Page 57 of Who Wants to Marry a Duke
Then Thorn’s butler came in. “The parish constable is here to see you, Your Grace. He said you left a message for him at his home?”
“I did indeed. Please show him in here.”
As the butler walked out, Gwyn narrowed her gaze on him. “Why are you speaking to the parish constable?”
“Because if Olivia determines that Grey’s father was poisoned, then our next step is to determine if our father’s accident was something more.”
“Oh, right.”
Just then Constable Upton, a wizened old man with huge ears and bushy white eyebrows, was ushered in. With hat in hand, he bowed and said, “Your Grace. You wished to see me?”
“Yes, Upton. Thank you for coming.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t do it sooner. Had business in London, y’see, and I only just got back late last night.”
“No need to apologize. Indeed, we much appreciate your attending us so soon after your return home. Please, help yourself to some breakfast.”
Upton relaxed now that he could tell he wasn’t in any trouble. “I already ate this morning, Your Grace, but I wouldn’t mind a cup of that coffee.”
“Would you prefer tea?” Gwyn asked. “We have both.”
“Coffee’s fine, my lady.”
As she poured Upton a cup of coffee, Thorn gestured to a chair. “Do have a seat, Constable.”
Upton shot a wary glance at Gwyn as he sat down across from Thorn.
“Don’t worry,” Thorn added. “My sister knows all about what I wish to discuss with you, although I suppose we should close the door. It’s probably unwise to let anyone else hear.”
After determining how the constable wanted his coffee, Gwyn doctored it accordingly and handed it to him. Meanwhile Thorn rose to shut the door, then debated how to begin.
Might as well be blunt. “We have some questions for you about the carriage accident that took our father’s life. You were constable then, too, weren’t you?”
Upton thrust his chest out. “Aye, Your Grace. I’ve served as constable for forty years.”
“When you’re not running the blacksmith shop in town. Is that correct?”
“Aye, along with my boy. Got to make a living somehow, Your Grace.”
“Of course,” Thorn said. “No one questions that.” The constabulary was unpaid, so most constables had to do it alongside their regular work. “Here’s the thing. It has come to our attention that someone may have purposely damaged our father’s carriage in order to cause the accident that killed him.”
The constable frowned. “I don’t know nothing about that, Your Grace.”
Gwyn cleared her throat. “You understand, sir, that no one is accusing you. We are simply trying to get at the truth. After all, it wasn’t just our father who was killed. Two footmen died in the accident as well, and the coachman was gravely injured. It was quite a tragedy.”
“Exactly,” Thorn said hastily, grateful to have Gwyn there since she had a way of putting people at their ease. He wasn’t quite as good at that. “And you’re the only person who might be able to tell us anything. The estate manager who ran Rosethorn while Gwyn and I were abroad with our mother and stepfather died a few years ago, so we can’t ask him. But I thought you might have examined Father’s carriage after the accident. That you might remember how it looked.”
“Anything you can tell us would be appreciated,” Gwyn added, casting the man a kindly smile.
The constable drank some coffee, then set the cup down. “The carriage ended up as kindling on account of it being so mangled in the accident that it couldn’t be repaired. But the coachman’s perch was found a ways behind the carriage, and we did think at the time as perhaps it came off first, spooking the horses into bolting and causing the accident.”
A chill skittered down Thorn’s spine. “So the screws holding the perch on might have been loosened?” he asked. When Gwyn’s husband had determined a few months ago that someone had tried to damage Thorn’s own carriage, that was exactly how the person had done it.
“I suppose it’s possible. Whatever was done, the carriage rolled not too far down the road and broke open, crushing His Grace beneath it and dashing the footmen against a boulder.” He shook his head. “Forgive me, Duke, but I hope you’re wrong about the cause of it. Your father was a good man and an excellent landlord. His tenants loved him. I can’t think of nobody who’d have wished him dead.”
“Thank you for saying so, Constable,” Gwyn said. “Since neither of us were even born at the time of his death, we must rely on good people like you to tell us about him. Mother doesn’t like to talk about him. They were so very happy that his death nearly broke her heart, or so she has always said.”
Thorn held his tongue. Perhaps it was time he pressed Mother for the truth. After he pressed the constable, that is. “I do have one question regarding what happened that day. Someone who knew my parents said that Father was in a hurry to get to London, and that his urging the coachman to a reckless speed was why the accident happened. Do you know if that could have been the case?”
