Chapter Thirteen
Nate and Bridget were seated in the parlor, nursing cups of tea, when Magistrate Hunt and Doctor Elias arrived.
The rest of the guests had been asked to remain in their rooms. As it was still very early in the morning, they did not object.
Aside from Lord Eamont and Frederick, most of the guests seemed annoyed to have had their sleep disrupted by Madam Bouffant’s untimely death.
Magistrate Hunt peeled back the sheet Nate had placed over Madam Bouffant and inspected the corpse. He studied the angle of her body, looking up at the stairs and then back down at her several times. “Hmm.” He ran a hand over his bushy beard and frowned. “What do you think happened here, doctor?”
Doctor Elias, a short man of about five-and-sixty years, had a shiny bald head, small brown eyes, and rather large ears.
He knelt, peered at the body, and lifted Madam Bouffant’s head slightly off the ground.
The blood coming from her wound had congealed, causing a large patch of her hair to stick to the floor as the doctor lifted her head, and Nate saw Bridget flinch at the sight.
He itched to comfort her but restrained himself from doing so.
“A terrible accident. It looks like she tumbled down the stairs and hit her head on the marble floor. Her neck is broken, and her body badly battered from the fall.”
Bridget gasped. “A broken neck, did you say?”
“Would she have died instantly, doctor? No suffering?” Nate emphasized the latter, hoping the doctor would catch his hint and provide some relief to Bridget.
“It’s likely, but it’s hard to say for certain,” the doctor replied, much to Nate’s irritation.
“Could-could someone have pushed her?” Bridget’s voice trembled slightly.
Nate tensed. He knew what she was thinking—that Lady Eamont may have pushed the woman.
And it was possible, but not very probable.
Still, if Madam Bouffant had been foolish enough to visit Lord Eamont in his chambers with his wife in the very next room, it could have sent Lady Eamont to the brink.
Despite Bridget’s request that Madam Bouffant keep her distance from the viscount, Nate thought it more than likely that the courtesan had ignored Bridget’s warning.
Men like Lord Eamont who’d been entitled all their lives did not take kindly to being rejected, and their mistresses aimed to please them.
“I suppose someone could have pushed her.” Dr. Elias took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the blood off his hands. “But why would you think such a thing?”
“Is there anyone in this house that would have reason to hurt this woman?” Magistrate Hunt straightened his shoulders and directed his question at Bridget.
Bridget glanced at Nate. He shook his head slightly to indicate she shouldn’t say what she was thinking—after all, one didn’t go around accusing a viscountess of murder without first obtaining solid proof.
She wavered as if deciding whether or not to open Pandora’s box. Finally, she shrugged and said, “One never knows. Shouldn’t you do an investigation of some sort?”
The magistrate frowned. “Doctor Elias has determined that the woman fell, broke her neck, and cracked her head. He sees no evidence of foul play. Unless you are privy to some incriminating information that I don’t yet know about, I see no reason for any further investigation.
” He paused, looking expectantly at Bridget, but she said nothing.
“I will need to gather a few details about the deceased from you at any rate, so why don’t we go somewhere to talk?
And then perhaps the two of you can give me more insight into the situation. ” His gaze moved from Bridget to Nate.
“Certainly,” Nate said. “There’s a study upstairs.”
“Very good.” The magistrate nodded.
Nate led the way to the study. Once inside, he invited the magistrate to sit.
“I think I’ll take the chair behind the desk if you don’t mind. I’m going to need to make use of that quill pen and some paper.” Magistrate Hunt nodded toward the writing instruments.
“Of course.” Nate sat next to Bridget across from the magistrate, feeling much like a schoolboy at the headmaster’s study. “There’s paper in the drawer. Use as much as you need.”
The magistrate extracted a piece of paper and dipped the feathered quill into the inkwell. “Now, shall we begin with the deceased’s full name.”
“Clarissa Bouffant,” Nate and Bridget said simultaneously. They’d both heard Lord Eamont cry out Madam Bouffant’s Christian name after he’d seen her lying at the bottom of the stairs.
Magistrate Hunt wrote her name on the paper and then looked up, quill in hand. “Her age?”
Both Nate and Bridget shook their heads. “I’m afraid I don’t know. One isn’t required to give one’s age when visiting an inn,” Nate said.
“Do you have any idea where she was from?”
“I believe she was born in Paris but currently lives in London,” Bridget said.
“Did she travel to Windermere with her family?”
