A Death, A Duke, And Miss Mifford - Claudia Stone Page 0,3

fitting greeting than lobbing a stone at the back of his head, Mary thought ruefully.

"I have taken up residence at the manor," Northcott replied, referring to Northcott Manor, his nearby manor house, "I wished to let you know of my arrival. I knocked, but there was no answer, and I thought I heard voices arguing inside."

"Oh, no," Mr Parsims shook his head and held a pudgy hand up to his equally pudgy cheek as though embarrassed, "I was simply reciting some Shakespeare; I was quite the thespian in my Oxford days."

"One of the voices sounded female," Northcott frowned.

"As I said," Mr Parsims said firmly, "I was quite the thespian; the Oxford Times called my falsetto indistinguishable from that of a woman's." Mr Parsims smiled proudly, though his eyes narrowed as he spotted Mary, who stood a little behind the duke.

"Miss Mifford, what are you doing here?"

Parsims' greeting was far less enthusiastic than the one he had bestowed upon the duke. He frowned in her direction, and Mary felt herself flush once more as Northcott also turned his surprised gaze upon her. The duke, having earlier dismissed her, had obviously thought she would have had the good sense to leave.

"I was just passing by, on my way to visit Mrs Canards," Mary replied, flustered, "When I saw His Grace attempting to gain entry to the rectory. As he was a stranger and behaving so suspiciously, I took it upon myself to investigate and ensure that he was not attempting to rob you."

Parsims gave a bark of incredulous laughter and cast Mary a pitying gaze.

"I hope you have apologised to His Grace for such a grievous insult," the rector said, though Northcott brushed away his words with a wave of his leather-gloved hand.

"No need," the duke said, "It is commendable of Miss Mifford to have such concern for her neighbours. So unlike London, where a man might steal the eyes from your head if you are not careful."

"Indeed," Parsims was momentarily wrong-footed, though he quickly regained his confidence, "It is not surprising that a young woman who shows such care for others was such a success in London. I heard, Miss Mifford, just how popular you were amongst the ton--the whole town is talking about it, in fact."

Northcott's blue eyes glanced at Mary with interest, but she could not meet his gaze. Anger bubbled in her stomach; she longed to call Parsims out on his underhand insult, but to do so would reveal to the duke just how disastrous her trip to London had been.

"Thank you," Mary replied, managing some degree of dignity, "I must be off; I am dropping a nostrum to Mrs Canards--she has the earache."

Mary bid Mr Parsims and the duke goodbye before she turned on the heel of her walking boot and walked stiffly down the garden path. At the gate, she retrieved the discarded jar of nostrum--which had leaked a little--and offered the duke and the rector a final wave goodbye.

"Odious man," Mary mumbled under her breath, though she kept a smile affixed to her face whilst she was still in view.

As Mary continued along her path, she found herself getting even more riled up by Mr Parsims. What a horrible man! While her own father's habits, words, and deeds were often completely at odds with what one would expect of a vicar, he was never cruel. At least not intentionally...and if intentionally, it was usually with good reason. But Mr Parsims seemed to take pure delight in being mean-spirited.

By the time Mary reached Mrs Canards' yellow-stone cottage, she found that all of her earlier goodwill had left her--stolen by the sharp-tongued rector.

"What are you doing here?" Mrs Canards huffed, as she opened the door to Mary's knock.

The elderly lady was holding half an onion to her ear, and though she did look wretched, her crotchety greeting leeched away any sympathy Mary might have felt for her plight.

"I made you a nostrum," Mary replied, thrusting the jar at Mrs Canards, "For your ear."

"Do you think me unable to prepare my own nostrums?" came the ungrateful reply.

"I simply wished to do something nice for you," Mary sighed.

"Why?"

When someone was as awful as Mrs Canards, they were often unaccustomed to being on the receiving end of spontaneous acts of kindness, and as such viewed those acts with suspicion. Mary tried to remind herself that a good, true spinster might find some sort of profound meaning in Mrs Canards' irritable dismissal of her nostrum but decided that she was not