Page 70 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess
He continued to sip his coffee and resolved himself to focus. He needed to clear the fog in his brain and start his search anew. The revelation about the Bow Street Runners had unfortunately been a dead end, but there had to be another thread, another connection to John’s murder he could follow.
Just as he was steeling himself to face the daunting task, an unexpected knock echoed through the study. Reeves opened the door to reveal—much to Richard’s shock—Ashworth. He looked uncomfortable as he entered the room, slow and unsure.
“Your Grace,” Ashworth stammered, his eyes darting around the room as if expecting hidden dangers after their last encounter. “Arlington… Arlington suggested I might… have some furtherinformation for you.” He nervously lit up a pipe and took a long inhale, then cleared his throat with a loud cough.
“Please, Ashworth. Sit down,” Richard finally offered, calming the man’s nerves slightly. “Reeves, some tea or coffee for my guest, if you please. Which would you prefer?”
“Coffee, please,” Ashworth replied. “I am as English as King Arthur, but I do not care much for tea. I like the stronger stuff.”
Ashworth settled gingerly onto the edge of the offered seat, his eyes still wary in anticipation of an outburst. Richard could not blame him.
Once Reeves had silently served him coffee and retreated, a tense silence filled the room. The only sound was the ticking of the clock and distant pattering of rain outside on the street.
Is he really going to make me speak first? Richard wondered.
“Well?” Richard prompted finally. “I have to say, I am quite astonished to find you here in my study. To what do I owe this visit?”
Ashworth fidgeted with his pipe, clearing his throat again in the same nervous tick.
“After… our rather… spirited encounter, I was hesitant to help you or your family, to say the least. But… well, Arlington is a dear friend of mine. When he heard what happened, he came to seeme. He spoke of your character, some of the reasons that have made you so… emphatic about this case,” he explained as he took a sip of coffee. “This is damn good stuff, Your Grace. If you’d pardon my French, please.”
“Go on, Ashworth.”
“Right, to the point. He mentioned you’re not one for chit chat,” he said. “So, I made some discreet inquiries into your brother’s case. And your instincts appear not to be unfounded. I found something… well, something odd.”
Richard leaned forward, his senses sharpening and his wheels turning.
“Odd? What sort of odd?”
“The robbers,” Ashworth explained in a hushed voice, even in the confines of Richard’s private study. “The ones apprehended for John and Anna’s murder. They… they weren’t hanged, Your Grace.”
Richard frowned, confusion clouding his features as he rose quickly to his feet and began pacing.
“What are you talking about?” he asked dumbfounded. “Each time I’ve inquired, I have been told that they were brought to justice.”
Ashworth shook his head slowly from side to side, puffing on his pipe, and smoke emanating from his head like a chimney.
“They were apprehended, yes. But they died in custody shortly after their incarceration. It was just before their scheduled hanging.”
“They did not hang for what they did to my brother?” Richard asked rhetorically as a cold dread crept deep into his heart. He could not make sense of it all. “How did they die then?”
“That’s the most unusual part,” Ashworth said, his voice still barely above a whisper. He knew his information was not to be shared. “It was… handled… quietly. Officially, it was put down to a fever that swept through and took them, in addition to other inmates. But in my experience, such things are rarely so swift or so convenient.”
“You are saying then that they were killed,” Richard stated as he considered the facts. “Someone silenced them,” he whispered slowly as the realization hit him.
“It seems that was the most likely outcome,” Ashworth agreed, his gaze meeting Richard’s with a newfound seriousness. “Robbers don’t typically die of sudden illnesses right before their execution. I think someone wanted them quiet. Someone with influence, money, likely both.”
“Why am I only hearing about this now?” Richard demanded, his anger growing along with the volume of his voice.
“It was covered up, I assume,” Ashworth whispered, his voice still barely audible. “Discreetly managed. To avoid unnecessary scrutiny. Robbery is one thing, but powerful figures pulling strings like that is another matter entirely.”
“I still cannot make sense of this,” Richard stated plainly, looking into Ashworth’s eyes for some sign.
“There’s a dangerous game going on, and I fear it’s still being played. Truthfully, I worry for you and your family. I worry what may come of this when your poking and prodding come to light.”
“I can take care of my own, I’m not here to be lectured!” Richard barked.
“Of course, Your Grace. My apologies. And I must apologize again as I have one more question,” he said as he loaded more tobacco in his pipe. “Did your brother have any enemies, Your Grace? Anyone who might have wanted him and his wife dead?”
