Page 13 of Death at Fournier Downs
Now, riding toward town, she held the button in her hand, observing the dormant object. Someone had pushed Charlotte from the quarry ledge. There was no doubt anymore in Audrey’s mind. Finding the person could be as easy as finding the owner of a coat missing one of its buttons. But where to begin looking?
Mr. Marsden—Hughas she had started to think of him, especially since he’d blundered and called her by her given name—had asked her to stay out of it. Well, how could she? He knew what she could do. He wanted to know what the button had shown her, too. As she rode toward the inn, she told herself she was only going to meet with him and share what she’d gleaned. But then, she considered the inquest itself. By law, Charlotte’s remains were to be laid out for inspection and observation, to view any injury or signs of foul play. So, considering it was nearly noon, that meant her body was likely at the inn. Perhaps some other objects that had been on her person at the time of the accident would be as well.
She closed her eyes. Notaccident. Audrey knew better, even if no one else did.
Seeing Charlotte’s body again was not something she looked forward to. In fact, the notion sent shivers through her, her breath coming short and rapid. At their last tea, Charlotte had been speaking of the first dinner ball she would be hosting upon her return to London for the Little Season. She had been animated, full of life. To see her body, her soul now having flown from it, would not be an easy thing. But if it gave Audrey even the slightest advantage in finding out who had pushed her, she would do it.
The Hare and Crown in Low Heath was a stop along the post road, not just for passenger coaches but for the Royal Mail, and so the establishment was usually bustling. However today, more carriages than usual surrounded the inn and tavern. A death inquest would attract curious onlookers, even if they were not officially taking part in the proceedings.
At Audrey’s earlier instruction, Kinson, her driver, pulled the carriage around the Hare and Crown, to the stable yard. She had not wanted to enter through the front door when she’d only been planning to seek out Hugh Marsden. Now that she had a new destination in mind, she wanted to remain unseen even more so.
She waited as Kinson descended from the driver’s box and opened the door.
In London, Audrey had her ever-reliable driver Carrigan. Here, her driver was less amiable and, she sensed, more judgmental. Kinson had been the driver at Fournier House for two decades, and Audrey had the impression he was not fond of the most recent duchess. Perhaps he objected to her ties to Haverfield—cold and aloof, Lady Edgerton and the baron were not well liked in the area. Often, she wondered if she was just as cold and aloof as her mother. Audrey didn’t smile readily or converse easily; she was reserved, rather than outgoing. Having Cassandra with them this summer had only highlighted how staid Audrey was in comparison. She’d never been as bubbly, coy, or jovial as Cassie and so many other women were.
However, as Kinson helped her down from the conveyance, she knew pretending to be someone other than who she was would be a sham. Audrey didn’t have the patience or the wherewithal for it.
“You may return to Fournier House to fetch the duke,” she said.
Philip was fond of riding, but the outing yesterday had exhausted him. His malaise from earlier in the summer had weakened him a great deal, and he was only getting his strength back now. Instead of riding to Low Heath, Audrey was certain he would call for a carriage.
“Your Grace, if I may, it would be more suitable if I stay—”
“It isn’t necessary, Kinson. The duke will be expecting you, and I have business here in the meanwhile.”
Honey-coated words would simply never be her method. Besides, the longer she stood outside speaking to her driver, the greater the chance that someone might see her and waylay her.
Audrey went inside through a back door, one reserved for patrons seeking the outhouse, or a waitress wanting a few minutes in the fresh air, sitting on one of the stools propped nearby.
Inside, a hallway led to the back storeroom. According to Philip, who’d heard it from his valet, Charlotte’s body had been transferred from the Fournier icehouse to Lord Bainbury’s own icehouse, and it had now been transferred just that morning to the inn for the inquest. If not for Audrey’s theories regarding the manner of death, the local magistrate, Lord Webber, would have most likely never contacted the county coroner to come hold the inquest in the first place. How her body had been handled, cleaned, or scoured for any telling evidence concerned her as she approached storeroom door. But there was nothing to be done about that now.
Pulse quickening, she glanced over her shoulder, to be sure she had gone unobserved, and twisted the doorknob. She peeked inside the room and let out a breath when she saw it was, indeed, empty. Well. Not entirely. Audrey closed the door, her eyes pinned on the white-sheeted figure of her dear friend.
