Page 44 of A Body, A Baron, and Miss Mifford
“It’s not entirely their fault,” Flora whispered, as she wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand, “Mable has been filling their heads with tales since I caught her—”
Rob bit back a groan as Flora trailed off just as she had gotten to the good part.
“Caught her what, Flora?” Eudora prompted, “You must tell us, even if it gets Mable into trouble. Her life may be at stake.”
Flora nodded, turning her eyes to the dried herbs and flowers hanging in bunches from the ceiling.
“The morning that Lord Albermay was discovered to have been murdered,” she began, “I came down here to fetch some chamomile powder to brew a tea for Lady Albermay.”
Flora gestured her arms wide to indicate that by “here”, she meant the still room.
“Barring me, the only other people who come in here are Mr Allen or the mistress herself,” she continued, “But that morning, I opened the door and found Mable helping herself to a bottle of oil of pennyroyal.”
Eudora’s face remained so blank at this revelation, that Flora was forced to turn her eyes to Rob to make certain that someone understood the implications of what she had said.
He gave a slight nod to indicate he knew what the herb could be used for.
“She told me that if I told anyone what I’d seen, she’d tell them that I had advised her to take it,” Flora finished, her tone glum, “Then, even when I kept my counsel, she set about telling everyone I was a witch.”
“Oh, that awful girl,” Eudora exclaimed, her choice of words far gentler than those Rob would have employed.
“Rest assured, Miss Bridges,” Rob added, in a manner he hoped would reassure, “If Mable attempts to sully your name when she is found, she will have me to deal with.”
Flora and Eudora cast Rob glances of such admiration that he rather rued not saying something more heroic. No one liked a popinjay, Rob reasoned, and brevity was always weightier than verbosity in his mind. He had also—very sincerely—meant what he had said; from what Flora had told them, it was Mable who was the witch of the tale. When the girl turned up—and Rob was confident she would—if she even attempted to cast aspersions on Flora’s character, she would feel Rob’s wrath.
“Why don’t you take the morning off, Flora?” Eudora suggested, “I can tell Jane that you need a rest.”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that, Miss,” Flora protested, leaping to her feet, “Not when we’re down a pair of hands. Besides, I’d ratherkeep busy to distract my mind. Now, if that’s all you’ll be needing from me, Miss and m’lord?”
“That’s all,” Rob answered, “Thank you very much for your help, Miss Bridges.”
Flora gave a small bob and scurried from the room. As the door shut behind her, Eudora turned to face him.
“How was what she said helpful?” she queried, her brow creased in confusion, “Apart from revealing Mable to be something of a bully.”
Rob stiffened, a little embarrassed—not by her nativity, but rather by the subject matter.
“Pennyroyal is sometimes used by women who…,” he paused, wondering how to word such a delicate matter, “It can be used by women who have had relations with a gentleman but do not wish to carry said gentleman’s offspring.”
He felt rather pleased with this explanation of the uses of pennyroyal, though it still caused Eudora to blush beet red.
“It has other uses too,” he added, to distract her, “It’s usually used for ailments like…”
Rob paused; he had jumped from the proverbial frying pan straight into the fire.
“…Menstrual cramps.”
“Oh, I see,” Eudora nodded, averting her eyes from his, “And what makes you think that Mable was using it for the—eh—former, rather than the—um—latter?”
“The subterfuge on Mable’s part,” he replied, glad to be on steadier ground, “Her slandering of Flora to the other staff. Besides, I am certain that there is a difference in dosage if one is treating one ailment rather than the other—and that is why she had to steal it.”
“Of course,” Eudora nodded in agreement, though her cheeks were still pink. “Do you really think that Mable willturn up soon? What makes you so certain that she hasn’t been harmed somehow?”
“The dead rabbit,” Rob replied, his tone grim, “I’d wager that Mable used its blood to create her ‘murder scene’ but was so taken with malice that instead of disposing of it, she used its corpse to incriminate Flora. Silly chit, she served only to incriminate herself.”
Eudora again cast him a look of such admiration that Rob was certain his head was visibly swelling.
“How clever you are,” she said with a shy smile, “I would never have thought of that.”
