Bridget pressed her lips together and dropped her gaze to her lap. That was the answer she’d expected. She understood why Nate disliked Rupert, but the vehemence in his voice puzzled her. Was it just his lack of access to Henry that irked him, or was it Lady Luxton’s open dalliance with Rupert that upset him so?
“We can’t rule out the possibility that he was jealous of George,” Nate reiterated. “Just think about how he taunted Groby on the night of the murder. What did he do that for if not to put George in danger?”
“But then why kill Lady Matheson?”
“I don’t know yet,” Nate said. “I only know that there is something rotten about that man.”
“But Charlie would have to be involved then, too, and I don’t see that happening. He’s a sweetheart.”
“Not necessarily,” Nate said.
“Well, I’d say Angert is the one we should be focusing on,” Bridget said.
“I agree. But we shall also need to keep a close eye on Rupert.”
Bridget nodded. She disagreed with Nate about Rupert, but she didn’t say as much. On the other hand, Angert frightened her. And she could very well see him as the killer.
“I think the best thing to do now is check Lady Matheson’s room and wait for Louisa to wake up, so we can question her,” Nate said.
“I’ll take care of searching Lady Matheson’s room. Her belongings need to be packed so they can be transported home, and it wouldn’t be right for a man to rifle through a lady’s things—even if she is deceased.”
“You’re right.” Nate had gone to the window and turned to look outside. “That will suit me well. There’s something I need to take care of before we interview Louisa.” Nate looked perturbed as he turned away from the window and strode out of the study.
Curiosity took hold, and Bridget walked to the window and looked out. Lady Luxton stood in the garden, staring back up at her.
Chapter Nineteen
Lady Matheson’s belongingswere decidedly slim for a woman of her stature. She didn’t have nearly as many dresses as Bridget had, and barely any jewelry. Perhaps she’d decided against the risk of taking her jewels and expensive gowns on a trip. That seemed sensible to Bridget, but most of the titled ladies she’d come across were far from sensible.
Bridget removed Lady Matheson’s neatly folded dresses from her drawer and carefully checked between them for the portrait. When she found nothing, she tucked the dresses into the lady’s traveling trunk and moved on to packing her corsets, petticoats, bonnets, and gloves. The final drawer in Lady Matheson’s dresser housed a row of shawls. Just as Bridget crouched to open the last drawer, a light knock sounded on the chamber door, and before she could respond, the door opened, and Miss Jennings stepped inside.
Bridget stood and blinked back her shock. “Miss Jennings! Is something the matter?”
“I wanted to offer my help. I heard Louisa is feeling unwell, and you’ve been so kind to me. I want to repay you in some small way.”
“Oh, you needn’t worry,” Bridget said, “I’m almost fin…” Bridget saw Miss Jennings’s cheeks color. The humiliation of rejection was written on her face. Bridget swallowed. How could she be so callous? Miss Jennings was not the type who found extending herself easy.
Bridget smiled. “That would be wonderful. I can use some help.”
Miss Jennings entered the room and closed the door behind her.
“I’m just emptying this last drawer where she kept her shawls, and then we can go through her shoes.” Bridget lifted a pile of shawls out of the drawer, laid them on the bed, and then carefully refolded each one as she looked for the portrait.
Miss Jennings ran her hand over the night table. “Did you pack all her trinkets away already?”
“She didn’t have that many.” Bridget pressed another shawl into the traveling trunk. “She didn’t bring much with her, from the looks of it.”
“Perhaps I can find the carrier for these.” Miss Jennings bent to pick up Lady Matheson’s soft black leather lace-up boots. “Lady Armstrong likes to keep her shoe cases under the bed.” And before Bridget could say anything, Miss Jennings was on her knees, peering under the bed.
Bridget laughed softly and compressed the clothing in the trunk with her hands. It warmed her heart to see Miss Jennings assert herself a little. But her smile faded as Miss Jennings emerged from under the bed, holding an exceedingly sharp knife in her hand.
*
Bridget’s heart leaptinto her throat as she backed away from Miss Jennings, despite there being a bed between them. “What are you doing?” she managed to gasp.
“It was under the bed.” Miss Jennings dropped the knife onto the bed as if it were a snake.
Bridget then took a cautious step forward and peered at the knife. It was a pocketknife with a sharp blade and an ivory handle. “Was it open with the blade exposed when you picked it up?” she asked.
