Page 14 of A Murder, a Marquess, and Miss Mifford
"I am," Emily nodded, standing from her chair, "And, I am going downstairs to read my book."
"I'll join you shortly," Mary called after her, "I just need a few minutes to try get my feet into my new slippers. I swear, they have shrunk since I bought them."
Emily made no comment, instead she slipped from the room and downstairs to the front drawing room--an elegant chamber, with ceiling height sash-windows which gazed out over St James' Square. Once there, she settled herself in the plush Queen Ann by the fireplace and extracted the Minerva Press novel that she had secreted away under the cushions. She passed a pleasant half-hour reading, until Mary joined her.
"I'm glad no one called while I was otherwise occupied," Mary chirped, as she swept into the room, "Honestly, I did not expect that being a duchess would involve receiving so many callers. I received none, when I was simply Miss Mifford."
Before becoming a duchess, Mary had been the daughter of a country vicar, so it was no surprise to Emily that her callers had increased ten-fold now that she was a duchess. Every morning, between the hours of eleven and three, Mary was besieged by callers keen to affirm their acquaintance with her.
Mary settled herself in the chair nearest to the window, picked up her needlework, and awaited the first of her callers, while Emily settled herself back into the chair and continued to read.
The Gothic-tale in her hands was so absorbing, that Emily did not quite register the passage of time until the clock on the mantelpiece struck noon.
"Is it that time already?" Emily glanced over at her sister in surprise.
Mary, she now saw, wore a worried expression on her pretty face, and her blue eyes were focused on the square outside and not her embroidery hoop.
By this time, the duchess would usually have received at least three sets of visitors, and Emily could not help but wonder if the murder had anything to do with her sudden drop in popularity.
"I expect that people are calling on Lady Albermay first," Mary assured her, "Given that she was last night's hostess. Enjoy your book while you can, we shall be busy pouring tea in no time."
Emily nodded and returned her attention to her book, but the words on the page swam before her eyes. The lack of callers, and the lack of news from Lord Chambers could mean only one thing--that Lord Chambers' suspect had been proved innocent and thetonbelieved Emily had murdered Lady Hardthistle.
Her despairing belief was further confirmed as the clock struck one, and then two, with no sign of any visitors to Northcott House.
"It must be the inclement weather that's keeping people away," Mary declared at half-past two, as she stood from her chair. Unfortunately, as soon as she finished speaking, her figure was illuminated by a sudden burst of sunshine through the window, and from the hallway a passing maid loudly proclaimed the beauty of the day.
"I'm not without some brains, Mary," Emily chided, as she too stood from her seat, "There must be some connection to your lack of callers and my being accused of murder."
"Nonsense," Mary brushed her concern aside, but--as she always did when she was worried or anxious--she lifted her hand to neck to fiddle with her necklace.
"Don't molly-coddle me," Emily began, but the rest of her sentence was cut-off by a knock on the door.
"Come in," Mary bid, and the door swung open to reveal a footman holding a silver tray with a calling card upon it.
"Lady Albermay is wondering if you are at home, your Grace?"
"Oh!" Mary's expression brightened, "Yes. Of course I am. Send her in, and tell the maids to bring in a tray of tea and French fancies."
The footman disappeared and Mary smoothed down the skirts of her dress nervously, as they awaited the appearance of the countess.
Lady Albermay burst into the room, moments later, in a flurry of perfume fumes and loud exclamations. In her strange accent, she loudly complimented Mary's dress and the furniture, before declaring herself famished and seating herself on the sofa without being invited.
By Emily's count, the countess had broken at least three rules of etiquette in less than five seconds, but her disregard for decorum only made her more likable.
Mary and Emily both perched themselves on the opposite sofa to the countess, and waited for the maid--who had arrived just after the countess--to pour the tea. Once everyone had a cup, and the maid had retreated to a respectable distance, Lady Albermay spoke.
"I came to offer you my assurance, Miss Mifford, that you have my full support," Lady Albermay said sincerely, as she set her cup down on the table before her.
"Thank you," Emily was touched by the earnestness of her statement, even if she was a tad confused, "Er; your full support in what matter, might I ask?"
There was a moment of silence, as Lady Albermay shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
"Why," she drawled, blushing a little, "With the murder accusation. Lord Chambers' suspect turned out to be something of a dead-duck, and as there was no one else under suspicion, I'm afraid that thetonhave reverted to thinkingyouthe culprit."
Emily gulped; her earlier fears had not been unfounded; the conspicuous lack of callerscouldbe attributed to thetonbelieving her a murderess.
"It's a ridiculous notion, of course," the countess stressed, with a kind-eyed smile to Emily, "To think that an itty-bitty thing like you could have choked a woman to death. Lord Chambers was of the belief that Mr Fitzgibbons was the guilty party, given that he had earlier been heard professing a wish to strangle Lady Hardthistle over some issue about fixed horse races. But, as his good friend Mr Bunting was able to vouch for his whereabouts, I'm afraid that idea was quashed fairly quickly."
