A Death, A Duke, And Miss Mifford - Claudia Stone Page 0,18

mien when he realised that Henry was not laughing along with him.

"I do not think Miss Mifford is the culprit," Henry insisted, "There must be someone else who wanted Parsims dead. Can you think of anyone else in Plumpton who wished the rector ill?"

"Off the top 'o my head," Marrowbone tapped his balding pate, "I can think o' a dozen or so men and, if you give me a minute longer, I'm sure I could think o' a dozen more. Wasn't well-liked, your Parsims."

"I had gathered."

Mr Marrowbone turned back to his pint, having evidently decided that his work for the day was done. Henry gave a sigh of irritation; he was beginning to fear that the local constable would not be very helpful in the investigation.

"Well?" Henry prompted, "Aren't you going to share the names of the men you believe may have had a motive to bludgeon Parsims to death?"

"An' why would I do that?" Marrowbone turned back to him, his expression horrified, "If I go mentioning names, one of those named might end up swinging on the end of a rope."

"Which would be justice for having committed a capital offence," Henry reminded him.

"I reckon Mr Parsims had it coming," the constable shrugged, having now appointed himself judge and jury, "Ain't no point in stirrin' up trouble for the locals. That Miss Mifford seems likely enough to have done it, and even if she had been found with blood on her hands, she would not swing for it."

"And why is that?"

"Her great-uncle is the magistrate," Marrowbone shrugged again, "He's not likely to send her up to the Old Bailey. So you see, Your Grace, I think it is easier for everyone if we simply accept that Miss Mifford is as guilty as they come."

"Have you asked her anything about the murder?" Henry interrupted, though he already knew the answer.

"And why would I go and do something like that?"

"Because you cannot decide that a lady is guilty of a crime without having asked for her version of events."

"Don't reckon it's my place to be askin' ladies about murder, Your Grace," Marrowbone decided, forgetting that as constable it really was his place.

Henry exhaled angrily, though he held his tongue. Marrowbone would be of no use to him, but at least he did not need to worry that the constable might be overtaken by a fit of zealousness and apprehend Miss Mifford himself.

"I shall ask her myself," Henry declared. He cast Marrowbone the most withering of glances before he turned on the heel of his Hessian boot and made his way back outside into the bright summer sunshine.

The good people of Plumpton were busily going about their everyday business, though a cluster of women was congregated on the green, gossiping. One of the females--Mrs Canards, if Henry recalled correctly--detached herself from the flock when she sighted him.

"Your Grace," she called, as she hurried over to him.

Henry paused his step at her call, though he did adopt a most ducal frown so that she might know his time was not hers for the taking.

"I am sorry for interrupting you, Your Grace," Mrs Canards said, in an ingratiating manner, "It's just that I wanted to say that we are, all of us, grateful to have you once more in our midst. If you were not here, then Lord Crabb would simply ignore the fact that his niece bludgeoned poor Mr Parsims to death, and we would have no justice."

Public hangings were, in London at least, a spectator event. Hundreds of people--even thousands, depending on the infamy of the condemned's crimes--attended executions for the sheer enjoyment of it. Henry had never understood the publics' zest for watching one of their own die an agonising death, but he suspected, from the gleam in her eye, that Mrs Canards was of a similar bent to those macabre souls.

"Miss Mifford is innocent," Henry replied firmly, "I am certain of it."

Mrs Canards scowled, pursed her thin lips, and made a noise somewhere between a donkey's bray and a dog's bark. She was not, Henry guessed, best pleased with him.

"I do not believe in coincidences, Your Grace," the elderly lady said, drawing herself up imperiously, "Miss Mifford declared in public that she wanted Mr Parsims dead, and not an hour later he is brutally murdered. If she is not the culprit, then pray tell, who is?"

"I have a list of people with grievances against the late Mr Parsims," Henry lied smoothly, "Rest assured, Mrs Canards, that I will find out who