A Death, A Duke, And Miss Mifford - Claudia Stone Page 0,30

am in agreement with you about the guest list," Cecilia began, the second Henry walked into the entrance hall, "A few more gentlemen would balance the dinner table nicely. Though Mr Feathers tells me that the game is not as plentiful as it ought to be for this time of year, so the hunting will not be as enjoyable as they might expect."

"I beg your pardon?" Henry stuttered, as his brain tried to work out what it was his mother was blathering about. Cecilia had a terrible habit of continuing conversations that had taken place days ago and expecting Henry to keep up.

"The party," the dowager duchess replied, with an impatient sigh, "I have decided that you were right to wish to include more gentlemen on the guest-list; the manor might resemble a harem if we do not."

"I was not aware that we had made a decision to host a party," Henry harrumphed, equally as capable as his mother at displays of impatience. It was good to remind her that the apple did not fall far from the tree.

"I have no time to be dancing attendance on the daughters of your friends," Henry continued, brusquely, "As I am sure you are aware, our rector Mr Parsims was bludgeoned to death last night, and I intend to find out who did it."

"Is that not the job of the local constable?"

"The local constable is a sodden drunk," Henry answered, "I would not trust him to hold a quill, never mind carry the weight of justice in his trembling hands."

"I hear that justice has already been served," Cecilia gave a shrug, "By all accounts, that Parsims fellow was a horrible leech, bleeding your tenants dry at every turn. And he was terribly long-winded; two hours I spent last Sunday, listening to him pontificate from the pulpit. If you're thinking of appointing anyone else, Henry, do make sure they're economical with their words."

Henry rolled his eyes; his mother could be very Old Testament when it came to matters of justice. An eye for an eye and all that. Though a dead body for a sore posterior was rather extreme, even in her book.

"Justice has not been served," Henry replied, hotly, "An innocent lady has been cast into the role of the villain of this sad affair, and I intend to clear her name."

"Is that so?" Cecilia stilled, though Henry was too het up to notice.

"Yes," he bristled with indignation, "Poor Miss Mifford, through no fault of her own--excepting, perhaps, a badly worded outburst--has been labelled as a murderess. I've never heard a more preposterous idea in my life."

"Oh, yes," Cecilia gave a coy smile, "She's far too pretty to be a murderess. Quite well connected too. Her current circumstances are not what one might hope for, but her lineage cannot be faulted."

Henry blinked in confusion; he had a suspicious feeling that he and his mother were now having two entirely different conversations.

"My advice, dear," Cecilia continued, "Is to start at the very beginning, if you wish to find out who murdered Mr Parsims. It's a very good place to start, you know."

"Thank you for your elucidating contribution, Mother," Henry replied, barely able to keep the dryness from his tone, "I shall be sure to keep that in mind. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

"As do I, dear boy," his mother replied, mysteriously, "You have given me a lot to think upon."

Chapter Seven

After her chance encounter with the duke in Mr Parsims', Mary had returned home for a spot of luncheon. She had intended to get straight to work after eating, but once back, her mother had forbidden her to leave the house again.

"People will talk," Mrs Mifford had said, as she sipped upon her third glass of medicinal wine.

"People are already talking," Mary had pointed out. Indeed, on her walk home, several people had stopped to gawk quite openly at her.

"Well, if they don't see you, they won't think to talk of you," Mrs Mifford's argument had been far from sound, "I forbid you to leave the house until this whole murder matter is forgotten about."

As the villagers were still wont to discuss the time that Mr Gowan, the village taxidermist, had attended church with the buttons of his breeches undone some ten years previously, Mary did not hold out much hope that anyone would forget that she was a maybe-murderess anytime soon. Still, her mother was not one to listen to reason at the best of times, but especially