Page 27 of Death at Fournier Downs
ChapterTen
On his second visit to Fournier House, Hugh determined he liked the place even less than before. It grated on him—the manicured lawns, the vibrant green grass, the stately oaks spaced just so to provide shade but not dominate the landscape. The flowering vines and climbing roses clinging to the exterior of the manor made his back teeth ache. Why did it have to be so bloody perfect? So refined and yet wild and untamed at the same time? At least at Bainbury’s estate he had not admired the architecture or grounds or anyone within its walls. He hadn’t coveted any of it.
No, Hugh did not want Fournier House. He wouldn’t know what to do with a place like this. He wouldn’t know his purpose.
He was just in a black mood, still riled from his interview with Bainbury the afternoon before. The man had worked his way under Hugh’s skin much too easily with all his talk about the duchess’s unaccountable two-year disappearance. The earl’s thinly veiled threats against her had been dangling bait, and like a heedless puppy, Hugh had snapped it up. Then, of course, the revelation that Lady Bainbury had likely been with child had plagued his thoughts for the rest of the evening. If she had miscarried yet again, perhaps she had decided a leap from the quarry ledge was an acceptable end to her anguish.
He’d taken supper with Basil at the inn, glowering into his stew, ignoring his valet who had been complaining about the sorry state of the clothespress in Hugh’s room. A splintered shelf had pulled a thread loose on a shirt or some such, and Basil did not think it could be easily repaired—the shirt, not the shelf, he clarified. Hugh had tried to feign concern, but really, he could only mull over why Charlotte, who had been dejected at the loss of two other pregnancies earlier that year, would be so melancholy about this new chance at motherhood.
When the coroner, Wilkes, had entered the tavern for a bowl of stew and a plate of kidney pie, Hugh had nearly called the man over to discuss his findings. But he’d hesitated, wanting more time to ruminate. He’d gotten nowhere for the rest of the evening, so, that morning, he’d left a wax-sealed letter for the coroner with the innkeeper to meet him at Fournier’s icehouse at one o’clock to discuss a possible autopsy. Hugh needed to know if she had still beenenceinteat the time of her death. Gut instinct nearly shouted that if she was, it played a role in her murder.
As before, when he pulled his curricle into the circular drive of crushed rock, he eyed the lily pond and the toy boats listing on the surface of the water. There was no breeze, the humidity too severe and the threat of rain imminent. Two footmen in the ducal livery colors of pale blue and gold braid came to attend to the curricle and its matching pair, but Hugh had no more than stepped aside when a commotion near the stables drew his attention.
At first, he could not reconcile what he was seeing: a horse and rider charging toward the complex, the hem of her dress carelessly hiked to her white-stockinged knees, her hair unpinned. It was Cassandra, the duke’s sister, and she was shouting for help. He charged toward the stables while a hundred different possibilities streamed through his mind, all involving the duchess. When Cassandra’s frantic eyes lit on Hugh, her expression told him he’d been right.
“She’s dead!”
Hugh juddered to a stop, his stomach lurching.
“I don’t know what happened! She’s dead. In the wood! A…a woman. I don’t know her.”
His heart restarted as he comprehended her panicked words. A woman. Not Audrey.
“Where is the duchess?”
“She stayed behind. She said someone should remain with the poor woman, but I didn’t want to leave her alone.”
The stable master and a few grooms, all of whom had come running at the tumult, told Hugh they’d saddle him a mount. Hugh waved them off.
“No time. Lady Cassandra, if you’ll allow my impertinence, we’ll ride together. Take me to the duchess.”
She nodded quickly and held out her hand. At any other time, in any other situation, he would have paused the few minutes for a mount to be readied for him, but at that moment, he would rather start running on foot than hang about, waiting. The duke’s sister seemed to understand and allowed him to settle into the saddle behind her.
“Fetch His Grace and send for the coroner in Low Heath,” Hugh instructed the stable master.
“Tell my brother it’s the ruined cottage beyond the western meadow!” Cassandra shouted as she dug in her heels and turned the horse back toward the field and trees beyond.
“Here, take the reins,” she said a moment later as the brooding sky finally split apart, and rain began to fall in sheets. “I will guide you.”
Grateful to have the reins in his grip rather than the young woman’s dainty waist, he followed her direction and plunged into the wooded path, the same one they’d taken the other day.
“What can you tell me?” he asked.
“We rode to the abandoned stone cottage.”
Hugh gritted his teeth. The cottage from Audrey’s vision. She’d found it.
“She was lying in the grass when we got there,” Cassandra added.
“Who?”
“I don’t know!” Cassandra cried, breathless, her voice shaking from the rough gallop. Rain spattered the boughs above, but all Hugh could think about what the duchess, staying behind with the body like a bloody fool! For the opportunity to hold some object belonging to the woman, most likely.
Hugh slapped the reins and the mount carried them faster. The jarring of their bodies was uncomfortable, but Cassandra was slight, and the circumstances were too dire to think about any impropriety.
Gusts of wind swayed the tree branches and the horse’s hooves splattered along the mired path, sending clods of mud into the air around them. The duke’s sister pointed the way, and as the path narrowed to nothing more than a deer trail, Hugh was forced to slow. His heart pounded, his irritation steaming him from the inside out. All that heat chilled, however, when a dappled gray mare came trotting toward them.
“It’s Fortuna, Audrey’s mount!” Cassandra said. Hugh recognized it, and though he hated to stop, he leaned out to take the horse’s traces. The animal was spooked, it eyes wild. He hushed it as he dismounted.
