Chapter Eighteen
“She suffered a seizure and lost consciousness, but I believe she will survive.” Dr. Elias addressed Bridget, Nate, Aunt Marianne, and Magistrate Hunt in the study after he’d concluded his examination of Louisa.
“Oh, thank goodness!” Bridget felt the weight lift off her body.
“But I saw her!” Aunt Marianne said. “She…she was as cold as marble and as pale as snow. Her mouth—there was—”
“It was a reaction to the poison,” Dr. Elias said. “You’ve never seen the body react in such a violent manner, I’m sure. It’s completely understandable that you thought she was dead.”
“The poison?” Nate asked.
“Yes, someone tampered with the laudanum.” Dr. Elis opened the snuff box and handed it to Nate.
“I’d say they mixed it with arsenic, which is both colorless and tasteless.
It would not have changed the look or the taste of the laudanum.
It’s a good thing she only took a pinch of the powder. Lady Matheson on the other hand…”
“Good heavens!” Bridget pressed Bijou close. Her heart was beating wildly. “Are you saying that Lady Matheson was murdered after all?”
“It wasn’t necessarily murder,” Dr. Elias said.
“Earlier, the maid had spoken about her mistress’s erratic moods.
It sounds to me as if her ladyship may have been suffering from an extreme case of nerves or hysteria, perhaps brought on by Mr. Otis’s death.
Either way, sometimes, serious bouts of hysteria can result in self-murder.
” He glanced apologetically at Bridget as he spoke.
“That complicates matters,” Magistrate Hunt said. “Self-murder will change how the law allows the lady to be buried.”
“Good grief,” Nate said, sweeping his hand through his hair. “What are we to do then?”
Magistrate Hunt sighed. “Considering the circumstances, I’ll keep the lady’s body as evidence, while we conduct a short investigation.
But, if no evidence of murder can be found after three or four days, I’m going to declare it death by self-murder and dispose of the body accordingly.
I don’t think it’s feasible to keep the body longer in this weather. ”
A familiar pain shot through Bridget’s heart. She reached for her aunt’s hand and squeezed it. Only Aunt Marianne understood what she was feeling at this precise moment.
“Thank heavens it was only the maid who took the laudanum to calm her nerves. It could have been Miss De Lacey or her aunt,” Magistrate Hunt said.
Bridget wondered if he thought the comment would somehow cheer her.
It was a callous thing to say—“only the maid” as if poor Louisa’s health was worth less than anyone else’s.
Still, Bridget shuddered. She felt awful about Louisa, but the idea that her aunt could just as easily have taken a pinch of laudanum to settle her nerves made her turn cold with fear.
Then a thought struck her. Hogarth’s Marriage à la Mode!
When she’d turned seventeen, Papa had brought home from London a miniature set of the six frames by Hogarth that told the tragic story of a wealthy merchant’s daughter forced to marry a bankrupted, philandering earl.
Papa had given the set to Bridget and promised never to force her into such an unhappy arrangement.
The calamitous saga ended with the young lady’s self-murder by poisoning—and her poison of choice was a bottle of laudanum.
“If Lady Matheson was intent on self-murder, why the need for arsenic?” Bridget looked to Dr. Elias for an answer. “Isn’t laudanum fatal in large doses?”
“Yes,” Dr. Elias said slowly, “but it would take a large amount to kill an adult, especially one who takes laudanum often. It’s generally quite safe. That said, ingesting too much accidentally could, and does, happen.”
“So, if Lady Matheson was intent on self-murder, all she needed to do was take a larger than usual dose of laudanum. She would not have needed arsenic at all. On the other hand, if someone else wanted to ensure that Lady Matheson ended up dead, they’d need to add another poison to her laudanum powder—one that required a smaller dose to kill. ”
“I see what you mean,” Dr. Elias said, reluctance in his tone.
“Do you think the person who tampered with Lady Matheson’s snuff box is the same one who killed George?” Bridget directed her question at Nate, but the magistrate replied instead.
