Page 47 of Nature of the Crime
Sir straightened from his slouch. “Where the duke let rooms? Where the opera singer was killed?”
Sir had been the one to lead Hugh to Jewell House the night Miss Lovejoy was slaughtered. He would certainly recall it.
“Grayson wrote that he’d met with someone from the duke’s past shortly after Philip drowned. Someone whose name was associated with a scandal,” Hugh said.
Before he could go on, Audrey groaned and closed her eyes. “Sin. Of course.” She sounded furious with herself for not thinking of it earlier. “Lord St. John.”
Pronounced LordSin-jun, he had been Philip’s lover. The Marquess of Wimbly’s heir. And St. John and his mother, the marchioness, had both been exiled from London Society for the role Wimbly had played in the murder plot.
“So, St. John met with the duke’s valet, learned of the duke’s death, and then…what?” Thornton said with his hands raised, palms up. “Why would he partner with the baron to have Audrey followed? Then kill the private inquiry agent he hired? It makes no sense.”
It wouldn’t, Hugh agreed. At least not to anyone who believed the duke was dead.
Becky had overheard the baron and Mrs. Plimpton discussing a lie about the duke, one that would allow them to blackmail Audrey. Money had been the baron’s endgame. For St. John, however, it was probably something much more than that.
Audrey stirred uncomfortably on the bench seat across from Hugh. “I believe all of us here are aware that the duke did not hold any interest in women.” She spoke slowly, sounding as though she was out of breath. “And that St. John was his lover.”
Silence followed. No expressions of surprise crossed any of their countenances.
“He wished to blackmail you about that?” Thornton said. “Wreak vengeance for his own ruination? But why then did Vaillancourt have to die? Hell, why was he sent to follow you to begin with?”
Audrey glanced toward Hugh but didn’t hold his gaze.
“The why could be complicated,” Hugh said, stepping in and hoping his friend would cease his gnawing questions. “What matters now is finding St. John.”
He called to the driver to take them to the inn on Liverpool Street. They needed to speak to Mrs. Plimpton immediately.
“Your Grace,” Greer said after a few moments, during which Thornton’s intent stare grew talons and threatened to puncture the side of Hugh’s face. “Do you think he could have been the one you saw up there?”
“What is this?” Hugh asked, no longer concerned about his friend, but whatever Audrey had not revealed. “You saw someone on the Western Heights?”
“A man,” she admitted. “It’s possible it was St. John, but I didn’t see his face. I think we were being watched.”
“The girl ran off, frightened she’d been overheard,” Greer added.
“If he is on the Western Heights, Edmunds might be able to launch a search,” Thornton said. “The Drop Redoubt is a maze with all those tunnels and storage rooms. With hardly any soldiers left up there, a man could easily go unnoticed.”
When they arrived at the inn, Thornton stayed with the carriage, intent on finding the lieutenant and discussing a search of the barracks and fort. Hugh, Audrey, Greer, and Sir went inside, and though the warmth was a balm, the knot crimping Hugh’s gut refused to unwind.
“There you are,” Mrs. Plimpton said cheerily as she entered the front room. “My apologies, I’ve got no idea where Becky’s run off to. But I’ll bring you a brew if you’d care for it.”
“That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Plimpton,” Hugh said, removing his greatcoat. “But we would like to have a word with you. Somewhere in private.”
The woman’s smile slipped, and Hugh saw it then: her realization that she’d been found out. The flare of her eyes was gone in a blink, but he’d still seen it.
“If you think it best, my lord,” she said, affecting a confused tone. “This way. Into the dining room?”
Audrey dismissed Greer with a nod, and Hugh pulled Sir aside. “Find Carrigan. Inform him of everything.”
Mrs. Plimpton looked genuinely discomfited as she took a chair at one of the round tables in the dining room. Audrey sat as well, but Hugh remained standing.
“We have a witness naming you as Lord Burton’s mistress,” he started out. There was no time or point to easing the way with trivial chatter.
The innkeeper tucked her chin. She didn’t deny it.
“We also know about the blackmailing scheme,” Audrey added.
Mrs. Plimpton raised her head. “I’ve nothing to do with that. It was all Charles and Sinny’s idea. I told him they were grasping, that it couldn’t possibly be true. Charles doubted it too, but?—”
