Page 12 of A Victim, A Viscount, And Miss Mifford
"Would you consider that, perhaps, someone else might have poisoned Lord Crabb?" Mr Mifford suggested, reluctant to let Mr Marrowbone off the hook completely. "I can list a dozen people off the top of my head who have wished him ill over the years."
"Such as?"
"Mama, for one," Jane said, without thinking, for Mrs Mifford was forever complaining about Lord Crabb.
"And where was Mrs Mifford last night?" Mr Marrowbone asked suspiciously, perhaps thinking that he might ingratiate himself with the new Lord Crabb by offering up another suspect as sacrifice.
"Sleeping in bed beside me," Mr Mifford was firm, "If you cared to use your noggin, my good man, you might examine those who are holding a recent grudge against Lord Crabb. A member of his staff. Or someone who was upset by his refusal to allow his lands be used for the construction of the leat."
"So, you're saying the Duke of Northcott did it?" Mr Marrowbone furrowed his brow, now confronted by another conundrum.
"I said no such thing," Mr Mifford sighed, "Though I do agree with you on one score—you should not arrest Mr Bonville for murder, for you have no evidence."
"Right you are, Mr Mifford," the constable replied cheerfully, as he stood from his chair, "If you think I should do nothing, then who would I be to argue against your wisdom?"
"That wasn't what I suggested—"
"Goodbye now," Mr Marrowbone called over Mr Mifford, "My thanks for the drink."
With that, the portly constable took his leave, nearly knocking an eavesdropping Nora over as he opened the door.
"I was just coming in to tell you that I have to pop down to the village to buy some more tea, Mr Mifford," Nora said, with an admirably straight face.
"That's perfectly fine," Mr Mifford smiled, "Just try be quick in your gossiping; I've no wish to listen to Mrs Mifford complaining that she had to cook her own breakfast."
"No fear of that, when she only rises at lunchtime," Nora snorted, before vanishing back out the door.
"Should you have allowed her go, Papa?" Jane questioned, as she furrowed her brow. She cast her mind back to yesterday, when she had thought Nora's retelling of Mr Bonville's arrival as being comparable to a game of Whisper Down the Line. Who knew what Nora had managed to hear from behind the door, or how she would choose to retell it.
"There are few advantages to having a vicar as an employer," Mr Mifford shrugged, "Save access to a little gossip. Lord Crabb's death will reach the ears of the whole village before noon, let Nora play her part in telling people, if that is what she wishes."
"What if she says anything about Mr Bonville?" Jane blushed a little, as she revealed her true concern.
"Then she will only be saying what everyone else is thinking," Mr Mifford was blunt, "His arrival coinciding with Lord Crabb's murder is rather a large coincidence to expect people to swallow without question.
"Oh, but he—"
Jane halted her speech abruptly, as she realised that she could not say that she did not believe Mr Bonville to be the perpetrator because he did not seem like that type of man. For to say so would be to reveal that she had already met him, and that would only lead to further questions.
"It's just too obvious," Jane said, lamely, after a pause.
"That's true. Perhaps whoever wanted Lord Crabb dead recognised the opportunity Mr Bonville's arrival presented. I fear, however, that with Mr Marrowbone on the case, we may never know for certain."
It was a rather defeatist attitude to take, Jane thought with a frown. Solving a murder was not completely impossible. Why, only a few months ago, her sister had solved not one, but two!
Jane feigned a renewed interest in her breakfast, but inside her mind was racing. Was it possible that she might discover who had poisoned Lord Crabb, if she put her mind to it? For a moment, she wished that her elder sister were at home and not dashing about London, for Mary would surely have offered her some advice on how to proceed with her investigation.
When her breakfast was done, Jane took her plate—and her Papa's—back to the kitchen, where she quickly washed them, before setting them to one side to dry. Upstairs, she could hear the sound of her Mama and sisters stirring, and she suddenly felt a great urge to leave the house.
Mrs Mifford had not been overly fond of Lord Crabb—in fact, she quite detested him—but she was fond of a spot of amateur dramatics, and Jane had no desire to offer comfort to crocodile tears.
With an urgency to her step, Jane raced for the hallway, where she snatched a shawl that one of her sisters had discarded.
"I am going out for a walk, Papa," she called to her father, who was still seated at the breakfast table.
"Don't get lost," came the absent response.
Outside, Jane made for the village, curious to see for herself the villagers' reaction to the news. The square was busy, though there was very little movement, for everyone was huddled in groups whispering between themselves.