“No. We have Otis’s killer. It’s John Groby, and the day after tomorrow I’m going to be transporting him to York for his trial next week.”
Bridget’s stomach clenched. Next week!
“Surely you realize this changes everything,” Nate said. “There’s been another murder. Do you suppose we have two separate killers?”
“I don’t know if we have one or two murderers, or even if Lady Matheson was murdered at all.
But I do know that Groby will stand trial for the murder of George Otis Phillips next week.
And if he is innocent, the court will find him not guilty, so you needn’t worry.
If you find out any new information before the trial, you can request to be called as a witness and testify in front of the jury.
They will hear you and decide Groby’s fate. ”
“Would you at least consider postponing Mr. Groby’s transport to York?” Bridget asked. “If only to give us a chance to discover what happened to Lady Matheson.”
“I already told Mr. Squires that that it is out of the question. The assize court arrives in York next week. I have no choice but to transport him there before they arrive. He leaves the day after tomorrow, but you’ll have a few days before the trial.”
Bridget inhaled deeply and then exhaled slowly. “Then, we shall have to find out who killed Lady Matheson and George Otis within the next few days. For I believe their killer is one and the same.”
“One caveat,” Nate said. “Perhaps we can all agree not to tell the guests that Lady Matheson was murdered. After all, we don’t know it to be a fact just yet, and we don’t want to create panic. Secondly, we won’t want to alert the killer, should there be one residing among us, of course.”
A chill ran down Bridget’s spine at hearing Nate’s words.
“Agreed?” Nate said.
Aunt Marianne whimpered and nodded, along with the magistrate and Dr. Elias.
“Agreed,” Bridget said.
*
Aunt Marianne calmed down considerably after she and Bridget checked on Louisa, who was being carefully nursed by Harriet.
“She had a terrible time of it—retching violently—but now she’s sleeping soundly,” Harriet spoke in a whisper so as not to disturb her patient. “I think she’ll be feeling much better tomorrow.”
“Thank heavens!” Aunt Marianne dabbed her red-rimmed eyes, which had begun to water again. “I was so frightfully worried for the poor dear. I thought she was…” Aunt Marianne’s chest heaved, and Bridget was worried that her flood of tears would begin anew.
“No need to worry anymore, Aunt. Louisa is sleeping like a babe, as you can see.” Bridget peered at the sleeping maid. “And now it’s time for you to get some rest too.” She turned to Harriet. “Some warm milk for my aunt, please, Harriet. That should help her sleep.”
“Very good, miss,” Harriet said. All three tiptoed out of Louisa’s room, and Bridget closed the door gently behind her.
“Will you take Bijou to the kitchen while I see to my aunt?” Bridget kissed Bijou’s head and handed him to Harriet. Then she turned to her aunt and put a gentle hand on her back. “Come along, Aunt. You’ve had quite a shock.”
She accompanied Aunt Marianne up to her room and drew the heavy drapes to block out the afternoon sunshine. Harriet delivered the warm milk, which seemed to satisfy her aunt, who settled back on her pillows after draining her cup.
“Rest now, Aunt. You’ve suffered a terrible ordeal.
” Bridget clasped her aunt’s hand and held it until the woman fell into a deep slumber.
Even then, she hesitated to leave her aunt.
She thought again about how close she’d come to losing her only living relative.
It would not have been out of character for Aunt Marianne to have taken a few pinches of laudanum to ease her nerves along with the maid, but by some miracle, she’d chosen not to and been spared poisoning.
“I am not so grown up, Aunt, that I can do without you,” Bridget whispered to the sleeping woman. Then she leaned forward and kissed her aunt’s forehead before exiting her chamber.
Bridget went directly to the study, where she knew Nate would be waiting for her.
He sat, reclining in one of the leather armchairs with a brandy in hand and smiled as she entered.
But Bridget noted the look of worry in his midnight blue eyes.
He had removed his cravat and tailcoat jacket and wore his waistcoat open, exposing his white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck and rolled up at the sleeves.
