Page 25 of A Body, A Baron, and Miss Mifford
“Good,” Lord Albermay spat, with a venomous glance at his stepmother, “I should like to see the culprit hang. If you’ll excuse me, I wish to retire to my room. The company at this gathering leaves a lot to be desired.”
Lord Albermay’s words might have been cutting, were it not for the fact that it was he who was ruining the evening. As he stalked from the room, Eudora noticed several people hiding amused smiles behind their hands.
“Shall I play something else?” Cecilia suggested as the door slammed behind the irate viscount.
“Heavens do,” Jane pleaded, touching a weary hand to her brow.
Eudora felt a stab of pity for her sister; how terrible it must be to have to act as hostess in such circumstances - and in front of Plumpton’s most notorious gossip.
As Cecilia resumed her play, Mrs Canards and Mrs Wickling began whispering to each other. After a few minutes, they declared their intention to retire for the evening and left the room. Their departure was soon followed by several others, who claimed their need for rest.
Eudora stole a glance at Lord Delaney, who stood on the other side of the room with the remaining gentlemen and realised that he was waiting for her to make her move. She raised her brows in question, a move which he answered with a slight - almost imperceptible - nod of his head.
“I think I too shall retire,” she said as she stood.
“You’re usually the last to bed, dear,” Mrs Mifford observed, casting her a worried glance, “Are you upset about the murder?”
While Eudora could not begrudge her mother for displaying maternal concern, she was annoyed that her observation caused several suspicious looks from her siblings. It was impossible to do anything unobserved when surrounded by sisters.
“Thank you, Mama,” she answered, as she willed herself not to blush, “I’m perfectly fine; I just wish to close my eyes after the day’s excitement. It’s not every day one finds oneself trapped in a house with a murderer.”
“The only murder I have witnessed so far was committed by Her Grace,” Mrs Mifford whispered to her four daughters, “I fear that her belief in her musical talents is a tragic case of The Emperor’s New Clothes.”
“Mama!” Mary objected, casting a furtive glance across to Northcott to ensure he had not heard, “Cecilia’s playing was wonderful. Why must you make everything a competition?”
As Mary and her mother bickered, Eudora slipped away from the room. She followed the light from the candles in the sconces from the entrance hall, up the stairs and toward The Long Room. Unlike the rest of the house, the room was in darkness - even in a house as grand as Plumpton Hall, it was considered frivolous to waste even tallow on a rarely used room.
Luckily, the night outside was clear, and a large moon hung high in the sky, lending The Long Room some of its glow.
Eudora twice paced the Oriental runner, which ran the length of the room, before Lord Delaney appeared.
“Forgive me,” he said apologetically. “We were somewhat waylaid by your mother’s impromptu performance on the pianoforte.”
“Oh, dear,” Eudora bit her lip.
“I have never heard Mary Has a Little Lamb played with such passion before,” the baron assured her, his tone almost sincere.
Despite her embarrassment, Eudora could not help but laugh as she imagined her mama attacking the keys of the pianoforte with the seriousness of Bach or Mozart.
“My family are a tad…unusual,” Eudora offered, settling on the least alarming adjective to best describe her clan.
“As are all families,” Lord Delaney answered sympathetically, “If my sisters were present, I’m certain their behaviour would bounce between syrupy sweet and outrageously obnoxious - and they would say the same of mine. I shall not even attempt to guess what my younger brother would get up to—thankfully, he’s safely imprisoned in Oxford, terrorising the locals there.”
He offered Eudora such a disarming smile - humble and boyish - that she could not help but return it.
“We are agreed that families can be tiresome, my lord,” she declared.
“Robert,” he corrected her gently, “Partners in an investigation cannot stand on such formalities as titles, Eudora.”
Eudora willed a blush away; partners in an investigation did not blush like a green girl when spoken to. Nor did they read flirtation into every word said to them, she reminded herself sternly.
“Indeed, Robert,” she agreed, her tone as formal and brusque as the captain of the King’s Horse Guard, “I have much to share with you in that respect.”
In a rushed whisper, she explained her trip to the kitchens and Flora’s revelation that all of their suspects had visited in the hours before Lord Albermay’s death.
“Any one of them could have swiped the knife while they were there,” she finished, “I know it does not narrow down the list, as such, but it does show that the murderer had the means to obtain the weapon.”
“Very good,” Robert nodded, “So our main suspects - Lord and Lady Albermay and Lord Percival - were all in the kitchen on the night. I must admit, I still have my doubts about Lord Percival’s ability to murder a man, no matter that they were of the same age.”
