“Well, you should be able to collect what’s owed to you while Mr.Groby is…away.”
Just then, a knock sounded at the door, and Mrs. Groby straightened in her chair, looking startled.
“What is it? Are you expecting someone?”
The woman shook her head.
“Stay here.” Bridget patted the woman’s arm. “I’ll go. It’s likely Mr. Squires.” She stood, walked to the door, and opened it a crack. “Mr. Collins,” Bridget said in surprise upon seeing the young man. He was a tall, fair-haired, well-spoken gentleman who was new to Westmorland, and he lived in a rented cottage not five minutes from the Groby’s farm and slaughterhouse.
“Miss De Lacey,” he too sounded surprised to see her. “I came to see how Mrs. Groby and the children are faring.”
“How kind of you,” Bridget said, glancing back in the direction of the parlor. “But I’m not sure she’s ready for company just yet.”
“Of course. I understand. I am new to town, so I don’t know much about how things work here, but I thought what happened today in front of Mrs. Groby and her children seemed terribly cruel. I imagined they might be feeling rather friendless; that’s why I came to lend a kind word. But now that I see you are here, I feel quite relieved. Perhaps you can send her my regards.”
“Of course,” Bridget said. “It was very kind of you to—”
“Let him in,” Mrs. Groby said, coming up behind Bridget. “The children will be happy to see a friendly face.”
Bridget looked back, startled. Mrs. Groby was smiling at Mr. Collins. Bridget quickly moved aside to let the gentleman step into the cottage.
“Thank you for coming,” Mrs. Groby said. “I thought everyone had abandoned us.”
“I imagine you did,” Collins replied. “But I would never abandon a neighbor in need. Still, I don’t mean to intrude. I didn’t know you already had company.” He glanced at Bridget.
“I’ve just prepared some tea,” Bridget said, suddenly feeling uncomfortable, yet she couldn’t put her finger on why. “Shall I fetch you a cup?”
“Oh, I don’t want to be a bother. I only wanted to see that Mrs. Groby was being looked after, and now that I know you are here…”
“It’s no bother,” Mrs. Groby said. “Stay. We are in need of all the friends we can hold on to.”
“You will always have a friend in me.” Mr. Collins bowed his head slightly, and his blond hair flopped forward into his blue eyes. He swept it back with his hand and smiled at Mrs. Groby. A silence fell over the room, and for a minute, Bridget felt as though she was an intruder.
“I’ll just go and fetch that cup of tea for you,” she said and edged toward the kitchen. She returned a minute later with a teacup and a plate of biscuits, only to find Mrs. Groby and Mr. Collins engaged in a whispered conversation.
Bridget’s chest tightened, and she cleared her throat to alert them of her presence. They sprang apart. Something was afoot. Perhaps there was more to Mrs. Groby than a distraught wife and worried mother.
Chapter Four
By the timeNate arrived at the villa, it was mid-morning, and the damage had already been done. Colonel Kendall had declared himself an authority on the murder and had taken it upon himself to give a tour of the murder site to the guests.
Aunt Marianne, who’d anxiously been awaiting his return, marched out to the stables and confronted him as soon as he dismounted his horse. She was beside herself after having been bombarded with questions from both the guests and the servants regarding a murder she knew nothing about, so she’d directed them to “put their questions to Mr. Squires upon his return.” And that is exactly what they did.
*
“It cannot betrue.” Lady Matheson was the first to accost him as he poured himself a much-needed brandy in the drawing room. “Oh, Mr. Squires, tell me the colonel is wrong. The man who has been killed isn’t George Otis.”
“I’m not wrong.” The colonel strode into the drawing room. “I saw the body with my own two eyes. I might be retired, but my eyesight is still as sharp as a hawk’s, as are my senses.”
“You saw a body enclosed in sheets.” Lady Matheson wrapped her arms around herself. “It might have been anyone.”
“I know what I saw, and I know what I heard. That young Rupertwas shouting up a storm about how his friend had been carved up by some lunatic with a knife.” The colonel’s silver mustache quivered with apparent indignation.
“Oh, do stop!” Lady Matheson put her hands over her ears. “I cannot take any more.”
Nate turned to give the colonel a look that he hoped would convey the wordsshut up, but it seemed to have no effect. The colonel had no self-awareness. Nate’s only solution would be to get rid of the man. “Perhaps you should gather everyone and ask them to come to the drawing room. I don’t want to answer the same questions repeatedly. What do you say, Colonel?”
“Righty O,” the colonel said. “I’ll be back with the lot in a jiffy.” He raised his cane, turned, and marched out of the drawing room like a man on an important mission.
