Page 2 of Nature of the Crime
“I don’t wish to speak of it.”
“But you are going to see him and demand an explanation, aren’t you? Because if you do not, I will. How dare he treat you this way?”
She collapsed back against Audrey’s shoulder, her brief burst of energy and wrath now depleted.
“I will speak to him, yes.” She sounded calm, but inside, she felt anything but.
She had missed Hugh, dreadfully at times. And with no word from him, no promise that he would be waiting for her in London upon her return, she could not help but worry that she had, for whatever reason, lost him. The idea of it left her feeling helpless. Hopeless. It left her feeling entirely alone.
That feeling had only gotten worse after finding the strange note in Paris, which had been left for her on her pillow at Hotel d’Angleterre. She’d hidden it from Cassie and now kept it in her skirt pocket. Perhaps she should have simply burned the note instead.
“There must be some explanation,” Cassie murmured, echoing what Audrey had said time and again.
Hugh had declared himself to her. He loved her. He’dmadelove to her, and he’d vowed to make her his wife as soon as her mourning period ended. She trusted him, implicitly.
And yet, he had ignored her letters.
A theory as to why had been stewing in the darkest corner of her mind. She could not share it with Cassie, or with anyone else. The only fathomable reason for Hugh to have stopped corresponding with her, to have changed his mind about loving her, was due to a lie Audrey had been perpetuating for the last several months.
Her husband, Philip, the former Duke of Fournier, had chosen to disappear into the Continent to live out his life with the man he loved. To avoid shaming his family and ruining Audrey, he had arranged his own death. Feigned, of course,but quite convincing. His brothers and sister, the House of Lords, London society...all and sundry were firmly under the impression that Philip had drowned at sea.
Only Audrey and Hugh knew the truth.
And apparently, so did the author of the unsigned note currently singeing her gown’s pocket. The note’s two short sentences had effectively placed her on the edge of a cliff: “I know the duke is alive.Soon, everyone else will.”
When she had first received it, she’d thought it a miracle that her lady’s maid had not found it first. She’d then tried to employ her peculiar ability to see who had written it. Holding the letter in her bare hand, she’d opened her mind, attempting to bring forth the memories that the paper had retained. But paper never retained much energy. Other objects made of metal, wood, stone, or even fabric were far better at holding energy, or whatever force it was that allowed Audrey to see images connected to an object’s most recent past. What had once felt like a curse had become a rather useful gift, especially when used to help solve criminal investigations. But the alarming note had given her little; just a shadowy figure of a man at a desk, writing. As all objects eventually do, the energy had depleted, and there had been nothing more to see.
“I am certain he will explain himself,” Audrey said to Cassie, eager to move on from speaking of Hughandfrom thinking of the note. “Tell me, did you receive a reply from Miss Stewart? It was kind of you to send her your felicitations on her betrothal.”
Bringing up Miss Cynthia Stewart wasn’t necessarily generous, but it would at least change the topic of conversation. Cassie had left England under a dark cloud of regret and guilt. Mr. William Knowlton—Genie’s younger brother—had been courting Cassie during the spring. But her inability to care as much for him as he so clearly did for her had caused the courtship to wither on the vine. Another debutante, MissCynthia Stewart, however, had not been so reluctant. Audrey and Cassie had met the pleasant young lady during last summer’s ill-fated house party at Michael and Genie’s country estate, Greenbriar. In the few days the party had lasted, before being cut short by the chaotic events surrounding a double murder and the abduction of Audrey’s sister, Cassie had been cold toward Cynthia.
She’d been envious of her, yet also concerned about her own inability to trust a man—even one as decent as William. After a blackguard of a lord had made sport of her, the result of which had been a hushed up confinement and the need to give up her infant daughter, Cassie had been slow to recover. But while traveling, she had seemed to heal, evidenced by her heartfelt letter of congratulations to William’s bride-to-be.
Cassie sighed and straightened up a little. “I did. And I suppose she isn’t so terrible.” There had been a hopeful lull in the violent winds assailing the packet ship. “And as Genieisour sister-in-law, and Williamisher brother, I needed to make peace with it.”
Audrey made sure Cassie could sit on her own, and then stood up. She was grateful to stretch her cramped legs, but a surge of restlessness stole over her. She was ready to reach the port of Dover, disembark, and be on their way home to London. And yet, she also dreaded it.
What was she to do if Hughdidwish to end their connection? She still could not wholly believe it to be the case, but why else would he have ignored her for the last five months?
The unrelenting cramp in the center of her chest refused to abate as Audrey walked to the iced-over porthole. Her spirits lifted slightly at the dark stamp of the coastline.
“We are nearly there,” she said to Cassie and the other ladies in the cabin. A round of sighs met the announcement, and Ruth began to put away her mending.
Within a few minutes, the winds had lessened more notably and there came shouts on deck among the crew as they no doubt readied to draw to port. Cassie’s spirits also lifted, enough to allow her to stand and begin tidying up before arriving. She’d been careful when leaning over the porcelain bowl in her lap, but she had perspired quite a bit and now used a clean towel near the washstand to dab at her cheeks and forehead.
Thankfully, no one would be there to greet them at the port and see them in such a state of disarray. Audrey had sent word that they would be setting out for home the first week in January but had not given a date. Purposefully so. Carrigan would easily hire a coach to transport them and their maids the eighty-odd miles back to Town, and Travers, the footman Michael had insisted attend them on their trip, would drive another cart laden with their luggage.
Had they told Michael and Genie which day they were arriving, they may have had ideas on either meeting them in Dover or arranging a soiree to welcome them home. Audrey couldn’t have wanted anything less, especially now that she did not know how she would meet with Hugh again, or what she would say when she did. A large part of her wished to lock herself away in Violet House on Curzon Street the moment she returned and never emerge.
She couldn’t recall the last time she’d felt so unmoored.
The ladies in their cabin dressed for the winter weather and were ready with their small bags and hand luggage when the porters walked by, announcing that they were arriving but to remain within their cabins for the time being. Though she longed to be free of the small, stuffy cabin and take a breath of bracing fresh air, Audrey understood. The decks had likely iced over and couldn’t be safe. However, after several more minutes passed and still the porters did not come to announce they could disembark, Audrey began to grow impatient. Cassie, on theother hand, was only blissfully content that the lurching of the small ship had finally ceased.
“I will go find the porter and inquire,” Greer said, stepping toward the closed cabin door. But just then, it opened. A man filled the doorframe, though it wasn’t the porter. Audrey recognized him from when they had boarded, in Calais. This was the ship’s captain. The ladies in the cabin all peered at him curiously.
“Are we able to disembark soon, Captain?” one asked.
Then man wore a grim look, and under the short brim of his captain’s hat, his brow tensed. “I am looking for Audrey Sinclair.”
