Chapter Twenty-Four
“Lord, no! Not again!” Bridget stumbled back in fright upon seeing the body floating face down in the shallow rectangular fountain lorded over by Venus. Abigail’s unmistakable red hair fanned out in the water beneath the statue of Venus like Hamlet’s tragic, drowned Ophelia.
“I found her just like this,” Thomas said, his voice shaky. “She’s drowned. Poor lass.”
Nausea rose in Bridget’s throat as she surveyed the scene—a dead woman, cloaked in black, floating in a fountain, her lantern flung to the side—just as hers had been.
Suddenly, an immense terror swept over her as fragments of that night returned to her mind.
She recalled the cold darkness and the sense of a malevolent presence behind her.
She hadn’t tripped. Someone had pushed her.
And she felt certain that the same thing had happened to Abigail.
Someone had wanted them both dead and this time, the killer had made sure the job was properly done.
“Abigail didn’t just drown,” Bridget said out loud. “She was murdered. I’m certain of it.”
“I think you’re right.” Nate gripped the back of his neck as he stared at the drowned housemaid. The sheer horror on his face assured Bridget that he could no longer pretend all was well at Villa De Lacey. There was no mistaking it now—a killer lurked amongst them.
“Who could have done this?” Nate’s jaw tightened and Bridget could see the fury in his expression. “It’s utterly heinous!”
“Poor Abigail! She must have been so frightened.” A cold fear passed through Bridget, and she wrapped her arms around herself. It could have been me lying in that fountain.
“We must act quickly to keep the guests from this scene.” Nate paced.
“Thomas, help me pull her out. Bridget, go inside and get a sheet to cover the body, then send the footman to fetch the magistrate. But tell him to be discreet.” Nate glanced at the sky.
Dawn was breaking through the clouds. “We still have a few hours before the guests start filtering outside for their morning activities.”
Bridget had been rooted to the spot, but the idea of the guests enduring the sight of Abigail’s bloated dead body propelled her forward, and she raced to the house with Bijou following at her heels.
*
Less than an hour later, Magistrate Hunt stood over Abigail’s lifeless body. He peeled back the sheet, exposing the young woman’s blue lips and dull green eyes that stared into the abyss. She looked as cold and lifeless as a neglected porcelain doll.
The magistrate kneeled and smoothed his hand over her eyes, closing them, and she instantly looked more peaceful.
“So, you think someone killed her, do you?” Magistrate Hunt turned to Nate.
“There doesn’t seem to be any injuries to her body—no blows to the head or marks around her neck. Could your housemaid swim?”
“I doubt it, but it’s a long shallow fountain. All she had to do was stand up,” Nate pointed out.
“Not if she was inebriated or otherwise impaired.” The magistrate stood up and surveyed the area. His eyes landed on Bijou, who sniffed something on the ground, whimpered, and retreated.
“I say, what’s the mutt found?” Magistrate Hunt asked.
“What is it, boy?” Bridget bent to stroke the pup’s fur as he cowered next to her. “What scared you?”
Magistrate Hunt stepped forward and inspected the area where Bijou had been sniffing. Then he bent and picked something off the ground. “It’s a small pouch of mushrooms,” he said, emptying the little bag and holding the contents in his palm for the others to see.
Bridget, Nate, and Thomas peered at the fungi in the magistrate’s leather-gloved hand.
Bridget glanced at Nate, who said, “It think it’s—”
“Deadly,” Thomas said decisively.
All three turned to the gardener.
“Deadly?” Bridget asked. “Do you mean these wild mushrooms? The ones that give people Kubla Khan visions? Why should they be deadly?”
“No.” Thomas’s gray eyes danced with fear. “These might look the same as the harmless ones, but they’re not. These here will kill you.”
“Good Lord!” Nate said. “I warned them about this! I specifically told them to check with you, Thomas.”
“Aye, so they did. I begged them not to go hunting for wild mushrooms by their selves.” Thomas’s lined face took on a pained expression. “That’s why I picked the mushrooms for them myself—I know which ones are right. I gave them the right ones, I swear it.”
“Of course, you did, Thomas,” Bridget said.
There was no doubt in her mind that Thomas had picked the correct mushrooms. He’d lived in the Lake District all his life and was an expert on its plants.
Even with her knowledge, she always left the mushroom foraging to Cook or Thomas, and she never let Bijou near any wild fungi.
