Page 31 of A Victim, A Viscount, And Miss Mifford
"Of course, my lord," the footman nodded, a little uncertain but eager to help.
"I am of a mind to purchase a new chandelier for the entrance hall," Ivo began, before proceeding to detail a completely unsuitable plan for overhauling the lighting in the entrance hall.
"I wish to know your opinion on the matter, James," Ivo finished, his tone modest, "Before I part with any money. As the gentleman in charge of cleaning said chandeliers, I believe you would have a better insight than I into the plan's feasibility."
"If you'll forgive me for saying, my lord," James answered, hesitant to contradict Ivo, but not wishing him to lose money, "It does not sound like your plan will work. The modern crystal chandeliers are much prettier, to tell the truth, but they're heavier too. You could not just change the ones you have there for the newer ones, you would have to change the ceilings as well as the levers and pulleys to lower it. T'would involve ripping out the wood panelling and having the whole thing plastered over and reinforced to support their weight."
"And if I have to replace the ceilings, I suppose I would have to redecorate the whole entrance hall," Ivo mused, "Thank you, James, your help has been invaluable."
Just as Ivo had hoped, the footman was tickled pink at the compliment. Gaining trust was always difficult, but even more so with one's staff, who were naturally wary of their master.
"You have saved me from losing money," Ivo continued, hoping he was not laying it on too thick, "And earning Mr Allen's ire in the process."
James gave a frown at the mention of the butler's name.
"He's very particular about the house, my lord," the footman agreed, with a roll of his eyes, "And you don't want to be on the receiving end of his temper, or you'll end up in here beside me, polishing the silverware."
"Ah," Ivo could not have hoped for a better response, "Has Mr Allen been wielding the stick with you of late?"
The footman gave a sigh of the long suffering and nodded his head.
"I don't know what I did to deserve it, my lord," he said, happy to plead his case while he could, "But ever since I mentioned to the late Lord Crabb that the portrait in the parlour room was missing, Mr Allen's had it in for me. Told me I was on probation and to watch myself; he wouldn't even let me have the morning off when the viscount died, sent me on an errand to fetch Mr Just."
Ivo stilled at this news; to the best of his knowledge, Mr Just had already been asked to call that morning by the late Lord Crabb. Ivo had been there when Mr Allen and the viscount had argued over the latter failing to ask the solicitor to stay on after the marriage contract talks with Sir Charles had ended.
"Perhaps Mr Allen was simply upset at Lord Crabb's death," Ivo ventured, "They were very close, were they not?"
"Hardly," the footman snorted, "Why, a few nights before his death, they had an almighty row in the library."
"How awful," Ivo sympathised. Outwardly he feigned mild interest, while inside he longed to take James by the shoulders and shake him until he told him everything he knew.
"I'll say," James looked aggrieved, "I was in the library's antechamber, moving the furniture so the maid could wax the floor. I couldn't very well walk out into the middle of an argument, so I was stuck in there for an hour."
"Truly awful," Ivo tried to fight against smiling at the lad's self-centred view of things, "Did you happen to catch what the argument was about?"
"Something about Mr Allen crossing the line," the footman shrugged, "Lord Crabb was threatening to cut his pension, but he was always threatening that, so I doubt Mr Allen paid any heed. It all blew over after a few minutes and by the time they both left, they were laughing about something or other."
Had it all blown over though? Ivo's mind was racing as he tried to imagine how the events of the past had played out. Had Lord Crabb decided to follow through on his threat to cut Allen's pension? If he had, and Allen was aware of it, then of course he would have failed to ask Mr Just to return, for what man would willingly summon the solicitor who was about to do him out of his retirement?
"Thank you, James," Ivo said, wishing to be alone so he could ponder what he had learned, "You have been most helpful."
"A pleasure, my lord," the footman replied cheerfully, "It's not often I'm asked my opinion on anything."
"Which portrait was it?" Ivo ventured before he left, "That went missing?"
"It was a painting of one of the viscountesses with the lazy eye," the footman answered, with a shrug, "No loss, if you ask me."
Ivo retreated from the decker's room to the library, where he sat down to muse over what James had told him. Mr Allen, by his account, did appear to be the most likely suspect. A likelihood, however, was not a certainty, and Ivo knew that he would have to have more proof before he could accuse the butler of anything. Besides, he rationalised, his own view toward Allen might be biased by his dislike of the man.
After attending to some correspondence, Ivo decided to take a walk around the grounds to clear his head. Though his mind had been occupied by estate business, it had still insisted on drifting toward solving the murder. Mr Allen was not the only suspect, there was also Flora to consider.
Ivo had not spent much time in the gardens of Plumpton Hall, so he enjoyed a quiet hour exploring its nooks and crannies. The layout of the garden had obviously not changed since the house's inception and was in keeping with the style of the seventeenth century . At the front, the long driveway was bordered by rigidly symmetrical topiary hedges, while to the rear the terrace led to a privy garden. This in turn led to a knot garden, where Ivo idly admired the intricate design of the hedges and herbs, which had been painstakingly tamed into submission. It struck him as rather mad for Lord Crabb to have wished to change it all for something new and modern, when what was already here was living history.
Off the knot garden, shielded from view by an ivy-covered wrought iron fence, lay the kitchen gardens. Here, the layout was similarly formal, though most of the beds were bare, given the time of year.
At the far corner of the garden, Ivo spotted one of the maids—with a wool shawl around her shoulders—hunched over one of the beds. Though she wore a mobcap and was some distance away, Ivo knew that it was Flora by her tiny stature.
Never one to turn down an opportunity when it was presented to him, Ivo sauntered over to her, the gravel beneath his Hessian boots, crunching as he went.
