Page 21 of Nature of the Crime
“Lord Neatham, I must ask that you remain calm and conduct yourself with more poise,” Doctor Heard said.
Hugh threw out his hands and turned in a circle, as if to indicate all the men gathered. The sudden motion helped capture their attention. “I am simply stating what everyone here is already thinking—that the baron wasted the opportunity to question pertinent witnesses when he dismissed the passengers and crew.” He took a breath, and from the corner of his eye saw Sir was gone from the pew.
“Who the devil do you think you are?” Burton seethed.
“I am a man who appreciates good sense, my lord, and so far, I’ve seen none on your part.”
The men all shifted and murmured, eyes darting between Hugh and Lord Burton—and to nowhere else in the church.
“The passenger manifest. Do you have it?” Hugh asked before the stunned baron could make a reply.
“It is in my office,” he replied tightly.
“I suggest we all break while Lord Burton fetches it,” Hugh said, raising his voice again and stepping up onto the alcove, close to the coroner and the body, if only to attract the men’s eyes again. Sir had stealthily drawn up behind the man with his back to the bag.
Burton followed Hugh up, into the alcove. “That is the coroner’s decision to make, not yours.” Probably expecting fists to soon be thrown, the gathered men gawked.
“Then Doctor Heard, what do you say to a short respite while more evidence is gathered?” Hugh asked, all eyes now shifting to the coroner—and completely oblivious to the young man slipping back into the pew, his hands in his pockets.
“In fact, I do have more evidence,” Burton said, still heated. “And I will present it to the jurynow, rather than later.”
The baron shoved past Hugh and between the few men standing on the alcove steps. He reached for the small satchel Sir had just been sneaking through. Hugh held his breath, worried the boy had been seen. Or that Sir had nicked the evidence Burton now wanted to show. Fournier crossed a skeptical glance with Hugh, and he was reminded of what the duke had said the evening before, about the baron possibly having some surprise evidence that he would spring on them at the inquest.
From within the leather satchel, Burton withdrew a thick stack of papers. At least two dozen, Hugh estimated. All showed creases that indicated they had been folded in the style for mailing. He split the stack between his hands and held them aloft. Circles of black and red pigment had stained the fibers of the top-most letters, from where wax seals had been applied.
A boulder dropped into Hugh’s stomach. His breathing slowed.
“These were found among Mr. Vaillancourt’s possessions,” Burton bellowed. He needn’t have said more. Hugh knew exactly what they were.
“Letters of correspondence exchanged between the Dowager Duchess of Fournier, and yourself, Viscount Neatham.”
Hugh held himself stock still, even as Fournier’s stare, as well as the others on the jury, lit into him. The contents of his letters had never once touched on Philip or the truth that only he and Audrey knew about. He trusted hers had not either, but as he had not read them, he could not be entirely sure.
“What the devil would Vaillancourt have been doing with those?” Fournier asked.
“Yesterday, Her Grace and I discovered that our correspondence was intercepted while she was on the Continent. I received no letters from her, and she received none from me,” Hugh explained.
“My goodness,” Dr. Heard murmured.
Burton fanned the papers, as though to give himself a cool breeze. “Your mutual confusion penned down here, and increasing resentment of one another, supports that.”
That this man had read their private messages, and spoke of the sentiments expressed within, set his teeth on edge. Having access to a viscount’s personal words, his vulnerable side laid bare on the paper, no doubt gave the baron a sense of influence, of victory. Something to hold over Hugh’s head, and Audrey’s.
But Hugh had nothing to hide.
“I don’t deny my confusion, and it is now evident that Mr. Vaillancourt was the one interrupting our communication.” The question was why? Why just Audrey’s and Hugh’s letters to each other?
“He was looking for something.” This came from Sir, who startled the rest of the crowd with his squeaky voice. Back tolounging in the pew, he looked bored again, rather than guilty of lifting something from the satchel of evidence.
Before Burton could snipe at the boy, Hugh agreed. “That does seem to be the case. And it is proof that Vaillancourt was following the dowager duchess. Though, I don’t see how it is incriminating for Her Grace in any way.”
Unless she wrote something confidential.
Burton tossed the papers back into the satchel. A large part of Hugh wanted to ask for them. Not just to be sure Audrey stayed mum about Philip, but to drink in her words. All the things she had tried to tell him for months.
“Simple. She discovered she was being followed, that Vaillancourt had attempted to manipulate and dismantle whatever affections the pair of you held for one another, and she reacted in a bout of hysteria.”
From behind Hugh, a soft snort of laughter sounded. He caught the dramatic rolling of Sir’s eyes and decided he would not reprimand him for it.
