Page 7 of A Body, A Baron, and Miss Mifford
Were all the inhabitants of Plumpton this bone idle, Rob wondered with bemusement.
“Forgive me, doctor,” he interrupted, using his most Etonian accent, “I believe it would be prudent for you to examine the body thoroughly, once it has been removed.”
“And you are?” Dr Bates queried, with much belligerence.
“Lord Delaney, Baron Bloomsbury,” Rob answered, smoothly, “I stumbled across the scene on my way to Plumpton Hall; I am a guest of Lord Crabb.”
As Rob had expected, the doctor’s demeanour changed considerably when he learned that he was in the presence of a member of the aristocracy.
“Of course, my lord, that was exactly what I had intended to do,” Dr Bates assured him obsequiously, “Once I am confident of the cause of death, I will make haste to Plumpton Hall to inform you of my findings. Until this poor fellow is removed to the chapel, however, there’s very little I can do except -”
“Return to finish your pie?” Robert hid a grin, “Very good doctor, I will await you in Plumpton Hall.”
“Wonderful; I am looking forward to a good brandy,” Dr Bates declared, although he had not actually been invited for one.
His departure was followed by the arrival of Mr Burke and Mr Hare, the village’s elderly grave diggers.
“Good thing you found him when you did,” one of the men called to Mr Marrowbone, “There’s a shower of snow coming, mark my words.”
“Snow?” the constable called back in disbelief, “You’re predicting snow when the sky above is blue, Mr Hare? I won’t listen to such tosh, but if you’d like to predict when you’ll repay me that sixpence I loaned you, then I’m all ears.”
The men squabbled happily, and it was clear to Rob that they had forgotten his presence. Usually, he would not have minded, but he did not wish for them to begin their gruesome work in front of Miss Mifford.
“Miss Mifford,” Robert said, loudly, “Why don’t I escort you home? This isn’t the type of work a young lady should witness.”
“Miss Mifford,” Mr Hare called in surprise, “I didn’t see you standing there. Away home now, this is not something a lady should see.”
Miss Mifford looked as though she wanted to argue, but thought better of it when she caught Rob’s pointed frown.
“Thank you for your kind offer, my lord,” she said simply, lifting her skirts and taking off through the bushes.
Rob tipped his hat to the three remaining gentlemen, before following her at a keen pace.
“There’s no need to escort me home, my lord,” she said, as they emerged back onto the Bath Road. “I am sure you’re desperate to get to Plumpton Hall for some rest and refreshments.”
“I am more interested in learning what it was that you took from the gentleman’s pocket and why,” Rob answered,congenially. He untied his horse, which was tethered to a nearby branch, then gestured for Miss Mifford to begin walking.
It wasn’t quite the alone time Rob had imagined - with a dead body behind them and a stallion between - but he was not about to miss an opportunity to be unchaperoned with the lady who had occupied his thoughts since the season’s end.
“I’m not a thief,” she mumbled in reply, her cheeks a charming shade of pink. “I just thought that there might be something that might identify the man in his pockets. Mr Marrowbone is not the most thorough of investigators.”
“I concur,” Rob agreed, with an amused smile, “Now, tell me, what did you find?”
Miss Mifford halted her step and rummaged in the pocket of her skirts. After a moment, she produced a nondescript, white handkerchief; the type that anyone could purchase in haberdasheries the length and breadth of the country.
“Is it embroidered with initials?” Rob guessed, “Or even a full name?”
“No,” Miss Mifford flushed again, clearly embarrassed, “But it’s covered in an unusually thick white dust. It could mean something, could it not?”
She spoke with an earnestness that touched Rob’s heart - so much so, that he did not theorise aloud that it might be a snuff handkerchief. The kind used by men to protect their clothes from the popular powdered tobacco.
“It could,” Rob agreed, as they continued walking, “Hopefully Mr Marrowbone will learn the chap’s identity and any investigating on our part will be unnecessary.”
He had not intentionally used the determiner “our”, but once said aloud, Rob rather liked the sound of it. He stole a glance across at Miss Mifford, who did not seem overly perturbed by its use, and he hid a smile of satisfaction.
Miss Mifford was the type of lady who was likely to bolt if Rob tried too hard to woo her. His campaign would have to be one of stealth and surreptitiousness. He would have to tread carefully so that she did not realise she was being courted until it was too late and she had fallen head over heels in love with him.
He just hoped she would realise she loved him before they both reached their dotage.
