AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It was time to put that horrible, imagined future behind her, and to look instead to the bright days ahead.
After the storm had passed, everything would be all right.
Bridget reached the guest chamber and went inside. The drapes were closed, a lighted lamp flickered on the nightstand, and the bed had been made up with fresh linen. A fire crackled in the hearth, and she sighed at the cozy sight. A clean, white nightgown had been laid out on the bed. Her brow furrowed as she walked closer, realizing the gown could only have belonged to one person: Mary.
She could not wear it, so she gently set it aside on the pillow and undressed down to her chemise, which was quite dry. She was about to get into bed, when she noticed a small painting hanging across from the bed. She went over to it, and realized it was a drawing she had done years and years ago, a gift for her best friend.
A girl on a horse.
Bridget’s eyelashes fluttered as tears came again. She wiped them away with her hand as she went back to the bed and got in, resting against the pillows, feeling bone-weary from sorrow. But then, there came a soft knock on the door.
“Come in!” she called, expecting a maid to enter. It was Jane. She bobbed a curtsey and approached the bed, her eyes downcast and hands clasped before her.
“Lady Bridget,” she said. “I’ve been sent to help you with your gown.”
“Jane!” Bridget said, getting out of bed and rushing toward her, taking her by the hands. The girl was listless, as if she hardly recognized Bridget, or didn’t want to. “His Grace told me it was you who pointed him in the right direction about Lady Mary’s death. I haven’t had a chance to thank you.”
“Please, let me help you, my lady,” Jane murmured. “I am very sorry, but it is difficult for me to speak of it.”
Bridget dropped her hands and stood silently watching her, worried by the maid’s strange demeanor.
“I understand. It is quite all right, Jane. I have gotten myself ready for bed, as you can see. But please, won’t you come and talk to me? I know you must miss Mary, too.”
Jane paused, wringing her hands. Bridget could not see her face, but she saw the maid’s shoulders slowly begin to heave, until great, wracking sobs shook her slight body.
Bridget's heart broke for her, and she reached out to gently hold Jane's shoulder, but the maid moved to the window, bracing herself against the sill with her hands. She didn’t remember her being so thin. Jane seemed to be wasting away in the aftermath of her lady's death.
“Jane,” Bridget said quietly, soothingly. “I understand what you are going through. But friends are important at such a time, and I have missed your company.”
“It is not that,” Jane said. “Though, yes, of course, I miss her.”
“What is it then?” Bridget said. She crossed to Jane by the window and guided her gently to a chair by the fireside, sitting opposite her. “Jane, whatever it is, you can tell me.”
“It’s that…” Jane sniffled, then her voice cracked when she continued. “I heard you talking earlier, and you are wrong. It was not your fault. It wasmine.”
“Whatever can you mean?” Bridget asked. “You were not there when Mary was killed.”
“Not the killing itself,” Jane said. “But Lady Mary died because she was protectingmefrom Lord Bragg.”
Bridget realized what Jane was upset about then, and her hand flew up to cover her mouth in horror. Jane had curled in on herself, looking again into the fire as if she could not bear to meet her gaze.
Bridget felt something roiling in her stomach, and she felt she might burst with rage. She was not a young lady inclined to such outbursts, but the evil that was Oliver Bragg had her feeling quite out of sorts. Her fists clenched as she watched Jane, seeing how the maid had clearly been agonizing over Mary’s death.
“Jane, that does not mean it was your fault!” Bridget said, more forcefully than she had intended. “You did not invite what that monster did to you, and Mary knew it, which is why it was so important to her to stand up for you.”
“But if she had stayed silent, she would still be alive.”
The words struck Bridget like a knife, sharp and painful. Not because she sensed truth in Jane’s words, but because she had uttered them herself so many times. It was only hearing them from another woman’s mouth that made her realize her error.
No one was responsible for Lord Bragg’s actions but Bragg himself.
“We should never stay silent when wrong is being done to another, and Mary knew it better than most of us,” Bridget said. “Bragg will be brought to justice, and we shall be safe. I am so very sorry he was allowed into this house to begin with—or any of our houses. I shudder to think of what havoc he must wreak among the poor servants on his own estate.”
Jane looked back at her, her eyes wide. “So, you intend to tell the authorities?”
“Of course we do,” Bridget said. “He killed Lady Mary with his own hand. He cannot go unpunished for that, nor for what he did to you. We must slay this demon if at all possible, even if the odds are against us. But with the duke on our side, all shall be well.”
Jane’s chin trembled, but she reached out to grasp Bridget’s hands. “My lady, I do wish to see him brought to justice for what he did to Lady Mary, but as for me, I am a mere servant. You know as well as I that members of the nobility do not face punishment for any crimes other than murder. Nobody will care what he did to me. It is commonplace in many households.”
