Chapter Ten
Boddingford House
St. James Place
Mayfair, London
Gabriel stifled a yawn as he peered down at the lifeless body of the Duke of Boddingford.
After he’d been summoned around midnight, he and Mary had dressed then headed over to the duke’s residence.
Where he’d expected chaos, the townhouse had been eerily calm.
Of course, everyone could have been wracked with grief, but when he’d arrived, there was no one around with the exception of servants.
Very odd.
Ignoring his exhaustion for the time being, he glanced at the duke’s valet, who was a middle-aged man of indeterminate years.
Graying and thin hair didn’t quite hide the stretch of scalp.
Clearly, he’d dressed in a hurry, with the tails of his night shirt half tucked into a pair of breeches while the carriage-style clock on the bedside table softly chimed three in the morning.
“How did His Grace spend the evening?”
The valet bounced his gaze between Gabriel and Mary. “He and the duchess went out to a society event.”
“Did they return home together?”
“No.” He shook his head. “But then, that wasn’t unusual. They often went different ways, and last night, before they headed out, they argued.”
“Oh?” Mary’s head came up and she took notes. “About what?”
The valet shrugged. “I couldn’t say, but it grew so heated that Her Grace slapped the duke, or at least she did according to one of the maids. She told us in the servants’ hall that Her Grace said their marriage was over.”
Silence brewed after that announcement.
Finally, Gabriel nodded. “Tell me again what time His Grace called you to help him undress?”
“Shortly after one this morning,” the man said in a monotone that dripped with the same level of tiredness Gabriel felt. “He had spent the evening with his mistress; he rarely stays over at her townhouse.”
“And Her Grace doesn’t share this suite?
” Once more, his gaze went to the duke who lay in the middle of the large, four-poster bed with its brown and navy draperies.
As it was, it seemed as if he’d been placed there, at least that was what the sprays of blood over the carpets on the floor as well as the wall indicated.
“She does not.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. The man was practically useless for all the additional information he gave out.
When Mary softly cleared her throat from where she sat on a chair at the other side of the room with her notebook in her lap, he nodded.
“Did you come upstairs to help the duke with his toilette directly when summoned?”
“Not immediately.”
“Why?”
“Well, firstly, I was asleep.” As if that explained everything. “When I finally came up, it was perhaps half of one.”
“And you found the duke lying here, dead.” It wasn’t a question, for the sheets were bloody, his evening clothes bloodstained, and there were more than a handful of stab wounds from a knife in the duke’s chest. Had it been with the same knife that had nicked Gabriel in the thigh during the scuffle earlier that evening?
“Yes.”
“Did anyone else enter the room in that time?”
“I shouldn’t think so, Inspector. Everyone else was abed.”
“Right.” Again, he poked about the bedding as well as the lapels of the duke’s tailcoat using the tip of his pencil.
And because he was curious, he took it upon himself to count the stab wounds.
In total, there were easily a dozen. Blood was everywhere.
Some of the cuts went deep while some were more shallow.
“Did you find a knife in this room before you raised the alarm about the duke’s situation?
” Who the hell stabbed someone twelve times?
And what was the state of mind of the killer to not have matching strokes?
“No, Inspector. I left everything as it was since it was clear His Grace was dead.”
Mary continued to scribble notes. “Uh, Markum, was there anyone in the house who shouldn’t have been here tonight?”
“I don’t believe so, Mrs. Bright.”
“Besides the servants, who else was in the house last night after midnight?” she continued, and Gabriel was content to let her handle the questioning.
“Oh, uh, Her Grace, Lady Amelia, as well as Lady Rebecca. I think the duke’s second daughter was away with some friends…” He audibly swallowed. “However, the Earl of Edgington was also here. He’d been waiting to speak with the duke… they argued when His Grace came in.”
That was interesting. Gabriel cleared his throat. “Where is His Lordship now?” Or rather, the new Duke of Boddingford.
The valet shrugged. “As far as I know, by the time His Grace came up here, he’d ordered his son out of the house, said he refused to have anything else to do with him.”
Hell’s bells.
“We will need to talk with him, as well as the duchess and Lady Amelia.”
