“Is he perhaps still a pupil at St. Joseph’s? Was he one of the younger lads?”
“Oh no. Phillips was eighteen. He was in his final year.”
“Does Mr. Phillips still reside in Harrogate?”
“I have no idea. I typically lose touch with the pupils after they leave St. Joseph’s, and now that the school has moved, I don’t have contact with any of them.”
“Well, do you remember anything about his family? Anything at all that could help us locate him today?”
The vicar scrunched his eyes. “I don’t recall much beyond his name. He wasn’t one of the charity boys, that Idoknow. The charity boys tended to get bullied by the others, and they would often seek comfort in my church, so I knew most of them well.”
“Would the current headmaster of St. Joseph’s know more about the student in question?” Nate asked.
“I doubt it. The current headmaster has only been serving for two years. The headmaster at the time of the incident has since passed away.” The vicar eyed Nate. “But why should you want to locate Mr. Phillips? I think you have sufficient information regarding Mr. Collins. Even if Phillips was lying, you wouldn’t consider hiring a man with a tarnished reputation to be your son’s tutor, would you?”
“Of course not,” Nate said and looked toward the church. He was anxious to tell Bridget what he’d learned. “You have been most helpful, Vicar. I thank you for your time.”
“Yes, I’m sorry I couldn’t give you better news. Mr. Collins would have been an excellent tutor for your son. He taught the classics at St. Joseph’s, and I remember him being well-versed in them. He was a bright young man.”
Nate blinked.A classics master.So, Collins would have been familiar with Dante’s theory of contrapasso. And what classics master didn’t love poetry, both classical and contemporary? Collins would most certainly have read Wordsworth’s most popular poem. It was all starting to make sense.
Chapter Eleven
As Nate’s carriagerolled through the gates of Villa De Lacey, Bridget gazed up at her beloved home. She was pleased to see that the blue shutters and curtains in all the rooms were open, allowing daylight to infiltrate. So many of the rooms had been shuttered for years, when it had just been Papa, Aunt Marianne, and she, occupying the villa. Papa had closed eleven rooms to save money, and she’d never realized how silent and isolating it had been. Her grandfather’s home was meant to be seen, appreciated, and enjoyed. And for a time, it had been. Until once again, it was marred, by murder.
She sighed and stroked Bijou, who lay curled in a ball on her lap. He opened his eyes and looked at her. Upon seeing her smile, he sat up and tried to lick her face. Then, noticing his cherished garden out the carriage window, he started yapping madly.
“Bridget, make him stop!” Aunt Marianne put her hands over her ears. They had started their journey in the wee hours of the morning, and Aunt Marianne was tired and irritable.
“He’s excited to be home, that’s all.” Bridget stroked the terrier, who now stood on his hind legs with his paws resting against the carriage window and his tail wagging.
The carriage rolled to a stop outside the stables, and Aunt Marianne was the first one out the door when the driver opened it for her. She nodded at Jane, who’d come outside to greet them, bustling past her and disappearing into the villa, no doubt heading straight to herchamber for a well-earned rest.
Bridget exited behind her aunt, letting an excited Bijou scamper forward to greet the footman James, who bent to pet the dog as it spun in a circle driven by his excitement.
“Downstairs, Bijou. Go and see Cook. I’m sure she has some nice scraps of meat for you.”
Nate came up behind Bridget and together they watched the terrier race down the stairs to the servants’ quarters.
When Bridget took her eyes off her dog and faced Jane, she saw that the woman’s expression looked grim.
“I do hope everything went smoothly whilst we were away,” Bridget said, feeling apprehensive. “We cannot thank you enough for your help.”
“Indeed, it did. Aunt Marianne has trained the servants so well that this place practically runs itself.” A nervous laugh escaped her throat, and Bridget noticed that she clasped the fingers on her right hand as if uneasy.
“Is everyone well?” Nate asked. “There hasn’t been another…”
“Heaven’s no! Nothing like that,” Jane said.
“Then what is it? I can tell there’s something.”
“I’m afraid Mr. Angert and Colonel Kendall have stirred up a bit of trouble.”
“Good Lord!” Nate groaned. “What have they done now?”
“Well, Mr. Angert has started selling miniatures of the murder scene, and it has brought an influx of villagers to see the site. And Colonel Kendall has taken it upon himself to give the ‘visitors’ a tour and a detailed explanation of what occurred that day.”
“Good grief!” Nate said. “They are turning Villa De Lacey into a circus.”
