matheson. The only guest who seemed perturbed was Colonel Kendall, who thought it was a shame that such a handsome woman should die a widow.
“I wonder what she was searching for,” Bridget said later, when she and Nate were seated in the library.
Bijou had settled on her lap, and she stroked his white fur.
“It must have been something important to leave her room in such disarray. From the state of the room, it looked like she was quite desperate to find something.”
“Perhaps it was the portrait,” Nate said.
“The portrait?” Bridget asked.
“The other day at breakfast, Angert demanded she return the miniature portrait he’d made of Otis for her. But she denied that she had any such portrait. Anyway, I suspect Angert snuck into her chamber at some point and took the portrait back, just to spite her.”
“Why would she have a portrait of Otis?” Bridget asked. “That seems a bit odd, doesn’t it?”
Nate sighed. “I suspect she was in love with him.”
Bridget kept the lady’s disclosure of her drowned son to herself. There was no point in repeating it. “How sad. Perhaps she did die of a broken heart.”
“Although I can’t think why,” Nate continued. “A woman of her stature and—may I say—beauty; it seems unbelievable that she would even keep company with the likes of Otis.”
“Mr. Otis could be very charming,” Bridget said.
Nate shook his head. “I don’t see it. I feel as though there was more to their relationship—something we don’t know about yet.
I simply cannot believe that a mature widow who has both wealth and beauty would fall madly in love with a young man she barely knew.
It doesn’t make sense. A woman like that doesn’t die of a broken heart.
That’s the stuff of romantic novels, not of real life. ”
“Oh really?” Bridget could not stop herself from smiling. “And just how many romantic novels have you read?”
Nate frowned. “That’s not the point. The point is—”
Just then, Aunt Marianne burst into the library, her face ashen. “I gave her a pinch—just a pinch like the doctor said.”
“Aunt!” Bridget jumped out of her seat and went to her aunt. “Whatever is the matter? You look like you’ve had a terrible shock.”
“Only a pinch, Bridget. You heard the doctor, did you not? He said to give her a pinch and it will calm her down.” Tears rolled down Aunt Marianne’s cheeks.
Nate, who was already on his feet, raced to Aunt Marianne’s side. Then with his help, Bridget led Aunt Marianne to the settee.
“I’m going to pour her a brandy,” Nate said.
Bridget sat beside her aunt, holding her hand while Nate went to pour the brandy.
“I…I only gave…” Aunt Marianne’s words were lost in a sob.
“Shh, Aunt. Don’t try to speak now. Try to calm down first.”
Nate returned with his cognac and handed it to Bridget. “Here, Aunt. Take a sip of this. It will help your nerves.”
Aunt Marianne took the glass, but her hand shook so badly that Bridget had to hold the glass for her. She put it to her aunt’s lips. After a few small sips, Aunt Marianne seemed to steady.
“Now, Aunt, tell us what has made you so upset.”
“It’s Louisa,” she said. “I gave her the laudanum from Lady Matheson’s snuff box, just as the doctor told me to do. Remember?” She looked at each of them in turn. “It was to help her sleep.”
“Yes, that’s right. And is she sleeping soundly now, Aunt?”
Aunt Marianne looked at Bridget and blinked. “She’s dead.”