Lady Eamont extracted the brooch from the pouch and affixed it to her dress, pricking her finger in the process. Blood seeped through the fingertip of her white glove, but she continued to secure the brooch.
“There,” she said, “Now it’s where it should be.” She stood up. “I thank you for bringing it back to me, Mr. Squires.”
“Yes, thank you, Squires.” Lord Eamont stood as well, albeit more slowly. “Do give some more thought to what we discussed. Your brother and I are quite determined to see our families joined.”
Nate stood and gave his departing guests a slight bow, hardly registering anything but the blood stain on Lady Eamont’s white glove.
*
Bridget slid intoher seat next to Nate at the dining room table and welcomed the bowl of white soup that the footman set before her. It had been a trying day. She’d hardly eaten a bite at Lydia’s tea celebration because she’d had to slip out early and search the chambers. And then her encounter with Adelia Eamont had been harrowing. She hadn’t had a chance to speak with Nate again after giving him the brooch during their ride, but what would Lady Eamont do once he gave it to the magistrate? She glanced across the table at the aforesaid lady and almost dropped her spoonful of soup.
Lady Eamont was wearing the brooch, proudly displayed on her chest.
How did she get it? Had Nate given it to her? Or had she somehow managed to steal it again?
But more importantly, why was she wearing it? Was it as some sort of badge of honor? Did she intend to advertise to everyone that she’d murdered Madam Bouffant?
She nudged Nate’s arm under the table, and when he turned to look at her, she tried to indicate with her eyes that he should look atLady Eamont. He must have gotten the message because he turned and looked, but his reaction was not what Bridget expected. Instead of appearing surprised, shocked, and outraged, he simply returned to eating his soup.
Bridget elbowed him a second time, and when he turned, she mouthed the word, “How?”
Nate picked up his glass of port and brought it to his mouth. “Later,” he mouthed back, his word hidden behind his glass, before taking a sip of his drink and then turning to say something to Frederick.
She shifted her gaze to Miss Adelia. The young lady seemed subdued—all trace of her earlier outburst and raw display of emotions gone—as if someone had given her a bout of laudanum to mute her. She was focused on her soup as if she had not even noticed the incriminating piece of jewelry on her mother’s chest.
Meanwhile, her sister Lydia sat beside her, chatting amiably about her upcoming wedding to all who cared to listen and Dodsworth, now seated beside his intended, looked forlorn. Next to him, Mr. and Mrs. Harley appeared equally miserable though in truth, Bridget had yet to see them smile since they’d arrived.
Apparently she wasn’t the only person observing the guests at the table, because suddenly Lady Darby said, “I say, isn’t that the dead woman’s brooch?”
Her words instantly shut off Lydia’s incessant chatter.
Once again, Bridget saved herself from dropping her spoon. She lowered it gently back into the bowl as she gaped at Lady Eamont, wondering what the woman’s response would be now that she was trapped.
“What, this?” Lady Eamont pointed to the brooch and spoke in a high tone as if to emphasize her surprise at being asked such a question. “Heavens, no! This brooch is part of a set, see?” She stuck out her hand to show the matching ring. “The one that the dead woman had was similar, as I remember, but not the same. Mine is one of a kind.”
“Very similar, I think.” Lady Darby dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “Perhaps hers was a counterfeit. It did look rather out of place with the rest of her outfit, as I remember.”
“Oh, yes, I wager it was most definitely a cheap copy.” Lady Eamont went back to taking tiny sips of her soup.
Bridget glanced at Nate again, but it seemed he was taking great pains to focus on his own bowl and not make eye contact with her. What on earth was going on?
*
“The investigation mustend, I’m afraid. We are going to have to accept that Madam Bouffant’s death was a tragic accident,” Nate said when they finally convened in the study once the after-dinner activities were over and most of the guests had retired to bed. Even so, they stood by the bookshelves, pretending to peruse the books as they conversed, lest anyone should stray into the library.
“I disagree. I think that is yet to be proven,” Bridget shot back. “Isn’t that what we agreed?”
“But we cannot prove anything. It’s all speculation.” Nate glanced down at the open book in his hand as though they were discussing its contents. “Besides, there’s no point. The magistrate is satisfied that Madam Bouffant fell down the stairs, and Frederick believes she may have been inebriated, so if we keep this up, it will only end up costing us dearly.”
“Magistrate Hunt lost interest in the whole affair the moment he heard Madam Bouffant was a courtesan. Is that why you are giving up too?”
Nate sighed. “Of course not. But it does make things more difficult, especially when you think her killer is a peer, and that is conjecture at best.”
“What about justice? Isn’t it our duty to find out for certain?” Bridgetcouldn’t believe how callous Nate was being. A person had died, and no one seemed to care. Even Lord Eamont had recovered from his grief rather quickly.
Well, they might have all dismissed Madam Bouffant’s tragic end, but she wasn’t going to. Bridget gave Nate a hard stare. “She was a guest at Villa De Lacey, and we owe it to her to find out the truth.”
“Bridget, I’m going to say something you may not like to hear, but I think it important you hear it all the same.” He snapped the book shut in his hand.
