Page 9 of Nature of the Crime
Again, the man took a protracted amount of time to answer. He crossed his forearms and rocked back onto his heels. He seemed to enjoy making his two, clearly unwelcome guests wait.
“A man was found dead in his compartment aboard the packet ship that he and Her Grace shared,” he replied.
“Shared? You make it sound as though they were traveling together,” Fournier interjected.
Hugh’s pulse slowed. The baron’s choice of that word—shared—had struck him as odd too. Or perhaps he knew something Hugh did not. That Audrey might have been returning with someone nearly froze his next breath.
“I only mean to say they were fellow passengers on the same packet.”
“Along with dozens of other passengers and crew,” Hugh said, trying to remain focused. “So do explain—why have you come to suspect her of this crime and no one else?”
“A note, found on the dead man’s person,” he replied with marked little agitation, which only drove Hugh’s own higher. It was Burton’s intent, surely.
The baron went to his desk and took up a small, folded sheet of paper. He handed it to Fournier, who opened it and scoffed. He then extended the paper to Hugh.
“You are not serious?” the duke said as Hugh read it. Travers had mentioned something to do with a note, but this… It was one sentence, centered on the page:You will not get away with murder, Audrey Sinclair.
“This is your evidence?” Hugh held the paper higher, new ire rising through him. “This, and nothing else?”
Burton clasped his hands behind his back and smirked. “I understand your desire to reject the accusation against the dowager duchess, but the letter makes it evident—Audrey Sinclair is connected to this man’s death.”
Hugh set the paper back upon the desk and rubbed his temple at the man’s idiocy. “You cannot believe the murdered man wrote this? That he would pen down his own killer’s name, and then place it upon his own body?”
“I will not dismiss the possibility,” Burton replied.
Fournier’s screwed up expression displayed the same dazed astonishment that Hugh felt. “That is utterly inane.”
“The man’s name,” Hugh said, quickly losing control of his temper. “Who has been killed?”
The baron paused again, letting them think that perhaps he would not answer. That was his game, Hugh realized. His way of exhibiting control over the situation. Over him and Fournier, too. It would give Burton a feeling of power.
“Bertrand Vaillancourt,” he revealed at last. Hugh held still. Vaillancourt. The surname tugged at a memory, though Hugh could not place it.
Had Audrey been traveling with him?
“A Frenchman?” Fournier said. “And did Her Grace say she knew this man?”
Burton sniffed. “She refused to answer any of my questions until you arrived.”
“Good,” Hugh and Fournier said at the same time.
Hugh enjoyed the baron’s expression of annoyance. “How did Vaillancourt die?” he next asked. But the baron was no longer willing to accommodate them.
“I’ve arranged an inquest to be held at St. James’s Church, tomorrow at noon, gentlemen. More answers will be available then.”
He went behind his desk again and sat, preparing to dismiss them. Hugh stayed where he was, unwilling to give the baron that satisfaction. “I sincerely hope you’ve taken into consideration that the murderer placed that note on their victim to point suspicion at Her Grace. There were many more passengers and crew on the packet—have you detained any of them for questioning?”
Burton pressed his knuckles into the desk and slowly rose from his seat, his eyes hinged on Hugh. “Make no mistake.” He spoke as deliberately as his body had unraveled from the chair. “I am the man in charge here. I do not care that you are a viscount or a former Bow Street officer—yes, I am aware of your previouswork,” he tacked on when Fournier hitched his chin, showing surprise at the baron knowing Hugh’s past. He turned toward the duke next. “I also will not be swayed by your rank, Your Grace. My duty as a Baron of the Cinque Ports is not to you, but to the law, to this city, and to its citizens.”
Hugh now understood the man’s position. He was not just a magistrate, but a Parliamentary representative of the Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports, the five major seaports in England, of which Dover was included.
“Then you will agree that it is your duty to conduct athoroughinvestigation.” Hugh met Burton’s puffed-up glare and held it, unblinking. “The other passengers and crew. Have they been questioned?”
“They were, and they were released.”
Hugh reeled, his fury near to boiling over. Audrey had not murdered this man, so the baron had let the true killer loose, just as the killer had likely planned. He gritted his teeth and withheld from accusing him of incompetence. “Do you have a passenger manifest?”
Burton’s composure broke. He came away from his desk and stalked to the door, which he summarily whipped open. “A manifest is unnecessary, as I saw it fit to release the passengers.”
