Page 32 of A Victim, A Viscount, And Miss Mifford
"Good afternoon," he called, as he approached.
Flora turned her face at the sound of his voice, and offered him a shy smile.
"Good afternoon, my lord," she replied, standing to her feet, "Cook sent me out to pick some chard for her soup, but I'm afraid I became distracted."
Hesitantly, she opened her hands, so that Ivo might see what she held so carefully.
"I think he must have flown into the glasshouse and become stunned," Flora said, as she looked down at the redwing in her hands, "I shouldn't like to leave him here, or one of the cats might decide to have him for their lunch."
"Will you bring him back to the house?" Ivo asked, finding himself concerned for the fate of the little bird she held in her hands.
"Mr Harold will look after him for me," Flora replied, shyly, "That is if your lordship does not mind me taking a few minutes away from my work?"
"Lead the way," Ivo answered, with a smile, "I was of a mind to call on Harold and see how he is faring in his retirement."
And so, Flora led Ivo from the kitchen gardens to Mr Harold's cottage. They passed through a gate, which led to the informal gardens, then from there they crossed a field filled with grazing sheep, until they reached the old valet's humble abode.
Mr Harold's new home was a small, yellow-brick cottage, which overlooked the river. Rosebushes—now merely a mass of twigs and thorns—grew at the front door, which was painted a cheerful red. It was not at all grand, but it was cosy; the perfect place for a man to live out his retirement.
The valet was quick to answer Flora's knock and as he opened the door, Ivo marvelled at how healthy he looked in comparison to the last time that Ivo had seen him. Retirement clearly suited Mr Harold, but perhaps that was not surprising, given his age.
"Have you brought me another wounded bird, Miss Bridges?" Harold chuckled, as he smiled down at Flora, "You'll be bringing me spiders to care for next—oh, my lord, I did not see you there."
"Afternoon, Mr Harold," Ivo said, offering a smile in the hope that it might ease the man's sudden nervousness. "I chanced across Miss Bridges in the garden and when she said that she was on her way to see you, I asked to tag along. I hope I'm not an imposition?"
His humble words set Harold at ease.
"You could never be an imposition, my lord," the elderly man assured him, "May I offer you tea? Had I known you were coming I would have purchased some sweetmeats in the village."
"Tea is more than enough," Ivo answered, as the valet ushered he and Flora inside.
Harold brought them into a small parlour room, complete with chintz furniture and a merry fire. He begged leave to go make the pair tea, but Flora insisted she had to return to the Hall before she was missed, and Ivo refused on the grounds that he would soon be returning home.
"I think he is stunned," Flora proffered the bird toward Mr Harold, "A rest might be all he needs."
"Aye," Mr Harold answered, as he peered at the poor bird, "You're right, she is stunned. You can tell she's a female because her plumage is so plain, the males are more showy."
"Males always are," Flora sniffed, "What shall I do with her?"
"Pop her in the kindling basket for now," Harold waved a hand to the basket beside the fireplace, "I shall bring her outside in an hour or two."
Flora followed his instructions, then, when she was done, bid both Mr Harold and Ivo a quick goodbye.
"I shall be accused of dallying," she fretted, as she made for the door.
"If anyone seeks to reprimand you, you may inform them that I had urgent business I required your assistance with," Ivo offered gallantly, earning himself a smile of thanks from the maid.
Once she had left, Mr Harold began making noises again about tea, and Ivo reluctantly agreed to a cup. Though his title afforded him the right to be waited on hand and foot by others, Ivo could not quite make himself comfortable with the idea of an nonagenarian bringing him refreshments, when by rights, it should be the other way around.
Mr Harold returned, a few minutes later, with two cups of weak tea and a slice of slightly stale rout-cake for Ivo.
"Delicious," Ivo fibbed, as he took a bite of the cake, "Tell me, Harold, how have you been faring since you left the Hall?"
"I've been very well, my lord, thank you for asking," Harold replied, before launching into the detail of how he now spent his days. His itinerary included a lot of sitting and reading, accompanied by occasional forays into the village for a visit to the Ring'O'Bells.
"Then," Mr Harold finished, "I am kept busy around the house; always something to do. Miss Bridges has a knack for finding wounded animals—birds with broken wings, hares with thorns stuck between their paws."
"Never a dull moment," Ivo opined, "Tell me, what do you know of Miss Bridges? I am aware that it is she who brewed the tonics for Lord Crabb—do you think it is in any way possible that she might have been persuaded into poisoning him? Perhaps by a gentleman friend?"
