Page 54 of A Body, A Baron, and Miss Mifford
“I am not going out on a limb by suggesting it, Miss Charlotte,” Ivo replied with great patience. “Throughout the day, information came to light which suggested that Mable’s disappearance was self-inflicted.”
“What sort of information?” Mr Lowell asked before catching himself, “Beg your pardon, my lord. My curiosity made me forget my manners.”
Every lady in the room cast the handsome industrialist a look of admiration for his endearing humility. Highfield, Eudora noted with a smile, was not as admiring. In fact, Eudora thought she spotted him mouth ‘fishing for gossip’ behind his hand to Lord Delaney, though she couldn’t be certain.
“I’m afraid that I cannot share the details,” Ivo answered, his tone apologetic, “But suffice to say that I am wholly convinced of their truth.”
“I missed that,” Lord Percival lowered his ivory ear-trumpet so he could loudly ask Cecilia, “Who did he say the maid was tupping?”
“Hush, Wilbert,” Cecilia scolded before rolling her eyes at Northcott’s scandalised expression, “Baby George is in bed, dear. You needn’t worry that he’ll overhear and be corrupted—I know your feelings regarding my bad influence.”
Cecilia’s final remark was accompanied by a definite sniff of annoyance, and —in case anyone was uncertain of her feelings—she folded her arms across her chest and glared at her son.
“Really, mother,” Northcott flushed, “I am not that overbearing about his welfare. All I said was that I do not think it wise for Baby George to accompany you on your travels to India.”
“You want to take him to India?” Mary squeaked, staring in horror at her mother-in-law
“You’re leaving?” Mrs Mifford interrupted, barely able to conceal her glee.
Eudora felt a pang of pity for Jane, who held a tired hand to her brow. All poor Jane had wished for was the disastrous house party to end calmly, with a quiet evening of tea and chit-chat. Now, even that seemed likely to descend into chaos.
“Has anyone else made plans to depart tomorrow, or is it just Mr Lowell who will be leaving us?” Eudora asked the room, her voice so loud that every head turned to look at her.
So loud was her voice that even Mary and Mrs Mifford were stunned into silence by her slightly hysterical-sounding outburst.
“I may wait another day or so,” Lord Delaney answered, gallantly coming to her rescue, “The thaw was so great today that I believe the snow will be entirely melted by Sunday. Henchley, the groundskeeper, reckons the wind has taken a westerly turn.”
Eudora breathed a sigh of relief as, one by one, the guests latched on to the quintessentially English topic of weather. Small talk resumed in earnest, and Jane offered Eudora an appreciative look, which cheered Eudora.
She may not have as many accomplishments as her sisters, but she never let them down when they needed her.
The rest of the evening passed without incident. Mrs Canards and Mrs Wickling were the first to leave, muttering vaguely about plans to trek back to the village the following afternoon.
It was only after they had left that Eudora allowed the exhaustion that had followed her all evening to take hold.
She bid everyone good night and made for her room, glad for a few moments alone.
Lady Albermay was at the forefront of her mind as she made her way up the stairs. Would Ivo confront her tonight with his suspicions that it was she who had murdered her husband?
Despite all the evidence pointing to the contrary, Eudora could still not believe that her friend was capable of murder. Oh, she well believed that the late Lord Albermay was a murderable sort of man, but Eudora was unable to attribute his violent end to her friend.
Despite having left the drawing room due to exhaustion, when Eudora reached her room, she realised that there was little chance that she would fall asleep before midnight.
Restless and agitated, she paced the rug before the fireplace, ruminating over every clue. She had just thrown herself, face-first, onto the bed and was about to give a howl of frustration when a knock came upon the door.
“Beg pardon, Miss Mifford,” the chambermaid said as she scampered into the room, “I’m sorry to interrupt. I was tasked with laundering the dresses you borrowed from my mistress, and I’m afraid I’m having the devil of a time trying to remove one particular stain. I just thought if I knew what it was, that I might have a better chance at lifting it. I wouldn’t want the mistress to be upset with you.”
Eudora stilled as she stared at the dress that was folded over the maid’s arm. It was the dress she had worn the night before, when Lord Delaney had pushed her against the mahogany paneled wall to kiss her. The back of the gown was covered in what might look—to the unassuming eye—like blood stains.
“It wasn’t her,” Eudora whispered, much to the maid’s amusement.
“I know it wasn’t my lady who made the stains,” the girl chuckled, “That’s why I’m asking you. I’ve tried it with lye and elbow grease, but whatever it is just won’t lift.”
“May I?” Eudora leaped from the bed to take the gown from the bemused girl.
“Be my guest,” she said, with a bobbed curtsy. "I hope you make a better fist of it than I did. And, you left your handkerchief in the pocket, I’ll leave it on your bureau.”
Eudora nodded dumbly in response, her attention fixed on the gown. Whatever varnish had been used to stain the panelling in the hallway had obviously come away on the dress. Her mind raced; the night she had overheard Lady Albermay and the captain arguing, the captain said they should ‘tell the truth’.
