“Oh?” Magistrate Hunt leaned forward. “I’m listening.”
Nate told the magistrate all he’d learned about Collins and Alice Groby’s past together.
“Interesting.” The magistrate folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Very interesting. Do you think Groby knows the boy belongs to Collins?”
“I don’t know. But if he does, why not kill Collins? Why kill Otis?”
“Yes. I see the possibility that Collins could be the guilty party, but we have no proof, and without proof, all I have is a man who threatened to kill Mr. Otis the night the murder took place.” He blew out his breath. “Although there is the matter of Otis’s head wound.”
“What about it?” Nate leaned forward.
“I had Dr. Elias examine the wound, and he concluded that Otis was hit several times in the back of the head with the rock found next to his body.”
“We knew that already, did we not?”
“We knew he’d been struck with the rock, but we didn’t know he’d been hit several times. It made me wonder why a man with Groby’s strength would need to strike so many blows. Someone of Groby’s size and brawn would likely have used a much heavier object and struck one fatal blow.” Magistrate Hunt shrugged. “On the other hand, he was inebriated, so it’s possible he was clumsy.”
“Or it was someone else,” Nate said, not wanting to lose the magistrate. “Collins is a much smaller man than Groby.”
“True,” Magistrate Hunt said. “Still, it is all speculation. And even if I have an inkling of doubt in my mind, I cannot turn a man loosewho promised to butcher the victim and had cause to do so. Jealousy is a powerful motive. The people are convinced Groby is guilty, and they want him to hang.”
“Not just hang,” Nate said. “He’ll be gibbeted.”
“Nothing I can do about that—it’s the law. That’s the appropriate punishment for this crime.”
“But I hear you are going to request that his punishment be carried out in Westmorland, rather than York, where he will stand trial.”
“That’s right. It’s what the people want.”
“Which people? Who is advocating for this?”
“Hornby, Morris, and Trent were in my office just yesterday, demanding that he be hanged and left to rot in Braithwaite.”
“Hornby, Morris, and Trent?” Nate thought back to his conversation with Groby. “Three of the five men who owe Groby money. Substantial amounts. Do you think that’s a coincidence? These men resent Groby for his success, even though he was good enough to loan them money. I am certain they played as large a part as Rupert did to whip up hatred against the butcher. It’s no wonder his so-called friends turned on him so quickly.”
“That may be so, but this is ‘a murder most foul,’ to use Shakespeare’s expression, and such a crime warrants a harsh punishment.”
“Think of his children!” Nate said.
“His children are too young to be affected. If their mother keeps them away from the gallows, they won’t have to witness their father’s decomposition.”
Nate massaged his temples as a growing headache began to spike. “At least wait until we clear up this business with Collins. If Groby is guilty, then I agree he should hang. But how will you live with yourself if the man is innocent? He has been your friend and neighbor for years. At least give him a few extra days.”
“I’m afraid I don’t control when the assize court meets. They will arrive in York next week, and I intend to transport Groby there threedays from now.”
Nate’s chest tightened. The assize court traveled around the country and tried the most serious of offenders—murderers and traitors. Their guilty verdicts were frequent. Mr. Groby’s statement of intent to harm Otis was all the jury would need to convict him. That, coupled with Mr. Groby’s brawn, gruffness, and especially his successful skills at his trade, would almost certainly seal his terrible fate. “But the assize court comes to York twice a year, does it not? If you just wait—”
“The people want justice. This crime was simply too vicious. It must come to a just end. That gives you three days. Use it wisely. But do consider the fact that Groby may be guilty after all.”
Nate nodded. Perhaps Grobywasguilty. If he could not prove otherwise in three days, then he would have to accept the fact that he and Bridget had tried their best to ensure that an innocent man did not hang. After all, it was Bridget’s determination not to see another innocent man die like a criminal, the way her poor papa had. That was truly what all this was about. His motivation was to alleviate further pain and suffering for Bridget, not necessarily to save a man of whose innocence even he was uncertain.
“Thank you for your time, Magistrate.” He stood to leave when he remembered Lady Matheson’s request. “There’s one more thing,” he said, sitting down again. “Otis’s body. Where is it? Lady Matheson is insistent on exhuming the body, so she can bury the poet herself—or at least give him the burial she thinks he deserves. I told her that it would be difficult, but she is adamant. She said she didn’t care what it cost. But I can’t imagine anyone will want that job.”
“Oh, someone would, mark my words. If you pay enough, you can always find people to do your bidding. But I didn’t bury the body,” Magistrate Hunt said. “Mr. Otis’s family came up from Knaresborough a few days after the murder.”
“His family? I thought Otis was an orphan.”
“Yes, so did I. I’m uncertain why he made that claim. But I take itthere was some type of family rift between the parents and their son. Nonetheless, when they read about Otis’s death in the newspaper, they wanted to bury him at home. So, after they identified their son’s remains, I released the body for transport.” Magistrate Hunt leaned back in his chair and rested his hands on his rotund belly. “You can tell Lady Matheson that her wish has been granted. The poet has received a proper, Christian burial at no expense to herself.”
