“I expect the guests will all want to go home now, won’t they?” Eliza said.
“Oh, I do hope not.” Bridget bit her lip. She hadn’t thought about the effect the death would have on the other guests.Especially, if the magistrate suspects foul play…
“I dare say it will depend on what the magistrate and the doctor determine,” Aunt Marianne said as if she’d read Bridget’s thoughts. “If they determine it was an accident, the guests have nothing to fear.”
“Of course, it was an accident!” Bridget exclaimed. “What else could it have been? Surely, we don’t have a murderer in the house.” Although the idea had crossed Bridget’s mind, saying it out loud filled her with dread.
Chapter Thirteen
Nate and Bridgetwere seated in the parlor, nursing cups of tea, when Magistrate Hunt and Doctor Elias arrived. The rest of the guests had been asked to remain in their rooms. As it was still very early in the morning, they did not object. Aside from Lord Eamont and Frederick, most of the guests seemed annoyed to have had their sleep disrupted by Madam Bouffant’s untimely death.
Magistrate Hunt peeled back the sheet Nate had placed over Madam Bouffant and inspected the corpse. He studied the angle of her body, looking up at the stairs and then back down at her several times. “Hmm.” He ran a hand over his bushy beard and frowned. “What do you think happened here, doctor?”
Doctor Elias, a short man of about five-and-sixty years, had a shiny bald head, small brown eyes, and rather large ears. He knelt, peered at the body, and lifted Madam Bouffant’s head slightly off the ground. The blood coming from her wound had congealed, causing a large patch of her hair to stick to the floor as the doctor lifted her head, and Nate saw Bridget flinch at the sight. He itched to comfort her but restrained himself from doing so.
“A terrible accident. It looks like she tumbled down the stairs and hit her head on the marble floor. Her neck is broken, and her body badly battered from the fall.”
Bridget gasped. “A broken neck, did you say?”
“Would she have died instantly, doctor? No suffering?” Nate emphasized the latter, hoping the doctor would catch his hint and providesome relief to Bridget.
“It’s likely, but it’s hard to say for certain,” the doctor replied, much to Nate’s irritation.
“Could-could someone have pushed her?” Bridget’s voice trembled slightly.
Nate tensed. He knew what she was thinking—that Lady Eamont may have pushed the woman. And it was possible, but not very probable. Still, if Madam Bouffant had been foolish enough to visit Lord Eamont in his chambers with his wife in the very next room, it could have sent Lady Eamont to the brink. Despite Bridget’s request that Madam Bouffant keep her distance from the viscount, Nate thought it more than likely that the courtesan had ignored Bridget’s warning. Men like Lord Eamont who’d been entitled all their lives did not take kindly to being rejected, and their mistresses aimed to please them.
“I suppose someone could have pushed her.” Dr. Elias took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the blood off his hands. “But why would you think such a thing?”
“Is there anyone in this house that would have reason to hurt this woman?” Magistrate Hunt straightened his shoulders and directed his question at Bridget.
Bridget glanced at Nate. He shook his head slightly to indicate she shouldn’t say what she was thinking—after all, one didn’t go around accusing a viscountess of murder without first obtaining solid proof.
She wavered as if deciding whether or not to open Pandora’s box. Finally, she shrugged and said, “One never knows. Shouldn’t you do an investigation of some sort?”
The magistrate frowned. “Doctor Elias has determined that the woman fell, broke her neck, and cracked her head. He sees no evidence of foul play. Unless you are privy to some incriminating information that I don’t yet know about, I see no reason for any further investigation.” He paused, looking expectantly at Bridget, butshe said nothing. “I will need to gather a few details about the deceased from you at any rate, so why don’t we go somewhere to talk? And then perhaps the two of you can give me more insight into the situation.” His gaze moved from Bridget to Nate.
“Certainly,” Nate said. “There’s a study upstairs.”
“Very good.” The magistrate nodded.
Nate led the way to the study. Once inside, he invited the magistrate to sit.
“I think I’ll take the chair behind the desk if you don’t mind. I’m going to need to make use of that quill pen and some paper.” Magistrate Hunt nodded toward the writing instruments.
“Of course.” Nate sat next to Bridget across from the magistrate, feeling much like a schoolboy at the headmaster’s study. “There’s paper in the drawer. Use as much as you need.”
The magistrate extracted a piece of paper and dipped the feathered quill into the inkwell. “Now, shall we begin with the deceased’s full name.”
“Clarissa Bouffant,” Nate and Bridget said simultaneously. They’d both heard Lord Eamont cry out Madam Bouffant’s Christian name after he’d seen her lying at the bottom of the stairs.
Magistrate Hunt wrote her name on the paper and then looked up, quill in hand. “Her age?”
Both Nate and Bridget shook their heads. “I’m afraid I don’t know. One isn’t required to give one’s age when visiting an inn,” Nate said.
“Do you have any idea where she was from?”
“I believe she was born in Paris but currently lives in London,” Bridget said.
