Page 39 of A Death, A Duke, And Miss Mifford
Dr Bates grimaced and stooped down to retrieve the knife which was protruding from Canet's neck. Henry, his stomach roiling, looked away for fear of debasing himself. He could feel sweat forming on his brow and he hastily picked up a handkerchief from the washstand to mop at it--having forgotten his own.
"Look at this!" Marrowbone called, distracting Henry from the task at hand.
The constable had been poking through Canet's belongings--out of curiosity, rather than competence--and he was staring down wide eyed at a drawer he had just opened.
Glad of the excuse to leave Dr Bates to carry on his macabre work alone, Henry crossed the room to join Marrowbone.
"There must be hundreds of pounds 'ere, Your Grace," Marrowbone whistled admiringly, as he gazed down at the drawer which was filled with bags of coin.
Another dead body, another stash of money. The people of Plumpton were most industrious, Henry thought, as he fished a scrap of paper from the drawer.
"A b of p, two crowns," Henry read aloud--what on earth was a "b of p"?
"That's quite a good price for that," Marrowbone commented, unaware of Henry's ignorance. The constable was untying the bags of coin and emptying them out for inspection, his eyes alight with reverence.
"Would you care to illuminate me further?" Henry said dryly, "Or are you simply going to stand there counting coin all night?"
"It's a brace of pheasant," Marrowbone replied, "Monsieur must know someone in the market in Stroud, if he was buying them for that price."
"Or," Henry said slowly, as he stared down at the money in the drawer, "He was selling them himself."
"I suppose he was shooting them on the grounds of his sprawling estate?" Marrowbone chuckled, "Have over!"
Henry allowed a silence to fall between them, so thick with disapproval that even the doltish constable could note it.
"I mean, have over, Your Grace," Marrowbone corrected himself, tugging nervously at the collar of his shirt.
It would have to do, Henry thought with a sigh, before quickly assessing all that he knew of Canet; a faux revolutionary who wore Lobby boots. Such a man would have no qualms in stealing from others for his own gain. Others being Henry.
Henry could have cursed his stupidity and all the clues which he had missed; Mr Feathers, the gamekeeper, raising the alarm that the game-stock was low, Mr Hargreaves' tales of hearing late-night shooting on the estate. Henry had been so caught up with investigating Mr Parsims' murder, that he had failed to notice the blindingly obvious; someone was poaching on his land.
"Would it be possible to sell poached game at the market in Stroud?" Henry asked of the constable.
"You could sell your mother if you were so inclined," Mr Marrowbone replied, with a conspiratorial wink.
"I am not seeking to sell poached game, Marrowbone," Henry sighed, "I am asking if it's possible that Canet was involved in some sort of poaching ring. He may have acted as an intermediary for someone; they handled the hunt, he handled the sales."
"There has been some talk of poachers down The Ring," Marrowbone offered, as he none-too-subtly scratched his backside.
"And, as constable, you felt no need to follow such talk up?"
"Wouldn't want to mix myself up with no poachin' ring, Your Grace," the constable looked nervous, "They can be mighty dangerous and, as I have said before, this is only a voluntary position."
"One wonders why you volunteered at all," Henry sighed, thoroughly tired of the man.
"I didn't," Marrowbone replied mournfully, "I fell behind on my rent to Lord Crabb, one month, and he volunteered me for the position in lieu of payment."
That explained the man's complete disinterest in upholding the law, Henry thought. Though as he turned his eyes away from Marrowbone, the scene which greeted him only confirmed what the constable had said. Poaching rings were dangerous; Guillame Canet's dead body attested to that.
"I am struggling to remove the knife," Dr Bates said, looking very much as though he were about to retch, "Once I do, would you like me to arrange to have the body removed?"
"Please," Henry instructed, his mind no longer on the grizzly murder scene or murder weapon, but on poachers instead.
"Come with me," Henry ordered Marrowbone, as he decided on what his next course of action should be. He needed to interrogate the inhabitants of The Ring'O'Bells, to try to learn the name of those they suspected of poaching. For Henry was certain, once he found his poacher, he would find Canet's murderer.
Henry marched from the Frenchman's rooms, with Marrowbone on his heels. Downstairs, the entrance hall of the inn was crowded with guests who had heard of the gruesome scene upstairs. The room buzzed with whispers, which grew to a deafening crescendo at Henry's appearance.
Edward, ever present, was attempting to restore some order to the chaotic scene. Henry hailed him over the heads of the crowd, and the footman rushed his way.