Bridget glanced at Nate, who hoped that his slight frown was warning enough for her to realize that she should not say too much. There was no need to risk the villa’s reputation by mentioning that Madam Bouffant was both an actress and a courtesan.
“No. She doesn’t have a family. Her mother died when she was nine, and she never knew her father, at least that is what she told me,” Bridget said.
Magistrate Hunt raised his bushy eyebrows. “No husband or children?”
“Not that I am aware of.” Bridget laced her fingers together, and Nate thought she looked a little nervous. He could tell she wasn’t comfortable with omitting the whole truth.
The magistrate scratched his beard. “That is problematic. She will need to be buried, and someone will have to pay.”
“That’s not a problem.” Nate held up his hand.
“The burial will be paid for. Madam Bouffant paid us for a month’s long stay at Villa De Lacey, and since she won’t be able to reap the benefits of her payment, I think the least we can do is pay for her to rest in peace.
” This was a lie. Neither Frederick nor Madam Bouffant had been paying guests, but the magistrate didn’t need to know that.
“Very generous of you.” The magistrate nodded at Nate.
Oh, don’t worry. It won’t be me who pays. It’ll be bloody Frederick and Eamont for causing this mess. To the magistrate, he smiled and said, “It’s the least we can do.”
Magistrate Hunt nodded. “I am curious, Miss De Lacey, as to why you thought someone might have pushed the deceased down the stairs. What do you think she was doing out of bed so early in the morning? And I thought it was especially curious that she was wearing an evening dress rather than her night clothes.” He tapped his fingers together.
“Something doesn’t seem right. Perhaps foul play was involved.
I think I might need to interview your guests after all. What do you say?”
An alarm registered in Nate’s brain. This wouldn’t do. He couldn’t have the magistrate interrogating the guests. No, it was best to tell the magistrate the truth now. “That won’t be necessary, sir,” he said.
“Oh?” Magistrate Hunt’s forehead creased.
“The truth is, magistrate, that Madam Bouffant came here as a companion with one of the gentlemen—a baron.” Nate felt Bridget’s eyes on him.
“And, I believe she may have been coming from his chamber. Quite foolishly, she neglected to take a candle with her to light her way. I imagine it’s because she wanted to stay completely hidden.
I tell you this in confidence, sir, and I do hope this information will go no further than this room. ”
The magistrate’s entire body stiffened. “I see,” he said, crumpling up his notes into a ball. “Then it looks like I have my explanation, and my work here is complete.”
Nate breathed a sigh of relief. Just as he’d expected, the magistrate had lost all interest once he learned the deceased was a mistress and not a lady of society.
Magistrate Hunt stood up, his posture stiff and disapproving.
“Thank you for coming, magistrate,” Bridget said, and she and Nate both stood up. “Do let us accompany you to your carriage.”
“That won’t be necessary, Miss De Lacey.
” He put on his top hat and made to go, then hesitated.
“I must say, I was delighted when I heard you were turning Villa De Lacey into an inn for wealthy patrons”—he looked from Bridget to Nate—“but I am shocked to learn that you would think to entertain such a woman. Mr. De Lacey would not have approved. And I cannot imagine your aunt does either,” he said, and Nate winced, understanding the deep cut Bridget must have felt upon hearing those words.
“I do hope you will be more discerning about the guests you invite to our peaceful area in the future.”
Bridget’s cheeks warmed, and Nate could not let the injustice stand.
“She was an unexpected and uninvited guest. The gentleman in question did wrong to bring her. I told him as much. He put us—especially Miss De Lacey and her aunt—in a terribly awkward situation. Miss De Lacey asked them to respect our rules of propriety, but unfortunately, they did not comply. And tragedy resulted.”
“Indeed. Well, let that be a lesson to all.” Magistrate Hunt bowed and bid them good day.
Once the magistrate had gone, Nate turned to Bridget, who appeared ashen. “I hope he didn’t upset you too much. I thought his comments were uncalled for. None of this is your fault.”
“It’s not the magistrate I’m concerned about.” Bridget squeezed the fingers on her right hand.
“Then what’s the matter?”
“I’m afraid we’re doing a grave injustice to Madam Bouffant. If Lady Eamont or someone else pushed her, then—”
“Wait!” Nate put his fingers to his lips, hearing voices emerging nearby. The guests were making their way to the breakfast room. “We should go and join our guests. It’s best to give the impression that everything is handled and returning to normal.”
“But—” Bridget began.