A Death, A Duke, And Miss Mifford - Claudia Stone Page 0,19

killed him, and they will see justice."

Mrs Canards' eyes softened at the mention of justice; she was, Henry guessed, just blood-thirsty in general, and not out for Miss Mifford's blood in particular.

"If you need any assistance, Your Grace, you just need to call," she offered magnanimously.

Henry nodded, desperate to be away.

"The chef in The King's Head is French," Mrs Mifford continued before Henry could make his escape, "And you know what they're like; so bloody-minded. And Mr MacDowl in the haberdashery has Irish blood; he'll deny it if you ask him, but it's the truth. And you know what the Irish are like--worse than the French!"

"I shall bear that in mind, Mrs Canards," Henry replied, as patiently as he could.

He then touched his gloved hand to the brim of his hat--a universally understood signal that a gentleman was about to take his leave--and took off before she had a chance to offer up any other of her fellow villagers for slaughter.

Henry then made his way on horseback to Primrose Cottage. The journey was a short one, but it felt longer as anticipation had slowed his perception of time. Though the task at hand was a macabre one, Henry could not help but relish the thought of speaking with Miss Mifford in the intimate setting of a parlour room. He imagined her eyes lighting up when he declared his conviction of her innocence and wondered if, perhaps, she might swoon a little when he told her that he would not rest until he had cleared her name.

Alas, Henry's t锚te-?-t锚te with Miss Mifford was not destined to be. As Henry arrived at Primrose Cottage, Lord Crabb was just leaving. The viscount waited by the garden gate for Henry to dismount, his rheumy eyes narrowed into a frown.

"Do you have business here, Northcott?" Lord Crabb asked, by way of greeting as Henry approached.

"I wished to speak with Miss Mifford regarding the murder."

"No need," Lord Crab was brusque, "I have already spoken with her. All matters have been satisfactorily resolved."

"So, you have discovered who it was that killed Parsims?" Henry did not bother to hide his surprise, for he had not expected the viscount to have solved the mystery so promptly.

"Bleugh," Crabb gave a startled, phlegmy cough in return, "Of course not, don't be foolish. I have simply explained to my grand-niece that despite her being the prime suspect for the heinous crime, that she cannot be prosecuted on mere hearsay. As there are no other persons of interest, it will probably be assumed by all that she is guilty, but I cannot remedy that. I do not have the power to tell people what they may and may not believe."

"Surely you have some desire to discover the true villain?" Henry pressed; was everyone in Plumpton bone-idle?

"You cannot leave your grand-niece subject to rumour and suspicion for the rest of her days--her reputation shall be ruined," Henry continued, his voice impassioned.

"Miss Mifford should have thought about her reputation before she shot her mouth off," Lord Crabb harrumphed, "It is my opinion that a lady with such a vulgar tongue deserves any censure she has drawn upon herself. I told her as such myself, and she took herself off wailing and crying in another obscene display of emotion. In my day, ladies rarely spoke--a much more civilised way of life, if you ask me."

Henry did not comment on Lord Crabb's reminiscing on a world of mute females; instead, he focused his attention on the more pertinent information that he had shared.

"So, Miss Mifford is not at home?" Henry clarified, to which Lord Crabb nodded.

"She has taken herself off for a walk," Crabb sniffed, disapprovingly. Evidently, he believed women should forgo walking along with talking.

An initial wave of disappointment crashed over Henry until his scheming mind--fuelled by desire--deduced that were he to get on his horse, as the saying went, then he might have a chance of catching Miss Mifford alone, away from censorious eyes and ears.

"Must be off," Henry blurted, tipping the brim of his hat once more.

If Lord Crabb was startled, Henry did not see it, for he turned abruptly to remount his horse--a duke on a mission.

Chapter Five

When Mary had fled Primrose Cottage in tears, following a stern dressing down from Lord Crabb, she had not had a destination in mind. All that she had wanted to do was escape; to flee her great-uncle's censure, her mother's anxiety, and Jane's concern.

Her mind was in such turmoil that she did not realise that she