Page 5 of A Body, A Baron, and Miss Mifford
“Forgive me,” he said before she could offer the retort she so obviously wished to voice, “I am merely shocked; I think I meant to say, can you please repeat yourself?”
Miss Mifford sighed impatiently before repeating what she had first told him.
“I found a body, a dead one,” she said, speaking slowly, as though to a child, “On the path which leads down to the river walk. Come see.”
She took off quickly, disappearing back into the bushes, leaving Robert with little option but to follow.
You did want some alone time with the girl, he thought wryly as he pushed his way through the thorny briars.
“There he is,” Miss Mifford whispered, pointing to the body of what looked to be an elderly gentleman sprawled face-down on the ground.
Robert shivered a little, for it was obvious the chap was dead, until he recalled that, as he was the gentleman in this scenario, he was supposed act somewhat gallantly.
“Do not look, Miss Mifford,” he declared, stepping forward to shield her from the unsightly view. “I shall take care of matters from here.”
To Robert’s surprise, his words of assurance were met with an impatient sigh from his damsel in distress.
“I have already seen him, my lord,” Miss Mifford huffed as she edged past him towards the body. She peered down at the poor man, her upturned nose scrunched in concentration.
“Do you think he died of natural causes?” she queried, turning her warm brown eyes his way.
Robert, who had not thought anything at all about the dead man, gave a shrug. “Hard to tell,” he ventured, “What with him being face down.”
Miss Mifford nodded seriously, as though he had said something terribly clever. Robert felt a vague pang of pride, until his companion spoke again.
“Should we turn him to see?” Miss Mifford asked, sounding deadly serious.
It was all too much for Robert, who decided that she must be suffering from acute shock, for that was the only thing he could think of to explain such an unusual suggestion.
“No, we shall not,” he replied firmly. "We shall fetch the doctor and the constable and allow them to investigate matters. Come, I will take you to the village.”
“We can’t leave him unattended,” Miss Mifford objected, “What if someone else stumbles across him? Or if a badger or a deer decide that he looks like a tasty snack?”
“Badgers are nocturnal,” Robert advised her, “And, as far as I’m aware, deer are not terribly partial to meat.”
“Someone might stumble across him, though,” came the swift rebuttal, “After all, I did. I will stay to stand guard, and you will go fetch the constable, Mr Marrowbone, and Dr Bates. You’ll likely find both in The Ring’O’Bells pub in the village.”
“I am not quite sure that leaving you standing guard over a dead body is the correct etiquette in this scenario,” Robert grumbled, though he already knew from Miss Mifford’s tone that she would not budge.
“The Mirror of Gracesneglected to include a chapter on the correct decorum for when one stumbles across a corpse, so we might be forgiven for our transgression,” Miss Mifford answered, a glint of amusement in her eyes as she referenced the famed book on manners. “Now go; the sooner you leave, the sooner you return.”
Robert sighed but dutifully complied with her wishes. As a brother of four spirited sisters, he was well aware when he had lost an argument with a lady.
Robert returned to find his stallion, Jupiter, grazing on the hedgerow, completely oblivious to the drama unfolding a few feet away. He mounted the saddle with ease, then took off in the direction of Plumpton at a quick gallop.
The village was typical of most Costwolds’ parishes; occasional honey-bricked cottages with thatched roofs lined his path until he crossed a low, stone bridge to the village proper. Here, the shops sported mullioned windows which looked outonto the village green, which no doubt hosted farmers’ marts and church fetes. It was all terribly quaint and pastoral - a village in which any man would be happy to make a life for himself.
Robert continued at a canter until he sighted the sign for the pub. The windows were warm and inviting - so much so that Robert was half-tempted to order a pint while searching for the constable.
Inside the pub, he found several gentlemen seated at the bar nursing tankards of ale. Behind the wooden counter stood a gentleman with an impressive white beard, who eyed Rob warily as he entered.
“Aye?” he called, adding a nod to soften his wary greeting.
“I need the village constable,” Robert said officiously. "I was told that I might find him here.”
“And who might you be?”
This question came from one of the men at the bar, who were all staring at Rob curiously - apart from one gentleman, who slid from his seat and made for the door.
