“Perhaps I should have another chat with Mrs. Groby,” Bridget said. “She might be more willing to—”
“Not yet. We don’t know enough about these people. If, indeed, they worked together to kill George and frame Groby, then they are dangerous individuals. I can’t risk you going into that house alone and confronting her.”
“You’ll want to be careful too,” Bridget warned.
“Are you afraid he will chop me up right there in the slaughterhouse?” He grinned.
“Don’t make light of it,” Bridget said, remembering George’s hacked chest with a shudder. “Although it is strange. He doesn’t strike me as being dangerous. He seems to be quite the gentleman. The vicar in Harrogate even said that Collins was reluctant to use the cane on his pupils, which would indicate that he’s not inclined to violence. If I didn’t know Mr. Groby, I’d certainly think he was more inclined to be a killer than Mr. Collins.”
“Agreed. Collins seems quite amiable and genteel to me too. But haven’t we learned that killers don’t always look and act the part?”
A pain shot through Bridget’s heart. The events of the last summer were still raw. “Perhaps you should ask him to come to Villa De Lacey, then?”
“No, I don’t want him lurking around Villa De Lacey. I prefer to keep the investigation as far from us as possible. I think it will be best to invite him for a drink at The Black Horse. He will be on his best behavior there, wanting to keep himself in check in public.”
“That seems like a good idea.” The tension in Bridget’s body eased somewhat.
“Well, I suppose I’d best get that message written and sent, then.” Nate glanced in the direction of Henry again, and Bridget followed his gaze. The party of three had reached the end of the garden. Lady Luxton and Rupert were still periodically swinging Henry between them. Nate slipped his hands into his pockets and watched until they exited the gates. Then he sighed and excused himself, saying, “I’ll be off now.”
Bridget silently cursed Lady Luxton as she watched Nate go. Not only was she using Rupert, but she was toying with the bond Nate was forming with Henry. But there was little Bridget could do. Perhaps if she kept her distance from Nate, it would help the situation.
She called for Bijou, who was rolling on his back in the grass. He jumped up upon hearing his name and raced toward her. She crouched to receive him with open arms. The terrier sprang up to lick her face while letting out a series of excited yips.
Once inside, she headed upstairs with Bijou in tow, intent on finding Charlie. She guessed he would be in the library, working on his poetry, and she was correct.
Charlie sat on the window seat with some papers on his lap. He appeared to be in deep thought. Bridget loathed to disrupt him and considered leaving when Bijou trotted into the room and curled up in his little basket that sat permanently next to the fireplace. Charlie turned and smiled at the dog. Then he saw Bridget.
“Miss De Lacey.” He scrambled to his feet. “I hope I have not taken your seat. I’ll just gather my things and—”
“Oh, no, please, sit down. How are you enjoying your stay at Villa De Lacey?”
“It’s a lovely house.” Charlie remained standing despite Bridget’s invitation for him to sit. “This library suits my needs very well.”
“It’s my favorite room,” Bridget said. “And I don’t mind sharing it.” She smiled. “George loved it in here too.”
Charlie pressed his lips together, and Bridget could not tell if he was suppressing a grimace or a smile.
“I’m going to ask you a question that might seem a bit unfair, but I’d like you to be honest with me.” Bridget waited for his reaction.
“You want to know if I slashed Mr. Angert’s paintings,” Charlie said.
“Actually, yes.” Bridget felt somewhat relieved that Charlie had been expecting her question. “I couldn’t blame you if you did. Theywere tasteless.”
“Well, you can put your mind at ease. I didn’t. Although I’m not sorry someone did it. He’s an awful man.”
“What about Rupert?”
“He didn’t do it. He’s been spending all his time with Lady Luxton.” There was a hint of bitterness to his tone.
“Does that upset you?”
Charlie shrugged. “He’s forgotten, that’s all.”
“Forgotten?” Bridget said. “What do you mean? What has he forgotten?”
“What some rich people are like. She’ll discard him when she no longer has a use for him.”
Bridget couldn’t argue with that. She paused. The young man had had some kind of experience in his past, and she wanted to find out what it was.
