Chapter Nineteen #2
“What, this?” Lady Eamont pointed to the brooch and spoke in a high tone as if to emphasize her surprise at being asked such a question.
“Heavens, no! This brooch is part of a set, see?” She stuck out her hand to show the matching ring.
“The one that the dead woman had was similar, as I remember, but not the same. Mine is one of a kind.”
“Very similar, I think.” Lady Darby dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “Perhaps hers was a counterfeit. It did look rather out of place with the rest of her outfit, as I remember.”
“Oh, yes, I wager it was most definitely a cheap copy.” Lady Eamont went back to taking tiny sips of her soup.
Bridget glanced at Nate again, but it seemed he was taking great pains to focus on his own bowl and not make eye contact with her. What on earth was going on?
*
“The investigation must end, I’m afraid.
We are going to have to accept that Madam Bouffant’s death was a tragic accident,” Nate said when they finally convened in the study once the after-dinner activities were over and most of the guests had retired to bed.
Even so, they stood by the bookshelves, pretending to peruse the books as they conversed, lest anyone should stray into the library.
“I disagree. I think that is yet to be proven,” Bridget shot back. “Isn’t that what we agreed?”
“But we cannot prove anything. It’s all speculation.
” Nate glanced down at the open book in his hand as though they were discussing its contents.
“Besides, there’s no point. The magistrate is satisfied that Madam Bouffant fell down the stairs, and Frederick believes she may have been inebriated, so if we keep this up, it will only end up costing us dearly. ”
“Magistrate Hunt lost interest in the whole affair the moment he heard Madam Bouffant was a courtesan. Is that why you are giving up too?”
Nate sighed. “Of course not. But it does make things more difficult, especially when you think her killer is a peer, and that is conjecture at best.”
“What about justice? Isn’t it our duty to find out for certain?” Bridget couldn’t believe how callous Nate was being. A person had died, and no one seemed to care. Even Lord Eamont had recovered from his grief rather quickly.
Well, they might have all dismissed Madam Bouffant’s tragic end, but she wasn’t going to. Bridget gave Nate a hard stare. “She was a guest at Villa De Lacey, and we owe it to her to find out the truth.”
“Bridget, I’m going to say something you may not like to hear, but I think it important you hear it all the same.” He snapped the book shut in his hand.
Bridget stiffened. “Go on then.”
He put the book back on the shelf and fingered the spine of the next as if deciding whether or not to select it.
“I think your preoccupation with Madam Bouffant’s death might have something to do with your papa,” he said kindly.
“It can feel unjust when someone takes their own life. It feels unfair, and there’s no one to blame.
You want justice, but there is none to be had.
So perhaps you wish to seek it elsewhere. ”
Bridget’s chest flamed. She straightened her shoulders and looked directly at Nate, but she no longer saw him. Instead, she saw the Earl of Westerly sitting across from her papa at the gambling tables, raking in a pile of money with the keys to Villa De Lacey on top.
“I know who is to blame for my father’s death,” she said. “There was no justice for him, just as there will be no justice for Madam Bouffant. They’re mere commoners to you lot, after all.” Tears pricked her eyes, and she turned quickly from Nate.
“That’s not fair,” Nate spoke gently. “I never—”
“I’d like to be alone, please,” she said.
Nate remained silent for a few seconds before he said, “Of course,” and moved past her.
Bridget wiped her eyes and waited until she heard Nate leave the library before taking shelter in a nook between two massive mahogany bookcases.
It was a place she’d liked to sit as a child whenever she felt alone or afraid.
The enclosed nook shielded her from the world and gave her complete privacy whenever she needed it.
There, she crouched in the dark and let her tears flow freely—the heartache she’d been trying so hard to push aside was now exposed and raw like an open wound.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting in the concealed space before she’d finally exhausted her tears and lifted her head from her knees.
Her first thought was of Bijou. It was time for her to dry her eyes and collect the terrier from Cook.
She smiled as she imagined her little dog, snuggled next to the fire with his tummy full of scraps.
Perhaps she should leave him in Cook’s care tonight.
He hated to see her sad, and she hated to see him distressed.
