Page 55 of A Body, A Baron, and Miss Mifford
Eudora had thought he meant to tell the truth about the murder, but now—with her own tumble-stained gown in hand—she realised that he had simply wanted to reveal their love affair.
“Lud,” she whispered before lifting the hem of her skirts to run to Lady Albermay’s defence.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE EVENING HADseemed interminable after Eudora had excused herself, but Robert had persevered. Even Mrs Mifford’s threat to regale them all one last time on the pianoforte had not prompted him to make his excuses and leave. Much to everyone’s relief, her threat had prompted Mr Mifford to take mercy on the other guests and cajole his wife into leaving, promising her a glass of medicinal wine.
Robert drank weak, milky tea all evening until most of all the guests had departed for bed, bar Lady Albermay, Captain Ledger, and their host and hostess.
Lord Crabb caught Rob’s eye and gave an almost imperceptible nod.
“My lady,” he said, “I have not yet had the chance to interview you regarding your husband’s murder. Might I impose on you now that the opportunity presents itself?”
Captain Ledger took a step closer to the viscountess; intentionally or subconsciously, Rob could not tell.
“Of course, my lord,” Lady Albermay answered, “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me.”
“Would you rather retire to the library?” Lord Crabb queried, gesturing to his wife, Rob, and, finally, Captain Ledger to indicate how public the setting was for an interview.
“I have nothing to hide,” the viscountess replied, her gaze defiant.
Rob groaned inwardly; this would all be much easier if the viscountess confessed.
“The morning after the murder, your lady’s maid found what looked like blood stains on the gown which you had worn to dinner,” Lord Crabb began.
Rob raised an impressed brow; he hadn’t expected the viscount to get off to such a strong start.
“What?” Lady Albermay’s beautiful face turned so white that Rob feared she might faint dead away.
“It’s true,” Rob interjected quietly, “Your maid came to my valet to ask for tips on removing them.”
Captain Ledger, who had been standing by the fireplace, took a step toward Lord Crabb.
“My lord,” he said, his voice threatening, “If you mean to accuse Lady Albermay of murdering her husband, then I will have no choice but to call you out.”
Though Captain Ledger was getting in the way somewhat, Rob was still impressed by his show of gallantry. It was evident to all that the dashing seaman held a candle for the viscountess, and his quick rise to her defence was admirable—if not misguided.
“Michael, stop,” Lady Albermay interjected, holding up a hand to silence him, “Lord Crabb has not accused me of anything…yet. He has merely told me that my lady’s maid found apparent blood stains on my gown, nothing more.”
Again, despite the circumstances, Rob found himself filled with admiration for the viscountess. Her shoulders were squared, and her chin resolute; she would not give in easily to Lord Crabb’s questioning.
“It is not just the bloodstained dress, my lady,” Lord Crabb continued, “On the night of the murder, you visited the kitchens—where the murder weapon was procured. You were also later seen wandering the halls by another guest. Then later again, you were overheard arguing with Captain Ledger about whether or not you should tell the truth at our interview.”
When laid out so plainly, the evidence really did point her way.
“Other people here had reason to want my husband dead,” Lady Albermay countered, referring—of course—to her stepson.
“Lord Albermay suffered with a tumour of the stomach,” Lord Crabb replied, “His son was well aware that his father would be dead within weeks—he had no need to kill him for financial gain. Even if he did not know, he spent that night with one of my servants, so he could not have killed his father.”
“He was dying?”
“Mr Cartwright informed me that his late master instructed only his son be made aware,” Lord Crabb confirmed, delivering one final blow to the viscountess.
Given the weight of the accusations against her, Rob half-expected the viscountess to crumble at the news of her husband’s final betrayal, but she did not.
“Lawks,” she exclaimed, her American accent more pronounced with her annoyance, “How like the old fool to want to best me, even when he was dying. He despised me; he could never get over the shame of having to marry into money, you see. He couldn’t even fly a feather before we were wed, as I liked to remind him.”
Rob exhaled slowly; Lady Albermay’s insights into her marriage were interesting but not a confession.
