Page 35 of Nature of the Crime
“And that is why he was determined to place the blame on you?” Cassie’s mouth popped open in a sneer. “The wretchedman!” Then, recollecting that he was now dead, added quickly, “God rest his soul.”
Thornton chuffed a laugh while Michael smacked his glass down onto the table, a censorious glare at his sister.
“Be that as it may, I don’t see how remaining in Dover will help the lieutenant resolve matters.”
The truth was that Audrey hoped for Hugh to attend the baron’s death inquest and employ Sir in the same fashion as he had during Mr. Vaillancourt’s. If she could but hold her stolen hair comb, she might be able to determine who took it. Either that or hold something of the baron’s that had been on his person when he’d been killed.
“I do not believe leaving this business unfinished is wise,” she said. Especially if someone out there knew about Philip’s deceit. “Besides,” she went on. “There is surely to be a death inquest for the baron. Is that correct, lieutenant?”
He nodded again. “Tomorrow morning at the keep.”
“As Lady Cassandra and I were among those who first discovered Lord Burton’s body, I suggest we attend.” As Cassie’s eyes rounded in alarm, Audrey amended, “Or at least that I attend.”
She might be able to help Hugh with a distraction to allow Sir the chance to lift an item from the baron.
Edmunds chuckled as he might have at a merry joke. “That will not be necessary, Your Grace. Proper procedure and decorum must be upheld.”
Thornton cleared his throat. “As Viscount Neatham and His Grace were two of the last men to see Lord Burton alive, perhaps they should attend the inquest.”
The duke’s cold displeasure with the suggestion could have banked the lively flames in the hearth. Through gritted teeth, he merely said, “If we can be of service.”
Edmunds readily agreed to the duke’s and viscount’s presence, which only made Audrey fume inwardly as they finished their tea and left the lieutenant’s quarters. At least the man was not as odiously unreasonable as his predecessor had been.
They’d started across the sunken courtyard when a uniform, which stood out among the others, caught Audrey’s attention.
“Sir?”
The boy in his green and buff Neatham livery was being led by a pair of unsmiling soldiers. He wore his usual disenchanted scowl, as if he found everything and everyone around him particularly disappointing.
“One of your servants, Your Grace?” Edmunds inquired.
“I’m Viscount Neatham’s assistant,” Sir said before Audrey could reply.
“Assistant,” the lieutenant echoed, sounding curious.
“That’s right,” the boy said, his challenge clear. He turned his scowl to Michael. “Some messages came. Express riders. I thought you’d want them straightaway.”
Michael stepped forward and took the two letters. As he urgently broke the wax wafer on one, Sir rubbed his hands together and had a look around. “This place is a real beast. Thought my lungs were gonna cark it on those steps.”
Edmunds clasped his hands behind his back and quizzed the lad with narrowed eyes before turning them to Audrey and the others. “Where is the Viscount Neatham today? I’m surprised he didn’t come with the rest of you.”
“He had business in Folkestone,” Cassie provided, though when the lieutenant inquired what business that might be, Audrey wished she had not said. However, a low curse from Michael distracted everyone from the question.
“I’m needed in London immediately.” Gooseflesh tripped up Audrey’s arms and legs. Michael crumpled the first letter andhanded the second, still unopened, to Thornton for him to deal with. “Genie is having the baby. I cannot stay another moment.”
Chapter
Fourteen
The contents of Grayson’sletters to his parents provided adequate distraction while Hugh rode toward Dover in the driving snow. Menacing clouds had been moving steadily inland when he’d left Mr. Grayson’s shop, the two letters already committed to memory. A cold rain started up, then switched to wet snow, and he’d needed to slow his horse to be sure it didn’t falter and become lame.
The linen-draper had seen the clouds and suggested Hugh stay the night, but after reading the second letter Grayson sent, he would have walked back to Dover if necessary. As much as he wanted to gallop at a breakneck speed, he restrained the urge. The snow had accumulated, and the horse was trudging through it, up over his hooves by the time the port town came into view. The sun had set, leaving a dusky blue evening with rainy snow sweeping in off the water. A solid wall of foul weather blocked the view of the Channel.
As soon as Hugh relinquished the hired mount and walked back to the inn on Liverpool Street, his exhaustion and chilled limbs made themselves known. The warmth of Mrs. Plimpton’s inn slammed into him as he barged through the front entrance—as did the curious absence of the uniformed corporals that usually stood watch.
“Where are the guards?” he asked the chambermaid who rushed into the foyer to take his sopping wet greatcoat, the cape around the shoulders coated with slushy ice.
“They’ve been sent back to the barracks,” she answered, also taking his snow crusted hat and gloves and scarf.
