“But how will your lady’s maid mend your dress without the button?”
Mrs. Harley frowned. “Well, I suppose you’re right. She will need the button, but it’s not urgent. You needn’t rush. I’ll send her to collect it from you tomorrow.”
Bridget sauntered back to the settee, still holding the red dress. “What do you suppose your button was doing in the outer edge of the garden? You’ve been confined to your bed since you got here, and when you do venture outside, it’s only for a short stroll with your lady’s maid.”
“Some days, when I am feeling strong, we go for a longer walk. I must have lost it then.”
Bridget shook her head. “I don’t think Lady Darby would have permitted your lady’s maid to take you to the thicket where treacherous tree roots abound, and squirrels run underfoot. She would have been far too fearful that you would fall. But I’ll be happy to ask her forclarification.”
“Mayhap, a bird picked it up from the garden and dropped it in the thicket.” Mrs. Harley smoothed her dress and avoided looking at Bridget.
“That’s an idea,” Bridget said. “Or mayhap you followed me into the thicket, pushed me, and left me for dead.”
“Never!” Mrs. Harley half rose from her seat but then seemed to lose the energy she needed to stand up.
“How did you know I’d overheard your conversation with Mr. Harley in the library that night?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“You were worried that I was going to prevent Mr. Harley from carrying out his plan, weren’t you?”
“I’m tired. I’d like you to leave.” Mrs. Harley dropped her head in her hand.
Bridget stood up. “Perhaps, I should put my theory to the magistrate then. We’ll let him decide. Now that he has a murder to investigate—”
“Stop!” Mrs. Harley held up her hand. “It was me. I had a feeling someone else was in the library that night. So I pretended to retire to bed and then waited in the shadows to see if anyone followed Mr. Harley and Lord Frederick after they left. That’s when I saw you, emerging out of your hiding place. I knew that you would tell Mr. Squires, and he’d put an end to the plan.”
“So you followed me and tried to murder me?” Bridget asked.
“Of course not. I only wanted to frighten you—to divert your attention—and make you return home. But I didn’t push you. You tripped over a tree root just as you were told.”
“And you left me there, injured and alone, all night. I could have died. But, mayhap, that’s what you hoped would happen.”
Mrs. Harley dropped her gaze to her lap. “I was frightened and desperate. You have no idea what it is like to be a barren woman whois desperate for a child. Month after month I disappoint my husband, his aunt, and most of all myself. Why? I’ve been good all my life. I went to church like a good Christian woman, I was an obedient daughter, I married the man my father chose for me—yet I have failed as a woman.”
“Abandoning an injured person who might very well bleed to death is neither good nor Christian,” Bridget said.
“Perhaps I have given up trying to be good.”
“Is it possible, then, that you grew jealous of Abigail? I’m certain it seemed like an injustice that she managed what you could not in such a short time.”
Mrs. Harley shook her head. “You’re wrong. Abigail and Sarah were our only hope. Losing Abigail and her babe has cost us everything. Lady Darby has learned about our scheme and will never believe Mr. Harley has a true heir unless she sees it growing in my belly daily and witnesses the midwife deliver it from my womb into her arms. When Abigail died, she took our future with her.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I am sorry to disappoint you Miss De Lacey, but I am not your killer.”
Bridget sighed. The woman was right. Mrs. Harley might have behaved reprehensibly, but she wasn’t guilty of murdering Abigail or Madam Bouffant. Her time was wasted here. The killer needed to be rooted out, and she had to work fast, or he or she’d escape with the rest of the ton back to London for Queen Caroline’s impending trial.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“She left youto die?” Nate said aghast after Bridget relayed her conversation with Mrs. Harley. “Then she has shown that she is capable of murder. We cannot rule her out.”
“I am starting to think everyone is capable of murder,” Bridget said. “How blissfully naive I was just a few months ago to the evils of mankind. I’ve lived in a sheltered world, surrounded by beauty and serenity for one-and-twenty years, like a little fool.”
“Your papa did his best to protect you. That was his job.”
“You’re right. Poor Papa. And I couldn’t even give him a proper burial. All I have left of him is a lock of his hair.”
“I’m sorry. I blame my brother for that. The least he could have done was use his influence to arrange for your father’s return. He’s an insensitive beast.”
“It’s not your fault.” Bridget blinked back her impending tears and took a deep breath. If she started crying now, she’d never be able to stop. She straightened her shoulders. “I believe Mr. and Mrs. Harley are innocent of the murder. They are both devastated that their plan failed. However, we do need to consider Sarah. As you told Mr. Harley, she may have been angered to discover that Abigail won the prize, so to speak.”
