Page 30 of A Death, A Duke, And Miss Mifford
"We have passed by late at night, once or twice, on the way back from Bath or Evesham, and heard shooting in the woods both times," Mr Hargreaves explained, "I thought perhaps you and your guests were indulging in a late-night party, I was most jealous."
"No," Northcott was thoughtful, "It was not anyone in the house, that I know of."
The duke chewed on his lip--much to Mary's shameful delight--before glancing at the clock which stood on the mantelpiece.
"I must be off," he said, rising to a stand, "Thank you again for your time. Mr Mifford, might I have a quick word about the funeral arrangements before I go?"
Northcott and Mr Mifford exited the room, leaving Mary and her mother alone with the Hargreaves.
"More tea?" Mrs Mifford asked politely, though she frowned in annoyance as Mr Hargreaves said yes to her offer. She wanted them gone, Mary knew, so that she might badger her husband to reveal the town's secrets to her.
Mary made polite conversation with the Hargreaves, as they nibbled on rout cake and sipped on tea for another half-hour. As well as hunting, Mr Hargreaves was a keen fisherman, the intricacies of which he explained in great depth to Mary and a very disinterested Mrs Mifford.
"Well," Mr Hargreaves said, once he had finished recounting the story of every fish he had caught in the last decade, "I'm afraid to say we must be on our way."
"Oh, what a pity," Mrs Mifford said, sounding disingenuous to Mary's ear, before bustling the couple out the door so quickly that Mr Hargreaves barely had a chance to don his hat.
"Thank heavens for that," Mrs Mifford sighed, as she banged the door shut behind them, "Now, where's your father?"
Mary longed for a moment to reflect on her afternoon with the duke, as well as on what the Hargreaves had revealed. Solving Mr Parsims' murder did not seem such an insurmountable task now that they knew bribery was a possible motive. But who on the list had a secret so great that they were willing to kill for it?
Mary did not have a chance to ponder this question, or to examine the niggling disappointment she felt at Northcott's abrupt departure, for her father emerged from the library at the sound of his wife's voice.
"My dear," he said straight away, before Mrs Mifford had a chance to speak, "I shall not be revealing anyone's secrets to you, no matter how much you beg and plead."
"Oh, fiddlesticks," Mrs Mifford pouted, "You're no fun, Albert."
"A man with two parishes to manage cannot be expected to have time for fun," Mr Mifford shrugged, allowing a moment for the meaning of his words to sink in.
"Two parishes?" Mrs Mifford clasped a hand over her mouth, "You can't mean?"
"Yes," Mr Mifford gave a sigh that was halfway between annoyance and regret, "Northcott offered me the living at St Mary's; he and Lord Crabb agreed to it earlier. I have told him I will think upon it--"
"What is there to think upon when you have four daughters and not one of them wed?" Mrs Mifford answered hands on hips.
"Not wed, yet," Mr Mifford corrected his wife, and to Mary's surprise, he offered her a wink.
Chapter Eight
The funeral of William Parsims was a short, sombre affair with few mourners in attendance. Mr Mifford, Henry noted with interest, was a fine orator, who somehow managed to compose a touching eulogy about a man that few else would be able to find a kind word for without it sounding false.
It was quite the accomplishment and Henry congratulated himself on having thought of merging the living at St Mary's with that of St Anne's. True, it had taken a slight financial blow to convince Lord Crabb to join in on his plan, but Henry felt the decision was worth the cost. The two parishes were small enough for one man to manage, the tenants were all fond of Mr Mifford already, and--Henry blushed--the act might endear him somewhat to Miss Mifford. Though that, of course, had been only a secondary benefit of the plan, Henry assured himself as the funeral service came to an end.
The mourners gathered in the church dispersed quite quickly, leaving only Henry and Mr Mifford present to bear witness to Mr Parsims' coffin being lowered into the ground.
Once Mr Burke and Mr Hare, the parish gravediggers, had lowered the coffin, Mr Mifford again said a few words--Genesis, if Henry was not mistaken.
"In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken," Mr Mifford rumbled, with appropriate gravitas, "For dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return."
"Amen," Henry mumbled, alongside Burke and Hare who, having more experience with matters funereal, took the vicar's words as a sign that the proceedings had ended. They donned the caps which they had removed for the final prayers and set about heaping dark earth into the grave.
"A pity that none of Parsims' family could be here," Mr Mifford said, stepping away from the graveside.
"There were none," Henry replied, "Excepting a cousin in Cirencester. I sent a footman, but he returned with a note to say they had no interest in attending, but to send word if he had left anything of worth."
"Charming," Mr Mifford smiled, "One can only wonder at the life Mr Parsims led; no family to speak of, no love for his fellow man. It must have been a lonely existence."
"I suppose it was," Henry replied, for the first time feeling a stab of pity for the departed rector. The man had amassed a small fortune through his misdeeds, but what had he gained in the end? Two strangers at his graveside, and no one to mourn him.
