“Knaresborough?” Nate said, thinking out loud. “That’s near Harrogate.”
“Yes, just outside.”
“But when did Mr. and Mrs. Otis come and collect George’s body?”
“About four days after his murder. When you were in York, I believe. But his parents aren’t called Mr. and Mrs. Otis. That wasn’t Otis’s name—or at least not his complete name. His full name was George Otis Phillips.”
“Phillips!” Nate almost jumped out of his chair.
“Yes. He must have dropped the Phillips part after his rift with his parents—the Reverend and Mrs. Phillips from Knaresborough.”
“Phillips is the name of the student who reported Collins to the headmaster of St. Joseph’s. Don’t you see! George Otis was responsible for Collins being dismissed from St. Joseph’s and losing Alice. Then, over three years later, Collins arrives in Westmorland only to find Otis is there giving Alice reading lessons!” Nate shook his head and laughed. “It all makes sense now. Otis must have tracked Alice to Westmorland, and Collins would have been enraged to find that Otis had wormed his way into Alice’s life after all the damage he had done. He must have wanted to get rid of him once and for all. Collins has to be the killer!”
“That doesn’t prove anything. It’s all hearsay,” Magistrate Hunt said after Nate explained the full extent of Otis’s relationship to Collins.
“Of course, it does,” Nate said. “Otis ruined Collins’s life. It is entirely his fault that Collins lost his position as a master at St. Joseph’s and, if that wasn’t bad enough, he ended up losing the love of his life as well. Then, when Collins finally reconnects with Alice, Otis arrives and ruins everything yet again.”
Magistrate Hunt shifted in his seat. “But we have a near confession from Groby. He is the one who declared he’d butcher Otis, not Collins. The people have decided he is guilty.”
“The people?” Nate said. “They are in no position to judge. They’ve been whipped into a frenzy by the horrific details of the murder. Their judgment is clouded.”
“It’s not their fault—they are good people—they want justice. Groby needs to hang, and his body needs to remain rotting in public for all to see—not because we are bloodthirsty, but because—”
“What if we can get a confession from Collins?” Nate interjected.
“How? Do you intend to beat it out of him?”
“Of course not. But let’s pay him a visit and see what happens when he realizes we know that George Otis is George Otis Phillips.”
Magistrate Hunt sighed. “I don’t know—”
“How long have you known John Groby?” Nate asked. “Thirty years or more? And in all that time has he ever acted aggressively or caused any trouble?”
“No,” Magistrate Hunt said. “He’s been quite an upstanding citizen.”
“Exactly. Yet you choose to ignore the possibility that a stranger, newly arrived in Braithwaite, who has a strong connection to the victim, might be the killer? Don’t you owe Groby—an ‘upstanding citizen’ in your own words—better than that?”
The magistrate nodded. “You’re right. Let’s go and pay Collins a visit.”
*
Alice Groby arrivedat Villa De Lacey with her two children in a horse-drawn cart. She wore a pale-green dress that showed off her slim figure and complemented her lovely green eyes. Her light-brown curls were set in a loose bun and ringlets around her face. She had a creamy complexion that showed no trace of the hardships she’d suffered through in her life.
As she climbed down from the cart with the footman’s help, Bridget approached her.
“Welcome,” Bridget said. “I’m so glad you could come. This is my friend Mrs. Jane Harley. I hope you don’t mind if she joins us today.”
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Harley.” She smiled at Jane. And then, turning back to Bridget, said, “Thank you for inviting us. It’s good for the children to have an outing.”
Bijou, who’d been off in the garden, came racing toward them, wagging his tail. Edmund clung to his mother’s leg as the dog approached.
“Don’t be afraid, Edmund. Bijou wants to be your friend.” Bridget petted Bijou. “He likes to be petted. Do you want to try?”
Edmund nodded and came forward to pet the dog. Bijou jumped up and put his paws on the boy’s chest, making him giggle.
Little Charlotte kicked her legs and squealed in her mother’s arms.
“Shall we go down to the lake? Cook has prepared a delicious picnic for us to enjoy.” She held up the basket containing the feast.
