Chapter Twenty-Six #2
“As you know, I recently experienced a devastating loss of my own, so I understand your pain. But there is still hope. You must stay positive. I am certain you will soon find yourself with child again.”
Mrs. Harley shook her head. “I shan’t. I can’t…” The rest of her sentence seemed to have been strangled in her throat, and she was unable to continue.
A stab of guilt almost made Bridget abandon her task, but self-preservation propelled her forward. “What do you mean you can’t?” she asked as gently as possible.
“I was never with child.” Mrs. Harley placed a hand on her stomach. “Although, I started to believe I was. The mind can play such wonderful tricks, can it not?” She smiled through her tears as though the memory of her delusion brought her pleasure.
“But Abigail was with child, wasn’t she?” Bridget asked, maintaining the same gentle tone.
Mrs. Harley nodded. “She claimed to have been. She told Mr. Harley that she’d missed her courses—although it did seem rather soon—only a matter of days. Still, the hope she gave us…” Mrs. Harley shook her head and dabbed her tears.
“So, her child was Mr. Harley’s?”
Mrs. Harley jerked her head up as though she’d just woken from a trance. “No—I—what are you implying?” She feigned ignorance.
“Don’t be alarmed, Mrs. Harley. Such practices are not uncommon and quite understandable,” Bridget lied. She had no idea if such practices were common, but they were certainly unknown to her.
“Yes, of course. I forget that you were once—well, before your father’s…
” She frowned. “It seems all is lost for both of us. Lady Darby knows I am barren. She will disinherit my husband.” Mrs. Harley twisted her hands.
“Oh, she’s a wickedly cruel woman. I think it’s her constant monitoring and harsh criticism of me that has made me sick and unable to keep a babe in my womb. ”
“I think you might be right. And that’s why you must begin to heal yourself.” Bridget patted the woman’s hand. “Sitting on this settee all day won’t do you any good. Why don’t you wash your face and come outside? Bijou is due for his walk, and the fresh air will do you good.”
“You’re too kind, but I’m afraid to leave my room. Lady Darby is furious with me. I cannot face her.”
“Then it might please you to know that Lady Darby has shut herself away in her chamber, so you needn’t worry about her. And if we do happen to encounter her, then you will not be forced to face her alone. I shall be by your side.”
“You’re too kind, Miss De Lacey. I don’t deserve it.”
“Nonsense!” Bridget stood up to open the curtains and light flooded the room.
Then she walked to Mrs. Harley’s clothing chest. “Why don’t we find you something cheerful to wear?
” She opened the chest and pretended to scan the piles of neatly folded dresses, but her eye was fixed upon a red dress that sat amongst a separate pile of clothing.
Her heartbeat accelerated as she reached for the garment.
“This one will do nicely,” she said, snatching the dress from the pile. “It’s such a lovely red. You’ll feel much better once you put on something pretty.”
“Oh, not that one,” Mrs. Harley objected. “That one’s missing a button on the sleeve. You took it off the mending pile.”
“Missing a button?” Bridget said, her heart now pounding in earnest. She peered down at the small gold button on the left sleeve. It was identical to the one Nate had shown her.
“Do you know, Mr. Squires found a button lying in the grass that looks just like the one on this dress? He picked it up near the spot where I had my fall and thought it might belong to me. Shall I fetch it?”
Mrs. Harley paled.
“Are you quite well?” Bridget feigned concern.
“I feel rather dizzy all of a sudden. Perhaps it’s better if I rest.”
“If you wish. I’ll just take this dress with me and—”
“No!” Mrs. Harley said.
“But how will your lady’s maid mend your dress without the button?”
Mrs. Harley frowned. “Well, I suppose you’re right. She will need the button, but it’s not urgent. You needn’t rush. I’ll send her to collect it from you tomorrow.”
Bridget sauntered back to the settee, still holding the red dress. “What do you suppose your button was doing in the outer edge of the garden? You’ve been confined to your bed since you got here, and when you do venture outside, it’s only for a short stroll with your lady’s maid.”
“Some days, when I am feeling strong, we go for a longer walk. I must have lost it then.”
Bridget shook her head. “I don’t think Lady Darby would have permitted your lady’s maid to take you to the thicket where treacherous tree roots abound, and squirrels run underfoot. She would have been far too fearful that you would fall. But I’ll be happy to ask her for clarification.”
“Mayhap, a bird picked it up from the garden and dropped it in the thicket.” Mrs. Harley smoothed her dress and avoided looking at Bridget.
“That’s an idea,” Bridget said. “Or mayhap you followed me into the thicket, pushed me, and left me for dead.”
“Never!” Mrs. Harley half rose from her seat but then seemed to lose the energy she needed to stand up.
“How did you know I’d overheard your conversation with Mr. Harley in the library that night?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“You were worried that I was going to prevent Mr. Harley from carrying out his plan, weren’t you?”
“I’m tired. I’d like you to leave.” Mrs. Harley dropped her head in her hand.
Bridget stood up. “Perhaps, I should put my theory to the magistrate then. We’ll let him decide. Now that he has a murder to investigate—”
“Stop!” Mrs. Harley held up her hand. “It was me. I had a feeling someone else was in the library that night. So I pretended to retire to bed and then waited in the shadows to see if anyone followed Mr. Harley and Lord Frederick after they left. That’s when I saw you, emerging out of your hiding place.
I knew that you would tell Mr. Squires, and he’d put an end to the plan. ”
“So you followed me and tried to murder me?” Bridget asked.
“Of course not. I only wanted to frighten you—to divert your attention—and make you return home. But I didn’t push you. You tripped over a tree root just as you were told.”
“And you left me there, injured and alone, all night. I could have died. But, mayhap, that’s what you hoped would happen.”
Mrs. Harley dropped her gaze to her lap.
“I was frightened and desperate. You have no idea what it is like to be a barren woman who is desperate for a child. Month after month I disappoint my husband, his aunt, and most of all myself. Why? I’ve been good all my life.
I went to church like a good Christian woman, I was an obedient daughter, I married the man my father chose for me—yet I have failed as a woman. ”
“Abandoning an injured person who might very well bleed to death is neither good nor Christian,” Bridget said.
“Perhaps I have given up trying to be good.”
“Is it possible, then, that you grew jealous of Abigail? I’m certain it seemed like an injustice that she managed what you could not in such a short time.”
Mrs. Harley shook her head. “You’re wrong.
Abigail and Sarah were our only hope. Losing Abigail and her babe has cost us everything.
Lady Darby has learned about our scheme and will never believe Mr. Harley has a true heir unless she sees it growing in my belly daily and witnesses the midwife deliver it from my womb into her arms. When Abigail died, she took our future with her.
” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
“I am sorry to disappoint you Miss De Lacey, but I am not your killer.”
Bridget sighed. The woman was right. Mrs. Harley might have behaved reprehensibly, but she wasn’t guilty of murdering Abigail or Madam Bouffant.
Her time was wasted here. The killer needed to be rooted out, and she had to work fast, or he or she’d escape with the rest of the ton back to London for Queen Caroline’s impending trial.