A Death, A Duke, And Miss Mifford - Claudia Stone Page 0,17

haughty and commanding.

"In the pub," a voice had answered in reply, accompanied by a few muted giggles from the crowd.

Henry had sighed and set forth for the pub, accompanied by Lord Crabb, Dr Bates, and Mr Mifford. Once they had roused the constable--Michael Marrowbone--from his perch at the bar, they had set forth for the bridge, where the elderly lady had said that they might find Mr Parsims' remains.

The sight that had greeted the men had been sufficiently gruesome for them to ascertain that Mr Parsims had been murdered. A blunt object to the back of the head repeatedly, by the looks of things. Henry's eye had caught on a rock, discarded near the body, which was covered with blood. It had not taken a genius to work out that it was the murder weapon.

"He's dead," Dr Bates had confirmed, though it had been clear enough without his assistance.

"Should you give him 'is last rites?" Mr Marrowbone asked of Mr Mifford.

"I'm not a Catholic," Mr Mifford had replied, though he had muttered a few verses--albeit with a show of reluctance and an air of impatience.

"We must move the body," Henry commanded, once Mifford had finished, "And find out at once who did it."

"But it's nearly eleven o'clock," Marrowbone had answered, blinking in half-drunken confusion, "By the time we move the body, it'll be well after midnight."

"And?"

"And everyone will be in bed," the constable had replied with a shrug, "Ain't no helping Mr Parsims now, Your Grace, and ain't no point in us all staying up all night when matters can wait until morning."

His insubordination and laziness had rankled Henry, but the idle constable had clearly learned his ways from his master, for Lord Crabb had given a pointed yawn, before agreeing with him.

"Marrowbone is right, Northcott," Crabb had said, "This may wait 'till the morning. If it was an opportunistic attack, the perpetrator is long gone. If it is the work of a local, we shall discover more at first light. Marrowbone, you stay here and guard the body--I shall send a cart and a few men along shortly."

With that, the viscount had turned on the heel of his dancing slipper, leaving Henry to follow suit.

"I feel we should do more, Crabb," Henry had argued, as he walked alongside him, "While the trail is still warm."

"As I have said," the viscount replied, "If it is a local who has committed this crime, then we shall find out more in the morning. Once the townsfolk have had a whole night to gossip, they shall come up with a name for you soon enough."

Crabb's words had proved true, for even by the time that the two men had returned to The Ring'O'Bells, a suspect had already been named.

Miss Mifford.

Henry winced as his head gave another throb; all night he had lain awake wondering if it might be true that the lovely Miss Mifford had bludgeoned the rector to death. His heart said no, but some of the local ladies--led by an enthusiastic creature called Mrs Canards--had all insisted that the eldest Mifford girl had been involved in an altercation with the late Mr Parsims. An altercation in which she had loudly, and emphatically by all accounts, declared that she wished the rector dead.

Even he had to admit that Mr Parsims' bloody demise was rather unfortunate timing, but he refused to believe that Miss Mifford had any hand in the matter. A delicate lady, such as Miss Mifford was surely incapable of murder...

Henry was relieved to arrive in Plumpton a short while later, the act of riding having further aggravated his headache. He guided his steed toward the village square, where he tethered him by the trough outside The Ring'O'Bells, before venturing inside in search of Marrowbone.

"Ah, Mr Marrowbone. I see you are hard at work, despite the early hour."

The village constable, who had been nursing a pint of ale, looked up at Henry's greeting, though he did not stand.

"Position of constable is a voluntary one, Your Grace," he muttered in reply, "And I didn't volunteer to go chasing murderers at the crack of dawn."

"It's eleven o'clock," Henry snapped in response, "Hardly early--though, perhaps, too early for a drink, especially when there is work to be done. We must find out who murdered Parsims, post-haste."

"We already know," Marrowbone shrugged, "It was Miss Mifford."

"I hardly think a lady capable of murder," Henry retorted, darkly.

"Then you ain't ever seen my missus first thing in the mornin'," the constable guffawed, though he assumed a more respectful