Page 11 of A Victim, A Viscount, And Miss Mifford
"And how, pray tell, did he know for certainty with just a glance?" Mr Mifford pressed.
Jane noted the hint of suspicion in her father's voice and guessed the cause of it; if Mr Marrowbone had woken up with a sore head this morning, then it was certain the good doctor had too. The two men spent almost as much time in The Ring'O'Bells gambling and drinking as they did attending to their duties.
"He said he recognised the rash at once," Mr Marrowbone answered, "He witnessed poisoning with deadly nightshade before, when he practised in Cirencester. You recall the case of Mrs Hound, Mr Mifford? Poisoned all 'er husbands. Probably wouldn't 'ave been found out, if she hadn't tried to do a third one in so soon after the other two."
"Ah, yes," Mr Mifford nodded, "The Black Widow of Cirencester."
Jane made a mental note to query her father about this tale later, for she had never heard the story before. Mr Marrowbone, whose tongue was now loosened considerably by brandy and port, was still talking, and Jane drew her attention back to the matter at hand.
"There were other signs too," he explained, "Froth at the mouth, signs of a fit. Dr Bates said he would bet his house on it being deadly nightshade what killed him."
Which wasn't very reassuring, Jane thought, for Dr Bates would take a punt on most anything.
"A fascinating tale, Mr Marrowbone," Mr Mifford said, as the constable fell silent, "But if you don't mind me asking, where do I fit into your investigations? Do you wish for me to help you unmask the murderer?"
"Lud, no," the constable assured him, "We already know who the murderer is, and therein lies the conundrum which I face—and I shall need your help in deciding how to proceed, Vicar."
"Well, I'm all ears, my good man," Mr Mifford replied, looking genuinely curious.
Jane too was eager to learn who the murderer was; they must have revealed themselves, for the bone-idle Mr Marrowbone had certainly not solved a murder case in mere minutes.
"It was—" the constable paused for dramatic effect, as Jane and her father leaned forward in their chairs, "—Mr Bonville."
"Lord Crabb's heir?"
"The very one. He was the last person to be alone with Lord Crabb before he went to bed for the night."
Mr Marrowbone waited expectantly for Mr Mifford to offer comment, but none was forthcoming for Mr Mifford was speechless.
"Is that all you're basing your opinion on?" Jane pressed, feeling as perplexed as her father. Was Marrowbone really so lazy that he would condemn a man as a murderer, rather than going to the bother of actually investigating?
"He had the means," the constable replied, glaring at Jane, "As well as the motive."
"And that would be?" Mr Mifford drew two bushy eyebrows together.
"He wished to inherit the title and the fortune that goes with it."
Mr Mifford heaved a sigh, and cast Marrowbone an irritated glance. Jane's father was usually a patient man, but patience rarely lasted when faced with wilful ignorance.
"It is my understanding that Mr Bonville has a fortune of his own; one which eclipses that of the late Lord Crabb."
Jane blinked at this revelation; how had her father come by such information? He had not shared it with his family, though—Jane guessed—perhaps he had not wished to excite his wife into doing something silly. Like throwing her single daughters in front of Mr Bonville in the hope that he might marry one.
"That might be true," Marrowbone blustered in return, "But he did not have a title or an estate—which he now has."
"An estate which is in need of a great deal of funding to bring it up to standards," Mr Mifford muttered, before continuing. "Very well, you have decided that Mr Bonville—or Lord Crabb as he should now be styled—is the perpetrator of the act, where do I come into all this?"
"Well," Mr Marrowbone wiped the sweat which covered his top lip away with a meaty hand, "The problem arises when you consider that as Mr Bonville is now Lord Crabb, he is also magistrate of Plumpton."
"And unlikely to send himself forward for trial," Mr Mifford smiled.
"Aye. Were the Duke of Northcott at home, he might be inclined to step in to intervene, but he is not..."
"...And?" Mr Mifford prompted.
"And, I was thinking that, seeing as though His Grace is not expected back anytime soon, that the best course of action would be for me to do...nothing."
Jane exhaled the breath she had been holding, almost weak with relief that Mr Marrowbone would not pursue the matter any further. Though, that she had expected the laziest man in Plumpton to do some work was foolish on her part.
