All She Loves: a Regency Romantic Mystery by Amy Corwin

Author:Amy Corwin [Corwin, Amy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fireside Romance
Published: 2017-01-08T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

The ten men who came to view the remains and form the coroner’s jury at the inquest were already in the baron’s bedroom when Westmarch arrived. They ringed the bed while the coroner bent over the body. Constable Truesdell leaned over the coroner’s back.

Mr. Ratcliffe’s thin, pale fingers gently pushed the baron’s chin, turning his head to the left. He hummed thoughtfully and straightened, almost hitting the constable’s face with the back of his head.

Truesdell took a hasty step back as he rubbed his mouth thoughtfully with one huge hand. “Looks like they was correct, Mr. Ratcliffe. That mark there on his temple were made by that little stone as you have in your pocket, unless I be much mistaken, and I don’t believe I be. A deliberate shot. Unless it were a remarkably unlucky accident.” Still rubbing his lower face, he studied the body. “Dead before he hit the ground, poor nob.”

“Ticklish shot. Difficult.” Mouth pinched and white brows bristling over his eyes, Mr. Ratcliffe stared at the constable, prepared to disagree with anything the hulking man said, no matter how twisted his logic must be to announce a differing opinion.

Truesdell’s eyes twinkled, though his face remained properly grave. “Perhaps. Unless his lordship’s horse paused, not wanting to get over that wall.”

“That young lady said he’d jumped it dozens of times,” Mr. Ratcliffe pointed out. “Why should the mare pause?”

“Mares do be obstinate,” Truesdell said, his lilting voice playful. “And many a horse will kick up a bit to try the hand of the rider before a jump—even a well-known jump. Perhaps more so with an old, familiar obstacle. A sort of game they’re fond of playing. And the horse’ud been fresh and frisky, first thing in the morning—eager to try his lordship’s determination.” He looked at the slack face of the body and shook his head. “Yes—that be likely, given the bruise and bit of blood, there. And that glint of reddish hair I saw on the stone—it’ud match as well, unless I’ve gone blind in the last hour or so.”

Several of the men grinned and nodded before they could compose their faces again and fix their properly somber gazes once more on the corpse. The coroner glowered and glanced from one face to the next.

As he looked around, he noticed the earl and straightened. “Lord Westmarch, thank you for bringing this matter to our attention.”

“You are of the opinion, then, that this was a deliberate action?”

“So it appears.” Mr. Ratcliffe frowned and flicked an annoyed gaze at the constable. “Though that will not be decided until the inquest.”

“Have you completed your examination?” Westmarch asked.

The men shifted their gazes to the coroner. One well-dressed, middle-aged man with a green waistcoat straining over the beginnings of a paunch hooked his thumbs into the tiny pockets of his waistcoat. He nodded at Mr. Ratcliffe.

“Yes, my lord,” Mr. Ratcliffe responded. “We have completed our viewing and are prepared to depart. The inquest will take place the day after tomorrow, if that meets with your approval?”

The earl inclined his head.

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