A Death, A Duke, And Miss Mifford - Claudia Stone Page 0,37

that the dull Mrs Wickling had done that warranted bribing.

"Parsims was confronted, and once it became known what he had done, others came forward to say that they too had been bribed by him," Mr Hargreaves finished, "He gleaned small, salacious secrets from his flock, aware that they would pay whatever he asked to save face, and that they would be too ashamed to call him out and risk ridicule."

"A clever plan," Mr Mifford said with a deep sigh, "People trust all their secrets to a vicar."

"They do?" Mrs Mifford frowned at her husband, "Who has confided in you? What did they say? Dear Albert, you never told me."

Mary blushed, embarrassed that Northcott was there to witness her mother's outrage at having gossip kept from her. Thankfully, the duke appeared to have missed Mrs Mifford's outburst, so lost was he in thought.

"This has been most illuminating," Northcott said, after a moment of deep contemplation, "Thank you both very much for your time. If there is anything that I can do to make your stay in Plumpton more comfortable, please let me know."

"Oh, that's not necessary," Mrs Hargreaves demurred at the same timed as her husband said, "Well, I do enjoy a spot of hunting."

Northcott's face broke into a relaxed smile at the unintentional display of matrimonial disharmony. Mrs Hargreaves was again elbowing her husband, who for a man of sixty-odd looked remarkably boyish and petulant at that second.

"My grounds are at your disposal," Northcott offered, magnanimously, "I shall tell my gamekeeper to expect you, though he tells me that the pheasant are not as plentiful as they ought to be for this time of year."

"I expect that's the late-night hunting parties you throw," Mr Hargreaves said, causing Northcott to frown.

"We have passed by late at night, once or twice, on the way back from Bath or Evesham, and heard shooting in the woods both times," Mr Hargreaves explained, "I thought perhaps you and your guests were indulging in a late-night party, I was most jealous."

"No," Northcott was thoughtful, "It was not anyone in the house, that I know of."

The duke chewed on his lip--much to Mary's shameful delight--before glancing at the clock which stood on the mantelpiece.

"I must be off," he said, rising to a stand, "Thank you again for your time. Mr Mifford, might I have a quick word about the funeral arrangements before I go?"

Northcott and Mr Mifford exited the room, leaving Mary and her mother alone with the Hargreaves.

"More tea?" Mrs Mifford asked politely, though she frowned in annoyance as Mr Hargreaves said yes to her offer. She wanted them gone, Mary knew, so that she might badger her husband to reveal the town's secrets to her.

Mary made polite conversation with the Hargreaves, as they nibbled on rout cake and sipped on tea for another half-hour. As well as hunting, Mr Hargreaves was a keen fisherman, the intricacies of which he explained in great depth to Mary and a very disinterested Mrs Mifford.

"Well," Mr Hargreaves said, once he had finished recounting the story of every fish he had caught in the last decade, "I'm afraid to say we must be on our way."

"Oh, what a pity," Mrs Mifford said, sounding disingenuous to Mary's ear, before bustling the couple out the door so quickly that Mr Hargreaves barely had a chance to don his hat.

"Thank heavens for that," Mrs Mifford sighed, as she banged the door shut behind them, "Now, where's your father?"

Mary longed for a moment to reflect on her afternoon with the duke, as well as on what the Hargreaves had revealed. Solving Mr Parsims' murder did not seem such an insurmountable task now that they knew bribery was a possible motive. But who on the list had a secret so great that they were willing to kill for it?

Mary did not have a chance to ponder this question, or to examine the niggling disappointment she felt at Northcott's abrupt departure, for her father emerged from the library at the sound of his wife's voice.

"My dear," he said straight away, before Mrs Mifford had a chance to speak, "I shall not be revealing anyone's secrets to you, no matter how much you beg and plead."

"Oh, fiddlesticks," Mrs Mifford pouted, "You're no fun, Albert."

"A man with two parishes to manage cannot be expected to have time for fun," Mr Mifford shrugged, allowing a moment for the meaning of his words to sink in.

"Two parishes?" Mrs Mifford clasped a hand over her mouth, "You can't mean?"

"Yes," Mr Mifford