“This poor lass must have gone out looking for some on her own.” Thomas’s entire face seemed to crumble as he stared at the mushroom.
“Just which gentlemen are you referring to, Mr. Thomas?” Magistrate Hunt asked.
The gardener glanced at Nate, clearly afraid to articulate the truth aloud.
“I believe he is referring to our guests Lord Frederick, Lord Dodsworth, and Mr. Jefferson,” Nate said. “They read about vision-inducing fungi in some ancient text and wanted to use them for relaxation purposes—as the poets do with laudanum.”
“Why didn’t they use laudanum then?” the magistrate barked. “It’s much safer than foraging for wild mushrooms.”
Nate shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose they thought this would be more interesting.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with your housemaid.
Why would she go in search of vision-inducing mushrooms?
It seems like very odd behavior for a maidservant.
” The magistrate raised his eyebrows at Bridget as if silently admonishing her.
She shrank back, remembering his painful rebuke when Madam Bouffant died—“Mr. De Lacey would not have approved.”
“You’re correct, magistrate.” Nate interrupted the cold silence that followed. “It certainly is odd behavior for a servant, and we do not condone it. I warned Abigail a few days ago about her inappropriate conduct and threatened her with prompt dismissal if it continued.”
“Is that so?” Magistrate Hunt’s creased brows cleared, and he nodded his approval. “Well, then, it seems clear that your wayward servant ate a poisonous mushroom after mistaking it for harmless fungi and suffered the deadly consequences. It’s a case of bad judgment all around.”
“Aye, but death wouldn’t be immediate,” Thomas said. “There’d be a good deal of stomach pain, nausea, and the like that could last for some time.”
“Yes, well, that makes sense. I conclude that she ate the fungi at some point before leaving the servants’ quarters and then became weak and sick as she ventured into the garden where she stumbled toward the fountain, no doubt wanting a sip of water or to cool her face.
She must have been carrying this purse of mushrooms on her person and dropped it at some point before she fell into the water.
With the poison eating away at her insides, she didn’t have the strength to save herself. ”
“What if she didn’t pick them herself? What if someone gave them to her, letting her think they were the harmless fungi,” Bridget said.
“And who would have done that? Do you have reason to believe that one of those fine gentlemen Mr. Squires mentioned wanted her dead?”
“No.” Nate held up his hands. “I believe Miss De Lacey is merely expressing her concern because this is the second death at Villa De Lacey.”
“The second accidental death,” Magistrate Hunt said.
“Both of which resulted from poor judgment and bad behavior. I do not doubt that this wayward housemaid of yours had no one but herself to blame for her death. You say she was behaving in a manner unbecoming to a servant of a respectable household and had received a warning along with the threat of dismissal. That does not bode well for her character. I hesitate to malign the characters of your reputable gentlemen guests by insinuating that they might have had something to do with the death of this servant.” Magistrate Hunt turned to give Bridget a stern look that seemed to say, “Do better next time, Miss De Lacey.”
Bridget hung her head, her chest flaming from the burn of the magistrate’s condemnation. Nate was right to discourage him from investigating this murder. Clearly, he thought Abigail deserved her fate just like Madam Bouffant. The investigation would fare better in her and Nate’s hands.
*
Nate was relieved once the magistrate departed with Abigail’s body, but he knew it would be a long time before he could erase the disturbing image of the young housemaid floating in the water beneath the statue of Venus, whose flowing tresses, voluptuous physique, and youthful glory were an ironic reminder of what the nubile Abigail had been like in life.
“What are we to do?” Bridget asked, settling Bijou on her lap once they were safely ensconced in the study. “How are we to break this news to the servants? And what about the guests? They are all sure to leave once they learn there has been yet another death on the grounds of Villa De Lacey.”
“We don’t tell them,” Nate said. “Not just yet anyway.”
“How is that going to work?”
“We’ll say that Abigail has left our service and returned home to Yorkshire for a family matter.
Then, all we need to do is observe everyone’s reactions and behaviors.
The guilty party is bound to reveal him or herself.
” The very notion made Nate sick to his stomach.
He hated having to spy on his friends, but what choice did he have?
Abigail’s death was not an accident, despite what the magistrate had concluded.
“Can it be that simple?” Bridget stroked Bijou’s white fur as he snuggled into the crook of her arm.