Page 10 of Nature of the Crime
He stood aside, and without another word or glance, Fournier swept past the baron. Hugh, however, paused and met the man’s sneer. “Then your case has already foundered, Lord Burton. And I look forward to proving it.”
Chapter
Five
Though it had never been much of a holiday destination, even during the warmer months of the year, the port of Dover in the dead of winter was an altogether inhospitable place.
The inn on Liverpool Street, owned by the widow Mrs. Plimpton, had appeared relatively spacious the night before, when Audrey and Cassie had been brought there under armed guard. With seven guest rooms, only one currently housing a traveler, the place had been far better than the gaol Lord Burton had mentioned. He’d seemed to take such pleasure in telling them how fortunate they were that the gaol had been destroyed that Audrey had begun to doubt his claim. But Mrs. Plimpton had confirmed that indeed, it had been torn apart in a riot, and the new one had not yet been built. So, the ladies would get warm rooms and beds and meals instead of a stark cell. Though, it did not leave Audrey feeling the least bitfortunate.
She’d spent a sleepless night and a restless morning imprisoned at the inn, and during that time, the spacious rooms had seemed to shrink around her. While Lord Burton had withheld the victim’s name, Cassie’s maid, Ruth, had gotten itout of Becky, the inn’s chambermaid. “Vaillancourt,” Becky had whispered before Mrs. Plimpton had come in and hushed her.
The name was not familiar to Audrey. It hadn’t snagged any memories of past acquaintances. It was a French name, so she presumed the man must have been coming to England for some reason. But what could he possibly have to do with her?
After an early breakfast, she and Cassie had done little more than play cards, read, sip tea, and speculate. Greer and Ruth were sharing a room at the inn; Carrigan had taken another, and he had slept later than usual, due to a head cold that was setting in. She and Cassie each had a room to themselves.
Cassie paced the front sitting room, stopping at the window at nearly every turn to glimpse outside. Liverpool Street was not far from the harbor, and Mrs. Plimpton’s window glass would need a good spring scrubbing to rid itself of the layer of sea salt, blown off the water in the persistent winds. The inside of the glass would need a scrubbing too. Unlike the cured firewood that the servants burned at Violet House in London, or Fournier House in Hertfordshire, Mrs. Plimpton used coal in her grates. The less expensive and more readily available choice left behind a haze in the air and had accumulated in a layer upon the window glass.
“Cassie do sit. Michael will be here soon,” Audrey told her even as her own stomach churned with anticipation.
Unless something dire had befallen Travers on his way to Town, or to the conveyance Michael would have then taken from London, the duke could be arriving at any moment. It took about six hours in fair weather to travel the road. The winds were wicked here at the seaside, but inland they could be milder, which might increase Michael’s speed.
“He is going to be so very cross,” Cassie murmured, still looking through the glass.
Audrey raised a brow from where she sat by the hearth. “I am sure he was not happy to be called away from Genie’s side. She must be in confinement by now.”
Genie was due to have her child in February. As stern and serious as Michael was with everyone else, he became a soft lump of putty when it came to his wife and young son. After the war ended and Michael was decommissioned from the army, he’d returned to London, where he’d met and fallen madly in love with Miss Geneva Knowlton, who at the time was considered a spinster. She’d put him off for only a little while, certain their difference in age—nearly five years—would be scandalous. But he’d pressed his suit and convinced her that to him, her age did not matter in the least.
“Genie was quite taken with Lord Thornton last summer after he mended your leg,” Cassie said. She peered at Audrey, knitting her brow. “You don’t think she will ask him to be there for the birth of the baby, do you?”
Audrey kept her eyes on the small print of a days-old broadsheetthatshe’d found in a basket by the hearth grate.
Not once during their travels had Cassie mentioned Hugh’s closest friend, Lord Grant Thornton. Still, Audrey had suspected that she had not put the handsome physician and fourth son of the Marquess of Lindstrom from her mind. Last August, after Audrey had been grazed by a bullet, Lord Thornton had cleaned and sutured the wound. When he had told Cassie, who’d been plagued with worry over her sister-in-law, that Audrey would recover just fine, the young woman had tossed aside all decorum and thrown herself into the physician’s arms, in gratitude and relief.
After a few awkward moments, in which the doctor had stood, stunned stiff by the embrace, Cassie had leaped back in horror. While Audrey had found the gaff slightly amusing,Cassie avoided him the rest of the week at Greenbriar, her humiliation absolute.
It appeared that she had not fully recovered from her embarrassment.
“Lord Thornton is surely busy in London,” Audrey said. “I do not even know if he is an accoucheur.”
Cassie turned away from the window. “Let us hope he is not. I don’t wish to see him again.”
Audrey was more than familiar with her sister-in-law’s idiosyncrasies, so when she pitched her voice high and avoided eye contact, she knew she was being less than truthful. Cassiedidwish to see him again, even if she was still in denial about it. Audrey masked her dismay by folding the newspaper and tossing it back into the kindling basket.
As much as she liked Grant Thornton, he was a known libertine, and after what happened with Lord Renfry two summers ago, and the heartbreak that had ensued, Audrey only wished to protect Cassie. Besides, Hugh had confided that Thornton was still in love with his late wife and was incapable of anything more serious than a passing fancy. That was certainly something Cassie did not need.
With another pinch of consternation, she questioned if that was allshehad been to Hugh. A passing fancy. Even as she thought it, it felt untrue. Inconceivable. The very center of her chest burned with the knowledge that she was wrong. That there was some other reason for his silence.
She kept her feet tucked up underneath her, uncaring if the position was unladylike. No one else was rooming at the inn now. Becky the chambermaid had let it slip that the only other guest had departed. No doubt due to the accused lady murderer being kept under the same roof. “Got no one else coming in now, not with those lobsters at the doors,” she’d said about the fourred-coated guards. Two additional corporals had been assigned from the military barracks to stand at the front and back doors.
Audrey would be certain Mrs. Plimpton and her staff were well compensated for their inconvenience. The whole situation was ludicrous. However, the packet captain’s mention of a note found on the dead man’s body, and the baron holding it up as evidence against her, continued to worry her. Paired with the strange letter she received at the Paris hotel, Audrey couldn’t help but suspect this bizarre incident was connected. The question of how continued to confound her.
She unfolded her legs and put her feet back into her slippers, ready to join Cassie in her pacing, when a commotion at the front of the house alerted her. Someone had arrived and was speaking to the guards in the foyer; it was the deep, resonating voice that she and Cassie had longed to hear since being detained the night before.
Audrey made it halfway across the sitting room, darting around a chair and sofa, before Michael entered. She then jerked to a stop as another man swept in on the duke’s heels. Her mouth went dry, and her heart stuttered as she took in the sight of Hugh Marsden.
He looked her over, as if searching for any injury, and took a step forward. But he faltered and drew back just as quickly. From underneath the brim of his hat, his eyes tensed with concern and exhaustion. And something else. Accusation? She went cold, her breathing turning shallow as he pointedly averted his eyes and shifted his attention toward Cassie.
“Oh, thank goodness, you’ve come!” she cried, dashing to her brother to embrace him. “We thought you’d never arrive.” She pulled back from Michael and peered at Hugh. Tempering her excitement, she added, “And you thought to bring Lord Neatham, I see.”
