A Death, A Duke, And Miss Mifford - Claudia Stone Page 0,46

insisted, for I was already coming this way."

"And what brings you down this end of the village?" Mrs Wickling queried, nosey as ever.

"Actually," Mary held her gaze, "I wished to discuss something with you; Mr Parsims."

The slight second of satisfaction that Mary felt at startling the awful Mrs Wickling disappeared as the elderly lady turned pale and began to shake.

"Oh," Mary cried, feeling wretched, "Come inside, Mrs Wickling, and I shall make you a cup of tea."

Mary led Mrs Wickling inside the cottage, which was dark and cold despite the sunny day outside. Mary helped Mrs Wickling into a seat by the fireplace, before using the bellows to stir some life into the fire and popping the kettle on to boil.

"What do you know?" Mrs Wickling queried, as a few minutes later Mary handed her a cup of tea.

The woman looked so ghastly that Mary briefly wondered if she had killed Mr Parsims. What a turn up for the books that would be.

"I know only that he was bribing you," Mary said, carefully, as she sat down in the chair opposite Mrs Wickling, "And I want you to know that you were not alone. Mr Parsims used many peoples' secrets against them for his own financial gain."

"He did?"

Mrs Wickling, whom just seconds ago Mary had feared was about to expire from shock, sat up in her chair with excitement. Her dark eyes danced with interest, and she regarded Mary more kindly than she had on her arrival.

"Do tell, dear," she whispered, leaning forward, "I'm all ears."

Some people, Mary thought sourly, could not be helped.

"It is not for me to say," Mary was pious, "I simply wanted to let you know that you were not alone in your suffering, but now that Mr Parsims is dead and buried, it has come to an end."

"You won't tell her, will you?" Mrs Wickling blurted, as Mary finished her speech, "You won't tell Mrs Canards that it was I who sabotaged her roses? Oh, I just couldn't stand to watch her win again. Every year she takes first place in that competition; I wouldn't mind it if she was gracious, but she gloats and gloats for weeks afterwards."

So that was the secret Mr Parsims had held over her head! Mary tried not to let her surprise show on her face--for this was nearly more shocking that Mrs Walker's reveal--as she offered Mrs Wickling a kindly smile.

"Gossip is a disease which spreads from mouth to mouth," Mary said in reply, "And I, for one, will not partake in it. Your secret is safe with me, Mrs Wickling."

"Thank you," the elderly woman replied, though it was obvious that the words were difficult for her to get out. She cleared her throat, sipped her tea, then turned her head to the package in her lap in order to distract them both.

"Such fine work," Mrs Wickling commented, as she rubbed an arthritic hand across the linen "Her embroidery is faultless, even if her character is not."

"Let he without sin cast the first stone," Mary responded, her patience finally giving way, "Thank you for the tea, Mrs Wickling, I shall let myself out."

Outside, Mary took a deep breath of fresh air to calm herself. Mrs Wickling would try the patience of a saint and Mary could not think of two people more suited to be friends than she and Mrs Canards. They were like two peas in a pod; grasping, mean, and hypocritical. Every Sunday, both ladies could be found in church, sitting proudly in the front row, judging those they thought less holy than they.

"My dear, you look vexed."

It was rare for Mary to find her father alone in the house, but upon her return he was the only one present. Mr Mifford regarded Mary with knowing eyes, then waved a hand to indicate that she should follow him into the library.

As Primrose Cottage was not a large house, and as most of the space was taken up by its four daughters, Mr Mifford's library might be regarded by some as more of a cupboard than a room. Mary, however, adored the squashed, cosy feeling of the library, where the shelves reached up to the very ceilings and the chairs were so close to the fire that it was almost a hazard.

"Is there anything that you would like to share with me?" Mr Mifford questioned, as he poured a glass of brandy for himself and a minuscule serving for Mary.

Mary hesitated as she tried to decide what she