Keaton's ears pricked up immediately. “On the route to Roseton Hall?”
“On the route to a lot of places, Your Grace. Including Westvale,” Harrison remarked.
“Did the carriage bear any livery?” Keaton asked, breathless with anticipation.
“It was being set ablaze by two ruffians when I came upon it. So, I could not tell. I did enquire what they were about. They were reluctant to talk until they recognized me. You see, as much as the Runners never knew Major Billy's identity, those who plied the same trade did. I knew them and they, eventually, knew me.
“They told me of the handsome payment they'd received to hold up this carriage and how they were now about the business of removing the evidence of their actions. They also told me how the night they did the deed, they were almost foiled by a heroic young man who came galloping out of the night.”
“Roseton…” Keaton filled in the blanks.
“By the description. He must have realized someone was in need of aid and charged in where angels would fear to tread. He was unarmed, whereas these men were certainly not.”
Harrison's words had the sound of a shrug.
“So, Roseton is dead,” Thorne said.
“I'm afraid so.”
Keaton felt sorrowful for Georgia.
After all this time, she must have been preparing herself for the worst. But to know for certain that she will never look upon him again will be difficult for her to bear…
“What did they do with the body?” Keaton asked.
“They were instructed to take it somewhere, the estate of some Lord or another, and bury it.”
“Which Lord?”
“I can’t say for certain, but they were to bury the body in woods behind a hunting lodge in Paddington,” Harrison replied.
Keaton's world rocked on its foundations. He sat in stunned silence for a long moment, reeling.
Uncle Edric’s courtesy title was Baron of Paddington. He owns a hunting lodge there.
Had he been standing, he had no doubt his balance would have deserted him and left him on his backside on the ground. Something cracked, and he realized that he had been gripping the armrest of his chair so hard that it had snapped. He dropped the wood, gritting his teeth.
“You believe the owner of this land is implicated?” he asked.
“I assume so, else why instruct the body to be buried on his land? I presumed it was so that he could ensure that no one would come upon the ruffians burying the body,” Harrison almost sounded confused. “Do you know this Lord?”
“I used to,” Keaton replied grimly.
“Rutherford! Where are you, man!” Keaton roared as he strode into Westvale.
“Here, Your Grace,” Rutherford said, diffidently from beside the door that Keaton had just stormed through.
“I wish to speak to the Duchess,” Keaton muttered, “I will be in the drawing room.”
There was a silence where Keaton expected an immediate affirmative. He paused, frowning.
“What is it, Rutherford?” he asked.
“Her Grace is not at home, Your Grace. Nor is Miss Vexley. Her Grace left a note.”
“Saying?” he demanded.
“Saying that, in view of the recent appearance at this house by Lords Emsworth and Silverton, in connection with the presence of their daughter under this roof, Her Grace had deemed it appropriate to seek sanctuary somewhere they would not be found. I believe the concern was that Lords Emsworth and Silverton would seek a very public, legal route to obtain the person of Miss Vexley.”
