Page 19 of A Death, A Duke, And Miss Mifford
"Mrs Wickling," Mary rolled her eyes, "I do not think she murdered the rector, Your Grace; she does not do anything without Mrs Canards' say-so."
"There must be some reason as to why she's been included," Northcott mused, though he stopped abruptly as the kitchen door opened, and Mrs Goulding entered, humming cheerfully.
"Lud," the elderly woman jumped as she spotted the pair seated at the kitchen table, "I wasn't expectin' to find anyone 'ere."
"And you might be?" Northcott was cool, though he did stand to his feet as she entered.
"Your Grace, this is Mrs Goulding," Mary rushed to introduce the rector's housekeeper, who did not look too impressed by the duke's greeting, "She keeps house--I mean she kept house--for Mr Parsims."
"I just popped in to make sure everythin' was neat and tidy," Mrs Goulding explained, "Lest any of Mr Parsims' family arrive up from Abingdon."
"He's not from Abingdon," Northcott corrected, absently. "That was just his last parish; he hails from Cirencester, if I recall correctly."
"Well, it don't matter where they're from," Mrs Goulding grumbled, "They'll still complain if they find this place in a sty, and I shall be the talk of Plumpton!"
Mary, who was herself the current talk of Plumpton, was happy to imagine a time when someone else might be the subject of village gossip. Still, she liked Mrs Goulding, and it was true that Mrs Canards would have great fun blackening her name, so Mary decided it might be best to leave to allow her to get on with her task.
"I should be off," Mary said, standing from her seat.
"And what were you both doin' 'ere?" it was Mrs Goulding's turn to be suspicious, as she belatedly registered that neither Mary nor the duke belonged there.
"Looking for clues as to who might have killed Mr Parsims," Mary replied, tartly.
"I 'eard it was you."
"Yes, well," Mary flushed, "You heard wrong."
"You were Mr Parsims' housekeeper," the duke interrupted, perhaps sensing a need to intervene between the two ladies, "Can you think of anything suspicious, or anyone who might wish him harm?"
"Oh, plenty," Mrs Goulding was far too cheerful for a woman discussing her recently deceased employer. "In fact, I've often thought of the ways I'd like to kill that man myself. Mean as a snake, so 'e was. Not even an extra groat for Twelfth Night, just complaints that 'is collars were too grubby and that my hemming wasn't up to scratch."
"Er..." for such a worldly man, Northcott looked completely flummoxed by Mrs Goulding's bald honesty, "Didyou kill him?"
"What, me?" the housekeeper was outraged, "No, sir, Your Grace, sir. If I was to kill 'im, it would have been with poison; mixed in with 'is evening stew is how I always thought I'd do it. You can't think an old woman like me would have the strength to batter a man to death?"
"Of course not," Northcott soothed, though Mary did wonder at the obvious thought that Mrs Goulding had put into murdering the rector.
"Well, we shall leave you to it," Northcott said, offering the housekeeper a bow, before ushering Mary to the door. As it closed behind them, they heard Mrs Goulding resume her very cheerful humming--Green Grow the Rushes, O, if Mary was not mistaken.
"Well," Northcott exhaled, a smile tugging the corners of his generous mouth, "That was certainly eye-opening; it seems there's not a person alive who did not wish Mr Parsims dead, which augurs well for you, Miss Mifford."
"Unless we find out who it was that did it, Your Grace," Mary replied glumly, "I'm afraid that it does not matter how many people had murderous thoughts about Mr Parsims, and that I will always be thought of as the suspect."
Despair threatened to overwhelm Mary, but then something strange happened. Northcott gave a strange, strained cough, and his gloved hand brushed briefly against Mary's own. It was an action which might have been completely accidental, perhaps caused by the duke shifting his weight from one foot to the other, but the slight touch sent Mary's heart skittering.
She felt her cheeks blush, and as she willed them to calm down, she felt them growing ever hotter.
"Rest assured, Miss Mifford," His Grace said, "That I shall not rest until I have found the perpetrator and cleared your name."
Oh, if Mary had not been a newly-sworn, dedicated spinster, she might have swooned. As it was, practicality took over her girlish urge to faint--for after London, she knew that no man of means would have any romantic interest in her--and, instead, she offered Northcott a cheery smile.
"And I shall assist you in your task, Your Grace," she replied, sounding as hearty as any gentleman, "I shall poke about a bit, and see if I can gather any information from Mrs Walker and Mrs Wickling. You can take on the men."
"Er, yes," Northcott looked slightly wrong-footed at having been dictated to, "I shall call on you should I learn anything of interest."
"And I shall send word to the manor if I learn anything," Mary agreed, as she unconsciously clenched and unclenched her hand.
She offered Northcott a stiff good-bye, refused his gallant offer of an escort home, and set back off along the Bath Road in the direction of Plumpton.
