Page 46 of A Murder, a Marquess, and Miss Mifford
"Quiet Marrowbone, or I'll call the constable to have you ejected," the barman grumbled, as he poured a pint for Freddie.
This remark earned a few more laughs from the customers, though the squat gentleman rolled his eyes.
"It was funny the first five hundred times, Angus," he grumbled into his pint, "But it's now gone rather stale."
"Like your tenure as constable," Angus agreed cheerfully, as he placed a frothy pint of hoppy mead before Freddie.
Freddie took a coin from his purse and pushed it across to Angus, who pocketed it with a wink. "That'll cover your next one," he advised, "We don't do change here."
"No, I didn't expect you would," Freddie answered, thinking that the pub had probably looked the same since its inception a few hundred years before.
"You down from London?" Marrowbone called, as Angus moved away.
The whole pub fell silent, as they waited for Freddie's answer. Guessing that the arrival of a strange face in their midst was probably the most exciting thing to have happened to the pub's patrons this week, Freddie duly obliged them by answering loudly that he was.
"I have just agreed to buy Wynding House," he added, for good measure, "Mrs Lacey wishes to sell before she marries."
"Poor bugger," another gentleman chimed in, a farmer by the look of him, "Her husbands have a nasty habit of dying off quite soon after marriage. Regular Mary, Queen of Scots, so she is."
"Mr Lacey's unfortunate demise was ruled as an accident," Mr Marrowbone interjected, crossly.
"Only because you were too lazy to investigate it," the farmer replied, scowling across at the constable.
"How dare you," Marrowbone, who was--Freddie guessed--deep in his cups, stood from his stool in outrage. He swayed a little on his feet, before judging the effort too much, and sitting back down with a thud.
"I am something of an expert when it comes to solving murders," the constable called to Freddie, keen to save his reputation, "Over the past few months our little village has witnessed not one, not two, but three murders--all solved by yours truly. You can ignore Mr Fielding's comments on my work ethic; the citizens of Plumpton rest easily at night, knowing their safety is in my hands."
A few muted laughs followed this statement, but Mr Marrowbone paid no heed.
"Yes, if I wasn't such a gifted sleuth, poor Miss Mifford--I mean, Her Grace--would still be living under a dark cloud of suspicion. Her sister, now Lady Crabb, has also benefited from my expertise--Lord Crabb was thought to have murdered the last viscount, you know, until I proved otherwise."
"You're stretching the truth a bit there, Marrowbone," Angus chuckled, "And if you're so gifted at solving murders, then why don't you take yourself to London and help out there? Mrs Canards wrote to my missus, to say that the other Mifford girl--Emily or Eudora, I can't remember which--has found herself accused of strangling a baroness to death."
"I have no jurisdiction in London," Mr Marrowbone clarified, with great haste, just as Freddie interjected to defend Emily.
"Miss Mifford was wrongfully accused--Mrs Canards should not be spreading such malicious rumours."
"I think you'll find that spreading rumours is Mrs Canards’ specialty," Angus guffawed, taking Freddie's, now empty, pint glass to refill, "No one believes a word that comes out of her mouth."
"I do not like to hear that Miss Mifford's reputation is being besmirched," Freddie sniffed, "Even if it is well known the source is not credible."
"If Mrs Canards told me the sky was blue, I'd still look out the window to check that she was telling the truth," Angus called cheerfully, as he set a fresh pint before Freddie. Angus then gave Freddie an appraising glance, his eyes twinkling with mischief, "Tell me, sir, is there a reason you have such an interest in Miss Mifford's reputation?"
The pub fell quiet again, as everyone awaited Freddie's answer. Thinking to give them something to really talk about, Freddie nodded his head, and proudly proclaimed, "Yes, I intend to ask her to become my wife."
"Well, I think that news calls for a round of pints for the whole pub," Mr Marrowbone cried, as the other patrons burst into a round of applause--for the romance or the pints, Freddie wasn't quite sure, though he guessed the former.
"You paying?" Angus raised a brow at the constable.
"As our new friend is the one celebrating, I think it's customary that he pays," Mr Marrowbone cleared his throat, awkwardly.
"You called it, you pay for it," Angus threatened, but Freddie waved a lazy hand to interrupt.
"It's on me," he said, "What better way to introduce myself to my new neighbours, than with a pint?"
"And your new father-in-law," Mr Marrowbone guffawed, as the door to the pub opened, "'Ere he is now--I say, Vicar, there's a man here who wants to marry one of your daughters."
Mr Mifford paused in the doorway; he was a tall man, with a shock of white hair and a neat beard, and bright, inquisitive eyes.
