It wasn’t difficultto find her papa’s box in Eliza’s room. She’d hidden it in the most obvious place—under her bed. Bridget recovered the box and opened it to find the lock of hair still secured inside. She stroked the golden lock and smiled. Nate had been wrong. The thief and the killer weren’t the same. Eliza had no malice in her. All she’d wanted was to have Papa close to her. She’d acted out of love.
Bridget lifted the false bottom inside the box and checked to see if her mother’s letters were still safely tucked within. Her eyes burned with tears of joy and sadness when she saw the letters folded in place and tied together with a faded red ribbon. It had been difficult for her to bury these precious remnants of her parents in the ground, but it was the only way to keep them together in death and give her papa the burial he deserved.
Bridget closed the box and sighed. She knew that she’d need to have a difficult discussion with Eliza, and she wasn’t looking forward to it. She didn’t have the energy to do it right away. It had been a trying day, and Bijou was in need of a bath. She’d put the box in her room and decide how to broach this sensitive topic with Eliza tomorrow.
Just then, she heard her aunt shout. Bridget hurried out into the hall.
*
“Good heavens!” AuntMarianne threw her hands in the air. “What are we to do without a proper set of servants?”
Nate and her aunt stood in front of Sarah’s chamber door, which she had seemingly barred shut. Despite their knocking and pleading for her to come out, they’d received no reply from the housemaid.
“I’m going to have to break down the door,” Nate said. He peered at Bridget. “She won’t come out,” he explained.
“Is that really necessary?” Aunt Marianne bristled.
“I’m afraid so. After what happened to Abigail, I don’t think we can take any chances.”
“Oh, I pray that she is unharmed,” Bridget said as Nate stepped back, inhaled, and readied his body to meet the force of the door.
He lunged forward and slammed into the door with all his weight. The door shuddered, and a scream sounded from within. At least they knew Sarah was alive. Nate lunged for the door again, and this time it flew open, the chair wedged under the doorknob toppling over from the force. They entered to see Sarah crouched in the corner of her bed, clutching her covers and trembling with fear.
*
Thirty minutes later,once Bridget had managed to calm the housemaid down, Nate sat across from the two women in the study. Sarah clutched her cup of tea in both hands like a child, and looked at them with terror-filled eyes.
“Now, Sarah. Why don’t you tell us what has frightened you so?” Bridget asked in a quiet voice.
“It’s her. Abigail.”
Nate leaned forward on his desk. “Abigail? Did she say something to you before she died?”
Sarah shook her head. “Not before. Last night. She visited me in the middle of the night. I awoke and saw her standing over my bed.She were dressed in her black cape an’ holding a candle, her face all white and ghastly looking.”
Nate frowned. “It sounds like you were having a nightmare, Sarah.”
“It weren’t a dream!” Sarah insisted. “She were real! She were so close to me that I could touch her coat. She were real—come back from the dead.”
“Did she say anything to you?” Bridget asked.
“She told me to get out of this house. To go home to my family or end up dead like her. She said she were cold in that water all night. Cold and lonely.” Sarah squeezed her teacup. “I don’t want to be drowned and spend eternity in freezing water.”
Bridget glanced at Nate, who shook his head. “Sarah, either you were having a dream, or someone was playing a trick on you.”
“This weren’t no trick.” A tear slid down Sarah’s cheek. “I’ll not spend another night in that room. I want to go home to my family.”
Bridget worried her lower lip. Nate was right. If Sarah hadn’t been dreaming then someone wanted to frighten her into leaving Villa De Lacey, and Bridget was certain she knew the identity of the culprit.
*
Bridget sat onher bed, trying to muster the courage to do what she knew she must, although the terrible twist and churning in her stomach grew worse by the second. She’d excused herself from Nate’s company soon after the interview with Sarah, not wanting to discuss her thoughts. They were too frightening—too terrible to comprehend.
She was quite certain that Eliza had been the one who had frightened Sarah. Eliza disliked the young maid and had easy access to her room, which was next to her own. The question that now tormented Bridget waswhy? Was Eliza trying to save Sarah’s life by terrifying her into leaving, or was she the killer?
Another gut-wrenching attack of nausea assailed Bridget. How could such a thought enter her mind? Eliza had been the most loyal and faithful servant at Villa De Lacey.
Yet, it was possible—no, probable—that she’d ransacked Papa’s makeshift grave, stealing the last piece of him that Bridget had left. At the same time, she’d acted out of love—Bridget was certain of that. Grief made people do strange things.
