Now, she picked up her wooden box and cradled it. How she wished she had her parents by her side to give her the advice and comfort she so desperately craved. Opening the box, she removed her papa’s lock of hair and lifted the false bottom where her mother’s letters to her father lay. She’d read them countless times and always took great comfort in seeing her mama’s neat script. Sometimes, she’d trace the script with her fingers and feel her mother’s soul seep inside her. Her mama had poured her thoughts and love into those words, and Bridget needed some of that now.
Oh, mama. How I wish we’d had more time together.She fingered the letters and then frowned. The paper felt different—stiffer and thicker than the delicate, worn paper her mama had used to write to her papa.
Why? How?She extracted the bundle and carefully untied the red ribbon that secured the letters. When she unfolded one of the letters, her heart dropped.
These were not her mama’s letters.
Instead, those had been replaced by ones written in a crude scrawl. Hardly able to believe her eyes, Bridget read:
My Dearest Master,
Another wun is dead an’ gon. I did it all for you my luv, an’ I shall keep doin’ it until all the filth an’ sin is washed away.
Yur faithful servant,
Miss Elizabeth Moon (Eliza)
Bridget dropped the letter and covered her mouth with her hand,which trembled violently. Her suspicions about Elizaweretrue—but they couldn’t be. She hadn’t truly believed her maid guilty of murder. Not Eliza! Anyone but her faithful lady’s maid!
Just then, the door to Bridget’s chamber creaked open and Eliza stepped inside. “You sent for me, miss.”
Bridget looked at her lady’s maid, her body shaking, and her eyes brimming with tears.
“I see you found the box,” Eliza said as though she were talking about a lost slipper. “And you read my letters to your papa.” The maid closed the door and walked to where Bridget sat on her bed. She stooped to pick up the letters. “You shouldn’t have done that. Those were private.”
Bridget nodded because she could not speak.
“Then you understand why I had to do it? Why I had to get rid of those women? They were bad women—disgraceful. They brought shame on your papa’s house.” Eliza’s dark eyes seemed larger and blacker than usual as she fixed her gaze on Bridget, but they were devoid of emotion. How had she not noticed their coldness before? Now she noticed how her face and thin lips were tight and how her brown fringe peeked out from under her bonnet along with a few stringy hairs. She was exceedingly pale—even more so than usual—and looked rather ghoulish in her black mourning dress. “You mustn’t blame yourself.” Eliza secured the letters with the red ribbon and slipped them into her pocket. “It’s your mama’s bad blood that makes you act so impulsively. But I will protect you as I always have.”
“What do mean?” Bridget asked, her heart pounding and her body trembling. “What have you done with Mama’s letters?”
“They’re gone, just like her. It’s my job.”
“What is?” Bridget asked, confused.Gone?
“To keep the evil out. To keep the house pure and respectable for my master.”
Bridget’s breath caught in her throat, but she forced herself tospeak. “Is that why you killed Madam Bouffant and Abigail?”
“They deserved to die. They were sinners—adulterers under the master’s roof. You lost your way inviting them here. You brought evil into this house, but it’s not your fault. Your mama, she were low born. Half your blood is tainted.”
Bridget brushed the insult away. She didn’t know why Eliza would malign her mama, but there was a more urgent matter at hand. She wanted—needed to hear a confession from Eliza’s own lips. “Did you push Madam Bouffant down the stairs?” she asked, praying inside that Eliza’s answer would beno. “Tell me.”
“She had no respect, creeping out late at night with Lord Frederick and then parting ways with him upstairs only to enter Lord Eamont’s chamber. A married man, he is. Sinner, she was. I watched her, saw it all.”
“So, you waited for her to come out of Lord Eamont’s room?”
“Those silly housemaids were late to prepare the breakfast room as always, so I went in their stead. That’s when I saw her, wearing the very same dress she’d worn the night before. I watched her start down the stairs. She were unsteady on her legs from the long night. She were going to fall. I could see as much. But I couldn’t wait for her to do it on her own, so I gave her a little push, and down she tumbled. She screamed, but the wind was howling something fierce, so no one heard her cries.”
I did, Bridget thought.
“I went to the breakfast room to do me duties and then I waited for those silly maids to find her.”
“So that’s why you were already upstairs when Abigail found Madam Bouffant’s body,” Bridget said, more to herself than Eliza. “I remember you came down the stairs and handed me a sheet to cover her body. I was so distraught I didn’t think anything of it at the time.”
Bridget could barely breathe. Her own Eliza, a killer! She wanted to shut her ears and pretend she had not heard the confession, but sheknew she had to press Eliza for more, or she might never know the truth.
“And Abigail? You switched the bag of mushrooms Mr. Harley had given her, didn’t you? Then you followed her and pushed her into the fountain.”
