Page 20 of Nature of the Crime
Everyone shifted their footing at the unpleasantness of the image Burton painted.
One of the townspeople, a dry goods merchant with a store near the harbor, spoke. “If he was a private inquiry agent, was he spying on the dowager? Following her?”
“That is what I believe,” Burton answered just as Carrigan replied: “If so, Her Grace was unaware of it.”
“That is what she says, of course,” Burton returned.
The merchant crossed his arms. “You don’t believe her?”
“I do not. Someone murdered Mr. Vaillancourt, and as the object of his private inquiry, and with her name on that letter,” he said, gesturing to where it had made its way into the hands of the coroner, “it is reasonable to suspect the lady.”
The temptation to call the man a fool was a ramming battle axe against Hugh’s sealed lips, but he could not get himself dismissed from the inquest without first causing the distraction for Sir.
“Doctor Heard, what is your opinion of this letter,” Fournier asked. “Would a man suffering from arsenic poisoning have been able to write such a thing?”
It wasn’t the coroner who answered first.
“If it is arsenic, then with respect to the dead, he would have been too preoccupied vomiting and messing his trousers to bother finding pen and paper, let alone writing with such precision,” Lieutenant Edmunds said. “I have seen poisonings at the barracks. Vermin drag their tails through the poisoned traps and go on to contaminate the soldiers’ provisions. It is unseemly, but sadly, it happens.”
With a curl of disgust, Hugh resolved to ask Mrs. Peets if there was anything else she could use in the kitchen besides arsenic.
“I agree with the lieutenant,” the doctor said. “Not to mention that once he realized what was happening to him, gripping a pen would be beyond his ability. The muscle spasms would have been far too severe.”
Hugh met Fournier’s glance. The duke fought a smug grin of victory. He felt it too; a release of pressure that had gathered inhis chest. Doctor Heard was not the baron’s man after all. It was time to strike while the iron was hot.
“That leaves the scenario in which someone else pens that letter and leaves it on Vaillancourt’s body,” Hugh said. “Something that should have been taken into consideration earlier.”
Burton seared him with a glare. “Remember that you are an observer here, not a juror.”
Hugh held up his hands in a conciliatory fashion. “Forgive me, as a former Bow Street officer, I find it difficult to hold my tongue during criminal inquests when I see something amiss.”
“Do continue to try, viscount,” the baron replied.
The man standing closest to the body raised his hand to speak. Mr. Fulton had been introduced as an administrator at the Dover packet office. “The captain reported that the note was found folded and inserted between the buttons on the man’s coat. From what the doctor and lieutenant are saying, it seems highly unlikely the murdered man did that himself.”
“I agree with you,” Fournier said. Wisely, Burton did not reprimand him for speaking. One did not rankle a duke when one was a baron. “It is abundantly clear that this letter naming the dowager duchess is an attempt to divert true justice.”
“Who else was Mr. Vaillancourt traveling with?” asked one of the port town’s many publicans. The jury was set to deliberate the evidence at his establishment after the viewing and coroner’s finding.
Hugh rocked onto his heels. At last, the method of his promised distraction for Sir had presented itself.
“Mr. Fulton, the passenger manifest was released to Lord Burton, was it not?” Hugh asked.
The packet office clerk nodded. “It was.”
Hugh faced the baron, whose lips had thinned and whitened with displeasure. “Can you produce it? I’ve been eager to see it.”
“As I have already told you, Neatham, Mr. Vaillancourt was traveling alone.”
“And the other men in his compartment,” Hugh began, raising his voice. “Were they questioned? Detained?” The baron parted his lips to reply, but Hugh didn’t want an answer—he wanted the full attention of Burton and the others. “No, they were not. They were released. Becauseyouacted as judge and jury and decided the dowager duchess was to blame.”
“I am magistrate here, a Baron of the Cinque Ports,” Burton spluttered, becoming red in the face. “My decisions will not be questioned.”
Hugh rubbed the back of his head and twisted just enough to catch Sir’s eye. The boy gave a subtle nod.
“I wonder why we are holding an inquest at all,” Hugh went on, turning back to the baron, “if you are so determined not to take any other opinion or suggestion into consideration!”
Fournier peered at Hugh, likely surprised at his sudden shouting. A good sign.
