Page 25 of A Murder, a Marquess, and Miss Mifford
"No, but I did wish to discuss the mare you purchased from Lady Hardthistle," Freddie answered, thinking to dive into matters straight away, "I'm told she sold you a barren mare?"
Sir Cadogan scowled, and nodded his head so furiously that his jowls continued to jiggle for several moments after he had finished.
"Did she get you too?" he growled, banging a clenched fist against his thigh, "The old witch--I'd like to buy whoever strangled her a drink. They did the world a great favour."
Freddie, who had not been expecting such a strong outburst, paused for a second before he replied.
"The night before Lady Hardthistle's murder,youwere overheard threatening to strangle her," Freddie commented, keeping his tone mild, "Might I ask where you were that night, during the firework display?"
A stunned silence greeted him, as Sir Cadogan turned a rather alarming shade of purple. He looked, Freddie thought, to be on the verge of an apoplectic fit. Freddie knew of a physician in Harley Street, who could perform miracles with bloodletting leeches, but perhaps now was not the time to mention it.
"I have never been so insulted in my life," Sir Cadogan eventually replied, opting for outrage rather than answers.
"As a man who frequents this club, I highly doubt that," Freddie replied, with feigned joviality. The members of White's were notorious for their high-jinx and brandy-fuelled excesses; on some nights it reminded Freddie of his years at Eton, such was the level of maturity shown.
"Never so insulted in my life," Sir Cadogan repeated, belligerently.
"Where were you during the firework display, Sir Cadogan?" Freddie pressed, determined to have an answer.
There was another silence, in which the squire scowled murderously across the table, as Freddie waited for his answer.
"I do not have to justify myself to you," Sir Cadogan eventually replied, snatching up his copy of theHeraldand pushing back his chair, "I shall be writing a strongly worded letter to the board, my lord. You cannot just go around accusing other members of murder, willy-nilly."
"It's hardly willy-nilly when you were heard threatening to strangle the woman days before she was strangled," Freddie replied, cheerfully, but Sir Cadogan had already left.
Once the older gentleman had gone, slamming the door behind him, Freddie let out a sigh.
His quiet word with Sir Cadogan hadn't gone as well as he would have liked, but his refusal to answer was rather revealing.
If Sir Cadogan was innocent, he would have been able to offer an explanation as to his whereabouts on the night. It was looking more and more likely that the old squire was the guilty party--Freddie just needed more proof.
"That didn't go well from the looks of things."
Freddie had been so lost in thought, that he had not noticed Delaney approaching until he was standing right in front of him.
"Better than it appeared," Freddie replied, "But not as well as I would have hoped."
"There's always tomorrow," Delaney consoled him, "And, speaking of which, I'd best be off. I have a meeting with my man of business in the morning, and for some reason the chap thinks I get up before noon."
"How you suffer," Freddie responded drolly, and waved his friend off.
He sat for a few minutes, pondering Sir Cadogan's telling refusal to answer his question, until a large group of braying young-bloods entered the room. Their shouts of laughter were a tad distracting, and threatened to get only worse, so Freddie decided he'd had enough of White's for one night.
He made for the door, but as he approached it, a pair of familiar young gentlemen blocked his way.
Mr Bunting and Mr Fitzgibbons--the former supporting the very drunk latter--paused mid-step, to prevent a collision.
"Lord Chambers," Mr Fitzgibbons slurred, as he caught sight of Freddie, "Here to accuse me of murder again? I should have called you out for that, you mangy cur."
Freddie raised a bemused brow; Mr Fitzgibbons had reached the piratical stage of drinking, by the sound of things.
"He doesn't mean that," Mr Bunting whispered, as he struggled to keep the stumbling Mr Fitzgibbons upright, "He's just in his cups. Please accept my apologies on his behalf, I shall remind him tomorrow of what he said, so he remembers to feel remorseful."
"He's lucky he has such a good friend in you, Mr Bunting," Freddie answered evenly, before neatly sidestepping the pair and making for the front door.
A footman summoned his carriage and driver, and Freddie was soon ensconced safely inside for the short journey back to Pall Mall, where his family had kept a town house since the street's inception in the sixteenth century.
Farley was waiting up to assist him with undressing, and Freddie allowed his mind to drift as the valet chattered on about this and that. The murder investigation should have been at the forefront of his mind, but it was Miss Mifford who kept his thoughts occupied.