Bridget started to get up when she heard voices and stopped to listen. A man and a woman had entered the library.
“I tell you, I can’t do it anymore.” A woman spoke in a hushed voice, and Bridget strained to hear. “She’s put me in confinement. I’m hardly allowed out of my room. And it’s all for nothing. If there truly was a babe then I could bear it, but—”
“There will be a babe,” a man’s voice interjected. “Just give it more time.”
“We’ve given it five years!”
The speakers, Bridget realized, were Mr. and Mrs. Harley. Good Lord, she was inadvertently eavesdropping on a private conversation between a husband and wife. How awful! Bridget pressed herself against the wall, wishing it would open up and swallow her so she could disappear.
“Things are different now. I have a plan. One that will guarantee us a child.”
“Do you mean the maidservant?” Mrs. Harley’s tone grew bitter.
Bridget stifled her gasp with her hand.
There was a heavy silence.
“Did you think I didn’t know?”
“I’m doing it for us. She doesn’t mean anything to me,” he said defensively.
“Which one is it? The pretty redhead or the plain brunette?”
Abigail and Sarah! Bridget’s eyes widened in the darkness. She could not believe what she was hearing. Did Nate know about this? If so, it was far worse than he’d let on.
“It doesn’t matter which one. The only thing that matters is that we get what we need. If we don’t, my aunt will cut us out of her will. Is that what you want?”
“How do you know this plan will work? What if you are the one who can’t sire children?”
“What a thing to say to your husband!” Mr. Harley said. “The responsibility to bear a child lies with the woman.”
“I realize as much. Believe me, I am keenly aware of my failure to give you a son.” Her voice faltered. “I’m sorry. I spoke out of malice.”
“No, you didn’t. The truth is that the same has been suggested to me. Apparently, there are such occurrences in men, and I have taken that possibility, and the one that the housemaid herself could be barren, into consideration.”
“How so?”
“Lord Frederick has agreed to help—for a fee.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“There are two willing maidservants,” Mr. Harley said slowly. “If you understand my meaning. So, we have twice the chance of ending up with a babe, or if both women bear children, then we shall call them twins.”
“Do you mean to say Frederick would be willing to give up his child?”
“More than willing. He says he has several already.”
“Good Lord! By whom? No, don’t answer that. But tell me, how will we fool your aunt? Don’t you think she’ll eventually notice I’m not with child?”
“We’ll go to the continent—all of us—until after the birth.”
“How can you be sure the maidservants will give up their babes?”
“Because they are shallow young women with few scruples, and we can make them rich—at least richer than either could ever hope to be.”
Bridget inhaled sharply. She could not believe what she was hearing.
“Shh,” his wife said. “I heard something. Is there someone else in this room?”
Bridget held her breath as she heard them moving about the library.
“I don’t see anybody,” Mr. Harley said.
“Listen,” Mrs. Harley said.
A short silence followed. Bridget held her breath and held still. Suddenly, she heard footsteps. A single pair of booted feet. A man! But leaving, or entering the room? Or moving toward her? Had she been discovered? Oh no!
Then she heard Frederick’s voice. “Mr. and Mrs. Harley, what a pleasant surprise.”
She let out her breath and sank against the shelf as he continued, “Are you planning on a little reading before bed, madam?”
“Yes, I have found what I want and was just going upstairs. Good evening, gentlemen.” Bridget heard the swish of skirts and the soft pad of kid slippers as Mrs. Harley exited the library.
“Well, we’d best get to the lake. One of us needs to get a maid with child, so your aunt doesn’t leave you to fend for yourself. Which one will you take tonight? The redhead or her dark-haired friend?” Frederick said.
Bridget stood trembling and covered her face with her hands. What was going on in her home? Her papa would turn in his grave if he knew. And what about Nate? Did he know about this scheme? Is that why he’d cut short her interview with Abigail and Sarah?
Well, she would not let it continue. It was time for Nate to dismiss Abigail and Sarah and get his awful friends out of Villa De Lacey! This was not the plan she had in mind for her ancestral home. She wanted all of these evil, plotting people gone.