Page 5 of A Death, A Duke, And Miss Mifford
"I won't be lectured on duty by a man who has been absent for these past five years."
It was often said that the truth stung and Crabb's words hit Henry like a slap to the face. He could feel himself flushing--as he often did when embarrassed--but refused to be browbeaten by the crabby viscount.
"Not that it is any of your business," Henry said, adopting his most ducal hauteur as he spoke, "But I left Northcott Manor and its lands in the care of my very able agent, Mr Silks. Had there been one word of complaint about his work, I would have returned at once, but there were none. I choose my staff very carefully, Lord Crabb."
Henry placed a heavy emphasis on the word "I", in order for the viscount to understand that Henry did not feel that Lord Crabb was as equally discerning about his own employees. No well-trained servant would have left a duke to freeze in a hall without even so much as a sniff of a cup of tea.
"Is that so?"
Lord Crabb looked so delighted that Henry momentarily wondered if he had walked himself into trouble. However, he could not think of any member of his vast retinue of staff who did not distinguish themselves admirably in their duties.
"Yes," Henry was bold enough to allow a note of certainty.
"That's not what I have heard," Lord Crabb cleared his throat, "Though, of course, it might all be rumours. You know what small towns are like; if you even so much as sneeze at the top of Church Street, the local gossips have you dead and buried before you reach the end of it."
The viscount smiled lightly at his own joke and did not appear to wish to press the matter further. Henry would have done well to follow suit, but curiosity got the better of him. Curiosity and a pressing urge to know which of his staff was not up to scratch. Henry was, as his mother often noted, wholly committed to fastidiousness. And this commitment came, she also often added, at the expense of fun, though Henry usually paid no heed to that part. He was a duke; there was little fun to be had when one had several estates, thousands of tenants, and an ever-expanding retinue of dependents to whom he must attend.
"May I ask who in my service, according to the town tabbies, is not performing their duties exactly?" Henry queried, with a frown.
"Oh, I wouldn't like to give credence to gossip, Northcott," Lord Crabb replied, innocently, "Though if you insist on knowing--"
"I do."
"Mr Parsims."
"The vicar?"
"I think you'll find he's a rector, Northcott," Lord Crabb grinned, thoroughly delighted to find Henry slipping, "And I've heard that he's most particular about that point, especially when it comes to his flock paying their tithes. Why, only yesterday, there was an awful kerfuffle in The Ring when Mr Parsims loudly inquired of Jack Thompson how he found the money to buy ale when he had not paid his dues to the church."
"Mr Parsims is within his right to collect what is owed to him," Henry responded, though he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The living at St Mary's was a generous one; as well as an above-average allowance from Henry, Mr Parsims was entitled to collect tithes from his parishioners--usually one-tenth of their harvest or increase in flock as payment in kind. As the parish was large and the lands in good condition, this amounted to a considerable sum; so considerable, that it was rather unseemly of the clergyman to chase people for their dues in a public tavern.
"Indeed, he is," Lord Crabb nodded in agreement, "But resentment does tend to brew between a shepherd and his flock when there are no allowances made for circumstance, and when having paid their dues, they are still charged surplice fees."
Henry winced; clergymen in towns and cities--having no farmers to demand tithes from--made their living by charging for pew rentals and fees for performing certain rites, like baptisms, marriages, and funerals. It was unheard of for a country rector to demand similar compensation.
"It is not unusual for a man to wish to increase his means," Henry replied, reluctant to openly condemn Parsims aloud, for it would be admitting that he had made a mistake to Lord Crabb, "Though I shall have a quiet word with him for the sake of harmony."
"That might be wise," Lord Crabb replied mildly, "For Mr Parsims' sake, as well as everyone else's. There was a terrible scene last spring, when, having refused to pay Mr Parsims what he felt he was owed, Stephen Browne woke one morning to find a dog let loose amongst his ewes, worrying them. He shot it, but of course, the damage had already been done."
"Stray dogs often roam and cause trouble with sheep," Henry replied carefully.
"Oh," Lord Crabb chuckled innocently, "Of course they do, and that is what Mr Mifford--my own clergyman--said when he was called to diffuse the situation between the two men, but a seed of doubt was sown nonetheless."
Mr Mifford?
To Henry's shame, he found that his attention had been drawn away from parish matters, to matters of the female variety. Mr Mifford could only be related to Miss Mifford; she of the sparkling blue eyes spun gold hair and frighteningly good aim.
Miss Mifford had struck Henry both metaphorically and actually, quite the feat, for Henry's head was notoriously difficult to turn.
"Ah," Henry cleared his throat, rather awkwardly he had to admit, "I had the pleasure of meeting Miss Mifford the day before yesterday; she was passing when I called on Mr Parsims. A lovely young woman, I'm sure you would agree."
"I'm sure I would if I knew which Miss Mifford you had met," Crabb gave a snort of laughter, "There's four of them."
Four sisters? Henry had one brother and had spent, from the age of six, most of his years surrounded by men. From Eton to Oxford, to White's club, his cup had runneth over with male company. He could not envision what a home bursting at the seams with females might be like...though he was rather curious.
"Miss Mifford is the eldest," Lord Crabb continued, "Then there is Miss Jane Mifford, followed by Miss Emily Mifford, and, finally, Miss Eudora Mifford is the youngest. When I bestowed the living of Plumpton Parish upon my niece's new husband, some twenty years ago, I never imagined that anyone could stuff so many children into one house, but somehow they did. Rather Papist, if you ask me--and not even a son at the end of it all."
"The Miss Mifford I encountered was fair-haired," Henry ventured, ignoring Lord Crabb's rather crude remark, "And has just recently returned from London. Mr Parsims mentioned that she had quite the successful visit."
