“You really should get to London to see them if you can. But I suppose now that you’re a pauper it will be out of the question.”
Bridget pressed her lips together, stemming her retort. Papa had told her about the king’s menagerie, and she hadn’t liked the sound of it at all. In her opinion, animals did not belong in cages. The thought of all those people gawking at the poor beasts made her sad.
“‘Elephant eyes and a hawk’s nose,’ that’s what Mama always says.”
“There is nothing wrong with your features,” Bridget said, trying to soothe Adelia who was becoming increasingly agitated. “I am certain you will make a fine match one day.”
Adelia turned back to the mirror and addressed her reflection. “I was supposed to marry Mr. Squires, but I see the way he looks at you.” She lifted her eyes to meet Bridget’s in the mirror, sending a chill down Bridget’s spine.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Bridget said.
“Of course, you do. But it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? Lydia has secured herself a husband, and Mama will only let one of us marry. It was supposed to be me. I’m the eldest. She promised.”
“What do you mean she will only let one of you marry?”
“If she kept us both for herself, it would look very poorly for her. She’d have failed in society’s eyes if she raised two spinsters. But if one makes a good match and the other becomes sickly—too sickly to marry—then no one will criticize her. Pity her, yes, but not criticize. She likes to be in control, you see. And who will she control once her daughters are married? Not Papa. He is out of her reach.”
Bridget walked slowly back to her chair and sat down. “Adelia,” she said gently, “what do you mean by that?”
Adelia turned abruptly and narrowed her eyes at Bridget. “It’s Miss Eamont to you.”
“Yes, indeed.” Bridget stood. She’d had enough of Adelia’s games. “Well, as I said, it’s time for me to go and find my dog.”
“There’s no need for that.” Adelia strode toward Bridget. “I think I know what you’re really looking for.” She swooped down and reached into the back crevice of the chair Bridget had been sitting on. Then, to Bridget’s surprise, she pulled out a red-silk pouch.
“What is that?” Bridget eyed the pouch that Adelia dangled before her.
“Look inside and see,” Adelia said.
Bridget reached for the pouch and half expected Adelia to pull it back, but she allowed Bridget to snatch hold of it take and it from her. Even before she opened it, Bridget knew what was inside. She could feel the floral shape and weight of the brooch. She pulled open the strings and peeked inside. Sure enough, she’d been correct.
“How did you know it was there?”
“Because as soon as I saw that wretched woman lying at the foot of the stairs, I knew my mother wouldn’t let her take that brooch to her grave. So, I asked her about it, and she told me she took it from the whore’s room after her accident.”
I knew as much!
“Mama said that she had every right to take it. The brooch belongs to her. It’s part of a set, and Madam Bouffant had stolen it from her.” Adelia snarled rather than spoke her words, and Bridget wondered at whom she was expressing her anger. Was it her mother, her father, or his mistress? Whom did she hate the most?
“So, your mother said she went to Madam Bouffant’s room after she fell down the stairs and found the brooch,” Bridget reiterated, wanting to be clear about what Adelia was saying.
“That’s what she said, but who knows. She may have taken it before.”
“Before what?”
Adelia shrugged.
“Adelia,” Bridget spoke as gently as she could, “do you think your mama could have—well—pushed Madam Bouffant down the stairs in a fit of anger?” She braced herself for an outburst of scorn and anger from Adelia, but to her surprise, the young woman threw back her head and laughed.
“Do I think she did it? I don’t know. Do I think she’s capable of doing it? Yes.”
“Adelia.” As if she were trying to calm an agitated cat, Bridgetwanted to proceed carefully. “Why do you think your mama is capable of murder?”
“Murder? Did I say murder?” She tossed her head. “I didn’t.”
“But, you said you think her capable of pushing Madam Bouffant down the stairs.”
The young woman shrugged. “She’s capable of great cruelty.”
