A Death, A Duke, And Miss Mifford - Claudia Stone Page 0,32

in Mary had not struck Jane the night before, as Jane was not one to be struck by romantic notions. She was something of a dreamer, preferring reading and wandering to talk of men and marriage.

She was, Mary realised with a start, well on her way to becoming a bluestocking, if Mary did not act quickly.

"I met Mrs Wickling on my way to your house," Sarah said, as they reached the village green, "She said that Mr Parsims' funeral is to be held tomorrow, in St Mary's, and that he is to be buried in the graveyard beside the church. I would have thought that His Grace might have arranged for his body to be returned to Abingdon?"

"He's not from Abingdon," Mary replied, in an absent echo of Northcott's words the day before. Something stirred in her memory, but before she had a chance to prod further, Jane spoke, interrupting her thoughts.

"I thought it strange too," Jane agreed, "Though I overheard Papa telling Mother that it was because Mr Parsims had no family to speak of and that there was no one to claim the body. He and Northcott decided last night to have him buried in St Mary's."

Northcott had been speaking with her father? Mary's mind forgot for a moment that she was trying to remember something--something important!--as she pictured the duke and her Papa in the library at Primrose Cottage. Had Mary been asleep upstairs when he called? She had no idea why, but it felt rather thrilling to think that Northcott had been in the same house as her while she was wearing a night-rail. This scandalous thought made her blush, and as Jane peered at her queerly, Mary gave thanks that her sister could not read minds.

"Should I fetch some smelling salts?" Jane queried, as Mary returned to earth.

"No," Mary tried to disguise her giddiness with impatience, "I was trying to recall something important before you interrupted me."

"Oh, I beg your pardon," Jane huffed, her voice anything but apologetic, "If my presence is getting in the way of your thinking, I shall gladly take myself off."

"Oh, don't leave, Jane," Sarah interrupted, partly to prevent Jane leaving, and partly--Mary suspected--to remind the pair that she was present. It would not do to descend into one of their sisterly squabbles in front of Sarah. No, those were best kept behind doors.

"Just there's something about Abingdon which rings a bell in my memory," Mary said, as the three girls continued on their walk.

Jane and Sarah continued on with the conversation, as Mary once again lapsed into thought. They were walking the periphery of the square and had turned back toward High Street, when the sun glinting against the mullioned windows of The King's Head Inn caught Mary's eye, stirring something in her memory.

"The Hargreaves," Mary cried out, as she recalled the couple from the assembly.

Her two companions looked back at her with confusion, though Mary did not blame them; The King's Head was a popular inn, and one couldn't expect to know the names of all their guests.

"At the assembly," Mary explained with excitement, "There was a couple called the Hargreaves. The husband mentioned that they were from Abingdon--where Mr Parsims held his living before Plumpton--and on the night of the dance, Mr Hargreaves was telling his wife that he had bumped into a familiar face. Or, that 'mangy cur', as he so eloquently put it. I bet you five-pence that it was Mr Parsims; that they knew him from his time in Abingdon."

"You don't have five-pence," Jane reminded her, "In fact, you still owe me for the ribbon you purchased last week."

"Is now really the time?" Mary huffed, though she did not act too outraged, lest Jane recalled that she had also not yet paid back the groat she owed her from the week before.

"The Hargreaves might shed some light on Mr Parsims' past, or have an idea of who might have murdered him--"

"--Or, perhaps they murdered him themselves?" Jane interrupted, even macabre.

"I don't think so," Mary bit her lip, "They did seem ever so sweet."

"Eudora also acts sweet," Jane replied with a grin, "But especially when she's stealing something from you; smiling villain, and all that. Come, let us check The King's Head and see if we can speak with these Hargreaves."

Jane led the way, near marching, across the green at a diagonal, instead of following the path. Mary followed her, though the grass was still wet with morning dew and her kid-skin boots--another London purchase--would be