A Death, A Duke, And Miss Mifford - Claudia Stone Page 0,60

obviously frightened by the turgid swell of the river as it gushed past.

"You stay here," Mary cautioned the mare, as she leapt from the gig to continue on foot. It would not do to risk Daisy rearing in fright and throwing Mary into the water, nor was there much fear that she would wander if left alone, for Daisy rarely moved unless under duress.

"Mrs Fairweather," Mary shouted again, as she raced over the bridge, and the figure ahead of her stopped and turned.

"It was you," Mary panted, as she finally reached her, "It was you who killed Mr Parsims and Monsieur Canet."

"Well," Mrs Fairweather smiled, "Aren't you the clever girl?"

It was not a compliment. The seamstress' eyes were dark with malice and the smile upon her lips was mocking. Fear engulfed Mary, for in her haste to catch Mrs Fairweather before she caught the stagecoach, she had not planned what she would do once she had caught up with her.

Mary was now acutely aware that she was now alone with a woman who had killed not once, but twice. Not only that, a woman who appeared completely deranged with anger.

"Mr Parsims discovered your affair and was bribing you," Mary stated, hoping that by speaking she might afford herself some time to plan an escape, "You tolerated it well enough until the night of the assembly, when he went too far in front of your husband. You were enraged; you waited for him to leave, followed him to the bridge, and battered his skull in with a rock."

"So what if I did?" Mrs Fairweather hissed, "That weasel deserved to die screaming for all the anguish he caused me. He knew how I suffered from my husband's violent tempers, yet he sought to further my pain."

"And Monsieur Canet," Mary continued, "He was bribing him as well."

"Guillame said that it was our affair which Parsims had discovered," Mrs Fairweather spat, her face now contorted in rage, "Though, thanks to you, I found out that he had been dipping his wick into two pots of ink. When I discovered that he wanted to marry that blowse after swearing that he would run away with me, I was fit to kill."

"Which you did," Mary pointed out, "You did so easily because you realised that Monsieur had played you like a fiddle; he persuaded you to talk your husband into going into the poaching business with him, then when he'd had enough of that and had found a more legitimate source of income, he decided he would leave you both in the lurch."

"Another dreadful man, another just killing," Mrs Fairweather shrugged, her plump mouth twisted into a snarl, "If you are trying to make me feel guilty for what I have done, Miss Mifford, then I'm afraid that you have failed. Your prattling has merely reminded me of why I did it."

"And your husband?" Mary challenged, glad to finally see a flicker of uncertainty in the seamstress' cold eyes, "Does he deserve to hang for two murders that he did not commit?"

"He deserves to hang for promising me the world and failing to deliver," Mrs Fairweather cried, as tears began to pour from her eyes, "I was happy in Bath when he met me; I had a business, I had friends, I had a life. He swept me off my feet and told me that I would be a lady of leisure if I married him, then brought me here to this God-awful village and would not let me step one foot outside the door."

"But he does not deserve to die," Mary argued, taking a step toward Mrs Fairweather as she spoke. The seamstress was no longer angry, she was paralysed by grief. Her body shivered and shook as she sobbed for the life she felt had been stolen from her; she looked so wretched that it was impossible to believe she was capable of murder.

"Come, Mrs Fairweather," Mary said, reaching out a hand to grasp the woman's arm, "Come back with me to Plumpton and we shall make things right."

Mary's touch seemed to rouse Mrs Fairweather from her self-pity. Her eyes flew open and she stared down at Mary's hand on her sleeve, as though it burned her skin.

"I'll never go back to Plumpton," she snarled, as she grabbed Mary and dragged her toward the wall of the bridge.

Mary, who had been taken unaware by the sudden show of strength, was momentarily too shocked to act. It was only when she realised Mrs Fairweather's intent