Page 17 of A Victim, A Viscount, And Miss Mifford
With that, Allen took off, at a remarkable speed for a man of his age, and Ivo raced up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time, in a race to reach Miss Hughes before anyone else did.
Informing Miss Hughes of Lord Crabb's passing had been far more difficult than Ivo had assumed it would be. Miss Hughes had been genuinely distraught to learn the news; her face had paled, her lip had shaken, and she had dissolved into a puddle of hysterical sobs on the floor of the drawing room of Hillside House.
It had, Ivo thought with slight shock, been a genuine show of emotion on Miss Hughes' part. Having been assured by Sir Charles that he would attend to "Prunie", as he so affectionately called her, Ivo had made the return journey to Plumpton Hall with a sense of guilt in his belly.
He had misjudged Miss Hughes, he thought, as he returned Midnight, his Arab hot-blood, to the comfort of the stables. He had thought that she was marrying Lord Crabb only for his title, and though he still thought this to be the case, it was obvious that she was not the unfeeling chit Ivo had initially thought her to be. Though not in passionate love, Miss Hughes had obviously been fond of Lord Crabb.
Ivo cleaned his boots on the wrought-iron boot scraper before entering Plumpton Hall. The door pushed open to reveal the entrance hall empty, save one lone figure pacing the floor by the empty fireplace.
"Ah," the man—whose diminutive stature was only emphasised by the cathedral height ceilings—looked up as he heard the door open, "You must be Mr Bonville?"
"Yes," Ivo began, but the man interrupted.
"Forgive me," he said, patting his hair—styled to conceal a bald pate—nervously, "I mean, the former Mr Bonville and current Lord Crabb. Most pleased to meet you, my lord, I am Mr Just."
"The solicitor?" Ivo clarified.
"Guilty," Mr Just tittered at his own wit, before clearing his throat to continue speaking, "I believe you wished to meet with me? I do not have the late viscount's will with me—nor is it customary to read a will before the burial—but I gather you just wish to discuss matters, as they stand?"
"Yes," Ivo nodded, "Perhaps we can talk over a drink?"
"His Lordship kept a fine stock of brandy in his library," Mr Just answered, with a twinkle in his eye, "I have long admired them, but never had the chance to sample one..."
"Well, we must remedy that at once," Ivo grinned, "There is no greater sin in my mind, than a fine cognac left uncorked. Lead the way, Mr Just, for I have no idea in which direction the library lies."
Mr Just beamed with pleasure, his allegiance easily won, and led Ivo through the warren of corridors to Lord Crabb's library. Like the rest of the house, the room was frightfully cold, but Ivo and Mr Just soon warmed up after sampling some of Lord Crabb's collection of spirits.
Ivo began his questioning gently, enquiring if there was anything which needed his immediate attention—outstanding debts, unknown dependents, staff who might need paying.
"Lord Crabb was parsimonious to a fault," Mr Just replied, looking a little uncomfortable, "He did not spend enough to run up debts. I'm afraid, however, that when you meet with your estate manager, you might find the bills soon stacking up. There is much work to be done, to bring the lands up to modern standards."
"I am happy to spend it," Ivo assured the solicitor, who looked much relieved.
"The only thing which you might immediately consider," Mr Just continued, looking at the glass in his hands rather than at Ivo, "Is the expected expense of landscaping the gardens. The contract is not yet written or signed, and I do believe it was Miss Hughes, rather than his lordship, who was so insistent that the work be carried out..."
Mr Just trailed off, looking most uncomfortable. He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket to mop his brow with a handkerchief, before he finally met Ivo's gaze.
"The payment for the work and design is expected to run into the high hundreds—perhaps even more than a thousand—pounds," Mr Just finished, his cheeks pink, "I feel I must warn you, my lord, that the goodwill of your tenants will not last, if they hear that such an expense has been paid on mere gardens, when their own farms are in dire need of investment."
"I thank you for your honesty, Mr Just," Ivo raised his glass to the solicitor, "You might inform Mr Adonis that his services are no longer required, and I shall see that he is paid what he is owed."
"Very good, my lord," Mr Just looked most relieved to hear this.
With that matter settled, Ivo began to gently probe the solicitor on Lord Crabb's treatment of his staff. He outlined the tale of poor Mr Harold—which Mr Just agreed was a "wretched" business—and wondered aloud if any other of the viscount's staff had merited a similar punishment.
"In the old days, yes," Mr Just sighed, unhappily, "But in recent years Lord Crabb was more careful with his spite; good staff are hard to find, and harder to hold on to."
"So, he made no recent, dramatic changes to his will?" Ivo pressed, and the solicitor grinned, perfectly aware of what he was about.
"No," Mr Just shook his head, "Nobody was written out of Lord Crabb's will of late. I am afraid, that if you are looking for a culprit, that you may have to look outside of Plumpton Hall."
"There are as many suspects outside these walls as inside, I am sure," Ivo sighed, his mind casting back to the previous night, and the angry Mr Bennett.
The two men discussed matters for a while longer, before Mr Just declared that he should take his leave.
"I am sure you are busy making arrangements for the funeral," the solicitor said, as he donned his gloves, "Mr Mifford is the obliging sort; he will offer you guidance if you need it."
"Mr Mifford?" Ivo stilled, as an image of Miss Mifford with her hair loose around her shoulders popped into his mind.
