Page 47 of Fatal By Design
He started toward the door, where Fournier and Thornton waited for him. Thornton, however, had seemed to think of something more.
“One more question,” he said. “This is not the lodge for which the estate is named, is it?”
“Oh, no, my lord. The lodge itself is in the parkland, off the wooded lane. Sadly, it has fallen into disuse. With his lordship’s ague and poor lungs, the comforts of the manor house have appealed to him more over the last decade.”
Thornton grinned and set his hat back upon his head. “Thank you. As my friend said, you’ve been most helpful.”
The door had closed behind them, and Hugh had mounted his horse before eyeing Thornton. “Well done.”
“And who is Samuel?” Thornton asked, tipping the brim of his hat in acknowledgment of the compliment.
“I suspect he is Lady Redding’s dead driver.”
“My god,” Fournier muttered.
“They called him Sammy at Reddingate,” Hugh explained as they turned their mounts toward the drive. But they were not leaving. “He was new on staff.”
“Why in hell would Henley’s valet leave to become a driver at Reddingate?” Fournier asked.
“I think he was placed there,” Hugh replied as they trotted along the drive. The close-set trees and boughs made it appear tunnel-like and shaded them from the glaring sun.
“Placed? By whom and for what purpose?” the duke asked.
“Cartwright said three people knew Lady Redding had kept the purple diamond: himself, the lady, and his valet.”
“After Cartwright left for India, his valet might have been reassigned. To his cousin?” Thornton said.
“Montague has always preferred Henley, according to Cartwright. It makes sense that once his heir was out of the picture, he would shift his only other grandson into the role.”
“But Henley cannot inherit, preferred or not,” Fournier reminded them. “Unless something untoward befell Cartwright.”
“What would either of them inherit?” Hugh said. “Did you hear the butler mentioning Montague’s ailments? Reduced staff? They sounded like excuses to me. I’m willing to wager Montague’s fortune has been depleting over the last decade, and Henley is aware of it.”
“Montague’s two children are both dead,” Fournier said. “His heir is Cartwright, and the next in line is Henley, who would ostensibly be given an annuity from Montague.”
“But if those coffers were rapidly diminishing, Henley’s involvement in the silver mine speculation would make sense,” Thornton said. “Going to these lengths to steal a ring worth at best a few thousand pounds makes no sense.”
“Exactly. Why send his valet to Reddingate to spy on Lady Redding?” Fournier scoffed. “I cannot believe it. To what end?”
They were correct. Hugh shook his head. “I don’t know. It has to do with the diamond, but one jewel could not repair a failing town or fill the marquess’s coffers again. It would not give Henley lasting security.”
Fournier pulled up short at a small bridge they had crossed earlier on the way toward the manor. The river beneath flowed swiftly over mossy rocks. “There,” he said, jutting his chin toward an opening within the trees, just before the bridge. “The butler said the lodge was down the wooded lane. That looks to be a turn off.”
Directing his horse closer, Hugh saw a narrow lane overrun with grass and vines. Dual furrows cut into the ground from cart wheels of ages past were visible, along with fresher tracks. Hugh listened to the burbling river another moment.
“That is the Wending?” he asked. Fournier nodded. “It runs down to Moorsly.” Another nod. And then Fournier frowned as he comprehended.
“The maid. She was pulled from the river.”
In silent agreement, they turned their mounts down the wooded lane. As they followed the ruts, Hugh noted indentations from shoed horses. This lane had been recently accessed. After several minutes, all spent in complete silence, a structure came into view through the trees. Built of stone and timber, the lodge did appear to be in disuse. If it weren’t for the swishing tail of a horse, sticking out from behind unkempt hedges near the stables, Hugh might have thought his hunch was off. But as they turned into the trees off the lane and dismounted, his skin prickled. This was where Millie was being kept. He could feel it.
“Thornton,” Hugh whispered. “Ready your pistol.”
His friend drew the weapon from his hip holster as Hugh did the same. Fournier started to draw his, though Hugh held up a hand to stay him.
“Your Grace, perhaps you should stay with the horses.”
“May I remind you, I was a lieutenant in His Majesty’s army,” he replied tightly. “I am coming with you.”
