Page 1 of A Murder, a Marquess, and Miss Mifford
Chapter One
The Mifford family had been in London for a week when the time came for their patriarch, Mr Mifford, to return home to the village of Plumpton.
"My flock needs me," Mr Mifford said firmly, when his eldest daughter raised a last-minute objection to his departure.
"I should hardly think they've missed you at all; they're probably enjoying the lie-in on a Sunday morning," Mary, Duchess of Northcott--who was many things, but not at all tactful--replied with a petulant sigh.
"Then it is my duty to save their souls, for slothfulness is one of the seven deadly sins," Mr Mifford replied mildly, though when Mary's back was turned, he offered a discreet wink to his third daughter, Emily.
Emily hid a smile, for she knew that her father wished to return to Plumpton so that he might enjoy some peace and quiet in a house that was usually bursting with at the seams with feminine activity. Fate had gifted Mr Mifford with four daughters, and though two--Mary and Jane--were now married, their marriages had not taken them far from home, and they called daily to Primrose Cottage.
In the absence of his wife and daughters, Mr Mifford would probably spend the next few weeks in a state of masculine bliss, eating things like pickled tripe and crumbed lamb's brains--which none of the girls would touch--and sitting in the parlour room with his boots on the silk ottoman and a glass of brandy in hand.
No wonder he looked so eager to leave.
"I'm not certain that I have packed everything," Mrs Mifford, the family matriarch, bellowed as she tottered down the stairs to the entrance hall.
"Crabb House is only around the corner, Mama," Mary rushed to assure her mother, "If you have left anything behind, you can send a footman to fetch it."
Mary, Emily noted, was as eager to be rid of her mother as she was for her father to stay.
"I might do just that," Mrs Mifford replied, her eyes alight at the idea that there would be a fresh set of footmen in Crabb House to do her bidding. When she had married Mr Mifford, Emily's mother had married "down", a fact which greatly irked her. Now that two of her daughters had married well--to a duke and a viscount respectively--Mrs Mifford was fully committed to enjoying the luxuries she believed she was long overdue.
"Iamsad to leave you, Mary," Mrs Mifford continued, turning to her eldest daughter, "But as Jane rightly pointed out, it is not fair if I spend all my time here in Northcott House. I will divide my time between the two houses, so that all my daughters get to share me."
Mrs Mifford's belief that her presence was a blessing to all in its receipt was so great that she was utterly oblivious to the fact that her daughters had concocted a plan to share the burden of hosting her rather than the privilege.
"I will return in a week or two," she finished, smiling benevolently unto Mary and her husband, who both struggled to hide their disappointment at the news.
A few minutes of faffing ensued, as Mr Mifford realised that he had left his reading glasses upon his bedside locker, along with his best handkerchief. A footman was sent off to fetch them, and Mrs Mifford turned to her two daughters with faint despair.
"I worry that your father will be lost without me," she said, as though her husband was not standing beside her, and as though it was not he who had recalled the missing items himself.
For his part, Mr Mifford remained conspicuously quiet.
The footman returned with the missing spectacles and kerchief, then another footman appeared at the front door and cleared his throat politely.
"The carriage is ready, your Grace," he said, when Northcott nodded for him to speak.
"Come along now, my love," Mr Mifford said, ushering his wife towards the door. The carriage would take Mrs Mifford to Crabb House, on the far corner of St James' Square, before departing for the Cotswolds with Mr Mifford.
"Northcott, my thanks for your hospitality," Mr Mifford called, as his wife fluttered and fretted beside him.
"I am sad to be leaving," Mrs Mifford repeated once again, as she dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.
"Jane has had decorators in all week," Mary reminded her mother, "Crabb Hall is likely now more grand and comfortable than even this house."
"Grander, you say?" Mrs Mifford murmured, the well of her tears running miraculously dry, "Well. Cheerio, my loves. I might return a little later than first anticipated."
With that, Mrs Mifford turned on her heel and followed her husband down the steps to the waiting carriage--without so much as one glance back at Northcott House.
Emily, Eudora, Mary, and Northcott stood at the door to wave the carriage off, and once it had rounded the corner of the square, they retreated inside with relief.
"I am sorry about my mother," Mary whispered to her husband.
"I beg you don't apologise for yours, for it means I will have to apologise for mine," Northcott replied, referring to his mother Cecilia, who though more subtle was equally as meddling as her counterpart.
The newlywed couple smiled at each other, as though Emily was not there. Northcott's gaze was soft and gooey--like the yolk of a three-minute-egg--and he reached a hand out to touch his wife's increasing belly.
