“I don’t know no more. All I know is that I don’t like how quick Mr. Collins stepped into Groby’s butcher’s apron. It’s like he knew what was coming—like he—they…planned it all.”
“They? Do you mean Mrs. Groby and Mr. Collins?”
“Aye.” Cook narrowed her brown eyes. “I know you think Mrs. Groby an innocent woman, but people are mighty suspicious of that Collins taking over the butchery the day after her husband were locked away.”
“I don’t know that he’s taken it over. Mrs. Groby seems grateful for his help.”
“Seems right convenient.” Cook narrowed her eyes. “If you ask me,he’sthe one who took Mr. Otis’s heart and fed it to those pigs.”
Just then, Mr. Collins came back outside and picked up theremainder of the meat order.
“Well, I’d best go see to my kitchen,” Cook said and followed Mr. Collins inside. Bijou chased after her, barking. She stopped and laughed at the terrier. “Don’t worry. I ’aven’t forgotten your scraps. Come along.”
Bijou’s tail wagged madly, and Bridget laughed. “I’ll be there in a minute,” she called after them. Then she turned to Nate and said, “So we’re not the only ones who suspect Collins.”
“Not anymore,” Nate said. “And if people in the town are expressing similar doubts, that might slow the magistrate down a little, but we need to take advantage of the time we have.”
“So, what do you suggest we do?” Bridget asked.
“I think it’s time we take a trip to York,” Nate said.
Chapter Nine
Bridget never tiredof York. Despite the long carriage ride from Westmorland, she never refused an opportunity to visit the magnificent medieval city. The first glimpse of the spectacular gothic towers of York Minster always sent a thrill down her spine. The breathtaking cathedral, with its elaborate architecture and stained-glass windows, dominated the area. But there was so much more about the historic town that Bridget loved. York’s Roman walls, narrow cobbled streets, overhanging timber houses, and bustling markets never failed to fascinate. She’d spent many happy hours perusing York with her papa, and so it held her heart and some of her most precious memories.
Bridget leaned her head against the carriage window and sighed as the vehicle rambled through York’s cobbled streets. In her mind’s eye, she saw a young girl walking arm-in-arm with her doting papa, who insisted on purchasing yards of beautiful fabric along with bows, hats, and gloves for his only daughter. Her heart ached for the return of those days. What she would give for just one more day—one more hour—with her papa.
“You’re very quiet,” Nate said, pulling Bridget back to the present. “I do hope you’re not worried about your aunt.”
“Aunt Marianne?” she said, turning from the carriage window to face him. “Not at all. She is perfectly at home in York.” They’d left Aunt Marianne, who’d accompanied them on the trip, to care for Bijou and peruse the markets while they went about their business—onlyBridget wasn’t quite sure what that “business” entailed. “Actually, I was wondering where we are going?” she said, glancing again outside as the carriage left the city center and rambled through an open road lined with trees. “We don’t know anything about Mr. Collins. Where do we start searching for information?”
“We know more than you think,” Nate said just as the driver slowed the horses, and the carriage rolled to a stop.
Bridget peered out the window and saw that they had stopped in front of an ancient-looking stone building attached to a church. In front of the building lay a sprawling green, the type one would find at a prestigious public school. Indeed, affixed to the black iron gates that protected the grounds from outsiders was a red shield with white letters that readSt. Paul’s of York. “We’re at a school,” she realized aloud.
“That’s right. Our man Collins is too well spoken and has far too many airs to be a mere farmer’s son—unless farmers are using Latin phrases nowadays.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The other day, when we visited Mrs. Groby, and I asked Collins to recount Groby’s outburst at The Black Horse, he mumbled the Latin phrase, ‘in vino veritas.’ I knew, then, that we were dealing with a man who has two identities.”
“In wine, there is truth,” Bridget said. “I don’t recall him saying that.”
“And I don’t recall you telling me that you knew Latin.”
“I don’t—not really.” She smiled. “Papa liked to pepper his speech with Latin phrases, so I picked up a few here and there.”
“Aah, I see. Well, either Mr. Collins has spent a lot of time with educated men, or—he is one of them.”
“And you think this is the school he attended?”
“If he lived in York as he claimed he did, then this is very likely where he would have gone to school.”
“But what good will it do us? We can’t simply walk inside and ask for information about a former pupil. We’re not magistrates.”
Nate smiled. “Sometimes there are advantages to being the second son of an earl.” Then he pushed open the carriage door, stepped outside, and extended his hand to Bridget.
She slipped her gloved hand into his and felt a tingle travel up her arm and down her back. She wondered if he felt it, as well.
