Page 10 of A Murder, a Marquess, and Miss Mifford
Luckily, just as Freddie had decided that bed was the only solution for his suffering, the music came to an abrupt stop and the butler--looking faintly mortified--bid the guests join Lord and Lady Albermay in the gardens to enjoy a firework display.
"I thought we were at a ball, not Vauxhall Gardens."
"I'd expect no less from an American; garish decor, garish entertainment. We're lucky she hasn't arranged for us all to trek down to the docks and throw some chests of tea in the Thames."
As Freddie followed the flow of the crowd out to the gardens, he heard many similar grumblings from the guests. Poor Lady Albermay had not guessed that on her debut as a hostess to London's stuffy society, she had been expected to conform to social norms, not upset them.
For his part, Freddie found the whole thing entirely diverting. Outside in the fresh, spring air, his mind felt clearer and he bagged himself a nice spot by a magnolia tree--close to Miss Mifford, who had become separated from her clan.
Unfortunately, the cosy spot that they had both chosen, was invaded by a very unwelcome interloper--Lady Hardthistle.
"Silly Americans and their perverse ideas of fun," Lady Hardthistle grumbled loudly to herself, as she trekked across the soggy spring lawn, "And that silly maid, where has she got to? Ahoy--who's this?"
In the semi darkness, Lady Hardthistle's eyes had spotted Miss Mifford, for she near glowed in the darkness, dressed as she was in debutante-white.
"Miss Mifford, I should have expected no less from you," the baroness bellowed, causing several people standing close by to turn and gawp, "Out skulking in the darkness, trying to entice some poor chap into your net, eh?"
Freddie at once stirred to defend Miss Mifford, then wondered if by defending her his presence--also alone, also in darkness--might implicate her further in the baroness' eyes. As he dithered, Miss Mifford rose to the occasion and defended herself--rather loudly, rather forcefully, and rather stupidly.
"Don't you dare speak to me that way," she cried in response, "You are an odious woman, and one day soon, you will suffer the consequences of your unkindness."
Miss Mifford was either very brave, Freddie thought, or--more likely--completely unaware that Lady Hardthistle had the social force--and viper's tongue--to ruin her season completely.
Several heads had turned their attention away from the firework display, which was just beginning, to stare at the bickering duo. Included amongst them, Lady Francesca, who, to Freddie's mind, looked far too pleased with the unfolding drama.
"Don't threaten me, girl," Lady Hardthistle growled, her eyes shifting to the crowd as she became aware that she was now involved in a scene.
"You threatened me first," Miss Mifford retorted, displaying a rudimentary-but perfectly acceptable--defence, "If I have sunk low, it's only because you set the bar. Oh, IhateLondon."
This last remark was delivered in a voice with a faint quiver, and Miss Mifford turned on the heel of her slipper and ran from the scene, into the darkness of the vast garden.
"Awful girl," Lady Hardthistle huffed, for the benefit of the watching crowd, "Now, where has my maid got to? I shall need to return home to rest after suffering such an obnoxious assault. Ethel! Ethel!"
Lady Hardthistle too disappeared into the darkness of the garden, and Freddie wondered if he should follow her. He did believe that she was off to find the missing Ethel, but he was also worried that, when found, the maid would be used as a second in a duel, should Lady Hardthistle bump into Miss Mifford again.
As the London skyline was set ablaze with exploding colour, Freddie fretted and fretted over Miss Mifford. After about ten minutes of anxious internal debate, he had just decided that he would seek her out--appearances be damned--when a terrified wail filled the night.
"Murder, murder!" a voice cried, so loud that it could be heard over the explosions of fireworks.
Freddie, who was nearest to the spot where the cry came from, raced into the darkness of the garden. He ran across the lawn and down a set of steps, which led to a sunken garden. Here, he followed the box-hedge lined path to a trickling fountain, and found Ethel standing over a dark mass upon the ground.
As a particularly large Catherine-wheel exploded, lighting up the night sky, it illuminated the mass on the ground, revealing it to be Lady Hardthistle, and by the looks of things she was dead.
Very, very dead.
Even in death, the expression on her face was one of anger and annoyance--though Freddie did not blame her for that, for who would not feel annoyed upon being murdered--and her skin was a violent shade of purple.
Freddie took a step back in horror, then a step forward, for he realised he should dosomething, but his sudden movement caused Ethel to wail even louder.
"Murder!" she cried again, her last plaintive wail finishing just as the crowd arrived.
People swarmed about, pushing Freddie forward so that he now stood right beside Lady Hardthistle's cadaver. He hastily whipped off his coat to cover the deceased, as more and more people arrived to the scene. The crowd's whispers built to a crescendo, accompanied by several screams as some in the fray realised just what it was that Freddie was standing guard over.
"A little calm, please," Freddie called, surprised that his voice sounded strong and assured. He had never marshalled a crowd clamouring to see a dead body before, but he was apparently quite gifted at it, for the herd of people fell silent.
"I must ask you all to return inside," Freddie continued, confident now in his own authority--and a little annoyed with himself for having ever doubted it, "I'm afraid there has been a bit of an accident--"
"Not an accident," Ethel interrupted, her thin voice carrying, "It's murder. Can't you see my lady was choked to death? Oh, who would want to murder such a gentle soul?"
