Both housemaids frowned.
“No, sir,” Abigail said. “All the house guests were asleep and the servants down in the kitchen at the early hour.”
“We were frightened,” Sarah reiterated. “That’s why we ran and hid, honest.” The maid looked from Bridget to Nate as if appealing for his help. “She were dead. And some folks say that the spirit of the newly dead sometimes lingers behind.”
Bridget wasn’t impressed by their innocent act. They may not have stolen anything, and she didn’t doubt that they’d been genuinely frightened, but they still weren’t telling the whole truth. “Is that the only reason you ran, or was it because you were half an hour late starting your work, and you didn’t want anyone to notice?” She didn’t intend for the housemaids to be reprimanded, but she wanted them to know that she knew they’d lied. Aunt Marianne was in charge of overseeing the servants, but she’d barely ventured out of her room of late. She’d been severely wounded by the way the guests continued to treat her, and their cruel comments had made her lose her spirit. Bridget knew she would need to take charge, and she wanted the housemaids to know that she was paying attention. After all, if they were prepared to lie about one thing to avoid being reprimanded, why not another?
Abigail and Sarah started to protest and reaffirm their innocence, but Bridget stopped them, saying, “You’re not in trouble. All I want to know is what kept you up so last night that you weren’t able to rise on time this morning.”
“I think that’s enough questions for today,” Nate suddenly interjected.
“Excuse me.” Bridget turned and glared up at him. “I’d like to know why they were late,” she repeated.
“Is that necessary? They have had a terrible shock.” He smiled at the housemaids. “I think the two of you need a rest. Why don’t you take the afternoon off?”
The maids’ faces lit up.
“Do you mean it, sir?” Abigail looked at him with pure adoration.
“I do. It’s been a difficult day for everyone. You may go and get some rest now.”
The maids sprang out of their seats, curtsied quickly to Nate, and without giving Bridget so much as a glance, shot out of the room.
Bridget turned to Nate, her chest flaming. What was he trying to hide? What was it that he didn’t want her to know about these housemaids or himself for that matter?
*
For the firsttime since Nate had agreed to revamp Villa De Lacey, Bridget felt disempowered in her own home. His word was the law, not hers. Villa De Lacey belonged to him, not her. And Abigail and Sarah were his servants, not hers. She’d felt that keenly today and suddenly understood how Aunt Marianne must have been feeling of late.
Wanting nothing more than to hold Bijou in her arms, Bridget went directly from the study to the library. The terrier sat up in his basket when Bridget entered the room, greeting her with his wagging tail and a flurry of excited yips. She clapped her hands, indicating that he should come to her, and Bijou sprang from his bed.
“It looks like you’ve had a good rest.” She petted the pup and then scooped him up in her arms. Pressing him close, she wished she could retreat to the privacy of her chamber with him, but she had work to do. So, instead, she made her way downstairs to Madam Bouffant’s room. She needed to find that brooch.
Bridget pushed open the door to Madam Bouffant’s chamber and gasped. The room was a complete shamble. Clothes were strewn all over, like someone had already searched the place. She put Bijou down and he darted inside and proceeded to sniff the clothing. Could it havebeen Lady Eamont? Or had Madam Bouffant been searching for something herself? Had she lost the brooch? Perhaps this mess was the reason she’d visited Lord Eamont in his chamber rather than inviting him to hers. Why else would she venture upstairs to see Lord Eamont when his room was next to his wife’s chamber? It didn’t make any sense. Unless Madam Bouffant wanted Lady Eamont to see her. Perhaps, despite her promise to be discreet, she wanted to get revenge for the disparaging way in which Lady Eamont had spoken to her.
Bridget rubbed her forehead and scanned the mess. She shook her head. All she had was questions and no answers.
Bijou rooted around the room, sniffing every article of clothing and object as Bridget picked up Madam Bouffant’s overturned carpet bag and started to fold and pack the strewn clothing inside it. There was no sign of the brooch amongst the chaos. Once she’d finished packing away Madam Bouffant’s clothing, she double-checked the drawers and searched every corner of the room. Still, she found no sign of the brooch. It was no longer amongst Madam Bouffant’s possessions. Someone had indeed taken the brooch, and the most obvious person was Lady Eamont.
She would need to search Lady Eamont’s room—but how? They could arrange a tea party in the garden to get everyone out of the house and gathered in one place, but the viscountess had brought her own lady’s maid who was bound to be lurking about her mistress’s room. It seems Lady Eamont and her daughters kept the maid very busy, and Bridget doubted they’d let her rest while they were outside enjoying a garden tea. Then there was the matter of Lord Eamont’s valet. He too seemed to have a myriad of tasks, so he’d likely be out and about as well. If only she could rely on Nate to help her. But that was out of the question until he stopped hiding things from her. She could no longer trust him. Perhaps, she could arrange something for the servants.I need something to occupy both the guests and the servants. Something that will enable me to slip away and do a thorough search. Butwhat?
Bridget arched her back and exhaled. Exhaustion suddenly took hold of her. She needed her own space—if only for a few minutes. She and Bijou returned to her room, the dog cheerfully leading the way as if he knew where she was heading.
Once inside her room, she collapsed onto her bed with Bijou and lay back. How many happy hours had she spent in her beloved room? Never did she think she’d lose what her grandfather had built. She’d even promised herself that she’d only marry a man who’d agree to live at Villa De Lacey for at least half the year. And now, everything was lost. Her plan to keep her home by turning it into an inn had been a fantasy, and it was failing. One of their guests had potentially been murdered. And worse, it seemed that Nate was hiding information from her—no doubt to protect his rich friends. She hadn’t told him what her aunt had witnessed from her window at night, reasoning that Aunt Marianne might have been mistaken or was likely making something out of nothing. But when Nate cut her off after she questioned the maids about their late-night activities, effectively ending the interview, her suspicion grew. What did Nate have to hide? Had these moonlight activities her aunt claimed to have witnessed somehow led to Madam Bouffant’s death? If so, who was Nate protecting? Is that why he’d been reluctant to ask the magistrate to launch an investigation into Madam Bouffant’s death?
She sat up and reached for the miniature portraits beside her bed—one of her handsome papa with his twinkling blue eyes and smart mustache—and one of her beautiful mama, whose blonde hair, blue eyes, and petite features Bridget had inherited.
She gazed at the portraits, an ache filling her heart.How could I have been so naive to think this plan would work?Tears pooled in her eyes, and one slid down her cheek just as her the door to her chamber creaked open. Bridget inhaled sharply.
“Who is it?” she called out.
“It’s only Eliza, miss.” Her lady’s maid stood in the doorway in her mourning dress, embodying loyalty and faithfulness. Bridget’s heart swelled. She got up and went to embrace the startled servant. “Oh, Eliza, thank you.”
Eliza stiffened. She wasn’t one for hugs, but she did her best to comfort Bridget by patting her gently on the back.
“There, there, Miss Bridget. Come and sit down. It’s been a trying day. How about I go and make you a strong cup of tea?”
“That sounds lovely, but mind you make enough tea for two. You look like you could use a strong cup too.”
