Miss Jennings’s cheeks colored, and she dropped her gaze to inspect her black leather house boots.
“My word,” Lady Armstrong chided her companion, “if youcontinue with this mournful expression, I shall have to send you back home to your mama. I rescued you from shame and spinsterhood to be my companion because your attentiveness and quiet disposition suited me. But your wallowing of late simply does not suit!”
“I’m sorry, my lady.” Miss Jennings lifted her head, but her voice came out in a whisper, and her body trembled.
“Really!” Lady Armstrong gave her companion a sharp poke between the shoulder blades. “Get a hold of yourself and straighten your shoulders.”
Nate could stand no more of the woman’s bullying. Stepping forward, he said kindly, “Perhaps you’d like a drink of brandy, Miss Jennings? It’s been quite a shocking day for all of us.”
“She’ll have no such thing,” Lady Armstrong interjected before the woman could answer. “Tea will suffice.”
“Yes, my lady,” Miss Jennings said meekly, but Nate noticed the briefest flash of anger in her eyes as she glanced at Lady Armstrong.
Good, Nate thought.There is a fighting spirit within her—however slight. Heaven knows, I could not hold my tongue as well as she.
“I’ll ring for the tea.” Nate turned and went to pull the bell cord.
“Not for me,” Lady Armstrong said. “Miss Jennings can prepare mine later. I’m very particular.”
Nate sighed and let go of the cord.
“Where is Bridget?” Mrs. Harley asked as she entered the drawing room with her husband and Aunt Marianne. “She rushed off this morning, and I haven’t seen her since.”
“She’s in Braithwaite with Mrs. Groby.” A tug of worry pulled at Nate’s chest. “But she should be here shortly.”
“Mrs. Groby? Why?” Aunt Marianne said.
“The magistrate has arrested the local butcher, Mr. Groby, for the killing,” Nate said.
Aunt Marianne gasped. “Mr. Groby, the butcher? There must be a mistake.”
“We hope so, but as of now, the magistrate thinks he is the killer.”
“The killer?” Lady Matheson squeaked as though saying the word ‘killer’ had the effect of throttling her. “So, they’ve caught the monster who did it?”
“A butcher. But how perfect!” Mr. Angert said in his distinct German accent, giving Nate a start. He hadn’t seen the artist enter the living room, which was strange considering the man was as tall as a giraffe.
“Nothing has been proven yet,” Nate said hastily. “The man has been accused, but there has not yet been an inquest, nor has he been tried. We shouldn’t be so quick to condemn him.”
“Not condemn him!” Lady Matheson glared at Nate. “If the butcher was innocent, the magistrate would not have arrested him.” She stood up. “That monster took George’s heart, and I, for one, will be glad to watch him hang for his crime.”
Nate sighed inwardly. This was exactly what he was afraid of. It didn’t matter whether Groby had yet to be proven guilty—the public had already condemned him.
“I saw a man hang once in Berlin.” Mr. Angert ran two of his long, thin fingers down his neck. “A thief—I believe that was his crime. It wasn’t a quick death. He struggled for quite some time, slowly choking until he turned a deep shade of blue. His tongue—”
“Thank you, Mr. Angert,” Nate said sternly. “Please try to remember that there are ladies present.”
The artist had clearly been enjoying the memory, and his smile faded. “My apologies, Dames.” He gave them a low bow.
Nate frowned. He couldn’t quite decide if Mr. Angert was half-mad or simply eccentric.
Colonel Kendall drummed his fingers against his knee as if agitated by something. “It’s too bad. A good murder to solve was exactly what I was hoping for. This one was over too quickly. We shall have to hope for a second one. And if that fails, then at least there will be thetrial to look forward to.”
“I must ask you to stop with those callous comments, Colonel,” Nate said. “We are talking about a man’s life and not some type of mystery game.”
“Oh, I am well aware,” the colonel said. “This is far more exciting than a game. This is a real murder.” He clasped his neck. “And real justice must be served.”
Nate turned away from the man, disgusted by his insensitive display, and walked to the window, tugging at his cravat. The room had grown unbearably warm and stuffy with so many people occupying it. He gazed out at the garden, hoping to see Bridget ride up the winding carriageway on her horse, but all was quiet. A niggling worry settled in his stomach.What is keeping Bridget? If something has happened to her, I’ll never forgive myself.
