“He was murdered.” Magistrate Hunt turned and gestured to the wrapped corpse in the daffodils. “It happened last night—or in the early morning hours. We aren’t certain of the time.”
“Murdered!” both men exclaimed in unison. It was the first utterance Nate had heard Charlie make. He was a man of few words, and when he did speak, it was usually in a whisper.
“I don’t believe it.” Rupert started forward, but Magistrate Hunt put out his hand to stop him.
“No one is allowed near the corpse. It’s evidence. There will be aninquisition, and my men must take it to Dr. Elias for further examination.”
“But…” Rupert said. “What you say is not possible. It must be a case of mistaken identity. We knew him best. We should be the ones to identify his body.”
“You don’t want to see him,” Nate said. “That much I promise you.”
“He’s right,” Bridget said, her eyes moist with tears. “It’s too awful. I’m the one who found the body. And I can assure you that it is George.”
“Dear Lord.” Rupert rubbed his face with both hands as if he could wipe away the reality that confronted him. “How is this possible? How is it that he ended up murdered on your property?” He looked accusingly at Nate.
“That’s what we’d like to know.” Nate met Rupert’s accusing stare with one of his own. He wasn’t about to take on any culpability for this murder. He didn’t know why Otis had been on his property late at night, but whatever the reason, it certainly wasn’t his or Bridget’s responsibility.
Nate’s forcefulness seemed to work, and Rupert’s stance slackened. He shook his head, and his face turned scarlet—either with grief or anger.
“I simply don’t understand it,” Bridget said. “Who would want to harm George? Everyone loved him.”
“That’s not true,” Charlie spoke in an even fainter whisper than usual. “There’s that butcher in Braithwaite. He was making threats against George just last night at The Black Horse.”
“Last night?” Magistrate Hunt repeated.
Rupert straightened. “That’s right. Mr. Groby. He was drunk and screaming all sorts. I don’t think anyone took him seriously, though. I know I didn’t.”
“Mr. Groby is a respectable member of our community.”Magistrate Hunt puffed out his chest. “What did Mr. Otis do to provoke him?”
“He was giving Groby’s wife reading lessons—at her request,” Rupert said. “The butcher was jealous. He ordered his wife to stop the lessons, but she refused. I warned George that it was dangerous to come between a man and his wife, but he wouldn’t listen. He only saw the good in people. That was his flaw.”
It’s more like he enjoyed provoking them, Nate thought. He had seen in Otis what others had not—the man had been conceited. He’d admired himself in a true Narcissus fashion, and the irony of Otis being murdered in a field of flowers named after the demigod was not lost on Nate. He had known plenty of men like Otis among his peers in London. They were irritating to be sure, but that wasn’t a reason to murder someone and cut out his heart. Jealousy, however, was a more powerful motive. John Groby was on his third marriage—his first two wives having died in childbirth. And the current Mrs. Groby was considerably younger than the butcher. She was also a beautiful woman.
“That can’t be right. I’ve never known Mr. Groby to be mean-spirited,” Bridget said. “He was Papa’s friend, and he has always treated me and my aunt with the utmost respect. He wouldn’t hurt anyone. I’m sure you must be wrong.”
“We’re not wrong,” Rupert said. “We heard him say he would carve George up and feed him to his pigs.”
Nate’s breath caught in his throat, and he heard Bridget gasp audibly.
“When did you hear him say this?” Magistrate Hunt asked.
“Last night at The Black Horse. Everyone heard him.”
Nate glanced at Bridget, who paled considerably. The magistrate had not revealed that Otis’s heart had been cut out, so Rupert had to be telling the truth.
“Carve him up, did you say?” Magistrate Hunt repeated.
“That’s right,” Rupert said.
“And you heard this too?” Magistrate Hunt turned to Charlie.
The young man nodded. “I did.”
“You heard a man threaten to kill your friend, yet you showed no concern when he failed to come home?”
“No one took Groby’s threats seriously. He was badly intoxicated and raging like a bull. We were all laughing at him.”
“So, you didn’t take the butcher at his word, then?”
