Chapter Twenty-Five
Lady Luxton clutched Nate’s arm as the magistrate led Rupert away. “I shudder to think how much danger I was in,” she said. “He could have killed me and Henry.”
“That’s exactly why I told you to leave. Fortunately, he had no interest in hurting you or Henry. Still, you should have listened to me.”
Bridget stood behind the pair but was too worried about Charlie to give them her full attention. He stood beside her, pale as a ghost and trembling from head to foot.
“You will stay at Villa De Lacey for a while, won’t you, Charlie?” She hated to think of him alone after having lost the most important person in the world to him. She knew how painful that was.
“How can I? After you accused my brother? He told you he was innocent.”
“Is that really what you believe? You know him better than anyone.”
Charlie bit his lip, and his large, dark eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know. He…he is a good person, but he…well, George and his mother ruined our lives.”
“I understand how painful this is for you. That’s why I hope you will stay—even if it’s only for a few days.”
“I shan’t be paying for his bill anymore,” Lady Luxton said, turning to face Bridget. “His brother almost killed my Henry.”
Bridget’s jaw ached with tension. Can’t she see that Charlie is in distress? Why does she have to be so cruel?
“You are the one who sent Henry’s nanny away,” Nate said. “And you are the one who should have been watching him.”
Lady Luxton released Nate’s arm, and her lovely dark eyes flashed angrily at him. “I see you refuse to change,” she said, and then stormed away, pushing past Bridget in the process.
“I think it’s best I leave,” Charlie said.
“Charlie,” a voice sounded behind Bridget, and she turned to see Miss Jennings. “What’s happening. Why did they take Rupert?”
“Perhaps you should ask Miss De Lacey. I’m going to pack my things.”
“Wait,” Bridget called after Charlie.
“Let him go.” Nate put an arm on Bridget’s shoulder. “It’s for the best.”
“What have you done?” Miss Jennings said in her usual whispery breath. “Rupert is innocent.”
*
The next morning, Bridget awoke feeling refreshed but not entirely cheerful.
With Rupert arrested, Groby had been released from prison in York and was on his way home to be reunited with his wife and children.
Collins, who was still recovering from his injuries, had reportedly written home to his family in the hope they’d reconcile with him and allow him to convalesce there.
And Lady Luxton was once again threatening to return to Scotland, although she had yet to make good on her threat.
Yet, despite justice being served, there would be no happy outcome.
Poor Charlie would suffer greatly. If only he’d stayed on at Villa De Lacey.
Perhaps then he’d have strengthened his bond with Miss Jennings.
She reminded Bridget of Jane when she’d first arrived at Villa De Lacey—beaten down by her husband’s cruel aunt, Lady Darby, for being unable to provide her with a grandnephew.
And now, a year later, Jane was flourishing.
Her womb, which she’d once thought barren, had opened, and her entire disposition had changed.
Away from the oppressive Lady Darby, and despite her rather inattentive husband, she’d blossomed into a sociable and happy woman with a zest for life.
Bridget slipped out of bed, and Bijou, who sat in his basket, raised his head and wagged his tail. He watched expectantly as Bridget washed. He was ready for his walk.
By the time Harriet entered with Bridget’s tea, she was sitting at her dresser brushing her hair.
“I’ll take that, miss,” Harriet said, setting down the tea and taking the silver brush from Bridget. She began to arrange Bridget’s hair in a low bun. “Rose tells me that Miss Jane is ill this morning,” Harriet said.
“Ill?” Bridget’s stomach tightened. Illness was never a good thing, but it was especially alarming for women in Jane’s condition. “What’s wrong?”
“She didn’t say, miss. But the doctor is being fetched.”
“Good grief!” Bridget stood up, causing Harriet to stumble backwards.
“Your hair, miss.”
“I must go to Jane. Will you see to Bijou?”
“Of course, miss. But your hair…it needs another clip…”
“Never mind that,” Bridget said, picking up a hair clip and shoving it in place to secure her bun. “I must go to Jane now.”
Guilt gnawed at Bridget as she made her way to Jane’s room. With all the commotion the day before, she had neglected to check on her friend. She knocked softly on Jane’s chamber door, and her lady’s maid, Rose, answered.
“Oh, Miss De Lacey. I was hoping it were Mr. Harley with the doctor.”
“How is she?” Bridget asked.
“Poorly, miss.” Rose opened the door, and Bridget stepped inside. A stench of sickness assailed her nostrils. And she covered her nose with her hand. “Do open a window,” she said.
“I’m afraid to, miss,” the maid said, “lest the air do her harm.”
“Harm? When did fresh air ever do anyone harm?” Bridget drew open the curtains and opened the windows, welcoming the blast of crisp air to her nostrils.
Then she turned and smiled, prepared to cheer Jane. But her smile quickly faded when she saw her friend’s deathly pale face. A chamber pot sat next to her bed, filled with sick.
“Take that away,” Bridget snapped, “and bring her a clean one.”
Jane groaned. And Bridget went to her side.
“It started last night, miss,” Rose said. “We thought it were just because of the babe. You know, some women can’t hold their food when they are with child, like my cousin every morning for months, but this is different, miss. She looks…I don’t know…I’m afraid for her babe.”
“Yes, I know,” Bridget said. “I am too. But we must do what we can, and the best thing you can do now is to take that away and get a clean, cool cloth for her forehead.”
“Yes, miss,” Rose said.
Bridget caressed her friend’s forehead. It felt clammy and sticky.
Then she noticed that Jane’s fist was clenched shut.
She was holding something in the palm of her hand.
