Page 12 of A Body, A Baron, and Miss Mifford
“I shall also retire,” Captain Ledger added, bowing to the room. “It was a long journey from Bristol, and my bones are weary.”
The rest of the guests followed suit; Mr Lowell was also exhausted from his journey, and Mr Wellsely was so deep in his cups that he was almost asleep on his Queen Anne chair. Lord Percivalhadfallen asleep in his chair and had to be roused to be ordered to bed by Cecilia.
“There are rooms for you all,” Jane said as she returned to the drawing room, “Mrs Canards, Mrs Wickling, I hope you don’t mind, but I thought you’d prefer to share in the west wing with the rest of us, rather than room in the east wing with the servants.”
“It will do,” Mrs Canards sighed, as though greatly put out by being offered shelter in a storm, “After all, it’s only for one night.”
“I too shall retire,” Lord Delaney said, though he addressed himself mostly to Eudora rather than the other guests, “It has been a most charming evening.”
As the door closed behind him, Eudora sensed that her family was about to share their unsolicited opinions regarding Lord Delaney with her. She caught sight of Mrs Mifford sitting, quite literally, at the edge of her seat and decided that she too was ready for bed.
“It’s been a wonderful evening, Jane,” she said firmly as she made for the door, “You’re quite the accomplished hostess. Honestly, I can’t imagine anything spoiling the week - not even a little snow!”
Unfortunately, the next morning, Eudora was to be proved very wrong - very wrong indeed.
As she finished dressing, a shrill scream ripped through the quiet of the first floor. Eudora hastily finished buttoning her dress and ran for the door, seeking to find the source of the screams. In the dark, wood-paneled corridor, she discovered a young chambermaid wailing and sobbing.
“It’s the viscount,” the maid cried, when she spotted Eudora, “He’s been murdered!”
CHAPTER FOUR
TWO SURPRISES AWAITEDRobert when he awoke the next morning.
The first was rather pleasant; at least four feet of snow had fallen the night before, cloaking the estate in a thick, white blanket.
The second surprise was somewhat less pleasant.
As Higgins, his valet, assisted him with the end of his toilette, a shrill cry broke the stillness of the morning.
“Lud, what’s that?” Robert wondered as the cry turned into a continuous shriek.
He wiped the remaining foam from his chin and ventured out into the hallway, where he found Miss Mifford comforting a stricken chambermaid.
“It’s Lord Albermay,” she said, turning her brown eyes his way, “Katie here says that he’s been murdered.”
“Murdered?” Rob echoed, too stunned to do anything else but parrot her.
“Apparently,” she replied, nodding at an open door down the corridor, “Would you mind double-checking?”
If the chambermaid was speaking the truth, then this would be the second dead body that Miss Mifford had forced him to view in less than twenty-four hours, Rob thought wryly. Life would be easier if he had taken a fancy to a lass interested in embroidery rather than murder. He approached the door with reluctance and no little trepidation. As Rob crossed thethreshold into the viscount’s room, he immediately saw that the girl had been correct in her assessment of Lord Albermay’s state.
The viscount lay slumped over his bed with a kitchen knife sticking from his neck, very definitely dead.
Robert stepped forward, both transfixed and repulsed by the scene before him. Lord Albermay wore a crimson silk banyan, which disguised the worst of the blood stains, but the blood had seeped across the pale blue bed covers, staining them black.
He glanced at the knife, wondering if it might give a clue about its owner, but it appeared to be a nondescript kitchen knife. Rob cast his eyes about, to see if the perpetrator had left any other clues - like a note outlining who they were and why they’d felt the need to murder the viscount. Alas, there was nothing to be seen.
He paused, wondering what his next move should be. Thankfully, Lady Albermay’s arrival removed the need for him to decide on a course of action. He felt far too nauseous to make any big decisions.
“What on earth is all that noise?” she called as she entered the room through a door Robert assumed led to her adjoining bed chamber.
“Oh,” she said, coming to an abrupt halt as she absorbed the scene before her, “Oh, dear. How unfortunate, you’ll never get those stains out of the bedsheets.”
She glanced at Robert, who - being a man and a titled one at that - had not even considered the bedsheets and the job of washing them.
“Perhaps,” she continued, her face deathly pale, “A bit of lye and a lot of elbow grease might fix it.”
“Perhaps,” Robert agreed seriously, as though he would undertake the task himself. “Er, would you like to sit down, my lady? You’re looking rather pale.”
