Page 38 of A Death, A Duke, And Miss Mifford
"Oh, no," Mary jumped from her chair to retrieve the missive from his hand, "I mean, it might have important information about Northcott's investigation."
"Indeed," Mr Mifford looked terribly amused.
Mary could not bear to read Northcott's words under her father's knowing eye, so she excused herself and ran to her bedroom, where she might read it in private. With trembling hands, Mary opened the letter, quickly scanning its contents.
Miss Mifford,
It has been brought to my attention that Monsieur Canetdidleave his rooms on the night of Mr Parsims' murder, despite stating otherwise. I shall confront him this evening with Mr Marrowbone as my witness. I feel we have our man.
N.
Oh, Mary sighed. She was both glad that the wretched situation had reached its end and sad, at the same time, for Mrs Walker, whose hopes for the future would be dashed once again. She pondered life's wretchedness for a good five minutes until, to her shame, she picked up the letter to read the duke's intimate signature once more.
"N," she whispered aloud, falling onto her bed to gaze up at the ceiling.
Having never received a letter from a gentleman, Mary was uncertain if they all signed their names this way, or had this abbreviation been a particular sign of Northcott's affection toward her? And, he had not said "the" man, he had said "our" man, as though Canet was something which belonged to them both. Though, Mary thought with a frown, perhaps that wasn't so romantic after all.
Despite all her insistence that she wished to be a spinster, Mary allowed herself a few minutes to daydream about the duke. A few minutes 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.
