“Unfortunately, the basket he put the child in wasn’t adequate, and it quickly filled with water.” She fell silent. “It only took a few seconds before the infant disappeared under the murky waters of the pond.”
“Good grief!” Bridget felt the sting of tears in her eyes.
“By the time his mama realized her babe was gone from his cradle, it was too late. George attempted to lay the blame on the infant’s brothers, but there was no doubt in Sir Roald’s mind about what had happened. There had been too many ‘accidents’ over the years to ignore the truth. That’s when Sir Roald decided to banish George from his estate. He could no longer look at the boy. He paid my husband, a great deal of money to take care of the boy and instruct him in the Christian way of life. And I must say, it seemed to work. Reverend Phillips took a stern hand with George and instilled the fear of God in him. For the first four years that George was with us, the boy adhered to a strict schedule of Bible study, Latin and mathematics lessons, prayer, and chores. George had no time for mischief.”
“But what about his mama? Did he not cry for her?” Bridget asked.
“No. He appeared to have scant feelings for her—for anyone, in fact. But he did rail against the rules he was forced to follow. He wasn’t used to that, but once he realized that things were not going to be as they had been for him, he finally settled down. By the time he turned thirteen and went to boarding school at St. Joseph’s, he wascompletely transformed. At least that’s what we thought.”
“Did he get up to mischief in school?”
“Oh, no. George loved school. It was a haven for him with its systematic bullying in place. They call it fagging, where younger boys do the bidding of older boys, who punish them in various cruel ways at their will. I fear it reignited George’s appetite for cruelty. He thrived at boarding school, and afterwards, he went on to Cambridge. The reverend wanted him to follow in his footsteps. And for a time, it seemed he would.”
Bridget pressed a hand to her pulsing throat as she waited to hear what happened next.
“About two years ago, a young woman came to see us, claiming George had courted her and promised to marry her but would not fulfill his obligation.” Mrs. Phillips paused. “She was with child.”
“My word!” Aunt Marianne said.
Bridget could hardly believe it. She hadn’t known George for long, but was it possible that he could have hidden his true self so expertly? The George she knew had been a kind and sensitive young man.
“The reverend was furious and called him home from Cambridge,” Mrs. Phillips continued, “but George denied ever having known the young lady. He was adamant. There was a big row, and George left us. He refused to return to university. Sir Roald cut him off. And we never heard from him again.
“But there was gossip—talk that he was in York. People said he claimed to be a poet and that he got money from…” She swallowed. “From women he entertained or charmed—widows and lonely wives.” She covered her eyes and shook her head.
Bridget wanted to reach out to the woman and offer some comfort, but decorum held her back. She did not know Mrs. Phillips well enough to intrude on her personal space.
“Then I heard talk that he went to Westmorland. That was just before his mother arrived and gave us news of Sir Roald’s passing. Shewanted her son, of course. Even after all those years, she still thought of him as a little boy. It was as though time had stood still for her. The reverend threatened to have her locked away as her husband had done, but I was not so heartless. Men have all the power, you know. They can lock us away, deny us our freedom, our speech, and our children.” She paused. “So, I told her that he was an aspiring poet and had gone to Westmorland to follow in Wordsworth’s footsteps.” She gave a half smile. “It seems I made the wrong decision because they are both now dead.”
A cold chill ran down Bridget’s spine. “You don’t think Lady Matheson would have murdered her own son, do you?”
“I don’t know.” Mrs. Phillips said. “Perhaps I was misguided in sympathizing with her. It seems she was mad, after all. So, who knows what she might have done? It’s quite possible she killed George and then killed herself. On the other hand, that butcher may in fact be the guilty one. I think George inherited a touch of his mother’s madness, and it led him to wander dangerous paths. Indeed, I believe he would have ended up a victim of murder sooner or later.” She shook her head. “Sir Roald tried to save them both, first by sending George away and then by keeping his wife under lock and key. Alas, it was not to be.”
Bridget sighed. Despite everything she’d discovered, she was still no closer to knowing who killed George. And if she returned to Westmorland without answers, Groby would go to trial in York, where he was certain to be found guilty of murder.
Chapter Twenty-Three
In Bridget’s absence,Helen had been more generous with Henry’s time. She’d allowed Nate to spend a whole day with him—and herself—but it had not come without conditions.
“I cannot tell you what an awful bore my life has become,” she’d said as they’d watched Henry play in the garden with Bijou. “You will never understand the sacrifices I made for our son.”
Nate had bitten his tongue to keep silent. All he wanted was to be with Henry and arguing with his child’s mother might cause her to take his access to his son.
“Lord Luxton is not well. He sleeps all day long.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” Nate had said.
“He’s not even capable of…” She glanced sideways at Nate. He knew her tricks, and he felt immediately discomforted. Why could she not take ‘no’ for an answer? But he already knew the answer to that question. It wasn’t about him at all. It was about getting what she wanted, at any cost. She could not tolerate rejection on any level, despite dishing it out whenever it suited her. He called to Henry and stepped forward, wanting to join his son in play, but she caught his arm. He stopped and turned to face her.
“I want another child,” she said.
Nate was momentarily speechless. “Isn’t that something you should be discussing with your husband?” he could not keep the iciness from his voice.
“My husband!” She laughed. “Didn’t you hear what I just said?He’s not able to give me a child. He was barely able to consummate our marriage.”
Nate turned away from her. He didn’t want to talk about the intimacies of her marriage.
“You’d be doing it for Henry’s sake.” She stepped in front of Nate. “He deserves a brother.”