Bridget thought about how his lips had brushed against hers in the garden and felt a flutter of excitement in her stomach.
She went behind her father’s desk and sat in his old chair, immediately embracing the comfort and warmth it always provided her.
Though both she and Nate had sat in it countless times since her papa’s death, Bridget always felt his presence in that chair.
“I’ve been thinking about Angert,” Nate said.
“Yes, he came to my mind too. If anyone is capable of murder, it’s him. I’ve never met anyone who is so enthralled by the macabre.”
“It’s not only that.” Nate leaned forward and placed his glass on the desk.
“A few days ago, before his paintings were slashed, he showed me his collection, and I marveled at the vibrant colors. The emerald green he used to paint Westmorland’s fells was incredibly realistic, so like the ones we see outside, and the yellow on his daffodils was truly breathtaking.
I complimented him on his colors, and he responded by saying, ‘That is due to arsenic.’ He always has it on hand to mix those bright pigments. ”
“Yes, but many people have it on hand. It’s commonly used for multiple purposes.”
“I know, but Angert was so furious the other day at breakfast. He seemed personally affronted by Lady Matheson’s outburst, most likely because he’d thought he’d done her a great favor by painting her a miniature of George.
He demanded she return it to him. You weren’t there, but the man was frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog. ”
“I think the thing to do is check Lady Matheson’s bedroom for the portrait. I must pack her things anyway. And if we find it is missing, then we will have to find a way to check Angert’s room. If he has it in his possession, then we likely have our answer.”
“That will be difficult. Since the destruction of his paintings, his valet has been manning his door every time he leaves his room.”
“We’ll find a way,” Bridget said. “In the meantime, is there anyone else we should be considering?”
“That depends on whether or not these murders are linked. I still believe Collins has the best motive for killing George. But he obviously could not have killed Lady Matheson.” He sighed.
“Either these murders were unrelated, or we have to rule Collins out. If they are related, then I’d say jealousy was the motive.
Lady Matheson and George appeared to have been more than friends, so someone might have been jealous. ”
“That opens many possibilities. It could have been anyone in the village or, heavens forbid, one of our servants.”
“True, but I was thinking more along the lines of someone who may have been jealous of George himself. He was popular and garnered a lot of attention from the ladies.”
“Do you have someone in mind?” Bridget asked.
“Rupert,” Nate said without hesitation. “I don’t trust him.”
Bridget pressed her lips together and dropped her gaze to her lap.
That was the answer she’d expected. She understood why Nate disliked Rupert, but the vehemence in his voice puzzled her.
Was it just his lack of access to Henry that irked him, or was it Lady Luxton’s open dalliance with Rupert that upset him so?
“We can’t rule out the possibility that he was jealous of George,” Nate reiterated. “Just think about how he taunted Groby on the night of the murder. What did he do that for if not to put George in danger?”
“But then why kill Lady Matheson?”
“I don’t know yet,” Nate said. “I only know that there is something rotten about that man.”
“But Charlie would have to be involved then, too, and I don’t see that happening. He’s a sweetheart.”
“Not necessarily,” Nate said.
“Well, I’d say Angert is the one we should be focusing on,” Bridget said.
“I agree. But we shall also need to keep a close eye on Rupert.”
Bridget nodded. She disagreed with Nate about Rupert, but she didn’t say as much. On the other hand, Angert frightened her. And she could very well see him as the killer.
“I think the best thing to do now is check Lady Matheson’s room and wait for Louisa to wake up, so we can question her,” Nate said.
“I’ll take care of searching Lady Matheson’s room. Her belongings need to be packed so they can be transported home, and it wouldn’t be right for a man to rifle through a lady’s things—even if she is deceased.”
“You’re right.” Nate had gone to the window and turned to look outside. “That will suit me well. There’s something I need to take care of before we interview Louisa.” Nate looked perturbed as he turned away from the window and strode out of the study.
Curiosity took hold, and Bridget walked to the window and looked out. Lady Luxton stood in the garden, staring back up at her.