Lady Luxton strode to Mr. Angert and peered at his easel. Bridget followed suit.
“Good heavens!” Lady Luxton said as Bridget stifled her gasp with her hand. Mr. Angert had painted a lovely picture of them playing croquet and, lying in the daffodils a few feet away from the joyous game, was the mutilated, blood-soaked body of George Otis.
Chapter Seven
The meeting withGroby had disturbed Nate. There was more that needed investigating. Groby had clearly been jealous of Collins, and it sounded as though he had just cause. If Mrs. Groby and Collins were lovers, they’d have had good reason for wanting Groby out of the way. It was far better to frame him for murder than to kill him themselves, in which case the suspicion would fall directly upon them. If all that were true, then George Otis had been a pawn in their scheme.
Nate decided to stop by the butcher’s cottage and speak with Mrs. Groby; he suspected he’d find Collins there as well. As he made his way there, he was delighted to see Bridget riding toward him. He tugged on his horse’s reins as she neared, and the animal came to a halt.
“Oh, I’m glad to have caught up with you,” Bridget said, bringing her chestnut mare to a halt beside his tan gelding. Her cheeks were flushed, and her riding cape was askew as if she’d thrown it on in a hurry. Nate thought she looked beautiful.
“I’m pleased you did,” he said. “I was on my way to speak to Mrs. Groby, but I think it’s better if we visit her together. That’s why you came to town, isn’t it?” Nate frowned, suddenly realizing that Bridget had already passed the cottage.
Bridget, in turn, seemed to hesitate as if thrown off guard. “I—yes. That’s right. I mean to check up on her. I wanted to reassure her that she needn’t worry about our meat order. The poor woman hasenough to do already.”
“I don’t know. I suspect she has some help from Mr. Collins.” Nate related what Groby had told him.
“So, it seems I was right. Thereissomething between them,” Bridget said.
“Yes, it seems you have good instincts. Mind you, that doesn’t make them guilty or Groby innocent. He already had suspicions about his wife, and being ridiculed in front of everyone at The Black Horse must have sent him into a blind rage. He can’t remember much about what happened that night, though. What if he went in search of Collins but found the poet instead?”
“You don’t believe that do you?” Bridget said.
“I have enough doubt not to let the man hang without asking some questions. As for his pigs, if there’s even a slim chance he killed Otis and fed his heart to his pigs, I don’t think we can risk serving them to our guests.”
“Cook had said she wouldn’t allow it anyway,” Bridget said. “I shall ask Mrs. Groby to remove them from our usual order. Perhaps we can replace it with extra mutton.”
“Agreed,” Nate said and spurred his horse forward.
Bridget turned her horse around and followed him. Within a few minutes, they were in front of the butcher’s cottage and adjacent slaughterhouse.
“It appears as though they are open for business.” Nate dismounted from his horse. “I imagine we’ll find Collins inside doing Groby’s work.”
“So soon,” Bridget said, also dismounting. “That seems a bit…”
Bridget didn’t need to finish her thought. The fact that the butcher shop was open did seem a bit suspect. That was for certain.
“I agree,” Nate said. He watched as Bridget reached for a small bundle tied to her saddle. “What’s that?”
“Biscuits for the children. I had Cook make them. I don’t want anyill will toward Groby’s children. Whatever happened, it’s not their fault.”
Nate smiled. Bridget had a good heart. After everything she’d been through with her papa and the murders last summer, she never wallowed in self-pity or lost her ability to think of others and their suffering.
“That’s a lovely gesture.” He nodded at the bundle. “Hopefully it will help.”
They entered the slaughterhouse and, as expected, found Collins donning the butcher’s apron. Mrs. Groby worked diligently alongside him, wielding her butcher’s knife quite expertly.
Mrs. Groby looked up from her work. “Miss De Lacey. Mr. Squires.” She put down her knife and wiped her bloodied hands on a cloth hanging from her waistband. “I’m surprised to see you here. If you’re worried about your meat order, you needn’t be. Mr. Collins kindly offered to help me fulfill our obligations.”
“How noble of him,” Nate said, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice. “I’ve just come from speaking with your husband.” Nate let that information hang in the foul air of the slaughterhouse.
“Then, the magistrate allowed you in to see him. I wasn’t sure—”
“Did you ask?” Nate said. “I’m certain the magistrate wouldn’t begrudge a wife from visiting her husband.”
“I was going to…later today. But as you can see, I have my hands full here. Somebody has to do the work. Unless, of course, you wish to withdraw your business and find a new butcher as so many of our ‘friends’ and neighbors have done.” She dropped her gaze.
Nate swallowed. He couldn’t fault the woman for wanting to survive and support her family.
