Page 20 of A Body, A Baron, and Miss Mifford
“Nothing, my lord,” Higgins assured him, taking the blade and handing Rob a warm towel.
Rob wiped away the excess foam from his chin, and Higgins gave a discreet sigh of worry. He wanted, Rob realised, to be pressed on the matter again - perhaps it was some silly valet ritual where one couldn’t answer on the first attempt.
“I shan’t ask you a third time,” Rob cautioned him, lest he attempt to evade his question again, “What’s the matter?”
Higgins sighed again, though this time it sounded apologetic.
“I do hate to burden you with this, my lord,” he began, so that Rob understood clearly that if he was upset by what heheard, it was his own fault, “But I have learned something which makes me wonder if Lord Albermay’s son is the true culprit.”
Rob blinked; he had not suspected that, along with the Mifford sisters, Northcott, and Lord Crabb, another sleuth lurked in their midst. It was a wonder the murder hadn’t been solved before luncheon, such was the number of people investigating it.
“What did you learn,” he pressed, tossing the towel he held aside, “And how?”
Higgins squirmed uncomfortably before- haltingly- he began to tell his tale. “During my stay here, I have become acquainted with Lady Albermay’s lady’s maid,” he said, earning himself a raised brow from Rob.
“All completely appropriate,” Higgins clarified, with a haughty sniff, “We were seated together at the servants’ table for meals and struck up a friendship given our shared positions of importance.”
“Of course,” Rob hastily assured him; Higgins was a stickler for manners, rules, and etiquette, far more so than Rob, “You are the epitome of chivalry, my good man. I didn’t mean to cast aspersions; I was simply wondering if a wedding was on the cards.”
“I am married to my duties, my lord,” Higgins replied, his tone more than a little dry.
“Your duties won’t warm your bed,” Rob jested, earning himself another pained look from his long-suffering valet. Rob supposed he’d much prefer to attend to a gentleman with more grace than he - not that he could blame him. Rob was hardly a Corinthian, and despite being surrounded by women all his life, his manners were still a little rough around the edges.
“Er, as you were saying?” Rob prompted, clearing his throat awkwardly.
“After the fracas had died down this morning and the footmen had removed the body,” Higgins continued, his tone troubled, “I passed by Lady Albermay’s suite. The door was ajar, and I could hear Miss Reid - her ladyship’s maid - fretting within. Naturally, as I was concerned for her wellness, I knocked.”
“Of course,” Rob said solemnly as Higgins waited for his reaction. Assured that he would not be accused of any impropriety, Higgins continued.
“Miss Reid ushered me inside; she was quite overwrought,” the valet continued, “When I asked if her upset was on account of Lord Albermay’s unfortunate passing, she said that it was and led me to the adjacent dressing room. There, she showed me the dress Lady Albermay had worn the night before; it was sodden, as though hand washed, but even washing had not removed all of the rust-coloured stains from it.”
“Blood?” Rob gasped, truly shocked.
“I would not like to speculate,” Higgins cleared his throat, “I suppose there are many ways a lady might stain her dress on her way from the drawing room to the bedroom.”
“Not in my mind,” Rob snorted, “Have you told anyone else?”
“No,” Higgins admitted, his eyes wary, “And as Miss Reid shared her suspicions with me in confidence, might I request that you tread carefully before accusing her ladyship of murder? As you said, Lord Albermay is the most likely suspect in the death of his father.”
“And the dress?” Robert asked, thinking that if Lady Albermay was the murderess it could be used to shock a confession from her.
“I suggested a mix of two parts bicarbonate of soda and one part white wine,” Higgins admitted, “A concoction I devised for the frequent grass stains you accumulate whilst riding.”
Rob nodded silently, his mind a million miles away from grass stains. His toilette now complete, Higgins began helping him dress into fresh clothes for dinner. As he shrugged his shirt over his head, Rob thought about Lady Albermay.
He had conversed with her only briefly during the previous season in town and not at all during the house party, yet from what he knew of her, she did not seem the type to carry out murder. Yes, she was a little louder than most English ladies, in both manner and dress, but just because she did not conform to the rules of English society did not make her a murderess.
“The green or the blue?” Higgins asked, interrupting Rob’s thoughts. He held two waistcoats up for inspection, each as adequate in Rob’s mind as the other.
“The blue?” he suggested, earning himself an almost imperceptible frown from his valet.
“Not the blue,” Rob guessed, “It will not match with the jacket we have chosen.”
“Well, I didn’t want to say,” Higgins demurred as he quickly stored the offending blue waistcoat away.
“You didn’t need to,” Rob jested; just as the valet knew his every thought, so too did Rob know his.
Rob endured a few minutes more fussing as he waited for his cravat to be tied into an elaborate knot. Once that was done, he donned his dinner jacket and declared himself ready.
