A Death, A Duke, And Miss Mifford - Claudia Stone Page 0,44

not have happened to her, had a charming soldier set his sights on her.

"It caused quite the scandal," Mrs Walker continued, "My parents were enraged, and I would have ended up in the poorhouse were it not for my aunt, Matilda. She offered me the use of this cottage and an annual stipend--not much, but enough to get by. I arrived in Plumpton hoping to put the past behind me, then three years ago, the past returned in the form of Mr Parsims."

"You poor thing," Mary sighed, "You must have been so frightened that he would reveal the truth."

"Do you know, I was," Mrs Walker was thoughtful, "But it is a relief now, to have it out in the open."

The truth of her words was visible to Mary's eye; Mrs Walker's face no longer looked pinched with fear and anxiety, and her shoulders no longer sagged. She looked radiant, Mary thought, for the truth had set her free.

"And soon," Mrs Walker continued, her face breaking into a smile, "My past will not matter, for I shall have the protection of someone's name."

"You are to be married?" Mary asked, this time not bothering to hide her surprise. Plumpton was so small that one could not sneeze without the whole town knowing, let alone get engaged.

"Yes," Mrs Walker looked fit to burst with happiness, "We decided on the night of the assembly that we would ask your father to begin reading the banns next week."

"We?" Mary prompted, finding the pronoun too vague for her liking. She was so happy for Mrs Walker to have found happiness after such an arduous journey that she wished to know the name of the Prince Charming who was rescuing her.

"Monsieur Canet and I," Mrs Walker replied, and all of Mary's happiness sank like a poorly formed blancmange.

"He does not mind that Benjamin is baseborn," Mrs Walker continued, oblivious to Mary's dismay, "They're quite pragmatic about those sort of things, the French."

"He knew about your past?" Mary prompted, as her stomach churned with nerves.

"Not at first," Mrs Walker, replied, "Though when it became apparent what course our friendship was going to take, I confessed all to him--my past, Mr Parsims' bribery, everything."

"And when was that?" Mary enquired, her voice sounding shrill to her own ear.

"A few days ago," Mrs Walker was too blissfully happy to draw the same conclusion that Mary had, "Guillame was livid that I had been treated so badly by the church--they feel strongly about the power the clergy wield in France--and offered me the protection of his name at once."

"How romantic," Mary squeaked, as inwardly she realised that Northcott had been right about the chef after all. Poor Mrs Walker; her happy ending was not to be.

"Well, thank you for your time, Mrs Walker," Mary said, standing abruptly for she did not feel she could look the other woman in the eye for a second longer, "I can assure you that your secret is safe with me."

"Thank you, Miss Mifford," Mrs Walker replied, not noting anything amiss in Mary's sudden decision to depart, "I wish that I had shared my secret with someone sooner, it really is such a relief to be unburdened of it."

Mrs Walker walked Mary to the door and waved her off with a cheerful goodbye, which Mary struggled to reciprocate.

Whilst she hoped that Northcott was mistaken in his belief that Canet had murdered Mr Parsims, Mary had a sinking feeling that the duke was right. Monsieur Canet had probably confronted the rector in a fit of passionate rage; if he hadn't bludgeoned the man to death and had merely boxed him instead, it might have been regarded as a romantic gesture.

Mary shivered as she thought on the primal act that had been committed. She had not thought much on the actual murder before, but now that she understood the rage which had inspired it, she found that she could picture it better and it was not pleasant. It frightened her to think that a person was capable of loving one person and murdering another. Canet had brought Mrs Walker hot-house flowers, then bashed in Mr Parsims' skull with a rock.

Mary quickened her step, wishing to be safely ensconced within the gentle warmth of Primrose Cottage, but as she hurried up High Street, she collided with someone hurrying in the opposite direction.

"Oh, I am sorry," she said, looking up to find that it was Mrs Fairweather with whom she had collided.

The list! For a moment Mary thought that fate had