Page 3 of A Victim, A Viscount, And Miss Mifford
His sudden decision to marry again at the age of two-and-eighty had caused tremendous excitement in the village of Plumpton, which had only just calmed down following a terrible double-murder and the marriage of one of their own to a duke. Jane was reliably informed that the local tavern, The Ring'O'Bells, was running a book on when the marriage might produce an heir, though Nora had also informed her that a more popular bet was how long it would take Lord Crabb to expire after the wedding night.
Nora had whispered this with a giggle to Jane who had gamely laughed along, though in truth her position as the second of a vicar's four daughters meant that Jane was not entirely certain what the joke meant.
The path wound through a small copse of trees, before leading into Lower Plumpton. Here, Jane crossed a small bridge which divided Lower Plumpton from Upper, and followed the road up to the village square.
Despite the inclement weather—drizzle and grey skies—the square bustled with activity. Carts and carriages trundled along High Street, while villagers dashed in and out of the greengrocer, haberdasher, and—of course—the pub.
"Mornin', Miss Mifford," Mr Marrowbone, the local constable, called as he emerged from the raucous tavern in a state of high-excitement.
"Has something happened?" Jane asked, for the constable looked fit to burst. Perhaps there had been another murder, she thought nervously, though really that was a ridiculous idea—Plumpton was a sedate, Cotswolds' town. The murders which had happened earlier in the year had been an anomaly in Plumpton's long—dare one say dull?—history.
"Indeed it has," Mr Marrowbone tipped the brim of his hat as he pushed past her, "Angus has offered new odds on Lord Crabb's marriage—I must inform Dr Bates."
"A most urgent matter indeed," Jane opined, but she was speaking to thin air, for Mr Marrowbone had already scuttled away in search of the doctor.
It did not occur to Jane to connect the new bets on Lord Crabb's marriage to anything which might interest her, but when she returned to Primrose Cottage, she found her mama and sisters were as excitable as the constable had been.
"Jane," Mrs Mifford called, as she let herself in through the kitchen door, "There you are, come listen to what Nora has to say."
Mrs Mifford was seated at the kitchen table with Eudora and Emily, as well as Nora. All four were clutching cups of tea, while the three Mifford ladies gazed at Nora as though she were a divine oracle.
"I heard it from Mrs Mason in the greengrocer," Nora continued, as Jane slipped into a vacant seat, "He arrived at Plumpton Hall yesterday, allegedly at Lord Crabb's invitation. Though, according to Mrs Mason, who heard it from Mrs Hilliard who works in his lordship's kitchens, Miss Prunella Hughes is insisting that no such invitation was issued. She thinks that he came of his own accord and that he is here to scupper the wedding plans; she was kicking up a right fuss, from what I heard."
Jane was about to remind Nora that any gossip in Plumpton usually resembled a game of Whisper Down the Lane, and that by the time it reached the recipient it had usually been embellished tenfold, but she was interrupted by her mother.
"And what is he like?" Mrs Mifford pressed, her eyes shining bright with interest.
"Very handsome, by all accounts," Nora was coy, leaving Jane to suspect that a rather different turn of phrase had been used in the greengrocer's. "And a bachelor. If Lord Crabb wasn't set to marry, I bet half the ladies of the village would drop their handkerchief before him."
"There would be many a ruined handkerchief if they were to try that," Mrs Mifford sniffed, ever the snob, "For even without inheriting, I'm sure he is beyond the reach of most of Plumpton's female inhabitants."
Nora bristled with irritation, as Mrs Mifford sought to put her firmly back in her place. Jane, hoping to distract her—for Nora could be quite temperamental and dinner might be ruined for a week if she felt at all slighted—interrupted them both with a question of her own.
"Who is it you are speaking of?" she asked, for she had missed the first half of the conversation.
"Lord Crabb's heir," Mrs Mifford boomed, "He has shown up at Plumpton Hall, intent on wrecking the wedding."
"It is not certain that he wishes to wreck the wedding, Mama," Emily reminded her mother, but Mrs Mifford ignored her.
"Handsome and single, Jane," Mrs Mifford continued, "I have my doubts about Lord Crabb's ability to produce an heir at his age and, if I am correct, then this Mr Bonville looks set to inherit everything. I should try to arrange an introduction between you both. Imagine! One daughter the mistress of Northcott Manor, the other the mistress of Plumpton Hall."
"I am afraid that your imagination will have to suffice on that matter, Mama," Jane replied idly, though inside her mind was racing as she realised that the gentleman from earlier was the viscount's heir. "There is a lot of life left in Lord Crabb."
"Poppycock," Mrs Mifford frowned, "In fact, I am certain that I heard a most worrisome wheeze in his chest the last time that he called. He was quite pale too and he's not very steady on his feet."
"It rather sounds like you are planning to kill him off, Mama," Emily commented, her mindless comment so on the mark that Mrs Mifford was forced to go on the defence.
"Kill my own uncle?" she clutched a hand to her breast, "Whom I love so dearly? Don't be ridiculous, child. Besides, the only one with any motive to kill Lord Crabb—if such a thing was being plotted—is Mr Ivo Bonville."
"Nobody is plotting to kill Lord Crabb," Jane interjected, as the conversation threatened to descend into farce. A regular occurrence where Mrs Mifford was concerned.
"Now," Jane glanced around the table, hoping for a change of topic. "Is there any other news?"
"An awful lot of important people died last week," Eudora volunteered, "Shall I tell you about them?"
"Oh, look at the time," Mrs Mifford trilled, "I'd best be off."
"I have to wash the linens," Nora added, unusually enthusiastic for one so work-shy.
