gave a sigh that was halfway between annoyance and regret, "Northcott offered me the living at St Mary's; he and Lord Crabb agreed to it earlier. I have told him I will think upon it--"
"What is there to think upon when you have four daughters and not one of them wed?" Mrs Mifford answered hands on hips.
"Not wed, yet," Mr Mifford corrected his wife, and to Mary's surprise, he offered her a wink.
Chapter Eight
The funeral of William Parsims was a short, sombre affair with few mourners in attendance. Mr Mifford, Henry noted with interest, was a fine orator, who somehow managed to compose a touching eulogy about a man that few else would be able to find a kind word for without it sounding false.
It was quite the accomplishment and Henry congratulated himself on having thought of merging the living at St Mary's with that of St Anne's. True, it had taken a slight financial blow to convince Lord Crabb to join in on his plan, but Henry felt the decision was worth the cost. The two parishes were small enough for one man to manage, the tenants were all fond of Mr Mifford already, and--Henry blushed--the act might endear him somewhat to Miss Mifford. Though that, of course, had been only a secondary benefit of the plan, Henry assured himself as the funeral service came to an end.
The mourners gathered in the church dispersed quite quickly, leaving only Henry and Mr Mifford present to bear witness to Mr Parsims' coffin being lowered into the ground.
Once Mr Burke and Mr Hare, the parish gravediggers, had lowered the coffin, Mr Mifford again said a few words--Genesis, if Henry was not mistaken.
"In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken," Mr Mifford rumbled, with appropriate gravitas, "For dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return."
"Amen," Henry mumbled, alongside Burke and Hare who, having more experience with matters funereal, took the vicar's words as a sign that the proceedings had ended. They donned the caps which they had removed for the final prayers and set about heaping dark earth into the grave.
"A pity that none of Parsims' family could be here," Mr Mifford said, stepping away from the graveside.
"There were none," Henry replied, "Excepting a cousin in Cirencester. I sent a footman, but he returned with a note to say they had no interest in attending, but to send word if he had left anything of worth."
"Charming," Mr Mifford smiled, "One can only wonder at the life Mr Parsims led; no family to speak of, no love for his fellow man. It must have been a lonely existence."
"I suppose it was," Henry replied, for the first time feeling a stab of pity for the departed rector. The man had amassed a small fortune through his misdeeds, but what had he gained in the end? Two strangers at his graveside, and no one to mourn him.
"I think that I shall take myself off to The Ring'O'Bells to offer a toast to our departed friend," Mr Mifford said, with a twinkle in his eye, "Would you care to join me?"
"No, thank you," Henry shook his head; the funeral had left him feeling melancholy and he wished to be alone.
"Though, please," he continued, taking a small purse of coins from his breast pocket, "Do have a round on me."
Mr Burke and Mr Hare materialised at that very moment, having made quick work of filling in the grave--their industry inspired, Henry guessed, by the promise of a free drink.
The trio of men departed for the village, leaving Henry alone in the graveyard. He had not said his intentions aloud, but as Mr Mifford hurried the two gravediggers away, Henry guessed that the vicar had known what he would do next.
The graveyard was as old as the church, with headstones dating back centuries scattered like daisies across it. Henry picked his way along the haphazard path, toward the rear of the church, where the Lockheart family graves were located. His father's tombstone stood out amongst the others, being newer and less weather-beaten. It was also far simpler than the previous dukes'--the third duke's being particularly ostentatious--for his father had been a simple man, not much taken with displays of wealth and pomp.
Henry stood for a moment in silence, as he paid his respects. The feeling of guilt which he had been trying to suppress threatened to overwhelm him as he noted the bunch