“You have my heartfelt condolences, Baroness. Such a damnable end.” Sir John shook his head and then flushed in embarrassed realization of his double entendre. He cleared his throat and continued. “Pray accept my pardon in advance for the indelicacy of this inquest, but there are a number of unanswered questions before we can confidently lay the matter to rest.” He helped himself to a glass of port. “I shall try to make this entire ordeal as easy on you as possible.”
Diana clutched her handkerchief, but her eyes were remarkably dry. Her entire being felt arid and devoid of emotion. She had expected to feel something once the initial shock wore off, but the only feeling she could summon was relief, a sentiment entirely inappropriate to the occasion. She cast her gaze about the gilded library, noting Edward and Dr. Stone. DeVere was present as well and the Duchess of Beauclerc, but she carefully avoided any eye contact with either.
Diana still didn’t know what to think or feel about DeVere after the duchess had sown her poisonous seeds last night. Deciding it her best course, Diana kept her eyes downcast and her handkerchief at the ready, a convincing prop, although the trembling hands that held it were no act at all. She was thankful for the glass of fortified wine and sympathetic hand squeeze from Annalee.
“When did you last see your husband, Lord Reginald?” Sir John asked.
“It was late yesterday morning just before the start of the first race. When his horse did not appear on the field, he went to the stables to inquire of his jockey.”
Sir John consulted his scribbled notes. “And that would be Johnson? The man who was found with Lord Reginald?”
“Yes. That is my understanding—that they were found together.”
“And this Johnson. What do we know of him? How long was he in your husband’s employ?”
Diana licked her lips, concentrating on the fine detail of her lace handkerchief. “Since before we were wed. Jemmy was a lad of fifteen or sixteen when he came to Palmerston Hall with Reggie.” Reggie had been both generous and oddly protective of Jemmy from the start. She now realized just how na?ve she had been regarding her husband’s relationship with the young groom.
“Was your groom, Johnson, fond of drink?”
“I could not say, my lord. I never saw him intoxicated.”
“Do you think it possible Johnson may have had too much to drink the morning of the race?”
“I could not say.”
“Yet the groom did not show for the race. Is it possible in your mind that Lord Reginald could have beaten his groom?”
Diana reflected a long moment. “I would not think it likely at all, Sir John. Reggie was of a cold and calculating nature, not a man prone to fits of violence.”
“Yet, he was reputed a compulsive gamester.”
“Yes. I cannot dispute his gaming habits.”
“Had he accumulated considerable debts?”
She bit her lip and finally stole a sidelong look at DeVere who gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. “I am unaware of the full extent of his debts,” she said.
“Yet he had placed great hopes on the horse race.”
“As had I,” she said wryly.
“Is there anything more that you know, Baroness? Anything at all that might help to explain the events surrounding your husband’s death?”
It was literally the moment of truth. Diana’s heart pounded against her breastbone in rhythm with the pendulum clock. Her gaze darted between the Duchess and DeVere. The Duchess eyed her intently, her lips parted as if to speak. Only they knew the whole of it, or as much as could be known.
The time had arrived to speak up and come clean—about the extent of their financial devastation, of the unnatural relationship between Reggie and Johnson and their plans to elope together, and the planned blackmail of DeVere. But it was all too sordid. Too much to bear. Besides, wasn’t it irrelevant now? Reggie was dead. Her shame-filled life was over. It was a chance for a new beginning. A new life, one she refused to enter under the shadow of such a scandal.
“No. I can think of nothing.” She closed her mouth with a prayer that Caroline would also maintain her peace.
Sir John scratched his head, setting his wig askew. “Then I conclude that we have an accident involving a drunken groom who was discovered by his employer, Lord Reginald, after his horse failed to appear. My lord assaulted the jockey, beating him about the head with the pistol, whereby during the struggle, the weapon went off upon himself—a simple matter of death by misadventure. Unless anyone here has information to refute this, I deem that there is nothing further to pursue.”
“Sir John,” the Duchess interjected. “Since I am sadly ignorant of legal proceedings, what would transpire should any evidence of foul play later come to light?”
“You mean should the groom recover sufficiently to identify another assailant?”
“Yes. Or anything else that might later suggest a motive for violence against the deceased. Just out of curiosity, of course.” Diana noticed the dark looks exchanged between the Duchess and DeVere.
“As there is no statute of limitations pertaining to violent crime, an investigation would, of course, be opened by the proper authorities. As Justice of the Peace, it is only within my domain to determine if additional inquiry is warranted. At this juncture, there is not.”