As Lord Eamont turned his tearful face to his wife, she raised her hand and slapped him. The sound reverberated through the hall amidst the gasps from the onlooking guests.
“Mama!” Adelia and Lydia shrieked simultaneously.
“Good heavens!” Lady Darby said.
But Lady Eamont did not attempt to explain herself or apologize. She simply turned and walked away.
Lord Eamont didn’t flinch. He stood staring at nothing as if numb to the world as his wife’s anger spread across his cheek.
“Come along.” Frederick put his arm around Lord Eamont’s shoulders. “Let’s get you a brandy.”
“Someone bring me a sheet,” Nate shouted to no one in particular. “We need to cover her.”
“Yes.” Bridget nodded, relieved that Nate was able to think of all the practicalities when the sight of Madam Bouffant’s body had rendered her paralyzed.
“We also need to send for someone,” Nate said. “Is there a constable in the area?”
“No constable, but we have Magistrate Hunt, and perhaps we should send for Doctor Elias, too. Although, he can’t do anything to help poor Madam Bouffant now,” Bridget said as the cold reality set in. One of their guests was dead! How had this happened? Was it an accident, or was it foul play? She shivered, fearing the latter and wishing for the warmth and comfort of Nate’s embrace again. But that moment had now passed.
“Agreed. I think it is wise to fetch both men,” Nate said, his tone brisk. “The doctor will determine the cause of death.”
Bridget shuddered.
“What do you mean, ‘the cause of death’?” Aunt Marianne appeared on the landing. “The foolish woman fell down the stairs. It’s plain for all to see.”
“It’s true, miss.” Eliza, still dressed in black mourning attire andcarrying a white sheet folded under her arm, appeared next to Aunt Marianne. The two stood at the top of the stairway like reapers of death, dressed in crepe, looking down upon Madam Bouffant with passionless white faces.
For a moment, everyone fell silent, looking at the pair as if mesmerized by the scene. Then Bijou’s barking broke through the silence.
“You need to tend to that dog of yours, Bridget,” Aunt Marianne scolded.
Bridget had forgotten about Bijou locked in her room, and after a stretch of silence, the poor little lad had taken to barking furiously again.
“Not to worry, miss. I can take Bijou to the kitchen.” Eliza moved down the stairs with the sheet.
“Thank you, Eliza, but I’d like to tend to him myself. You go and help with the breakfast room.” Bridget wanted nothing more than to bury her face in Bijou’s soft fur and bask in the comfort of his innocent love.
Nate took the sheet and went to cover Madam Bouffant’s body, while Eliza and Bridget went back up the stairs.
“I think we’ve all had a terrible shock.” Bridget paused at the top of the steps and addressed the guests. “There’s nothing more to see. It’s early yet, so perhaps it’s best if everyone returns to their rooms and tries to get some more rest. The magistrate will be here soon, and I expect he will want space to do his work.”
“I should jolly well think so,” Lady Darby said. “All this nonsense has disrupted my sleep. I do hope you are still intending to serve us breakfast. My nephew’s wife must keep up her strength if she is to deliver him a healthy son. She’s already a waif. If that child survives, it will be a miracle.”
She looked to her nephew, who stood beside his pale, thin wife. The woman appeared to cringe in fear at Lady Darby’s remark. Her husband put his arm around her shoulders and led her back to herroom.
“You needn’t worry,” Aunt Marianne said coldly to Lady Darby. “Breakfast will be served at nine o’clock as usual.”
The lady harrumphed and bustled back to her room.
“Well, I, for one, don’t see what all the commotion is about. If that woman fell down the stairs, the fault was all hers. She was a drunk.”
Bridget looked at the speaker in shock. It was the beautiful Lady Luxton. How could someone so angelic looking speak so coldly and cruelly of the dead?
“She’s broken her neck. Of course, there’s a ruckus,” snapped Mr. Jefferson, who was standing next to Dodsworth with his hands in the pockets of his silk robe. “Unless the breaking of necks is an everyday occurrence inyourhouse, Lady Luxton?” He raised his eyebrows at the beauty.
Lady Luxton’s plump, cherry lips curved into a smile. “We all die,” she said, “some sooner than others. It’s as simple as that. No need to be a bleeding heart about it. You didn’t know her that well—ordidyou?” Her tone was accusatory.
Jefferson’s face blanched.
