Page 44 of A Death, A Duke, And Miss Mifford
"I shall look forward to it, Your Grace," Mary replied, as she accepted the candle back from him, "Safe home."
A mad urge came over Henry; the urge to barge upstairs to Mr and Mrs Mifford's bedchamber and inform them that he was taking their eldest daughter for his bride. They could ride to London overnight, secure a special license from the Archbishop, and be married by noon, he thought wildly. Mr Mifford might put up some sort of protest, but his wife would probably pack dry biscuits for their journey and wave them on their way.
However, as Henry had been busy thinking about acting, Miss Mifford had already acted.
"Goodnight, Your Grace," she whispered from the hallway she had stolen into, "Until tomorrow."
She shut the door, bringing Henry's fantasy to an end.
Henry stood staring at the closed door for a minute, a sense of disappointment replacing the wild urgency which had filled him.
"It's Henry," he whispered into the night air, "Call me Henry."
And then, when English sensibility took over him, Henry turned on his heel and left.
Chapter Eleven
Mary had never kept a secret from Jane in her life, but the next morning made her wonder if that was because Jane made it particularly difficult for one to keep secrets.
Mary arrived late to breakfast, still tired from staying up so late to wait for Northcott, and as she entered the dining room, Mary felt Jane's eyes upon her.
"Nora was down in the village this morning," Jane stated, as Mary slipped into the seat next to her, "She said that everyone is abuzz about the murders and that there will be a hearing in Stroud to see if Mr Fairweather should be sent to Bristol for trial."
"I know," Mary replied absently, as she reached for a bread roll.
"You know?" Jane raised an eyebrow with suspicion.
"I mean, I assumed as much," Mary corrected herself, inwardly cursing her stumble, "We knew that Northcott was going to the Fairweather farm, and suspected that he was guilty. It is only then natural that he should go to Stroud, for there are no jail cells here. That is what I meant, when I said that I knew."
After Mary had finished speaking, she realised the error of her ways. An impertinent question asked from sister to sister was usually answered with an equally impertinent answer--not a rambling explanation with far too much detail. It would have been far more believable had Mary simply huffed, in the pained voice of the eldest sister, "because I know".
Jane frowned thoughtfully in her direction, but Mary refused to blush. It was not that she did not want to share her secret with her sister--she wished she could shout it from the rooftop--but the morning after the night before, doubt had begun to set in.
Northcott's kiss had felt terribly romantic last night, but given time to think it over again--and again, and again--Mary had convinced herself that it was a mistake on the duke's part. He had done it on impulse, and had obviously regretted it, given his brusque manner afterwards.
Thus, Mary had no wish to tell her sister that Northcott had kissed her, for Jane would only become excited on her behalf. Leading both of them to be disappointed at the end of it all.
As Mary munched on her bread roll and sipped on her tea, her sisters continued discussing the murders. They were all in agreement that Mr Fairweather was an unpleasant sort, who had every look of a man capable of murder.
"Only God and the courts can decide on his guilt," Mr Mifford cautioned from behind his newspaper, but no one paid him any heed.
Except Mary.
Although she was the one who had drawn the connection between Mr Parsims, Monsieur Canet, and Mr Fairweather, she was beginning to doubt herself. Northcott's assertion that the farmer refused to confess to save his neck from a certain hanging held some gravitas, yet still Mary wondered.
Mrs Walker and Mrs Wickling had been relieved to finally share the secrets which had pressed on their souls for so long, but Mr Fairweather had not sought similar relief.
Though, it was also possible that a man capable of murder had no soul to feel pained by, Mary thought, and she pushed the thought away.
Once breakfast had ended, Mary pushed back her chair and announced her intention to take a walk to the village.
"Perhaps I will join you," Jane suggested, as she followed Mary from the dining room into the hall.
"Usually, I would love for you to accompany me, Jane," Mary replied, "But I am afraid that I need to go alone today--I am going to call on Mrs Walker."
In a whisper, Mary quickly explained that Mrs Walker and Monsieur Canet had secretly been engaged to marry.
"Northcott found this handkerchief in Monsieur's bedchamber," Mary continued, taking the item from her skirt for Jane to view, "And I wish to return it to Mrs Walker, for I'm certain it has great sentimental value to her."
