A Death, A Duke, And Miss Mifford - Claudia Stone Page 0,48

turned into a few minutes more, and Mary felt herself drifting off into sleep.

"Mary!"

Jane's voice roused Mary from her deep slumber, and as she blinked her eyes awake, Mary saw that darkness had fallen--she must have been asleep for hours.

"What is it?" Mary groused, annoyed with herself for having fallen asleep in her good walking-dress.

"It's Monsieur Canet," Jane said, her face pale.

"Did he confess to the murder?" Mary asked, sitting up, feeling wide-awake now.

"No," Jane shook her head, "He's dead. Mr Marrowbone and the duke went to his rooms this evening and found him lying in a pool of blood. Someone had stabbed him, Mary--someone has murdered Monsieur Canet."

Chapter Ten

In the aftermath of discovering Guillame Canet's body lying lifeless in a puddle of blood, Henry was ashamed to admit that the one thought which plagued him was what would Miss Mifford think of him now?

He fervently wished that he had not sent a footman to Primrose Cottage with a missive declaring that they had caught their man. In fact, he wasn't even entirely sure why he had sent it in the first place. He could have simply told her in person after the fact, and not wasted a good hour--a full hour--agonising over what signature to use on the now utterly pointless note.

That he had wasted another hour wondering if she would note the intimacy of his simple initial was a secret that Henry vowed he would take to his grave.

Love was a messy business, though not as messy as murder.

"There's blood everywhere," Mr Marrowbone complained, so sincerely annoyed that one would think he was the one who might have to clean it.

"He stabbed him right in a vein," Henry retorted, feeling nauseous as he looked down at Monsieur Canet, who lay motionless on the wooden floor.

A knife of some sort was protruding from Canet's neck and had Henry the stomach, he might have removed it to examine it further. As it was, his stomach was full from his dinner and he did not want to risk adding to the mess on the floor by casting up his accounts. He would wait until the physician had arrived, then inspect it further.

Think of the devil and he will appear, Henry thought, as a second later Dr Bates arrived, huffing and puffing through the door.

"I came as soon as I was called," the doctor said, though the crumbs in his moustache suggested otherwise.

"Mr Canet has been stabbed," Henry said, stepping back for the doctor to examine the body.

"Oh, dear," Dr Bates covered his mouth with his hand, his face pale, "I can see that."

The physician stepped past Henry to peer down at the recently deceased Canet. "Well, he's definitely dead," Dr Bates said, after a moment's silence, "Will that be all?"

"It would be most helpful if you could remove the knife," Henry answered, through gritted teeth. He already had a work-shy constable to deal with, he did not need to add an idle doctor to the mix.

Dr Bates grimaced and stooped down to retrieve the knife which was protruding from Canet's neck. Henry, his stomach roiling, looked away for fear of debasing himself. He could feel sweat forming on his brow and he hastily picked up a handkerchief from the washstand to mop at it--having forgotten his own.

"Look at this!" Marrowbone called, distracting Henry from the task at hand.

The constable had been poking through Canet's belongings--out of curiosity, rather than competence--and he was staring down wide eyed at a drawer he had just opened.

Glad of the excuse to leave Dr Bates to carry on his macabre work alone, Henry crossed the room to join Marrowbone.

"There must be hundreds of pounds 'ere, Your Grace," Marrowbone whistled admiringly, as he gazed down at the drawer which was filled with bags of coin.

Another dead body, another stash of money. The people of Plumpton were most industrious, Henry thought, as he fished a scrap of paper from the drawer.

"A b of p, two crowns," Henry read aloud--what on earth was a "b of p"?

"That's quite a good price for that," Marrowbone commented, unaware of Henry's ignorance. The constable was untying the bags of coin and emptying them out for inspection, his eyes alight with reverence.

"Would you care to illuminate me further?" Henry said dryly, "Or are you simply going to stand there counting coin all night?"

"It's a brace of pheasant," Marrowbone replied, "Monsieur must know someone in the market in Stroud, if he was buying them for that price."

"Or," Henry said slowly, as he stared down