Page 6 of A Body, A Baron, and Miss Mifford
“Lord Delaney, Baron Bloomsbury,” Rob answered, quite cheerfully, “I also have need of the village doctor; a dead body was found upon the Bath Road. I am not yet certain if it is foul play or a mere act of nature.”
“You’ll need the constable, Mr Marrowbone, for that, alright,” the gentleman behind the bar agreed sagely.
“And where might he be found?” Robert answered, trying to keep his growing impatience from his voice. Speed and urgency were sorely lacking in most bucolic backwaters, but it appeared especially so in Plumpton.
“He’s just gone out the door,” came the amused answer, “If you hurry, you’ll catch him before he disappears for the day. I’ll send word to the doctor to find you; where on the road might you be?”
“Just after the church,” Rob answered, tipping his hat in thanks to the proprietor, before haring out the door after the slippery constable.
Luckily for Rob, Mr Marrowbone’s approach to walking was as enthusiastic as his approach to working. He had not gone more than a few steps beyond The Ring, thanks to the leisurely amble of his pace.
“Mr Marrowbone,” Rob called sternly, causing the portly constable to stop and turn.
“I don’t know if you heard me before you disappeared from the pub, but I have urgent need of your services,” he continued, with a frown.
“I heard you, I heard you,” the constable grumbled in response, “I was simply on my way to fetch a nag so as to accompany you to the scene, my lord.”
Robert was no fool, but he did not wish to cause a quarrel - especially as two older ladies had drawn near to eavesdrop - so he simply gave a curt nod.
“Very good,” he said and gestured for Marrowbone to continue.
The feckless constable heaved a sigh and turned in the opposite direction of his previous route.
“She’s down at the green,” he said sheepishly, as Robert raised a brow, “I was taking the longer route to get to her.”
Robert followed Mr Marrowbone down to the village green, where his own stallion was tethered. The two men saddled up and set out at a slow pace - for the constable’s horse could manage only a trot - for the Bath Road.
As they rode, Rob began to fret over Miss Mifford’s welfare. Was she distressed, he wondered, having to stand guard over a corpse all alone? Perhaps he had been foolish to allow her have her way, but if she was in a state of anguish, then his was a shoulder on which she might lean for comfort.
When they eventually arrived on the scene, however, Rob found that Miss Mifford was not at all distressed - instead, she was rooting through the corpse’s pockets.
“Ahem,” he coughed loudly, and she sprang backwards, looking guilty.
Mr Marrowbone, who had been trailing two steps behind, pushed past Rob importantly.
“What’s all this?” he said, taking in the scene, his eyes eventually resting on Miss Mifford.
“A Mifford girl and a dead body, why am I not surprised?” Mr Marrowbone sighed dryly as he caught sight of Eudora standing guard over the corpse. He did not notice, though Robert did, Miss Mifford stuffing something into her pocket.
“I don’t recognise him, Mr Marrowbone,” she replied, most innocently. "As far as I can tell, he’s not one of ours. You have a far greater knowledge of the local populace. Can you place him?”
Mr Marrowbone hunkered down beside the poor deceased man's head and assessed him curiously. How he could tell who the gentleman was from looking only at the back of his head was beyond Rob. After a moment of inspection, however, the constable gave a nod of agreement.
“Not one of ours,” he proclaimed, “Might have taken a wrong turn after wandering out of a pub in a different village and then landed here, face down in a puddle of mud. Poor sod.”
Robert raised a brow, for the constable’s tone was that of a man who had solved his case and considered it closed.
“You’ll make enquiries?” he prompted the constable, “In the surrounding towns and villages?”
“I’ll do my best,” Mr Marrowbone offered, as he heaved his frame back to a stand. “Hark, is that the doctor?”
The briar bushes rustled for a moment, and then the figure of Dr Bates emerged. He was an older gentleman, who might havelooked distinguished were it not for the crumbs which coated his thick moustache.
“Well, he’s definitely dead,” the doctor said as he glanced down at the body on the ground, “If you have a name, I can write up a death certificate when I return home. I was in the middle of a sumptuous leek and liver pie when I was called.”
“Can you tell how he died, doctor?” Miss Mifford interrupted, with barely concealed impatience.
“If I was to hazard a guess, I’d say he fell down drunk on his way home and was taken by the cold,” the doctor answered, as he swept another cursory glance across the body, “I have summoned Mr Burke and Mr Hare to remove the body to the chapel in St Mary’s. Will that be all, Mr Marrowbone? As I said, it’s quite the sumptuous pie.”
