“Harriet is here, and she is more than capable. She can take care of Bijou and help manage the staff. Anything beyond her capabilities, you can surely see to,” Bridget said.
“Harriet? She’s a lady’s maid. What does she know of running an inn? And won’t you and your aunt need her with you?”
“We will take Louisa for a lady’s maid and Gerald for a driver, seeing as they know where the Phillips family lives.”
Nate hesitated.
“Are you still concerned about what people will think? What do they say about you to your brother?”
“Not in the least,” Nate said. “My brother can go to the dev…”
Bridget suppressed a smile. “I shall leave tomorrow morning.”
“Very well,” Nate said, still looking perturbed. “But I insist that Bennett accompany you. I don’t trust Gerald to drive you there alone.”
“Bennett? How will you do without your valet?”
“I’ll do better knowing he is protecting you in Harrogate than dressing me over here,” Nate said.
Bridget smiled. She could not think of a sweeter gesture.
Chapter Twenty-One
The Reverend Phillipslived in a thatched cottage across from the Chapel of St. Michael’s in the peaceful, market town of Knaresborough.
“Well, this looks quite respectable,” Aunt Marianne said as Bennett helped her from the carriage.
“Yes, it does,” Bridget said, feeling reassured as she admired the darling cottage with its whitewashed exterior, mullioned windows, and pristine garden. She stepped forward, and Bennett followed.
“I think it will be best if the two of us go in together and the servants wait in the carriage,” Aunt Marianne said, glancing at Bennett.
“I shall remain here,” Bennett said. “But do not hesitate to holler if you need me.”
“Oh, you’re not to worry. It looks perfectly safe,” Bridget said as she pushed open the small wooden gate in front of the cottage and admired the neat garden, studded with roses, pansies, bluebells, and…daffodils. She stopped. Nerves churned in her stomach. This was a time of deep mourning for George’s poor family. How would they react to seeing her, of all people, at their doorstep? And how would they react to the news of Lady Matheson’s death? She had the sudden urge to turn and race back to the safety of her carriage.
“Good grief, Bridget! Why have you come to a standstill? Go and knock on the door. I am parched. Let’s hope the reverend and his wife will be kind enough to offer us a cup of tea.” She gave Bridget a gentle shove, and Bridget had no choice but to move forward.
Bridget used the iron knocker to rap gently on the wooden door, and a few seconds later, a pale-faced young housekeeper answered.
“We are here to see the Reverend and Mrs. Phillips,” Bridget said. “My name is Miss De Lacey from Westmorland. We are…were…friends of Mr. George Otis. Phillips,” she added.
“Wait here,” the housemaid said. “I shall inquire whether the reverend can receive you.” She closed the door, leaving Bridget and her aunt on the doorstep. A minute later, she returned and invited them inside the impeccably neat and sparse cottage. After taking their coats and bonnets, she led them to the parlor where the reverend and his wife stood to greet them.
Bridget was immediately taken aback by Mrs. Phillips’s tall, broad-shouldered physique, black hair, and dark gray eyes. Could this be fair George’s mama? She turned to Mr. Phillips, who, like his wife and George, was tall. But that is where the resemblance with his son ended. He had sharp features with small brown eyes and neatly-combed brown hair. Bridget was completely taken aback. How was it that the blue-eyed, yellow-haired George looked nothing at all like his mama and papa?
*
“Reverend and Mrs.Phillips,” Bridget said once she found her voice, “I am Miss De Lacey, and this is my aunt, Mrs. Brixton. We want to thank you for receiving us. I know this is a difficult time for you.”
“Please, sit down,” Reverend Phillips said, and Bridget could not help but notice how different his stiff mannerisms were from George’s friendly and relaxed demeanor.
Bridget and her aunt sat. “Please accept our deepest condolences on the loss of your son,” Bridget said.
“Indeed,” Aunt Marianne murmured.
“Thank you,” Reverend Phillips said. “But you needn’t have comefrom Westmorland to extend your condolences. A letter would have sufficed.”
Bridget nodded politely. “Unfortunately, that is not the only reason we are here. There’s been another death, and we have reason to believe you are familiar with the deceased.”