Bridget caressed Jane’s fist, and Jane’s fingers relaxed.
Bridget eased them open. Inside Jane’s palm lay the miniature portrait of George.
Bridget gasped.
Just then, Rose opened the chamber door and Jane heard her say, “Doctor, thank heavens.”
Bridget snatched the miniature and stood up. Dr. Elias, Nate, and Jane’s husband, Mr. Harley, entered the room.
“How is she?” Mr. Harley glanced down at the chamber pot Rose held and winced.
“Poorly, sir,” Rose said. “She complains of horrible stomach pains. An’ she hardly touched her tea. A few sips were all she could manage to wet her parched throat.”
“I’d better take a look.” Dr. Elias pushed past Rose, followed by Harley and Nate.
“Miss De Lacey,” Harley said as Bridget scurried out of the way. “Good of you to come. You’ll be a great comfort to Jane.”
“I came as soon as I heard,” Nate said to Bridget.
She squeezed the portrait in her fist as she watched Dr. Elias start to examine Jane.
And although he was Jane’s husband, Mr. Harley turned his back and went to gaze out the window with Nate by his side.
That was a good thing, Bridget realized, because she almost bit her lip to shreds when Jane’s body started to convulse. Thankfully, it only lasted seconds.
Why does Jane have George’s portrait? What can it mean?
Dr. Elias finished examining Jane and looked up with a grave expression on his face. “Sometimes a woman with child suffers nausea and sickness, and in rare cases, it becomes so severe that it can kill her.”
Harley gasped, and Bridget turned to see Nate put a comforting hand on his shoulder. Bridget forced herself to keep her composure, even though she wanted to collapse to the floor.
“I don’t think that is the case here.”
Bridget breathed a sigh of relief.
“I think she’s been poisoned.”
“What?” Harley strode forward. “Who would poison a woman…and one with child at that? Who would do such a thing?”
“I don’t know. I’m not a magistrate. But the extent of the vomitus, convulsions, and severe stomach cramps coupled with the fact that someone in this villa has already been poisoned with arsenic, leads me to believe it’s possible she was too.”
Bridget squeezed the miniature so hard that the metal of the small oval frame that housed it bit into her palm.
Did Jane have a liaison with George? Had she been in love with him?
She glanced at Harley. Did he know? And if so, did he kill George?
Had they gotten everything wrong and sent another innocent man to his potential death?
She recalled Miss Jennings’s words, “‘Rupert is innocent.’”
Rose reentered the room with a clean chamber pot and washcloth. She closed the door and froze, no doubt sensing the tension in the room. “Shall I…go?” she whispered to no one in particular.
“Stay,” Doctor Elias said. “I have some questions for you.”
Rose crept forward and placed the clean chamber pot and cloth on the small table next to Jane’s bed.
“When was the last time your mistress ate?”
“She ate dinner last night.”
He looked at Mr. Harley, Nate, and Bridget. “Did you all eat from the same dishes?”
They all nodded.
“And no one else is sick?”
“Not that we know of,” Nate said.
“Did she consume anything else?” Dr. Elias turned back to Rose.
“Warm chocolate. She likes something sweet now that she’s with child. Miss Jennings suggested the chocolate. She said when her dear sister were with child, nothing made her happier than a cup of warm chocolate before bed.”
“Who prepared the chocolate?”
“Miss Jennings insisted on preparing it herself. It was ever so kind of her.”
Miss Jennings! But why? Bridget opened her hand and glanced at the portrait.
“What’s that?” Nate asked.
Bridget held out her palm, exposing the portrait. “Jane was clutching this in her fist.”
Nate took the portrait and turned to Harley. “What do you know about this?”
Heat spread across Harley’s pale, freckled skin. He turned to Rose. “Wait outside.”
She left the room, and Harley said, “As it turns out, I am the one who is barren, not my wife.”
“Didn’t you learn anything from last summer?” Nate growled. “How many women must end up dead in your quest to have a child?”
“How many women die in childbirth every year?” Harley threw up his hands. “None of this was my fault. She fell in love with him. I didn’t tell her to do it.”
Bridget’s gaze flew to Jane—her sweet, understanding friend—lying still and pale in the bed. All she’d wanted was to be a mother.
She’d been so good with the Groby’s children, so loving. So made to be a mother. And she’d been so happy to finally learn she was with child. Her greatest wish had been granted, and her joy had been palpable.
And now…
“But you didn’t care either.”
“We didn’t marry for love, as you well know. Our union is worth nothing without a child.”
“Well, congratulations, because you are about to lose both wife and babe—”
No. It couldn’t be. There had been too much death, and for her beloved Jane to be its next victim…the men’s arguing became unbearable. “Stop!” Bridget yelled.
The two men turned and looked at her in stunned silence.
“Jane has been poisoned. She might die!” She glared at the men, who seemed unable to comprehend her feelings.
“I don’t think she’s been given a lethal dose,” Dr. Elias said. “I believe she was given just enough to make her very ill—ill enough to end her pregnancy.”
Oh no! Bridget covered her trembling lips with her hand. She wanted to cry out. Poor Jane! Who would do such a thing?
Nate appeared to have an inkling. He strode forward and pulled open the chamber door.
“Rose,” he said, “go and find Miss Jennings. Tell her Mrs. Harley is in desperate need of a cup of tea sweetened with plenty of sugar. Ask her if she’d be so kind to help you by preparing it herself and bringing it to Mrs. Harley’s room.
” Then he shut the door and turned to Harley.
“It’s best you go back to Braithwaite and fetch the magistrate. ”