An Affair So Right (Rebel Hearts #4)(9)

He shrugged. “I didn’t hear about that death. Devil take it! I hope the anatomists didn’t get him while we weren’t looking, but it happens more often than I’m happy about. I will look into it. What did Small look like?”

Quinn shivered. Anatomists. They dissected the dead with no respect. Stole loved ones from their final resting places in the dead of night usually. Quinn described what he had seen of the man while Mr. Banks took notes. “Short, I think. Fine boned. Dark hair. That’s all I know but for his full name—Mr. Dennis Small.”

Banks shook his head, and then excused himself to speak to the waiting vicar. He directed the horse and cart to wait, and then returned to supervising his men as they worked on the house.

Quinn found a spot out of the way and watched them shift their attention to the front of the house. He accepted coffee from one of his footmen an hour later, and then a cry rang out.

A body had been found.

He reconsidered the coffee and handed it back. “Perhaps later.”

Quinn walked forward until he could see clearly into what had once been a library much like his own, and gritted his teeth at the sight he beheld. The corpse was blackened, almost unrecognizable huddled against the hearth. He stared long enough to decide it must be Mr. Dalton, and then let his gaze drift away. He’d known the man only a little. The length and size seemed a match to what he remembered.

“Is that him? Is that Dalton?” Banks asked of him.

“I would say so,” he confirmed, but he looked again. He could not get out of his mind that there was something about Mr. Dalton’s remains that did not seem to fit his expectations.

Dalton had died with both arms curved over his head as if he had tried to protect himself.

That did not fit with what he’d been told to expect.

If Dalton had been dead before the fire reached him, if he had taken his own life as Mr. Small claimed, wouldn’t his limbs have been relaxed at his sides?

He faced Banks. “That is not what I expected.”

Banks scratched his head. “The victims of fires are often like that. They always try to protect their heads. What were you expecting?”

Quinn gritted his teeth. Mr. Small had most definitely been wrong to claim Dalton dead before the fire had reached him. He’d been very much alive—but could he have been saved? Quinn shuddered at the idea of burning to death. “It was suggested that Mr. Dalton had taken his own life.”

Bank scratched his head again and glanced around them. “Not the easiest way to die. Let me consider it properly. Now why did the fire start here?”

He watched Banks, who clearly had experience with such grizzly scenes, pick his way carefully through the debris with confidence, questioning and cataloging everything he saw out loud. Banks would be the man to spread the word that Dalton’s death was not a suicide, and Quinn desperately hoped that was the case.

He could give the Dalton women the peace they would need in their grief.

“It started in this room. No doubt of that. There’s too much destruction here for it to have begun anywhere else. I’d say a lamp was knocked over, somewhere near the window. Drapes caught, and it spread up and across to the book collection.” Banks poked a stick into a blackened lump of thick ash by the inner wall. “See how a little evidence of the collection remains, but only at the bottom of the pile? This was paper.”

Quinn nodded, and then tried to picture the room before the accident. Unfortunately, he’d only called on the man once, not long after they’d taken up residence across from his home, and hadn’t had any cause to return. He couldn’t remember very much, but he did recall heavy drapes around the front windows and a set of overflowing bookshelves where Banks prodded.

He glanced around, sizing up the space between the late Mr. Dalton and the doorway. The drapes were all the way across the room from where Dalton had cowered from the blazing heat. And yet Dalton had been close enough to a doorway that he could have escaped or called for help. But he hadn’t done either.

He’d stayed in this room for some reason. But why?

“Death by accidental burning. No doubt in my mind.” Banks dusted off his gloves. “I trust you’ll be happy to provide a statement, my lord.”

Quinn quickly agreed. “I’ll write my account of events and have it delivered to you today.”

“That would be appreciated.” The coroner put a cloth to his mouth then hunkered down near the corpse to study Dalton in closer detail. His attention roamed the body from head to foot, frowning a little. He stood suddenly. “I’d best inquire about that other fellow.”

Quinn quickly followed him out, grateful for a reason to leave the scene. He was no stranger to death, thanks to his naval career, but he’d hoped such sights might have been spared him, now he was ashore. He’d seen too much death in battle already.

As Banks began to give orders for the removal of the corpse, Quinn turned toward his home.

There at an upper window stood the dark haired Miss Dalton, watching events unfold. He was not surprised she kept watch over the proceedings, even from a distance. She was a fierce little thing. He called Banks back to him. “Where will Dalton’s body be taken?”

“Directly to the church for burial, I expect, given the state of the corpse.” Banks pursed his lips. “I should like to speak to the deceased’s family, but it can wait until tomorrow, when they are over the initial shock.”