“Of course.” Nate nodded. He was eager to learn more about this scandal and whether or not it involved Collins, but it would do him and Bridget no good if they were to receive incorrect information. The headmaster was right. It was better to go to the source. Nate got to his feet, and Bridget followed suit. “Thank you, Headmaster, you have been most helpful. If you remember anything at all, I would most appreciate it if you would send word to Villa De Lacey on the shores of Lake Windermere.”
“Villa De Lacey?” the headmaster asked, standing up. “Is that theone where—I read about it in theYork Herald. A poet was murdered and found lying in the daffodils, of all places. How intriguing. Someone must have been trying to make a strong statement.”
“Oh, you mean…?” Nate gestured to his heart. “Yes, I suppose they were.” He glanced at Bridget, worried the conversation had taken an upsetting turn for her. But she remained admirably poised.
“Not only the taking of that organ but more specifically, leaving the body in the daffodils,” the headmaster said.
“Do you mean because he was a poet, and Wordsworth wrote a poem about daffodils?” Nate asked.
“Precisely. Wordsworth is Westmorland’s greatest poet, after all. And those young poets make the journey there as some sort of pilgrimage, do they not? They aspire to be like him—perhaps meet him and learn from him. So, when I read in theYork Heraldthat a local butcher had committed the crime, I thought they must have the wrong man. It cannot be a coincidence that this young poet ended up dead in the daffodils. Unless, of course, the butcher is a poetry aficionado.” The headmaster blinked behind his spectacles.
“Yes, we are questioning the arrest of the butcher too,” Nate said, turning to Bridget who nodded her agreement.
“So why do you ask about Collins? Is he involved in this somehow?” Though he’d said he had a policy against gossip, the headmaster was doing a poor job of following it.
“We don’t know. We are only trying to make sure an innocent man doesn’t hang for the crime—that is not to say the butcher is innocent, only that we wish to make sure he is guilty and not innocent.” Nate frowned at how convoluted his own words had sounded.
Beside him, Bridget shifted. Apparently, she was tired of being treated as invisible by Egan. “We want to make sure a potentially innocent man doesn’t hang,” she clarified for him.
Headmaster Egan seemed a bit affronted to be addressed by a female in such a forthright manner. His eyes narrowed behind hisglasses. “Well, if you care to consider my humble opinion, I’d say that while a cuckolded butcher might be the obvious choice, the symbolism of this crime seems too complex for asimplebutcher.” He stressed the word “simple”, perhaps for Bridget’s benefit.
It didn’t sit well with Nate. Still, despite his arrogance the headmaster had a point. Perhaps he hadn’t given the connection between Wordsworth’s poem and Otis’s murder enough thought.
“Of course, I wouldn’t expect your local magistrate to understand any of that. You, on the other hand, must have received a gentleman’s education.” The headmaster cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. “An Eton boy, perhaps?”
“Westminster,” Nate said. “And Oxford.”
“Well, then, sir, I expect you are the perfect man to solve this crime.”
“Not me,” Nate said. “Miss De Lacey is the aficionado when it comes to Wordsworth.” The headmaster’s expression clouded, and Nate suppressed a satisfied smile. Although he’d liked the classics well enough, he hadn’t been inclined to read much popular poetry after leaving school. But perhaps it was time to indulge in a little Wordsworth.
*
“It doesn’t makesense,” Nate said once they were back in the carriage. “Four years ago, Collins would have been three-and-twenty and no longer a schoolboy. Are you sure of his age?”
“No, I was only guessing. He looks to be about the same age as you.”
“I’m six-and-twenty.”
“That’s why I said approximately,” Bridget answered. “Either way, you are right. Unless he is much younger than we think, he would not have been a schoolboy four years ago.”
“Well, the only way we can find out is by taking a trip to Harrogate and visiting St. Joseph’s. Unfortunately, we shan’t be able to make it to and from Harrogate today. So, I’m afraid we will need to spend an extra night in York and make our trip in the morning.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. Mrs. Harley will do perfectly well looking after the inn.”
“Yes, I believe you’re right. But I was thinking of your aunt. If she wants to return, then I can make the journey to Harrogate by myself.”
“Don’t you dare!” Bridget laughed. “We can leave early in the morning and return by afternoon. Aunt Marianne will be thrilled to spend another day perusing the markets in York.”
Nate smiled to himself. Bridget was a true puzzle solver, and whether she’d admit it or not, investigating this murder had energized her.
“Perhaps we can get ourselves a copy of Wordsworth’s poems in the meantime. That headmaster left me wondering if there are any hidden clues in that daffodil poem. I don’t believe I can remember much beyond the first line. Let’s see. ‘I wandered lonely as a cloud, that floats on high o’er vales and hills…’” He shut his eyes, trying to remember the rest.
“‘When all at once I saw a crowd, a host, of golden daffodils,’” Bridget finished the stanza for him. “Would you like me to go on?” She cocked her head at him and smiled cheekily, revealing two small dimples at the corners of her mouth. His heart gave a little leap, and he checked himself.
“You know the whole thing, then?” He could not help but smile back at her.
“I do,” she said. “But it’s only the last stanza I feel we need to focus on.”
