Page 14 of Death at Fournier Downs
Audrey, her chin hitched, replied, “I think it only right that I be included in this inquest, as I am, in fact, the person who discovered Lady Bainbury after her death.”
It wasn’t a wholly unreasonable request. However, Hugh was almost certain the duchess had not let herself into the storeroom in advance of the rest of their party to simply await the inquest. She had surely been doing a bit of her owninvestigating. By the rumpled state of the sheet covering the body, he presumed she’d already peeled it aside to have a look at the countess. His eyes went to a leather bag on the floor next to the table. The top was open. She’d been poking around in that, too, he suspected.
“You are a woman,” the local magistrate, Lord Webber, said, rather needlessly.
“Such keen observation, my lord,” she replied lightly, her voice sweeter than she’d ever deemed Hugh worthy of.
Lord Edgerton cleared his throat, his niece’s sarcasm not lost on him. Hugh had just made the baron’s acquaintance at the front of the tavern, the introduction made by Fournier. As expected, Edgerton had dismissed Hugh with a sniff.
“I have witness evidence to give in the events surrounding Lady Bainbury’s death,” the duchess pressed.
“Women are not permitted at death inquests, Your Grace,” Dr. Wilkes said, with a short, polite bow. “However, I will accept written testimony should you wish to give it.”
Fournier slipped his hand around Audrey’s elbow. “My dear, why don’t I see you to the carriage.”
Audrey patted the duke’s hand, still smiling serenely. It began to frighten Hugh some. She was certainly showing too much tooth.
“I can see myself out, darling, thank you. If you’ll just walk me to the door?”
There was a great shuffling of legs as the jury formed a gap to allow the duchess and duke through. The storeroom wasn’t large enough for a jury of twelve men. There was something indecent about cramming the dozen of them into this back room to observe the dead body of a countess. In the few moments of disorder, Hugh observed the duchess whispering something into the duke’s ear. Fournier’s brows tensed. Then, a look of vexed exasperation crossed his face as he opened the storeroom door and all but shoved her into the hall. Whatever she’d imparted, the duke was not pleased.
“Quite irregular,” Lord Webber said once the door was shut again.
Fournier met Hugh’s eyes briefly before rejoining the jury around the table. In the tavern, the coroner had laid out the rules of the inquest. Wilkes had made it clear that Hugh was not one of the twelve jurors—he was not an impartial witness, as he had been hired by Lady Prescott to investigate. He was welcome to observe, however. Though a man of middling age, height, and appearance, Hugh sensed in Wilkes a sharp intellect. Unlike the local magistrate, he gave every indication that he took his duties seriously. That, at least, Hugh could appreciate.
“Let us begin, gentlemen,” Wilkes said now, unwilling to linger on the duchess’s unexpected presence. “We are gathered to determine the cause of death for Lady Charlotte Marie Bainbury, the Countess of Bainbury. Upon inspection of the deceased’s remains, I can conclude that the method of death is consistent with a fall from a significant height. Several fractured bones, massive contusions, and a ruptured cranium are all sufficient evidence.”
Wilkes drew back the sheet, revealing only her neck and head. The men shifted their footing. Hugh had seen his share of corpses, but when they were that of women or children, he never failed to feel a weightier pang of remorse. There was no avoiding the twist of his stomach at the sight of this woman’s heavily bruised face and misshapen skull.
“Now, we are left to determine the cause of the fall,” Wilkes continued. “Whether it be accidental, misadventure, self-inflicted, or murder. We can all agree to rule out any natural causes of death.”
“Lord Bainbury believes it to be misadventure,” Lord Webber imparted. “He says that his wife enjoyed taking walks in the parkland surrounding their estate. She often walked unaccompanied. She most likely slipped and fell.”
The earl himself was not present, as he would surely not be an impartial member of the jury. However, it seemed he had the magistrate well in hand.
“Noted,” Wilkes said. “I have spoken to his lordship as well, and he cannot account for why her ladyship would have been so far afield from their own parkland. He suggests she lost her way or was perhaps taking a woodland route to visit Her Grace, the Duchess of Fournier.”
“If she commonly took walks on the footpaths surrounding her estate, I find it difficult to believe she would have lost her way,” Hugh said.
“Lady Bainbury visited Fournier Downs often, however never on foot,” the duke added before Wilkes could admonish Hugh for speaking, rather than just observing. “She sent no card ahead on the day of her death to indicate she would be paying a call.”
Surely, the coroner would see Lord Bainbury’s suggestions were weak and insipid. Among the jury, there were a handful of men who looked to be farmers and common laborers, and one man who might have been gentry. None of them had any personal stake in naming the cause of death. They resided on Fournier Downs lands, not Bainbury’s smaller estate, which Hugh had learned since his arrival did not encompass any formal village such as this.
Lord Edgerton again cleared his throat. “As unseemly as the topic is, we must take into account the possibility that her ladyship intentionally put her life to an end.”
“Do you have any evidence to reflect that theory, my lord?” Wilkes asked.
“Her melancholy was well known,” the baron replied.
The duke canted his head, wearing an expression of doubt. “Melancholy? This is the first I am hearing of such a disposition.”
Lord Edgerton regarded Fournier with a smug arch of his brow. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but perhaps such common knowledge failed to penetrate the noble walls of Fournier House.”
The baron shared a conspiratorial glance with a few of the other gathered men. From their answering smirks, Hugh immediately understood that the baron shared an alliance with the commoners that the duke did not. He seemed the sort to visit the tavern on a regular basis, buying rounds of ale.
The duke regarded the baron with cool dislike, and then the man Hugh considered as possible gentry stepped forward. Though he was handsome and appeared youthful, the lines surrounding his eyes betrayed his age. Probably in his fortieth decade, though with no graying hair to be seen. His clothing was of good quality, if not fashionable. His hands were ungloved but clean, with no callouses to speak of. He wore wire rim glasses, a high, starched collar and a cravat tied in a tall Napoleon style.
“As Lady Bainbury’s physician, I would like to provide evidence that could, ah, possibly, correspond to the baron’s suggestion,” he said.