Charlotte had always been similar to Audrey in temperament; she wasn’t given to moods or flights of fancy, and though she smiled and laughed more than Audrey did, she did not giggle—ever. While Audrey was more serious and reserved, Charlotte had been the one to more easily form acquaintances. With Charlotte, Audrey always felt like she belonged. Like she’d found a sort of kindred spirit. Like Audrey had been with Philip, Charlotte had been far too practical to hold out for a love match. Though, Audrey had always felt a bit guilty for causing the earl to go searching for a new betrothed in the first place.
Somehow, seeing her now, a corpse beneath a plain cotton sheet, felt more dramatic than seeing her at the bottom of the quarry. This was just sofinal.
Audrey approached the table where she’d been laid out. When she peeled the top of the sheet back with trembling fingers, she was relieved to see the body was clothed. She wore a simple square-collared white linen chemise. Her hair had been washed free of blood. Crudely done sutures were visible beginning at her hairline and traveling back, toward the rear of her skull. Bruising on her left cheek, temple, and jawline made Audrey wonder, with a clench of her stomach, if that was the side on which she had made impact with the rocks on the quarry floor.
A burst of muted conversation from the front tavern room reached her, and Audrey quickly peeled down the sheet a little lower. Her arms were bare, showing bruising on the left side as well. However, at Charlotte’s right wrist was a set of deep scratches and some more bruising. With a dawning suspicion, Audrey hovered her fingers over the marks. They seemed to adhere to the shape of her fingers. Someone had gripped Charlotte’s wrist so tightly that it had caused injury.
Audrey stepped closer to the table, and her toe collided with something on the floor. A small leather satchel. It had no business in a storeroom full of food stuffs, crockery, and barrels. It likely had to do with Charlotte. She crouched and opened the satchel to find a folded day dress and a pair of lady’s boots. Without taking the items out of the satchel, she could see that the dress was soiled with dirt and blood. It was the white dress Charlotte had been wearing at the time of her death.
Fabric was notoriously difficult to read. It could be done, of course, so with eyes closed, Audrey gathered the crumpled cambric into her hands and allowed the energy inside her mind. Perhaps it was the sheer terror Charlotte had felt while running through the wood and fighting off her attacker that imbued the cambric with such clear energy, but Audrey took in the memories with both relief and dread. Pushing past the more recent handling of the gown by the earl’s servants, Audrey also plunged past the event of her fall—the button had shown her enough of that. Instead, she waded into the murkier memories of the minutes before that. Nudging backward through memories was like sinking her head under the surface of bathwater and then coming up for air. With every gasp of oxygen, the energy showed her something different.
As Audrey parted the surface one last time, it was to a misty, practically opaque, memory. Charlotte stood within a room of stone walls; the floor was littered with dry leaves and dirt. Ahead of her was an arched doorway. Beyond that, only trees. The room was bare, with numerous arched window casements, absent of shutters. The energy was giving its last gasps when a figure passed by one of the window casements. A woman wearing a simple straw chip hat, trimmed with a wide, yellow silk ribbon. And then, darkness descended.
Audrey opened her eyes and stared at the cambric crumpled in her hands, willing her mind to sear the memory of the woman in the straw chip hat—what little she could see of her—into her brain. She would attempt to sketch it when she returned home.
Voices boomed in the corridor. Then, the heavy tramping of feet. Audrey stuffed the clothing into the satchel and stood to hastily pull the sheet back over her friend’s body. She’d barely taken a step away from the table and clasped her hands behind her back when the door to the storeroom opened. Lord Webber, the magistrate, another man Audrey did not recognize, and Hugh Marsden were the first three to enter. Their eyes landed on her as more men filed in, each one’s eyes alighting on Audrey with surprise and shock, Philip and her uncle, Lord Edgerton, included. Only Hugh cocked an eyebrow with clear amusement at her misfortune.
“Oh good,” Audrey said brightly, her heart thumping wildly. “I’m not too late for the inquest, I see.”
ChapterSix
Hugh crossed his arms as the Duke of Fournier parted through the room of tightly packed shoulders to reach the duchess’s side.
“What is the meaning of this?” the coroner, a man named Wilkes, asked.
