Page 16 of A Victim, A Viscount, And Miss Mifford
"I will not have you scrubbing pots and pans under my roof," Ivo assured the man, "I will see to it that you have your full pension, Mr Harold, and a house on the estate for you to live in."
For a moment, Ivo feared that his words had brought about an apoplectic fit in poor Mr Harold, for his face turned pale, and his mouth opened and closed repeatedly like a fish. After a moment, however, he righted himself.
"Thank you, my lord," the valet said, his knees wobbling precariously from the shock of it, "How can I thank you?"
"I need not be thanked," Ivo replied, "It is your due. Now, go and rest up, Mr Harold; you have had a trying morning."
Mr Harold shuffled slowly away, and as the door closed behind him, Ivo let out a weary sigh.
"If Lord Crabb had taken away his pension last week, Mr Harold would be suspect number one," Ivo commented to Newman.
"I think he's too soft for murder, my lord," the valet replied with a wan smile, "Though, if the viscount took away Mr Harold's pension on a whim, who's to say he did not take away someone else's more recently?"
"That's true," Ivo was cheered by this idea, "Perhaps we should interrogate some of the staff?"
Newman's silence—as well as his pained expression—spoke volumes. Ivo narrowed his eyes suspiciously, and the valet flushed.
"If I may, my lord," Newman said, before carrying on regardless, "You have inherited a house full of staff who think you murdered their previous master. I rather think you might handle them all with kid-gloves for a day or two, before you begin your—ah—inquisition."
"Wise words," Ivo agreed; while he was not overly concerned with being liked, he did not want to be feared by anyone. "What do you suggest?"
"Allen is gathering them all in the entrance hall," Newman replied, "To share the bad news. Perhaps you might offer them the morning off, so that they might have time to—ahem—mourn the passing of Lord Crabb."
"Capital idea," Ivo agreed, and he followed Newman from Lord Crabb's bedchamber to the entrance hall.
There, he found his staff—a smaller number than he had expected for a house so large—gathered together by the doorway. A whisper went up as Ivo approached, and several maids glanced at him fearfully—though, an equal number of male servants offered him warm, almost congratulatory, smiles.
"Allen," Ivo addressed the butler, who was standing, stoop-shouldered, before his retinue of staff, "I believe you have shared the news of Lord Crabb's unfortunate passing?"
The butler nodded that he had, and Ivo gave a tight smile.
"My thanks, for your assistance. I shall take over from here" he said to the butler, before turning his attention to the crowd, "I am certain that all of you are upset by the news of Lord Crabb's demise. I urge you all to take the morning off to gather your thoughts and mourn him as you wish."
"If I've a morning off, I wish to spend it in the pub, not blubbering over that miserable sod," a voice whispered, though unluckily the muted aside echoed in the cavernous entrance hall.
Ivo feigned an acute case of deafness, though from the corner of his eye he made note of who had spoken, just in case. He then offered the gathered servants what he hoped to be a sympathetic smile before he continued.
"I want you all to be assured that nothing shall change regarding your employment here," he said, and one or two maids gave audible sighs of relief, "Off you go then; Mr Allen will let you know when you need to return."
"By five bells," the butler interjected, with a stern glance all round, "And not a moment later."
The staff all nodded to let him know that they had heard, before they fled, en masse, for the door. Though they were silent and outwardly respectful, there was an air of palpable excitement in their movement.
"That went well," Ivo sighed happily, though Allen gave him a dour glance in return.
"Yes," the butler sounded almost waspish, "You have sent your entire staff down to the village to let the locals know of Lord Crabb's death before you have even informed his betrothed."
"Lud," Ivo thwacked his head; he had not thought of Miss Hughes once since he had learned of Lord Crabb's death. She would have to be told—quickly and by Ivo himself.
"I will go and tell her at once," Ivo decided aloud, "In what direction does she live?"
"Hillside House; take the road to Bath, and just after you pass the Church of St Mary, there is a crossroads. Take the right and you will spot the gates of the house soon enough."
"Thank you, Allen," Ivo replied. He was just about to dash upstairs to fetch a coat, when something popped into his head. "Ah, I recall that Lord Crabb asked you to send a message to his solicitor to call today. If he arrives while I am out, please ask him to wait for me."
Allen blinked slowly, as though trying to recall the events of yesterday. Ivo did not blame him his forgetfulness; at his age—and given the shock of losing Lord Crabb, after decades of service to him—it was a wonder that the man was still standing.
"Of course, Mr Bon—I mean—my lord," Allen smiled thinly, "I shall inform him when he calls."
