Page 36 of Nature of the Crime
“Is that you, Marsden?” Thornton called from the sitting room.
His friend had not taken to calling him by his title, as most did now, and Hugh appreciated it. His feet were like blocks of ice as he entered the sitting room, and his skin prickled from the sudden heat. Audrey met him as he came through.
“Thank heavens, I worried you wouldn’t be able to make it back to Dover in this weather.”
Thornton handed him a finger of whisky, and Audrey directed him to the fire.
“I’m not about to perish,” he said, suddenly feeling cosseted.
“Your face tells a different story,” Thornton replied, grimacing.
He tossed the whisky down his throat and welcomed the instant smolder. “Why have the guards been relieved?”
“Lieutenant Edmunds has decided I’m no longer a suspect in either murder, so I no longer need to be treated like a prisoner.” With her pinched brow and lips, Audrey did not appear as relieved about that as Hugh felt. He knew her expressions well enough to know something had gone wrong.
“What else has happened?”
Before either of them could answer, the innkeeper bustled into the sitting room. “Oh, there you are, milord, what a thing to be caught out in this weather. You must be chilled to the quick. I’ll get a brew on for you, and something hot to eat. Your ladis in the kitchen. Says he’s posting up at the back door now the soldiers are off.”
The appreciation for Sir’s insight gave him some additional warmth. Though, Sir probably would have leaped at any opportunity to sleep closer to a heat source than in the drafty room upstairs.
He thanked Mrs. Plimpton as she left them, and then he turned to Audrey again with an expectant arch of his brow.
“It’s Michael. He’s gone back to London. He received word that Genie had gone into labor, and he wouldn’t stay a moment to listen to reason.” She shook her head, a hand gesturing toward the windows. “This weather will slow his carriage, and Genie will have already had her baby by the time he arrives. He won’t be there for it, and if something were to go wrong…”
She exhaled, visibly attempting to rein in her worry.
Thornton stiffened, his jaw working as he stared into the fire.
“Her first went smoothly, didn’t it?” Hugh asked. Her chin jerked in a nod. He took her fingertips into his, her skin piping hot in comparison to his own. “This one will as well.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” she said, though with little confidence.
A glimpse showed Thornton still staring into the flames with a faraway expression. He knew where his friend’s mind had turned, and the melancholy that usually followed. So he wasn’t overly surprised when Thornton spun toward him and barked, “What the devil were you doing in Folkestone?”
He’d expected this. He’d left early on purpose, to avoid having to give a false cover. Though he’d tried to think of one all day, he’d come up with nothing. The truth would make precious little sense to Thornton or the duke. To their knowledge, neither Philip nor Grayson were in any way connected to these recent deaths.
“I had some business to attend to.”
Thornton glowered at the vague and utterly uncooperative answer. He crossed his arms, his whisky glass tipping dangerously. “Business? InFolkestone?”
“Yes.”
“What business?”
“That is confidential.”
Audrey cleared her throat, slicing into the rising tension between the two men. “While you were away, we also had a letter from Sir Gabriel.”
Thornton took the folded paper from his waistcoat pocket and, still quizzing Hugh, handed it over. He avoided his friend by reading the chief magistrate’s familiar scrawl, but Audrey summarized as he did.
“He went through Mr. Vaillancourt’s account ledgers and learned that Lord Burton had hired him just last year to investigate a theft.”
Hugh stilled, unable to focus on the scrawl. “BurtonknewVaillancourt?”
“And yet, he pretended as though the man was a complete stranger,” Audrey said with a nod. “He even acted surprised to learn he was a private investigator.”
“Or perhaps he was only disheartened that Vaillancourt’s identity had been revealed,” Hugh replied, trying to read again.
