The Duke's Last Hunt by Rosanne E. Lortz

Author:Rosanne E. Lortz [Lortz, Rosanne E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: regency, mystery, historic fiction, Romance
Publisher: Madison Street Publishing
Published: 2016-09-01T04:00:00+00:00

17

Pevensey glanced up at the tall oak trees, their shadows looming over the road like the dark fabric of mourning dress. The last sliver of the sun was still visible over the horizon, and by its light he could make out the stately manor house up ahead.

The journey had been shorter than he had anticipated, and had he left directly from Bow Street, he would have arrived with plenty of light to spare. As it was, however, he had decided to go home and pack a satchel of clothing and make a few inquiries in London about both the man who had written the letter and the man whom the letter was about.

To the left of the house, he saw the dark outline of the stables and, turning his horse’s head, walked the beast over to the building. The door cracked open at his approach. “Who is it?” asked a gruff voice, and Pevensey caught a glimpse of a small, wiry man, much the same size as himself but a couple decades older.

“Jacob Pevensey, at your service, attached to the London magistrates’ office, come down to Harrowhaven on business.”

“Aye, I know what business that’ll be,” said the man. He opened the door wide. “I’ll take your horse, Mr. Pevensey. They’ll be wanting you up at the big house right away.”

Pevensey dismounted and handed the reins to the groom. “Did you witness the event?” he asked as he loosened his luggage from the back of the horse’s saddle.

“Naw, I was too busy seeing every beast was saddled and every man was horsed.”

“Ah, you are the stable master then, Mr.…?”

“Gormley’s the name. John Gormley.”

“Did you hear the gunshot?”

“Can’t say as I did, but my hearing ain’t the best. I certainly heard the hue and cry, though, when the hunters came back in.”

“What were they saying?”

“Not much fit to repeat in decent company, but the main of it was that the duke had been shot and that Mr. Turold was the man as had pulled the trigger.”

“Did you see Mr. Turold with the men?”

“Aye, he was there, well enough, all Friday-faced after causing an accident of that kind.”

“So it was an accident?”

Gormley scratched his head. “I wouldna think it could be otherwise, Mr. Turold and the duke bein’ bosom friends for ten years or more.”

“And there was no falling out between them?”

“Not that I heard tell of.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gormley,” said Pevensey. “You’ve been most helpful.” He watched Gormley lead his hired nag into the stable and hand him over to a younger man, his hair the same color as the straw on the stable floor. “Ah, I see you have help here,” he called out. “Might I ask your fellow groom some questions while I’m here?”

“Who, Martin?” Gormley grunted and pointed a thumb in his fellow groom’s direction. “The man’s tongue-tied. Dumb since birth.”

Martin’s eyes narrowed into a glower, and he pulled the horse’s head a little more sharply than was necessary as he led it into its box. He might be

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