He glanced at Bridget, whose eyes had welled up, and he silently cursed himself. Why had he brought up the damnedInferno? “Bridget,” he said, “you mustn’t—I mean, your father was—”
“So if we are correct in our thinking”—Bridget forced a smile—“then it’s as I said. Whoever killed George must have had their heart broken by him. He ripped out someone’s heart—took away their joy, hope, and future, so they did the same to him.” Bridget worried her bottom lip. “Now we just have to find out if that person is Collins.”
“Exactly,” Nate agreed, still eyeing Bridget worriedly. “Let’s hope the headmaster at St. Joseph’s is the same one who was there four years ago, and that he’s willing to talk to us.”
Chapter Ten
Bridget’s conversation withNate continued to sting long after she’d returned to The King’s Head on Low Petergate, where she was sharing a room with her aunt. She hadn’t been able to stop herself from pressing Nate about the self-murderers’ fates in theInferno. And now it ate away at her heart. Was her dear papa suffering torments for his final act? She refused to believe it. Dante’sInfernowas only a story, and the punishments in his hell were all figments of his imagination. But his message was correct. The Lord was just, and He knew that her papa had been decent and kind his entire life. He knew that her papa belonged with her mama, who was with the angels. Still, she would never know for certain—at least, during this lifetime—and that left her stomach in a knot of pain.
“Well, Bridget. What do you think of the gloves?” Aunt Marianne asked as she admired a set of white gloves laid out on the bed.
Bridget petted Bijou absentmindedly and glanced down at them. “Oh, yes. They are lovely, Aunt.”
Aunt Marianne was very pleased with herself after purchasing Jane Harley a new pair of gloves to thank her for tending to Villa De Lacey and their guests while she and Bridget traveled to York.
“Perhaps, I should have gotten a pair for you, too, Bridget. I saw a lovely blue pair that would make your eyes sparkle. It’s been a year since your papa’s death. You no longer need to wear mourning dresses.”
“I know, Aunt,” Bridget said. She had transitioned to wearing half-mourning colors of lavender, gray, and white, but could not bear to shed her mourning wear so soon. One year had flown by, and it seemed to Bridget that she’d lost her papa only days ago.
“I don’t like how glum you look, dear. I believe this murder has upset you greatly.”
Bridget forced a smile and placed Bijou in his basket. The terrier was no doubt exhausted from his day out with Aunt Marianne. “I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”
Aunt Marianne picked up the gloves and placed them back in their ribboned box. “I do wish you’d leave things up to Magistrate Hunt this time,” she said. “We don’t want a repeat of what happened last summer when you ended up getting hurt.”
“How can I do that after everything we have discovered about Mr. Collins and Mrs. Groby’s ongoing dalliance?”
“Really, Bridget!” Aunt Marianne’s cheeks turned pink. “A young lady should not be so outspoken about such things.”
“I’m sorry, Aunt, but we cannot ignore that fact because it may mean they schemed to kill George in order to frame Mr. Groby for the murder. After all, they must have wanted to be rid of Mr. Groby.”
“And how will you prove such a thing?”
That is the real dilemma.“Well, for a start, we will need to go to Harrogate tomorrow.”
“Harrogate!” Aunt Marianne exclaimed.
“Yes, there’s someone we need to interview. You don’t mind staying in York an extra night, do you?”
“What about Jane?”
“I think she’ll be fine for an extra day.”
“Well, I don’t like it, Bridget,” Aunt Marianne said. “Poking around and asking questions might lead to you being harmed again. And I—well, if anything were to happen to you, I don’t know what I would do. Your poor father would never forgive me.”
Bridget’s heart contracted. She wasn’t the only one who’d sufferedafter Papa’s death. Poor Aunt Marianne had lost her brother and the quiet, peaceful life he’d provided for her since the death of her husband.
“You don’t have to worry, Aunt,” she said. “I shouldn’t be able to forgive myself if anything I did led to you being miserable.”
“Then you’ll drop this nonsense and leave it to the magistrate?”
Bridget walked to the window of her inn and gazed out at the cobbled streets lined with overhanging timber houses. “No, but I do promise to be careful,” she said. That was the best she could do to comfort her aunt, but she had no idea if being careful would be enough. George’s killer was a dangerous and vengeful person who would not be afraid to strike again if he felt cornered. She and Nate would need to move carefully but quickly. A crime of this magnitude could not go unpunished for long.
*
After a two-and-a-half-hourjourney to Harrogate, Nate and Bridget were disappointed to find that the black iron gates to St. Joseph’s Grammar School for boys were shut. And the school building that stood behind them looked to be in disrepair. The green in front of the building was overgrown and neglected.
“It’s no longer in operation,” Nate said. “I wonder why?”
