Chapter Twenty
Bridget stepped out of her dark hiding place into the warm glow of the firelit room and felt an immediate sense of calm.
The library, with its wall of books and smell of leather, always soothed her spirit.
She turned to the fireplace and thrust out her hands, embracing the heat, while she stared into the dancing, orange flames, and thought about all that had gone on in the past few days.
There was no point talking to Nate. He’d only been humoring her and wasn’t actually on her side.
It infuriated her to think that he’d gone along with her “investigation” because he felt sorry for her.
She supposed in his mind, she was fragile because of the way her papa had died.
He claimed that what she really wanted was justice for her papa, and not Madam Bouffant.
But she knew the truth. Nate was making excuses because he didn’t have the courage to go against anyone in the ton.
He refused to acknowledge that Madam Bouffant had been murdered because the suspects were too important—too rich and powerful—to ever accuse them of murder.
In the meantime, the servants at Villa De Lacey were running wild, and she knew that Nate didn’t care to do a thing about it, so she would have to take matters into her own hands.
She reached for a lantern that stood above the fireplace, extracted the candle, and gently thrust the wick into the fire.
Once the wick caught light, she secured the candle back inside the lantern and set off for the lake.
Abigail and Sarah may have thought they were too clever to get caught, but she’d prove them wrong.
It was a chilly evening, and Bridget regretted stepping out sans coat as she weaved through the outer thicket of the garden.
To avoid being seen, she’d chosen to steer clear of the garden proper, which provided a direct path to the gates of Villa De Lacey.
She wanted to take Abigail and Sarah by surprise, catching them at the lake with Mr. Harley and Lord Frederick and then Nate would have no choice but to dismiss them.
Perhaps, his friends would then grow bored and depart as well. So be it.
But as Bridget continued her determined trek, weaving through the trees in the darkness, an eerie feeling came over her.
The night was filled with familiar noises—the rustle of leaves as owls took flight from the trees and the light, quick steps made by rabbits and other small animals going about their nocturnal business.
These were the comforting sounds of her childhood.
But as she approached the edge of the garden, Bridget thought she heard a heavier step behind her.
She turned abruptly, her heart drumming in her chest as she held up the lantern.
Its faint light proved to be useless for seeing anything more than a step in front of her.
“Is anyone there?” She shuddered, trying to keep her voice steady. “Nate?” she called, hoping more than anything to hear his voice. As angry as she’d been with him, she now longed for his presence by her side. But she was only met with silence.
Bridget narrowed her eyes, peering into the darkness, desperate to see who was out there.
But she heard and saw nothing. Yet she felt the unwanted presence—the life and breath of another person nearby.
She knew in her bones that someone else was there.
Oh, why had she marched out of the house alone like a petulant child when a murderer was on the loose?
“Hello,” Bridget called again, her voice shaky now.
Silence.
“I’m going down to the lake. Whose coming with me?” she sang the words, trying to sound light and cheerful. But inside her stomach rolled with fear. She swallowed. Her throat felt as dry as a dusty well.
She took a deep, calming breath. It’s only my imagination. No one is here. All I need to do is turn around and keep walking.
Just then a cold wind hit her from behind, extinguishing her candle. Darkness engulfed her. She turned on her heel and fled, her chest heavy with fear. Suddenly she flew forward, gasping the cold into her lungs as she grappled with the air. But gravity won. Then everything went black.
*
The sight of Bridget’s limp, muddied, and bloodied body almost brought Nate to his knees.
His valet had woken him only minutes before with the news that the gardener, Thomas, had found Miss Bridget outside, bleeding from the head and half frozen.
Upon hearing this, Nate had shoved on his robe and raced out of his room, just in time to see Thomas coming up the stairs with Bridget in his arms, followed by her weeping aunt, and faithful lady’s maid.
“Is she alive?” He looked frantically from the gardener to Aunt Marianne and back to Bridget’s listless body.
“Aye, luckily,” Thomas said. “But she’s chilled to the bone an’ dead weak. I’m afraid this nasty gash on her forehead cost her a lot of blood, sir.”
