Page 51 of Death at Fournier Downs
She needed to know and yet was incapable of believing it. But when Ruth nodded again, she pressed her hand to her cheek and closed her eyes, trying to breathe evenly.
Who would do this? Who woulddareseduce Philip’s younger sister? She wasn’t even properly out! And there had been no one—no one—at Fournier Downs all summer. A footman then? A stable hand? But Cassie was far too smart for such a stupid, reckless affair. Then again, she was quite impressionable and romantic. Someone must have taken advantage of her naivete.
“How many months?” Audrey asked, still feeling overwhelmed and dizzy. What would Philip do?
“Nearly three, Your Grace. She…” A few tears rolled down Ruth’s cheeks and she gulped for air. “She said it must have happened in late May or early June.”
That shocked Audrey out of her dizzy stupor. Cassie had come to them in June, after a month’s stay in London with Genie and Michael. She’d gone to a few modistes and settled upon one that would design her entire look for the upcoming seasons. She was to spend a few more weeks with Michael when Philip become direly ill, and Cassie had practically flown to Fournier Downs.
“Who was the man?” Audrey asked, feeling ill.
Ruth shook her head. “I don’t know, Your Grace, I promise I don’t. She did not say, and it wasn’t my place to ask.”
Audrey stood from the side of the bed, needing to get her wits back about her. This was no time for hysterics.
“You sent a note with a stable hand to Ida Smith?”
Ruth nodded.
“Which day was this?” Audrey asked, though she thought she knew. When the maid broke down into fresh tears, she was certain. Ruth couldn’t speak, so Audrey provided a guess.
“The day Ida Smith was killed?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” She finally looked up and stared at Audrey with glistening eyes. “She felt responsible for what happened to Ida. I tried to tell her it wasn’t her fault, but she’s been so distraught, even before Ida was killed. Her moods have been fluctuating so powerfully, Your Grace.”
Audrey breathed in and tried to exhale the shakiness attacking her arms and legs. Cassie had to be overwhelmed. She probably felt trapped and scared and guilty.
She walked toward the window overlooking the rose garden and beyond, a lush green pasture. Where could she have gone?
“Search the house for her, Ruth. Say nothing to anyone. Not even the duke.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The maid darted from the room, leaving Audrey alone to worry. Like Charlotte and Mary, now Cassie was pregnant and facing something terrifying, all alone. Audrey’s stomach swirled as she bore in mind that Charlotte and Mary had both died. Mary, purportedly, taking her own life.
Something was wrong. Ruth would search, but Cassie was not in the house; Audrey’s instinct told her that.Most people have rather good instincts; they just fail to listen to them.Hugh’s earlier comment reached her through the beginnings of panic. She took an even breath and closed her eyes. After exhaling, she opened them again to see the nuggets of citrine lining the windowsill. Audrey touched one, the amber color golden and honeylike. Immediately, an image of Cassie pushed into her mind. Her eyes were red and puffy as she held the citrine nugget admiring it. How long ago had Cassie picked up the citrine to peer at it? And yet, she had been upset then too.
Audrey released the citrine. Her sister-in-law did love the gems. She scouted for them all through Fournier Downs, especially near the quarry.
Her stomach twisted with a wretched thought. She turned toward the bedchamber door and eyed the doorknob. Knobs were always filled with energy, what with hands touching them constantly. She usually would not allow the images to assault her when she gripped one, but this time, she made an exception. She opened her mind to what it had to show her: Ruth, rushing from the room just a few minutes ago. Then, not long before that, Cassie, wearing a bonnet, spencer, and gloves. Her eyes were puffy and red from crying again. It looked like she was going out for a walk.
Releasing the knob, Audrey bit her lower lip.Trust your instinct.Even if it proved wrong. And even if it meant finding Philip and telling him the awful truth.
ChapterEighteen
The post road was well worn by the wheels of mail and passenger coaches, with dual ruts cut into the packed dirt and patches of grass and weeds lining the center hump. When Hugh spotted Tyson Perry up ahead, he was walking within one of the ruts. He had never met Tyson, but from the satchel slung over his shoulder and a cap that did not quite conceal his head of blond curls, Hugh was confident he’d found the wayward groom from Bainbury Manor.
He and Wilkes had gained entrance to the stables by the skin of their teeth. As Wilkes anticipated, the earl refused to allow Hugh to set foot on his property. However, the coroner impressed upon the earl that should their murder investigation be impeded, it would only draw out in length, and did not Lord Renfry have wedding nuptials coming up in a few days’ time? The arrival of the lady’s family, and the desire to maintain as much serenity as possible, was the only reason the earl had finally grumbled his agreement.
Derry, the Earl of Bainbury’s longtime stablemaster, had met them with a skeptical frown. Tyson Perry was the groom who usually ran messages, as he was the fastest rider.
“Can we speak to him?” Hugh asked.
“You’d have to find him first,” Derry had answered. “He hoofed it sometime last night. Bed empty this morning; things gathered up and gone.”
The stablemaster went on to say it didn’t make much sense—the lad had his wages coming to him in a few days. The only family he knew of for Tyson was a grandmother in Ryesburg. While Wilkes had asked Derry a few more questions, Hugh spotted Sir in a hayloft. The boy shuttled down a ladder, and on the pretense of grabbing another pitchfork near Hugh, whispered, “That’s the one I didn’t like, remember? The dodgy one. Blond curls like me little sister. Got real green around the gills when news of that murdered maid came around.”
He and Wilkes had returned to Low Heath, and Hugh had hired a horse at the inn’s stables. Tyson Perry couldn’t have made it far if he was on foot, and Wilkes had left Hugh to the chase. First, however, Basil met him with a letter, sealed with a familiar signet ring pressed into red wax. “A private messenger delivered it just now.”
Hugh’s spirits lifted at Thornton’s seal, and he tore open the letter to read his friend’s reply.
