Alice seemed to understand her inability to comprehend her revelation. “I don’t expect you knew that side of him. He wouldn’t have taken such liberties with you. He enjoyed the advantages of being your friend too much. He wouldn’t have wanted to spoil that.”
“I can hardly believe it,” Bridget said.
Alice smoothed her daughter’s curls. “That’s because George hidhis darkness well.”
Bridget swallowed. Yet another person in her life who’d deceived her. How many more would there be? “Did you tell Mr. Groby about this?”
“Of course not,” Alice said. “I knew it would send him into a rage. I haven’t told anyone, and you mustn’t either.” She reached out and grabbed Bridget’s wrist. “Please! It won’t help John if you tell him. He will only say he wishes hehadkilled George.” Alice’s daughter began to squirm on her lap, and she set the child down next to her.
“So you didn’t mention this to Mr. Collins either?”
“There was no need. I could manage George Otis on my own. I did warn George that if he ever bothered me again, I’d let the whole town know what a scoundrel he was—including my husband. He apologized and begged me not to say anything. He said he couldn’t help himself—that he’d fallen in love with me. I didn’t believe him, but I wanted no trouble, so I promised not to say anything, as long as he kept away.”
“Then you stopped the lessons? And Mr. Groby thought you were finally complying with his request?”
She shook her head. “I pretended to keep on with my reading lessons, so John wouldn’t think anything was amiss. Also, I wanted to keep meeting Mr. Collins as usual. That was stupid of me. But I didn’t have the heart to stop. He’d done so much for me. And he is Edmund’s father, after all. In the end, I didn’t have to keep it up for long because a few days after the problem with George, he were dead.”
Bridget sighed and glanced down at Alice’s daughter. The little girl gave her a toothy grin. “And you have no idea who could have killed him?”
Alice pressed her lips together. “I…” she began. Then she shook her head.
“Alice,” Bridget said gently, “if you know something, you’d best say it. I hear Mr. Groby will be sent to York soon for his trial, and themagistrate is likely to find him guilty.”
A tear rolled down Alice’s cheek. “I know.”
“But it’s even worse than that,” Bridget said, hating herself for having to tell Alice what would happen to her husband. “There’s talk that he’ll be hanged and gibbeted in Westmorland.”
The woman sucked in her breath so forcefully that Charlotte began to cry. Alice pulled the child onto her lap and sobbed, covering her mouth with her hand.
Bridget felt a lump rise in her throat and tears sting her eyes. What was happening to Westmorland? Once again, darkness had descended on her tranquil and idyllic home.
“There is one thing.” Alice sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Whenever I met with George near his cottage, I felt as if someone were watching us.”
Bridget went cold. Hadn’t Nate said that Mr. Groby had had his wife followed? And didn’t that mean that he would have known everything? Perhaps she’d been incorrect from the beginning.
Mayhap Mr. Grobydidkill George.
Chapter Sixteen
Nate noticed thatsomething was amiss the minute he and Magistrate Hunt dismounted their horses outside the Groby’s cottage. Several sets of departing bloody footprints dotted the dirt path in front of the butcher’s slaughterhouse. And while the blood could have come from an animal, the multiple sets of footprints struck Nate as unusual. He glanced at the magistrate, and they both quickened their pace.
Upon entering the slaughterhouse, Nate recoiled as the smell of blood, flesh, and death assailed his nostrils. He’d never been able to abide the stench of animal slaughter and had always taken care to avoid Smithfield’s and other like areas in London.
“Good Lord!” Magistrate Hunt cried and raced forward.
“What is it?” Nate asked, following the magistrate, but then slowed when he almost slipped on a wet pool on the floor. “What the devil…” And then he saw Collins. The man lay there, covered in blood. “Is he dead?” Nate asked as he came closer to inspect Collins’s battered and swollen body. His entire face was a purple and bloodied mess.
“Not yet.” Magistrate Hunt knelt, not appearing to care about what he was kneeling in, and put an ear to Collins’s heart before he lifted his head and looked at Nate. “Help me carry him inside. Then run and get Dr. Elias.”
As they picked up Collins by his arms and legs, the man groaned.
“Careful,” Magistrate Hunt said as they shuffled Collins outside.
They moved slowly so as not to slip or further injure Collins. Then, just as they reached the cottage, they saw Alice Groby’s wagon roll to a stop outside her gate.
“Let’s get him inside before the children see him.” Nate tried the cottage door, and it swung open. They carried Collins inside and laid him gently down on the kitchen table. Then Nate went back to intercept Mrs. Groby and the children before they entered the dwelling.
“What has happened?” Alice Groby asked as Nate met her by the front door. “What are you doing in my house? And why is there blood outside?” She glanced down at Nate’s bloodied hands and gasped. “Why…what? Are you hurt?”
