Page 20 of The Odd Riddle of the Lost Duchess
“Perhaps we should scour the area?” Noah frowned. “Since he challenged me openly in Hyde Park, the rumors are circulating about this duel. Should he not come, his reputation will be ruined.”
“Perhaps St. Maur does not wish to die by your hands. Hence he has fled,” Lord Bexley suggested.
Noah’s intuition told him that something was terribly amiss. “It is unlike him not to arrive. I am known not to kill my opponents.”
“Your pistol hand is also infamous,” Lord Bexley remarked.
The gentlemen and their coachman began searching the area. It was abandoned farmland, with many places to hide and stage an attack.
The hatred between the St. Maurs’ and the Newberrys’ sprang from an unfortunate and despicable incident–one that Noah would never forget. His sister, Lady Victoria Fitzroy, three years younger than himself, had been a beauty, with dark hair and bright eyes. The stunning and titled heiress’ debut at the age of fifteen had caused a stir in London, and she was instantly the most sought-after debutante by the gentlemen there.
Lady Victoria, however, had fallen in love with Dr. Steven St. Maur, St. Maur’s fourth youngest brother, who had chosen to become a physician since there was no land left for him to inherit.
Lady Victoria’s father, the previous Duke of Newberry, upon knowing about the affair, had put his daughter under lock and key, but Lady Victoria, blinded by her love for Dr. St. Maur, had managed to escape several days later.
Noah had been the unlucky one to find the broken bodies of Lady Victoria and Dr. St. Maur, at the bottom of a cliff, along with the debris of the carriage in which they had been traveling. Their destination had been Gretna Green, as indicated by Lady Victoria’s note, where they could be easily wed.
To this day, no one understood why the carriage had been taken to the cliffs when the road was farther inland. St. Maur held the loss of his brother as Newberry’s–and by default–Noah’s responsibility.
Noah knew something was terribly amiss. The man hated him, so why wasn’t he owning up to his challenge? He scoured the area for any evidence of a struggle, or a solid reason for St. Maur’s absence. A leaden sensation was in the middle of his stomach the more he searched.
Rounding an old haystack, Noah reeled back and nearly lost the meager contents of his stomach. Next to the haystack was St. Maur’s body, with a bloody entry wound from a pistol ball in the middle of his forehead. Fighting for his composure, that had scattered to the four winds, he yelled for the others, and under a grim sky the three surrounded the dead body, astonished at the discovery.
“There is a bloody wound on his forehead,” Lord Croxton said, stating the obvious.
Lord Bexley shook his head. “I believe we will have to involve the constables in this. St. Maur could have put a pistol to his head in his fright to face you, Noah.”
“I doubt it,” Noah said gravely. “There is no pistol to be found.”
Thunder rolled around them as the rain began to pour down heavily.
“Well, we cannot leave his body here now, can we?” Lord Croxton asked, utterly unsettled.
“I think one of us should fetch the authorities, while at least two of us wait. Moving the body will be a bad notion,” Noah told them.
An hour later, Stanton the constable, and the magistrate, Mr. Fielding, arrived at the scene. Mr. Stanton was a tall and strapping man, his face harshly lined and sun weathered. He towered over everyone but Noah.
“This is terrible, Your Grace,” the constable said. “I do not need to ask why you were gathered here today. However, if you three gentlemen keep quiet about this, I will not charge you a fine for dueling.”
The magistrate, a portly man nodded. “If we began chasing members of the gentry for dueling, we would have our hands full and the real criminals would go free.”
“However, I have two questions to ask,” the constable added, “Where are St. Maur’s seconds?”
“I cannot tell you. And what is the second question?” Noah asked, feeling the discomfort of wet clothes and drenched skin.
“The entry wound, Your Grace. It does not match the pistol we found in St. Maur’s pocket,” Mr. Stanton said. “It seems to be the damage from a larger firearm.”
Noah had not touched the body, as he had believed that to be the task of the authorities. Noah ran his fingers through his black hair in an attempt to shove it off his eyes. “I do not believe this was suicide, sir.”
“Nor do we,” said Mr. Fielding. “Although, we will order your coachman to remain quiet as well. We do not want the culprit to get wind of our suspicions.”
Noah nodded, disturbed in spite of his hatred for the late St. Maur.
“I might call you gentlemen to my office later today,” the constable said.
* * *
Trying, futilely, to dry himself with handkerchiefs during the carriage ride home, Noah was befuddled. St. Maur had been murdered by someone. Who would do such a thing? And then it struck him–St. Maur had no known enemies but Noah, and soon people would believe him to be involved in the murder.
