Page 35 of A Murder, a Marquess, and Miss Mifford
"Why don't we come with you to see the duchess?" Jane then suggested, "That way you have more people to help you with your planning."
If there was one woman who could frighten Mrs Mifford into submissive silence, it was Cecilia, Dowager Duchess of Northcott. There would be no more talk of unfashionable soaps, once Cecilia had put her seal of approval on things.
"Oh, thank you," Mary beamed, with a grateful smile to her sister, "I should like that very much."
Sensing an opportunity to be alone--an almost impossible task in a family as overbearing as the Miffords--Emily spoke up.
"I think I shall rest, if you don't mind, Mary. I feel a migraine coming on."
Eudora narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, and Emily feared she might be about to remind her that she did not suffer from the migraine, but instead she offered to stay and keep Emily company.
"Northcott has a copy of the first edition ofThe Encyclopedia Britannicain his library, which he said I might read," Eudora added, so that everyone might know her motives weren't entirely altruistic.
With that settled, Jane, Mary, and Mrs Mifford set off for Mayfair, where the dowager duchess kept a townhouse for the season. Once the door had closed behind them, and she was certain that they were out of earshot, Eudora turned to Emily with a frown.
"You don't suffer from migraines," she accused her.
"I have never once heard Northcott give you permission to read that book," Emily countered.
"He never explicitly said so," Eudora agreed, with the practiced reasoning of a youngest sister, "But by mentioning that he had a copy and where it could be found,implicitconsent was given. Now, tell me what you are up to. I shan't tell anyone, for I never get to be part of a secret."
Emily hesitated for a moment, before deciding Eudora could be trusted. In a rushed whisper, she explained everything; the investigation, Lord Chambers' offer to help, as well as Ethel's mysterious lover and how identifying him might help solve the mystery of Lady Hardthistle's murder.
"Who else knows all this?" Eudora queried, once she was done.
"Mary knows some, Jane none," Emily answered, which elicited a smile from her sister.
"I'm not the last to know," Eudora said, smugly, "Very well. I suppose there's not much you can do now, except try and identify who this chap is."
"Oh, thank you, Eudora," Emily exclaimed, reaching across the table to squeeze her sister's hand, "If Mary and the others return, try fob them off for as long as you can--though I think they'll be hours going through all the details."
"What time should I expect Northcott to return from the House of Lords?" Eudora questioned, obviously not as certain of his implicit consent as she had previously expressed.
"Well after noon," Emily assured her, "Might I take your shawl? That way I can slip out the servants' entrance without being seen."
Eudora reluctantly handed over the tartan shawl she wore around her shoulders, and Emily threw it on over her dress. It was a day dress she had brought from Plumpton; practical and plain, the perfect outfit for a young lady who did not wish to be noticed.
"Wish me luck," Emily called, before darting out the door--a woman on a mission.
Outside on the square, Emily kept her head down as she scuttled towards St James' Street, then on towards Piccadilly. Once there, she hailed down a passing hackney cab, and instructed the driver to take her to Berkley Square.
Inside the cab was dank and musty, a far cry from Northcott's fleet of fine carriages, but as the Mifford's own vehicle in Plumpton was an old gig, she was not too perturbed by it. Comfort and luxury were a novelty, not an expectation.
The old carriage trundled along for what felt like an age, but at last it drew to a halt in a leafy green square. Emily jumped from the cab to the footpath, and paid the driver--a wizened soul with very few teeth--with coins from the pin money Mary had gifted her on her arrival to London.
Once the hackney had pulled away, Emily glanced around, keen to establish her bearings.
The square was lined with grand buildings, which faced onto a formal garden, whose boundary was marked with black, wrought-iron railings. On one side of the square--Emily well knew--lay Gunter's, London's famed confectioner, as well as several other high-end stores. Keen to avoid being spotted by anyone from theton, Emily made for the opposite side, which was lined with residential homes.
As she walked past the austere, towering buildings, Emily realised that there was one major hurdle in her plan to spy on Ethel--she had no idea which house the maid occupied. She could not very well knock on doors, asking for her, and her chances of spotting the maid were low if she did not know which house to linger outside of.
Feeling defeated, and a little overwhelmed, Emily beat a retreat to the gardens, hoping that the green space might soothe her frayed nerves.
The gardens were larger than those in St James' Square; a formal path, in the shape of a cross, divided the immaculate lawn, while benches shaded by towering bay trees offered respite for tired feet.
Emily duly placed herself on the first bench she encountered, her eyes drawn by a nursery maid chasing her charge across the grass. She felt a momentary pang of longing for Plumpton, where the village square was always filled with friendly faces. Her thoughts then drifted, not to Ethel or her mission to spy on her, but to Lord Chambers.
When he had held her hand last night, his grip had been strong, warm, and reassuring. For all his pomp and swagger, Emily sensed that beneath his expertly tailored shirt, lay a good heart. A kind heart.
