Page 18 of A Victim, A Viscount, And Miss Mifford
"The vicar," Mr Just smiled, "He has held the living here for nearly thirty years. Popular fellow..."
Mr Just's coded warning to not attempt to bestow the living at Plumpton onto anyone else was clearly heard, though unnecessary, as Ivo had no intention of ousting Mr Mifford from his post. And not only because it might upset the lovely Miss Mifford...
Chapter Five
In the days following Lord Crabb's death, Jane kept her eyes and ears peeled for any sight or sound of Plumpton's new viscount. Apart from a quick call to Primrose Cottage to discuss with Mr Mifford—behind closed doors—the arrangements for Lord Crabb's funeral, and a brief glimpse of him at the funeral itself, Jane had not sighted the new lord at all.
She had, however, heard plenty about him.
In the haberdashery, the much maligned by Mrs Canards, Mr MacDowl, had informed Jane that Plumpton Hall had put in a large order for fabric, to outfit the staff in new livery.
"He might be a murderer, but he's free with his purse strings," Mr MacDowl had commented, deaf to Jane's responding protest that Lord Crabb was no murderer.
In the pub, the talk of the new Lord Crabb was also favourable.
"He might have killed Lord Crabb, but he summoned Northcott's estate manager the very next day, and told him to commence the work on the mill," Angus—polishing the Ring's brass doorknobs—commented to Jane one day as she passed, "Which rather makes up for the murder."
"And he won me three shillings," an inebriated Mr Marrowbone had added, as he stood slumped against the wall, "Which means he's alright in my book, murderer or no."
"He's not a murderer," Jane had replied, exasperated—both at their belief in a falsehood, and Mr Marrowbone's feckless understanding of his role as constable.
"And even if he were," Mr Marrowbone had replied cheerfully, "Who in Plumpton truly cares?"
Therein lay the issue, Jane thought, nobody at all seemed inclined to try find the true perpetrator of the murder. Except, Jane, that is.
While the inhabitants of Plumpton had been only too happy to accept that their new viscount came with the unfortunate flaw of a murderous temperament, Jane had quietly been doing some investigating to try to discover the truth. As she had no access to Plumpton Hall, or its servants, it had been a difficult task, but she had still managed to sketch a list of possible suspects.
That morning, as she walked along the riverside, she ran through her list again in her head. There were the four farmers—Jacobs, Hendricks, Bennett, and Carlyle—who were aggrieved that Lord Crabb had stalled the progress on expanding the mill. There were the servants in Plumpton Hall, some of whom—according to Mrs Mifford, who Jane had cornered after her nightly glass of medicinal wine—had suffered from having their pensions cut for perceived misdemeanours. Then there was Miss Hughes, though Jane did not believe that she truly deserved to be added to the list. Jane had pressed Sarah—subtly, for though kind, Sarah was no fool—as to why she believed the lovely, young girl had decided to take an octogenarian for a husband.
"It really was so out of character for her," Sarah had sighed, "Though she had visited with her Mama's cousins in Bath during the summer; Lord and Lady Gale, they have an estate there, just outside town. I perhaps wonder if she was somehow influenced to seek him out after being exposed to the trappings of wealth and title there. Lord and Lady Gale move in very grand circles—their neighbour is an earl."
"It would not be difficult to be blinded by the lights of society, after a life lived in Plumpton," Jane had agreed.
As she continued her walk, Jane's mind kept wandering toward Miss Prunella Hughes. If she had married Lord Crabb, then she would be suspect number one for the murder, but as she had been left without a title or a penny, it was ridiculous for Jane to even include her on her list. An uncomfortable realisation stole over Jane, that perhaps her own distaste for Prunella so blatantly marrying for title and wealth was clouding her judgement.
Who was Jane to cast aspersions on Prunella's choice of husband? For eons, marriage had been transactional in its nature—a sad necessity for females—and if Jane had any sense, she would find an aged aristocrat of her own to marry. Had Jane too not recently decided that marriage was a necessity?
Feeling a little shamed for judging Prunella, rather than a society which granted women little liberty and agency, Jane drew her attention away from her thoughts towards her surroundings.
The Churn flowed slowly along, the chill north wind sending ripples across the water's surface. The bare branches overhead dripped, as the morning's frost thawed under a weak winter sun. In nature, all was as it always was, which offered Jane some comfort.
She traipsed along a while longer, carefully avoiding any puddles, and as her eyes were trained to the ground, she did not notice a rider approaching until she heard the sound of cantering hooves.
"Miss Mifford, what a surprise."
Mr Bonville—or rather, Lord Crabb, as he was now styled—sat atop a beautiful beast of a horse, looking rather beautiful himself. Feeling conscious of her appearance, Jane subtly attempted to straighten her bonnet, hoping against hope that she looked somewhat presentable.
"My lord," Jane said, as the new viscount dismounted his horse, "I have not had the chance to offer you my condolences on the passing of Lord Crabb."
"Thank you," a pair of knowing green eyes—framed by thick dark lashes—met Jane's. "As you and your family were more acquainted with Lord Crabb, I rather feel it is I who should be offering my condolences and not the other way around."
The viscount, who held his stallion's reins in hand, gestured for Jane to continue her walk, and fell into step beside her. Beneath her bonnet, Jane's cheeks flamed, as she wondered why his lordship had chosen to stop at all. If he had wished to be polite, a mere "hello" as he had passed would have sufficed, which made Jane wonder—did his lordship wish to be more than polite with her?
"How are you settling into your new role, my lord?" Jane asked, unwilling to allow an awkward silence fall between them, when she already felt awkward enough.
"As well as can be expected," Lord Crabb replied, flashing Jane a smile, "Though I will admit that while I find holding a new title easy enough, I am struggling to deal with being labelled as a murderer."
"Oh, no one thinks you a murderer," Jane replied, out of reflexive decorum.
