Page 53 of A Murder, a Marquess, and Miss Mifford
Mr Bunting.
Freddie's mind raced, as he recalled the night of the murder. Just like Mr Fitzgibbons, Mr Bunting had lost money by taking a large punt on the wrong horse. Also, according to Mr Fitzgibbons, Mr Bunting was as beholden as he to find a bride with deep coffers...but Lady Hardthistle had suggested that an engagement between he and Lady Francesca was imminent, despite the lady's lack of a family fortune.
Was it possible that Mr Bunting was the true villain of the piece? His offer to vouch for his friend's whereabouts might have appeared as gallantry to Mr Fitzgibbons, but was it really so he could hide his own secrets?
Feeling suddenly energised, Freddie jumped to his feet and retraced his steps back to the ballroom. Inside, he searched in vain for any sight of Emily. If anyone could tell him that his hunch was more than just that, it was she.
Freddie paced the length of the ballroom, his eyes peeled, but he could not spot her. He did, however, find Eudora.
"Have you seen your sister?" he pressed.
"Which one?"
"Emily," Freddie replied, struggling to keep the note of impatience from his voice.
"The last I saw of her, she was headed for the gardens. I presume for a little weep, after all the embarrassment of earlier," Eudora answered, plainly.
Freddie, who was not accustomed to discussing emotions so openly, blinked in surprise.
"Oh," Eudora caught his shock, "One of us is always crying; I wouldn't fret. Papa always says that God should have provided him with an endless supply of umbrellas when he gifted him four daughters."
"So, you think she is outside?" Freddie clarified, afraid that Eudora would take off on another tangent.
"Almost certain," she agreed, and Freddie gave her a nod of thanks, before turning to make for the gardens once again.
He pushed his way through the heave of people that filled the room, until he reached the French doors. He cast one glance back at the room, to be certain that Emily was not amongst the crowd, when a pale, frightened face caught his eye.
Lady Francesca.
Their gazes met and Freddie suddenly knew that his hunch was correct. He began to pivot direction, to move towards her, but found that she was already on her way to him.
"Do you think it was Mr Bunting who killed Lady Hardthistle?" Freddie asked, wasting no time on niceties.
"I have suspected for quite some time," the young lady agreed, her voice hoarse, "When I raised it with him, he threatened to ruin me..."
Freddie bit back a biting retort, to ask did she not care if Emily's reputation was ruined instead. He needed Lady Francesca on side, for the time being.
"Have you seen him?" Freddie pressed, his anxiety filling him with agitation. He needed to be in action, not making small talk in a ballroom.
"He went out for a cheroot, but did not return," Lady Francesca answered, gesturing towards the garden.
Fear filled Freddie at her words, as he realised that Emily might have found herself alone with a murderer.
"Fetch Northcott," Freddie instructed her, harshly, "Tell him to follow me, and bring Lord Crabb too."
Freddie did not wait for her to confirm that she would follow his instructions, instead, he took off into the gardens at breakneck pace.
"Emily," he called, once he was out in the fresh night's air, "Emily, are you out here?"
Freddie raced to the steps, down into the ornamental gardens, still shouting Emily's name. He did not care for propriety, he just needed to be certain she was safe.
Ornate topiary bushes cast dark shadows as he crunched along the path, which wound itself past flower beds, towards a trickling fountain. Beyond the fountain, Freddie saw that the path led towards a tall, ivy-covered fence, which no doubt screened the kitchen garden from view.
Picking up his pace, Freddie rushed forward, still calling Emily's name. He found the handle for the gate to the gardens, concealed by masses of ivy, and pushed it open.
They lay empty, but beyond the neat rows of vegetables, by the far wall, a gate which led beyond the property swung open.
"Emily," Freddie called again, and this time he heard a reply.
