“Come now, Jefferson,” Dodsworth said. “Don’t waste your time on that”—he pressed his lips together—“unfeeling creature.”
As Dodsworth led his friend away, Jefferson shook his head and Bridget heard him mumble, “It’s Andrew all over again.”
She turned to look at the now-covered body on the floor. Was Madam Bouffant’s neck broken? If so, how did Mr. Jefferson know? And who was Andrew? Moreover, what had Lady Luxton been insinuating? Had Jefferson been another one of Madam Bouffant’s patrons?
*
Still shaken fromthe ordeal, Bridget returned to her room with heraunt. Bijou accosted her the minute she opened the door, and she scooped him up in her arms and pressed him close. The image of Madam Bouffant’s corpse was still imprinted on her brain, and Bijou’s warm, lively little body gave her a measure of comfort. Bridget shut her eyes, trying to erase the image of death, but she could not. Instead of Madam Bouffant’s lifeless body at the bottom of the stairs, she envisioned her papa lying there—blood pooling from his head the way it had from Madam Bouffant’s.
Bijou squealed, shaking Bridget out of her terrible reverie. She loosened her grip on the little dog, whom she’d squeezed too tightly in her distress.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to her pup, stroking his soft fur as he squirmed to lick her face.
“What did you say?” Aunt Marianne stood by the window, gazing at the rain.
“Nothing,” Bridget said. “I was merely trying to calm Bijou.”
Aunt Marianne sighed and turned to face her niece. “Good Lord, Bridget, what have we done? This used to be a respectable house. We used to be respectable people.”
“And we still are, Aunt.” Bridget walked to her bed with Bijou and sank onto her soft mattress. Exhaustion suddenly took hold, overwhelming every part of her body. “There is nothing disrespectful about trying to keep a roof over your head.”
Her aunt turned back to the window, and for a few minutes they both stayed silent, listening to the pattering rain. Then her aunt spoke again. “What was that woman doing creeping about the house while everyone else was asleep?”
What indeed?Bridget thought, as she caressed Bijou. Surely, Lord Eamont wasn’t foolish enough to invite his mistress to his chamber, which was on the doorstep of his wife’s room. Then again, maybe he didn’t ask her. Maybe Madam Bouffant went of her own accord. She’d enjoyed flaunting her liaison with Lord Eamont in front of his wife,and Bridget doubted she’d heeded her warning to stop. In that case, maybe she didn’t fall after all.
“The woman’s room was downstairs,” Aunt Marianne continued. “There’s only one reason she would have come upstairs, and it’s utterly disgraceful.”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Bridget said more as a warning to herself than her aunt.
Aunt Marianne fell silent again, and Bridget lay back on her bed with Bijou snuggled in the crook of her arm. How she wished she could go to sleep and wake up to find that all of this had been a bad dream.
“I’ve had difficulty sleeping of late,” Aunt Marianne continued to gaze out of the window as she spoke. “And I see a lot from my room. Things come alive here after dark. Unmarried men and women mingling together unchaperoned in the middle of the night. It’s shameful.”
Bridget propped herself up on her forearm. “How can you see anything after dark? It’s pitch-black outside.”
“Not when the full moon is out.” Aunt Marianne turned briefly from the window to face Bridget. “And they carry lanterns. I see them moving about.”
“Well, that’s not a surprise. There’s no mischief in wanting to see the lake under the full moon. It’s lovely.”
“Oh, there’s mischief about, don’t be fooled. That actress was always roaming around in the company of men. It doesn’t surprise me she ended up at the bottom of the stairs.”
“Aunt!” Bridget sat up. “How could you say such a thing?”
“She was a sinner.” Aunt Marianne turned sharply on her words. “And your Mr. Squires—well, he’s not as innocent as you think.” She folded her arms and turned back to the window.
“What do you mean?” Bridget frowned, concern filling her chest.
“I’ve seen him in the garden with her. He’s no different from hisfriends.”
Bridget sighed. Who knew what her aunt thought she’d seen in the darkness? Her imagination could have been playing tricks on her. Bridget sank back onto her bed, resting her head against her soft pillow and snuggling close to Bijou, but she could not find peace. Her mind wandered back to her aunt’s comment. How many lovers had Madam Bouffant had? Could Nate have become one of them?
Just then, the door to her bedroom chamber opened, and Eliza stepped into the room. “I’ve come to help you ready yourself before the magistrate and doctor arrive.”
Bridget sat up. “Goodness, yes. I must hurry.” She slid off the bed and went to sit on the ottoman in front of her dresser. She smiled as Eliza approached her, pleased that her lady’s maid had disregarded her request to forgo her mourning attire. Eliza shared her loss and sorrow, and that was a great comfort to her.Lady Darby be damned!
Bridget handed her silver hairbrush to Eliza. “It’s a bad business this, isn’t it, miss?” Eliza said as she ran the brush through Bridget’s hair.
“It certainly is.” Bridget sighed, feeling the weight of the tragedy bear on her.
