Page 13 of A Body, A Baron, and Miss Mifford
Lady Albermay shook her head as she stepped forward toward the bed. She looked as horrified and transfixed as Rob had felt only moments before.
“He slept with a doll, the old fool,” she commented, as she picked up an old rag-doll from the bed, “Imagine; I was married to the man for over a year, and I never knew that he slept with a doll.”
“I think you are in shock, Lady Albermay,” Rob said, placing his arm around her shoulders and guiding her towards the hallway. She was docile as a lamb as he led her into the corridor, which was now filled with people.
“He’s inside,” Rob called to Lord Crabb, who was making his way to the door, “Best to send everyone downstairs for breakfast and call for some footmen to help with the…”
Robert trailed off, not wanting to say the word corpse in front of the gathered ladies.
“I shall attend to Lady Albermay,” Lady Crabb said, stepping forward to take the viscountess’ hand. Lady Albermay moved away from Rob, mindlessly passing him back the rag doll she held, which he stuffed into his coat pocket.
“A stiff brandy is what’s needed,” Lady Crabb said firmly as she led Lady Albermay away, “Eudora, be a dear and run into the viscountess’ room to fetch her shawl - she’s shaking.”
Rob met Eudora’s eyes across the hallway, and despite the gravity of the situation, he felt a frisson of connection. She did not need to say it, for with one, almost imperceptible, lift of her eyebrow, he knew that she wished to meet later to discuss what he had seen in the viscount’s room.
While other ladies might wish to discuss poetry, literature, or other romantic arts, his lady wished to discuss murder—and who was Rob to refuse her?
The assembled guests traipsed downstairs, leaving only Robert, Lord Crabb, and Lord Chambers in the corridor.
“Do you think it’s murder, Delaney?” Highfield asked, his handsome face rather perplexed. “Imagine, a murder in Plumpton. It doesn’t seem like the place for it.”
“Unless Lord Albermay stabbed himself in the back of the neck, then I’m afraid yes, it is,” Rob answered, gesturing for the two gentlemen to go have a look for themselves.
Inside the bedchamber, the two men went through the same motions as Rob had. They examined the bed, searching for clues, exclaimed over the knife’s common appearance, and searched the room for further evidence.
Lord Crabb found the only thing Rob had missed: a plate of crackers and cheese.
“I’ll interview the footmen to find out what time this was brought up at,” the viscount said, pushing the plate with his finger, “To try to ascertain what time Lord Albermay was last seen alive.”
An older gentleman appeared at the door; from his sombre clothing to his complete non-reaction to the dead body on the bed, Rob assumed him the butler. The ability of servants to keep an impassive expression in the face of any crisis was truly remarkable.
“Allen,” Lord Crabb greeted the man with a tight smile as he waved a hand toward the bed, “I’m afraid we’re down one for dinner. Can you organise for Lord Albermay’s remains to be removed to St Mary’s? Have someone call the undertaker as well - I’m sure Lady Albermay will wish to bring him home for burial at once.”
“I would be more than delighted to do that, my lord,” the butler replied as he neatly rearranged the counterpane on the bed to cover Lord Albermay’s body. “Alas, four feet of snow fell last night, and we are snowed in. I’ll have the footmen bring his lordship to the wine cellar; it’s icy cold down there.”
Rob grimaced as he realised why removing the viscount to an ice-cold room was necessary.
“Snowed in?” Lord Crabb echoed in disbelief.
“Yes, my lord,” Allen confirmed, “It has happened only once before, in eighty-nine. We’re currently unable to even open the door, such is the snow that fell. It will thaw in a day or two, then we shall make contact with the village.”
The butler was calm and matter-of-fact, as though being trapped in a manor house with a dead body and a murderer was perfectly usual.
“The kitchens are well stocked, so we won’t go hungry,” he continued, directing his reassuring words to Highfield, who looked a trifle pale. “Now, my lord, shall I call for the footmen?”
“Yes, do,” Lord Crabb agreed. “We’ll go downstairs and ensure everyone remains in the dining room while you’re at work.”
The trio of men left Mr Allen to get on with things and silently traipsed downstairs. Outside the dining room door, the viscount paused.
“Perhaps,” he said delicately, “We should refrain from bandying about the word murder - I shouldn’t wish for any of the guests to feel that they’re under suspicion.”
“They all are,” Highfield snorted, earning himself a glare from Lord Crabb.
“True,” he agreed, “But with us being snowed in, it could make things rather awkward. Best to let me make discreet enquiries rather than go on the attack.”
Rob could only nod in agreement, for the alternative sounded terrifically awkward - socially speaking, at least.
As they entered the drawing room, he caught sight of Miss Mifford sitting beside Lady Albermay. The dazzling sun shone through the window, casting her in a warm golden glow. She looked, he thought dazedly, like the subject of a Caravaggiopainting - Venus, perhaps, ethereal and beautiful, but sadly more clothed.