“I would imagine so, Inspector,” the valet said with a nod. “But I am not privy to their schedules, and I suppose now, I’m out of a position.” He glanced at the duke’s body. “Truth to tell, His Grace wasn’t that well respected…”
“One last question.” This interview was getting them no closer to the truth. “Does the duke own a ceramic opera mask?”
The valet frowned. Confusion was clear in his expression. “I shouldn’t think so. He wasn’t one to give in to whimsy nor did he hide.”
That was probably true. “Yes, well, if you will excuse Mrs. Bright and me? Though it’s the middle of the night, someone from this address did notify Bow Street of the duke’s death. That means we’ll need to continue the investigations.”
And that meant he would continue being sleep deprived.
Mary rose to her feet while hurriedly tucking her notebook and pencil into her reticule. “Perhaps you should go ahead and retire,” she told the valet. “It’s late and it’s been a very trying few hours, I’d imagine.”
Gabriel waited for her in the corridor. When she joined him, he took her hand. “I suppose the duke’s family will descend on the house in force later today, so if we wish to interview the duchess and Lady Amelia without interference, we’d best get to it.”
“This poor family,” she said in a whisper as they made their way along the corridor toward the stairs. “The duke wasn’t a good person, I’ll admit, but he didn’t deserve to die.”
“Agreed. I didn’t find the knife anywhere on his person or in the room at large, so the killer must have taken it with him or her.” It was most vexing. “The question now remains, do we stop investigating Mr. Corbett’s murder in order to do this one, or are they intertwined?”
She frowned. “Are you certain the duke killed Mr. Corbett?”
“As certain as I can be, but I suppose we’ll never know, since dead men can’t talk.”
“Unless he wrote it in a journal or diary. I have no hopes that he confessed at to his useless valet.”
“There is that, but perhaps we can go through his personal affects if the duchess will allow it.” He nodded as they descended the stairs to the second level.
The Boddingford butler was just coming up the stairs.
“Ah, Cravitts, will you please tell Her Grace we would like to see her in the drawing room.”
“At this hour?” One of the man’s thinning eyebrows rose in question.
“Did I not make myself clear? I would imagine she is already awake since she would have been informed that the duke was dead.”
“Yes, but—”
“Now, please,” he interrupted. There was no way to keep the annoyance from his tone.
“I was summoned from my own bed due to your employer’s murder.
The least his widow can do is indulge me in a few questions.
And while you’re at it, ask Lady Amelia to attend me in the drawing room as well. I do not want to return.”
The other man’s eyes rounded. “Right away, Inspector.”
Once the butler departed, Gabriel snickered. “God, that sounded high-handed, but I’m not best pleased to have my personal time interrupted due to murder.”
“I know exactly how you feel.” Inside the drawing room, a maid was hurriedly lighting candles around the room. “No matter what, restrain yourself when questioning the duchess. She did just lose her husband, the father of her children. There must have been some feelings for him at some point.”
He offered a slight smile as he looked at his wife while she settled on a low sofa. “You always know how to see a situation from a different angle than I do.”
“It’s what makes us a good team,” she rejoined with eyes that sparkled even at this late—or early depending—hour of the night.
“One of the reasons, love.” Barely had he drifted over to her sofa when the maid left and the rustle of fabric at the door signified the arrival of the duchess. He inclined his head. “Lady Boddingford, I presume?”
“Yes, of course.” Average height for a woman, she was lithe and elegant, even in the brocade receiving dress and banyan in shades of peach and moss green she’d no doubt hurriedly thrown on once news of her husband’s death had been announced. “You must know this is highly irregular, Inspector.”
“I am well aware of that, Your Grace, but so is murder.” He leveled his gaze on the powerful woman. Her nut-brown hair was streaked with gray had been set in a low chignon, and annoyance flashed in her light blue eyes. “This won’t take long.”
“I should hope not, for I don’t appreciate this intrusion, but then I expect nothing less from one of Viscount Stansbury’s sons.” She crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “Ask me what you will. I have no secrets.”
Good God, this is going to be unpleasant.
Mary watched the interaction between her husband and the duchess with interest. This was the first time during the investigation that Bright’s lineage had been mentioned.
To his credit, he ignored the comment, for he refused to lean on his position within the beau monde to further anything in his life.
“Very well.” The inspector nodded. There was a stubborn set to his jaw that betrayed his anger even if it didn’t show on his face. “I’ll simply come straight to the point. Did you kill your husband?”