Aunt Marianne pressed a handkerchief to her face and whimpered. And Eliza stared at Nate with accusing black eyes.
“Let me take her.” Nate stretched out his arms to relieve the gardener’s burden. “I’ll see to it that you are rewarded for this act.”
“No, please! I want no reward. My act has nothing to do with kindness. I’ve known Miss Bridget since she were a wee girl, an’ I’d do anything to protect her. My reward will be laying her safely onto her bed if you please, sir.”
“Of course.” Nate stepped back and let the man pass. Despite Thomas’s advanced years, muscles bulged on the man’s arms and legs. He was still fit and strong enough to carry Bridget with ease.
Nate followed them into the room and as the gardener carefully lowered Bridget onto her bed he asked, “Has the doctor been called?”
“Aye,” Thomas said, turning to face Nate once Bridget was safely being tended to by her aunt and lady’s maid.
Nate tore his gaze from her still form and pale face. He swallowed, feeling helpless and somehow, at fault. “Good. I’ll go downstairs and wait for him.”
“Good idea, sir. We should leave the ladies to care for Miss Bridget,” Thomas said.
Nate nodded in agreement, though he had no desire to leave. He tried desperately to catch another glimpse of Bridget but Aunt Marianne bodily ushered the men out of the room and closed the door behind them.
“Tell me everything that happened,” Nate said as he walked downstairs with Thomas. “How did you find her?”
“I was making me way about the grounds as always this morning, seeing what needed tending to, and there she were, lying face down in the dirt. I got the fright of me life, I did, seeing her there. Almost thought my heart would give way. It looked to me like she tripped over a tree root. We have so many of them in the thicket.” Thomas shook his head.
“I can’t think why Miss Bridget were in the outer thicket of the garden at night.
She knows better. And she were without her pup.
Curious that. She always keeps her dog with her. ”
“Does anyone know where Bijou is?”
“Aye, Cook has him. She says Miss Bridget left the little beast with her overnight. She weren’t worried because Miss Bridget had done so before on occasion.”
“What about a lantern? Was she carrying one?”
“Aye, I found it beside her, the candle extinguished, of course. Poor lass.”
Nate nodded. It was obvious to him what had happened.
He’d abandoned the investigation into Madam Bouffant’s death and made light of Bridget’s concerns.
And then she’d decided to continue alone, taking it upon herself to play sleuth in the middle of the night.
He really was at fault. If anything happened to her, he’d never forgive himself.
*
It was not long before Doctor Elias arrived, but it seemed like an eternity to Nate.
He paced the carriageway outside Villa De Lacey, not caring that he still wore his nightshirt and robe.
He was consumed by a concoction of worry, guilt, and anger.
He worried that Bridget wouldn’t recover, felt guilt over his role in first encouraging and then dismissing her ideas about Madam Bouffant’s death, and he was furious with her for risking her safety.
How could she have wandered out into the garden alone like that?
If she died…No. He shook the thought from his mind.
Doctor Elias’s coach finally passed through the gates of Villa De Lacey and made its way up the driveway.
“She’s upstairs,” Nate said as the doctor stepped out of his carriage, clutching his black medicine bag. “Let me take you.”
“No need. I was present at Miss Bridget’s birth. I know in which room she resides.” The doctor swept past Nate, who followed him.
Eliza, who must have heard the doctor make his way up the stairs, opened the door to Bridget’s chamber before they had time to knock.
“It’s best you wait out here.” Dr. Elias turned to Nate as he attempted to cross the threshold into Bridget’s chamber. “The young lady may not be conscious, but she’ll want her privacy.”
Nate took a step back. “Of course,” he said. “I’ll be right outside.”
The doctor disappeared into the room. Eliza gave Nate a cold look as she curtseyed and then shut the door in his face.
Nate shuddered. Did Eliza blame him for what had happened to Bridget?
He couldn’t blame her, he admitted. The fact was, he’d let her down by dismissing her concerns…
The image of her still form, with her blond ringlets spread over her pillow like a halo around her beautiful pale face rose in his mind. If he had only been more reactive! He would not let her down again, he vowed.