Page 11 of A Captain, a Corpse, and Miss Bridges
“And, as she lived with him for nearly a decade, I’m sure she had some cause to want to kill him herself,” Lord Crabb gave a wry chuckle.
The two men set off for the hall, in search of Mrs Fitzhenry, though they were shortly interrupted by a call from Mr Marrowbone.
“Herself took off in a state of distress toward her sister’s,” the constable called cheerfully from his stool. “I don’t think she’ll be in any state to speak with you today, my lord.”
“Was she dreadfully upset?” Lord Crabb queried, a note of sympathy in his voice for the poor housekeeper.
“That, and she was clutching a bottle of brandy,” he answered approvingly. “Nothing better for a bad shock.”
James and Lord Crabb glanced at each other with matching horror.
“In what direction does Mrs Fitzhenry’s sister live?” Lord Crabb pressed the constable urgently.
“She’s in a cottage in the village, beside the butcher’s,” the constable answered, nonplussed by his exigency. “If you’re passing that way, you might tell Mr Burke and Mr Hare that the body is ready for collecting. I’d go myself but I need to remain in my post.”
“There could be a third corpse for them to fetch, if Mrs Fitzhenry’s bottle was tampered with too,” Lord Crabb growled, as he beckoned for James to follow him from the garden.
They mounted up swiftly, the weight of real danger putting both men on edge.
“I’ll ride on to the sister’s cottage and speak to Mrs Fitzhenry myself,” Crabb said grimly, swinging into the saddle. “With luck, she’s only nursing shock and not poison.”
“Perhaps I should call on Miss Bridges?” James ventured, pierced by worry for the young lady who had so captured his imagination. Between the village gossips and Dr Bates declaring her a murderess before the body was even cold, it was a wonder there wasn’t already a mob gathering on the green calling for her neck.
“A sound instinct,” Lord Crabb agreed, though he hesitated a moment before continuing. “Might I suggest you call to her grandmother’s cottage first? She’s most likely there and the last thing she needs is scandal added to rumour.”
James dipped his head in agreement, then wheeled his horse about and took off at a canter—though not before he noted, again, the knowing smile on Lord Crabb’s face.
CHAPTER FIVE
FLORA HAD SUFFEREDthe slings and arrows of outrageous rumour all her life—ever since childhood, when her young contemporaries had delighted in calling her a witch.
Even the wicked whispers flung by certain villagers—that she was baseborn—had failed to wound her as they’d intended. For Flora had always clung to one shining certainty:
Her mother had married a dashing naval officer, and their love had been so powerful, so absolute, that neither had been able to live without the other.
But this was different. This rumour felt heavier, more dangerous. What if it lingered? What if it was never disproved? There were worse things to be accused of than witchcraft or being born outside of wedlock.
Since inheriting her fortune, her whole world had tipped on its axis, and at that very moment, she felt as though she were in danger of spinning off altogether.
She longed for something to hold on to. Even her grandmother’s comforting presence in the kitchen, fussing over the kettle and offering well-worn platitudes, did little to soothe her.
She closed her eyes and took a breath. If only—
A knock at the door broke through her thoughts.
Mrs Bridges paused, head tilted toward the sound. A second knock came, sharper this time.
“If it’s an angry mob, pray tell them to wait until I’ve finished my tea,” Flora called glumly after her.
But it wasn’t the villagers come with pitchforks. Moments later, Mrs Bridges returned with Captain Thorne in tow—hat in hand, jaw set, eyes stormy with concern.
“Miss Bridges,” he said, without preamble. “I would like to offer my services to you.”
Flora avoided the sight of her grandmother’s face, which had broken into a grin of such proportions it could have lit the room.
“Thank you, Captain,” she replied lightly. “Although I must confess, salvaging my reputation might prove trickier than commanding a vessel through a squall.”
“I am certain of your innocence,” he said firmly. “And I will not rest until I have cleared your name.”
