Page 31 of Nature of the Crime
Hugh sipped his tea, starting to get some feeling back into his limbs.
“Danny reached Dover. Sent word he would stay there a few days before making his way here.” The creases in Mr. Grayson’s brow chiseled deeper as he frowned. “We were told he was out carousing. Gambling with the soldiers, drinking. He was found at the bottom of the Grand Shaft. Fallen from the top, it was determined.”
“Is it a great height?” Hugh asked, unfamiliar with the Grand Shaft.
“Oh, aye, milord. Over a hundred feet.” He grimaced as if in pain. “The magistrate assured us it was quick. A fall like that, there’d be no suffering. Not that it was of much comfort to my wife. Or to me.”
“I cannot imagine it would be.” Hugh recalled the time Sir had been hospitalized after being stabbed and nearly killed. He’d felt a bottomless well of worry over the boy…panic, regret, andfear that he might die. Though, he knew it couldn’t be the same as what Daniel’s parents had felt.
“You mentioned a magistrate. There was an inquest?”
Mr. Grayson nodded. “Misadventure, he deemed it.”
“Would this be Baron Burton?”
When the linen-draper confirmed it with a nod, Hugh wondered if there might be some connection. Grayson had told someone—maybehad told someone—about Philip. Shortly after, he died in an accident that was investigated by Lord Burton…who had been dogged in his accusations against Audrey, even when it was resoundingly clear that she was being framed. Then again, all suspicious deaths required an inquest, and the baron had been magistrate…it might not be so out of the ordinary after all that he would preside over Daniel Grayson’s.
He set down his teacup, stymied. The valet himself may not be able to answer the questions Hugh had, but perhaps Mr. Grayson could shed some light on a few things.
“Are the names Bruno Ricci or Bertrand Vaillancourt familiar to you?”
After pause to think, the older gentleman shook his head. “No, milord. Have these men anything to do with my son?”
Hugh circumvented the question with another of his own. “Can I ask why the Duchess of Fournier was never informed about Daniel’s passing? The duke was close with your son if I understand correctly.”
“Aye. Mrs. Grayson wanted to send notice, you see, but as Danny had resigned his post, and with that sorry business with the duke…I didn’t think it proper to bother the duchess with our own sad tale.”
Hugh could understand Mr. Grayson’s hesitation. To be thought of as seeking sympathy might also have stopped him from sending along the notice.
“So, you did not see your son after he returned from France,” Hugh said, musing aloud. But he didn’t wish to linger on that painful fact. “What about any correspondence from his time there with the duke. Might you have letters?”
Mr. Grayson’s expression brightened. He had not expected that question, apparently. “Why, yes. Two letters arrived. Mrs. Grayson would have liked to hear from him more, of course, but the cost for overseas postage is dear.”
The comment on postage reminded Hugh of Audrey’s letters, intercepted by Vaillancourt. What a fool he’d been for thinking that she had forgotten him.
“I’d like to read them, if I may be permitted.” At the surprise on Mr. Grayson’s expression, Hugh knew that he must explain, at least partially. “You see, there have been a few deaths in Dover in the last few days?—”
“The dead man found on the packet ship? Yes, I’ve heard of it. I also heard the dowager duchess is wrapped up somehow, though I’m quite sure the rumors are yesterday’s tripe. Danny never said a foul word against the duchess, or the duke.”
That the linen-draper had heard of the commotion should not have surprised him. Folkestone was close, and travel between the two port towns must have been regular.
“I’m aiding the dowager duchess in clearing her good name,” Hugh said.
“And my boy’s letters may help?” That he could not see how was clear on the man’s pinched brow.
“I’m not prepared or able to say more, but it’s possible Daniel may have known something about this murdered man. From his time as the duke’s valet,” Hugh added. It was all very vague, but Mr. Grayson didn’t hesitate. He nodded decisively.
“If it might help Her Grace,” he said. But held up a hand. “Stay here, milord, if you will. I’ll fetch the letters quietly. My wife is still inconsolable. It would be better Daniel’s name isn’tmentioned today.” He stood up, a sad, crooked grin on his mouth. “It would be his birthday next week.”
Hugh stood, uncertain what to say to that. Grayson’s death, misadventure as it was, bothered him. Had the baron done his job thoroughly? Properly? The way he’d handled Audrey and the case involving Vaillancourt did not inspire confidence.
As Mr. Grayson shuffled away through the room packed to the edges with fabrics, Hugh could only hope the letters held some illuminating information.
Chapter
Thirteen
The invitation to Lieutenant Edmunds’s private barracks arrived shortly after Hugh departed for Folkestone. The note had been addressed and delivered to the duke, and only because Audrey and Cassie had been lounging in the sitting room, bored enough to play a game of chess, had they seen Michael preparing to leave the inn. When he explained the lieutenant had summoned him to discuss the two inquests, Audrey launched herself from her poorly cushioned chair.
