Bridget inhaled deeply and then exhaled slowly. “Then, we shall have to find out who killed Lady Matheson and George Otis within the next few days. For I believe their killer is one and the same.”
“One caveat,” Nate said. “Perhaps we can all agree not to tell the guests that Lady Matheson was murdered. After all, we don’t know it to be a fact just yet, and we don’t want to create panic. Secondly, we won’t want to alert the killer, should there be one residing among us, of course.”
A chill ran down Bridget’s spine at hearing Nate’s words.
“Agreed?” Nate said.
Aunt Marianne whimpered and nodded, along with the magistrate and Dr. Elias.
“Agreed,” Bridget said.
*
Aunt Marianne calmeddown considerably after she and Bridget checked on Louisa, who was being carefully nursed by Harriet.
“She had a terrible time of it—retching violently—but now she’s sleeping soundly,” Harriet spoke in a whisper so as not to disturb her patient. “I think she’ll be feeling much better tomorrow.”
“Thank heavens!” Aunt Marianne dabbed her red-rimmed eyes, which had begun to water again. “I was so frightfully worried for the poor dear. I thought she was…” Aunt Marianne’s chest heaved, and Bridget was worried that her flood of tears would begin anew.
“No need to worry anymore, Aunt. Louisa is sleeping like a babe, as you can see.” Bridget peered at the sleeping maid. “And now it’s time for you to get some rest too.” She turned to Harriet. “Somewarm milk for my aunt, please, Harriet. That should help her sleep.”
“Very good, miss,” Harriet said. All three tiptoed out of Louisa’s room, and Bridget closed the door gently behind her.
“Will you take Bijou to the kitchen while I see to my aunt?” Bridget kissed Bijou’s head and handed him to Harriet. Then she turned to her aunt and put a gentle hand on her back. “Come along, Aunt. You’ve had quite a shock.”
She accompanied Aunt Marianne up to her room and drew the heavy drapes to block out the afternoon sunshine. Harriet delivered the warm milk, which seemed to satisfy her aunt, who settled back on her pillows after draining her cup.
“Rest now, Aunt. You’ve suffered a terrible ordeal.” Bridget clasped her aunt’s hand and held it until the woman fell into a deep slumber. Even then, she hesitated to leave her aunt. She thought again about how close she’d come to losing her only living relative. It would not have been out of character for Aunt Marianne to have taken a few pinches of laudanum to ease her nerves along with the maid, but by some miracle, she’d chosen not to and been spared poisoning.
“I am not so grown up, Aunt, that I can do without you,” Bridget whispered to the sleeping woman. Then she leaned forward and kissed her aunt’s forehead before exiting her chamber.
Bridget went directly to the study, where she knew Nate would be waiting for her. He sat, reclining in one of the leather armchairs with a brandy in hand and smiled as she entered. But Bridget noted the look of worry in his midnight blue eyes. He had removed his cravat and tailcoat jacket and wore his waistcoat open, exposing his white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck and rolled up at the sleeves. Bridget thought about how his lips had brushed against hers in the garden and felt a flutter of excitement in her stomach. She went behind her father’s desk and sat in his old chair, immediately embracing the comfort and warmth it always provided her. Though both she and Nate had sat in it countless times since her papa’s death, Bridget always felt his presencein that chair.
“I’ve been thinking about Angert,” Nate said.
“Yes, he came to my mind too. If anyone is capable of murder, it’s him. I’ve never met anyone who is so enthralled by the macabre.”
“It’s not only that.” Nate leaned forward and placed his glass on the desk. “A few days ago, before his paintings were slashed, he showed me his collection, and I marveled at the vibrant colors. The emerald green he used to paint Westmorland’s fells was incredibly realistic, so like the ones we see outside, and the yellow on his daffodils was truly breathtaking. I complimented him on his colors, and he responded by saying, ‘That is due to arsenic.’ He always has it on hand to mix those bright pigments.”
“Yes, but many people have it on hand. It’s commonly used for multiple purposes.”
“I know, but Angert was so furious the other day at breakfast. He seemed personally affronted by Lady Matheson’s outburst, most likely because he’d thought he’d done her a great favor by painting her a miniature of George. He demanded she return it to him. You weren’t there, but the man was frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog.”
“I think the thing to do is check Lady Matheson’s bedroom for the portrait. I must pack her things anyway. And if we find it is missing, then we will have to find a way to check Angert’s room. If he has it in his possession, then we likely have our answer.”
“That will be difficult. Since the destruction of his paintings, his valet has been manning his door every time he leaves his room.”
“We’ll find a way,” Bridget said. “In the meantime, is there anyone else we should be considering?”
“That depends on whether or not these murders are linked. I still believe Collins has the best motive for killing George. But he obviously could not have killed Lady Matheson.” He sighed. “Either these murders were unrelated, or we have to rule Collins out. If theyarerelated, then I’d say jealousy was the motive. Lady Matheson andGeorge appeared to have been more than friends, so someone might have been jealous.”
“That opens many possibilities. It could have been anyone in the village or, heavens forbid, one of our servants.”
“True, but I was thinking more along the lines of someone who may have been jealous of George himself. He was popular and garnered a lot of attention from the ladies.”
“Do you have someone in mind?” Bridget asked.
“Rupert,” Nate said without hesitation. “I don’t trust him.”
