Page 8 of A Captain, a Corpse, and Miss Bridges
“I only have to suffer him for another year,” Flora tilted her chin, determined to find some optimism. “Then I shall be free to do as I please.”
He glanced then at the gates behind Flora and his smile fell for the briefest moment as he realised their walk had reached its conclusion.
“It will be the end of your first act, Miss Bridges,” the captain said after a pause, then offered her a conspiratorial smile. “Though I’d hazard a guess that you have much grander plans than I for your second.”
Flora couldn’t help but smile back. He removed his hat, offered her a sweeping bow, and disappeared into the dusk with a cheerful goodbye.
She lingered for a moment, watching until he vanished from sight. Her heart felt unusually light after their brief walk; the argument with Sir Ambrose and the echoing emptiness of Brackenfield momentarily forgotten.
There was much to feel hopeful about, she decided as she made her way back inside. Her life stretched ahead of her, full of possibility—though she would not be tempted to pin any of that possibility onto Captain Thorne. She was not that fanciful.
Still, she went to bed smiling as she recalled their conversation—and tried very hard not to think about the image of him in her grandmother’s kitchen, with his Greek shoulders and bare chest.
Unfortunately, the optimism that had coloured her dreams vanished entirely the next morning.
“Awful news about Sir Ambrose,” Helen—the maid-of-all-work Flora had inherited along with the house—said as she set a teapot on the table with unusual solemnity.
“Oh?” Flora paused in the doorway, struck by the girl’s tone.
“Found dead, first thing,” Helen said, casting her a sidelong glance as she walked to the table. “They’re saying it was murder.”
Flora sat down at the table with a thump.
“Oh,” she said again—just as a snide voice whispered in the back of her mind: Be careful what you wish for…
CHAPTER FOUR
JAMES’ LAST THOUGHTbefore falling asleep had been of Miss Flora Bridges, and when he awoke with her still on his mind, he began to suspect that she might be the theme of the day.
Unfortunately, as he arrived at Crabb Hall he soon learned that he was not the only person in Plumpton with Miss Bridges on their mind.
“I’m afraid we’ll have to call off the hunt,” Lord Crabb sighed, as James was led into the library by the butler. “One of the locals has been found dead and Dr Bates is adamant it’s murder.”
“Gemini,” James whistled in surprise. “Who was it?”
“Sir Ambrose,” the viscount answered with a grimace. “His housekeeper found him this morning, seated in his chair with an open bottle of brandy beside him. If she had cleared it away before the doctor arrived, then it would simply have been written off as an apoplectic fit of some kind.”
“What was in the bottle?” James questioned curiously.
“Aconite,” Lord Crabb frowned. “The doctor noted the acrid smell and the cloudy yellow tint to it.”
“What a diligent doctor to think to even search for something,” James said admiringly.
“No, he’s a thirsty one,” Lord Crabb snorted with amusement. “He must have poured himself a glass while the housekeeper’s back was turned and then realised something was amiss. Now, as magistrate, I’m forced to investigate the matter.”
His friend looked so glum at the prospect, that James could not help but ask; “But where’s the problem with that?”
“The problem is,” Lord Crabb answered as he massaged his temples, “That not five minutes after the constable, Mr Marrowbone, arrived to break the news, the village gossip Mrs Canards and her friend Mrs Wickling burst in to tell me that they had already solved the case.”
James stilled as he recalled that it was Mrs Wickling who had insisted on escorting him to Sir Ambrose’s cottage the day before. And, like he, she had witnessed Flora’s outburst.
“Miss Bridges is innocent,” James interjected, earning himself a confused glance from his friend, who had not yet shared that portion of his tale.
Before he could accuse him of omnipotence, James hastily explained his own visit to the curmudgeonly knight bachelor.
“Miss Bridges’ outburst was unfortunate but without any actual malicious intent,” he finished firmly.
“Flora wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Lord Crabb agreed.
