“Of course not. I never thought Groby would seriously harm George. I imagined that if George continued to spend time with Mrs. Groby, he’d likely receive a beating from Groby. But murder? I never thought he’d actually do such a thing.”
Magistrate Hunt straightened his shoulders. “Well, as you can see, that is exactly what’s happened.” He sighed. “It’s a disturbing turn of events, but I’d say that it looks like we’ve got our man.”
*
“I don’t believeit!” Bridget said. “Mr. Groby has been part of our community since he was a child. He’s a decent man with a kind nature. Why, I’ve seen him give free scraps of meat to the poor so they can make soup. And Mrs. Groby has never complained about her husband’s behavior. They seem perfectly happy together. I had no idea he was capable of—to think he’d even make such a threat, let alone act on it.” She swallowed, feeling nausea rising in her throat.
“I think we’ve both learned that things aren’t always what they seem,” Nate said dryly.
Bridget knew he was referring to the murders last summer. She squeezed her eyes shut. She could not think about that. It was all too raw. She could not reconcile the horror of it in her mind. And to think it should happen again—that someone she trusted and thought she knew was, in fact, someone else entirely.No! It cannot be. Is anythingwhat it seems?Still cradling Bijou, she pressed one hand against her stomach to stave off the nausea.
“I know you’re right,” she told Nate as she watched the magistrate’s men lift George’s wrapped body onto a stretcher, ready to transport it to Dr. Elias for examination. “But to cut a man’s heart out. It’s unimaginable.”
“It seems quite plausible to me,” Magistrate Hunt said. “As much as I hate to think Mr. Groby capable of murder, the man is a butcher. He has the tools and the know-how to do it. And I imagine you become desensitized to blood and organs and such in that profession.”
“What are you saying?” Rupert, who’d been focused on the men preparing to cart George’s body away, suddenly turned to face the magistrate. “Are you saying that butcher carved George up like a piece of meat—cut out his heart and fed it to his pigs?” The young man’s face was ashen, and his dark eyes widened with horror.
Charlie stood beside him and looked as though he might swoon. He was a sensitive young man with a boy’s face. Bridget’s heart went out to him.
“Unfortunately, that is the case,” Magistrate Hunt said gravely. “Your friend was murdered, and his body desecrated most savagely.”
“Good God!” Rupert stumbled backward. “That brute! That monster!”
“I’m so sorry,” Bridget said, feeling wretched that the young poets had heard the gory details of their friend’s brutal murder because of her carelessness in speaking about it out loud—and while she was trying to defend the potential killer! “It’s awful. It truly is, but you mustn’t jump to conclusions. Mr. Groby must be given a chance to explain himself—”
“Don’t say that man’s name to me,” Rupert growled. “I won’t rest until I see him hanged by the neck.”
Bridget took no offense to Rupert’s harsh tone and words. She knew exactly how he felt. The agony of knowing her papa’s body hadbeen violated and buried at a crossroads in London, far out of her reach, was something from which she’d never recover.
“Now, let’s all stay calm, shall we?” Nate said. “Why don’t we go inside and have a strong drink?” he offered the men. “It’s early yet, but I know I can use one.” He turned to Magistrate Hunt. “You too, Magistrate. I imagine you’ll want to question our guests. We can all have a drink and calm down a bit, and then, once the guests have breakfasted, I’ll tell them to gather in the drawing room. That way, you can address everyone at once.”
“I’m not sure we’ll get that chance.” Bridget looked toward the villa and saw Colonel Kendall striding toward them. “It’s the colonel.”
The colonel was a stout man with a curvy gray mustache and bright eyes who had come to Westmorland for a bit of relaxation after retirement. But Bridget was convinced that he’d chosen Villa De Lacey on purpose because he hated relaxation and wanted to retain a bit of excitement in his life. He was one of those guests who’d heard about the “murder inn” and secretly hoped there’d be another murder during their visit. And now—unbelievable as it seemed—there had been.
“Good Lord! He’s the last person we need,” Nate said, taking a step forward to go and intercept the man and stop him from approaching, but Bridget’s warning came too late. The colonel had spotted the corpse on the stretcher and headed toward it.
“I say, what’s going on?” Colonel Kendall pointed his walking stick at the magistrate’s retreating men, each of whom held one end of a makeshift stretcher. “Stop!” Colonel Kendall bellowed. “That’s an order, do you hear?”
Bijou lifted his head in the direction of the commotion and growled softly. Bridget could feel his little heart beating wildly as though he sensed danger.
Unbelievably, the men did as they were told, causing Magistrate Hunt to snarl under his breath, “Keep moving, lads!”
The colonel marched toward the men and pointed his walkingstick at the blood-stained sheet concealing George’s body. “Good God, has there been a murder?”
The magistrate’s men stood frozen as though unsure of this new authority figure and whether or not he was someone they ought to take seriously.
“Oh dear,” Bridget said as they watched the scene unfold from a few feet away.
Nate groaned. “We had better get him inside and put a brandy or two in his hand. We don’t need him spreading hysteria among the guests by telling everyone there’s been another suspicious death.”
“Why don’t we all go inside together and let the magistrate finish his work here?” Bridget gave Charlie and Rupert a sympathetic smile and then turned to Magistrate Hunt. “You will join us when your tasks out here are complete, won’t you, sir?”
“I shouldn’t think so,” Rupert interjected before the magistrate could respond. “He needs to get over to Braithwaite and arrest Groby.”
“Arrest?” Bridget could not believe her ears.
“Now, wait a minute,” Nate said, taking his eyes off the colonel and turning to Rupert. “Isn’t that a bit rash? There must be a proper investigation.”
