Page 47 of A Victim, A Viscount, And Miss Mifford
"A tonic to aid fecundity, my lord," Mr Bennett whispered, "Flora's grandmother invented it, and Angus down the Ring swears half the population in Plumpton have it to thank for their conception."
Ivo hid a grin behind his hand, cleared his throat, then beckoned for Mr Bennett to continue.
"I was afraid some fellow would get the wrong idea about her," Mr Bennett assumed the look of a pious parson, "And I took it upon myself to offer for her hand, so that she would not be forced to engage in such business any longer."
"Let me guess, Miss Bridges refused your kind offer?" Ivo was droll.
"She did," Mr Bennett bit his lip, "And I might have become a little agitated by her refusal. I took to calling up here at night and throwing stones at her window, hoping she would let me speak with her, but she refused to answer. One night, deep in my cups, I accidentally threw stones at the wrong window and was escorted off the estate by one of your footmen."
"And a good job too," Ivo scolded, as Mr Bennett sulked, "If a lady says no, Bennett, you must listen. Now, you have explained yourself well enough, but your explanation leads me to wonder if, in a fit of pique at her refusal, you attacked Miss Bridges on her way home?"
"I did no such thing, my lord," Mr Bennett squeaked, "She will tell you that herself, it was not me."
"She is not currently conscious," Ivo sighed, unable to verify the truth just yet but inclined to believe Mr Bennett—he truly was too dense to be a criminal mastermind.
A knock on the library door interrupted their tense tête-à-tête, and when Ivo bid the knocker enter, James appeared to announce that Miss Mifford had arrived.
"You stay here," Ivo ordered the farmer, "And do not move until you are summoned. I shall have a footman keep watch on the door, lest you try to escape."
"Yes, my lord," Mr Bennett answered, his eyes sliding past Ivo to the open bottle of brandy which stood upon the desk.
"Don't even think about it," Ivo cautioned, before following James out the door.
"Miss Mifford is waiting in the entrance hall, my lord," James informed him.
"Excellent," Ivo was brusque in an attempt to hide his excitement, "You stay here, James, and make sure our visitor remains inside."
Despite the brevity of the situation, Ivo felt a vague thrill of longing as he spotted Miss Mifford waiting for him in the entrance hall. She wore an old wool shawl over her slender shoulders and beneath her bonnet her chestnut locks had come askew, but to Ivo's mind she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her full cheeks were rosy, presumably from the walk, and her eyes—dark as chocolate—glittered with life as she glanced at him.
"Miss Mifford," Ivo offered her a short bow, before gesturing for her to follow him into the small parlour room, pointedly leaving the door open so that no accusations might be made against them.
"How is Miss Bridges?" Miss Mifford questioned, once they were somewhat alone.
"She is still unconscious, but expected to wake. I hope that she regains consciousness soon, for I have just spoken with Mr Bennett and have come to the conclusion that his mental capabilities barely stretch to buttoning up his breeches, let alone orchestrating a murder," Ivo answered, before briefly outlining his conversation with the farmer.
"Oh, dear," Miss Mifford frowned, "I am inclined to agree with you, my lord. He would not offer to wait for Flora to wake if it were he who had attacked her."
"And so we find ourselves right back at the beginning," Ivo sighed, somewhat despondent.
"Not quite."
Miss Mifford began to pace the room, deep in thought, and Ivo took a moment to subtly admire her slender form as she moved. She was the most living thing in the dark panelled parlour; nymph like and filled with light and energy.
"While we may not know who did it," she said, coming to a stop and turning to face Ivo, "We have a more definite idea of who did not."
"It was not me, it was not Allen, it was not Mr Bennett," Ivo listed off, trying not to sound too discouraging, but he could not quite see the point she was getting at.
"Yes, so we know he was not murdered for money, nor because of a long-held grudge, or even because of the business with the mill," Miss Mifford interjected, "So there must be another motive that we have not thought of. Papa always says that crimes of passion are usually motivated by either money or lust."
"Well, in Lord Crabb's case, we can rule out the latter," Ivo snorted.
"Can we?" Miss Mifford whispered, her eyes far away, "What do we know of the murderer? They had to be close to Lord Crabb, they had to have a reason to want him dead, not to mention a knowledge of poisonous plants..."
Miss Mifford paused, her plump mouth forming an "o" of surprise as something suddenly occurred to her.
"The gardener, what was his name? The handsome fellow."
Ivo bristled a little with jealousy at hearing Miss Mifford refer to Mr Adonis as "handsome".
