Page 14 of An Execution, an Earl, and Miss Hughes
“Then we shall endeavour to find out,” Lord Deverell said firmly.
They were now nearing the bend in the river where the path split in two. Sarah hesitated, reluctant for their walk to end but even more reluctant to continue on to the village, lest they be spotted by Mrs Canards walking alone together. Plumpton’s most dedicated gossip might expire completely if she was gifted two scandals on the same day.
“I sense you are about to inform me that our walk has come to an end,” the earl ventured, his tone wry.
“I think it would be best if I was to leave you here,” Sarah replied, grateful that he seemed to instinctively understand her dilemma.
“The villagersarewont to gossip about beautiful women,” Lord Deverell agreed, so solemnly that Sarah wasn’t certain if he was complimenting her or poking fun at her earlier outburst. She decided—for her own peace of mind—that it was the former.
“If you continue on straight, you’ll find yourself at the bridge at the bottom of the village,” she said, determinedly ignoring his last remark.
“I’m sure after I find the bridge, I might then find myself in The Ring for some hair of the dog,” the earl quipped, touching his gloved hand to the brim of his hat. “I will continue our investigation there. Until we meet again, Miss Hughes.”
The Earl of Ashford lifted his hat, offered Sarah a curt bow of goodbye, then continued on the way to Plumpton.
She then slipped down the other path without looking back, certain that the earl would help her solve the murder. It was his other intentions she couldn’t quite fathom.
CHAPTER SIX
IT WAS MISSSarah Hughes who was at the forefront of Lucian’s mind as he strolled into Plumpton, rather than anyone on their list of suspects.
She was charmingly shy, maddeningly self-possessed, and completely immune to Lucian’s charm. Or attempts at charm; he was beginning to suspect that he was a little rusty in that department.
Lucian was just pondering the delicate line between flirtation and a scandalised slap, when he realised that his boots had brought him right to the door of The Ring’o’Bells.
The door was ajar, allowing a restricted view of the pub’s dark interior. From within, Lucian could hear the sound of glasses clinking and the deep rumblings of voices— decidedly lively for mid-morning.
Steeling himself—for he was still a little queasy after last night’s excesses—he pushed the door open and strolled inside.
“In need of a cure, m’lord?” Angus asked from behind the bar, his eyes knowing beneath his bushy brows.
“I’ve heard that a drop of poison can serve as its own antidote,” Lucian smiled, placing a few coins upon the bar. “A pint please and one for my friend here.”
Lucian nodded his head toward Mr Marrowbone who was seated at the end of the bar cradling a pint.
“Much obliged, my lord,” Mr Marrowbone grinned, lifting his drink in toast. Lucian suspected that it was not the constable’s first drink of the day.
“I expect you’ll be busy at work over the next few days,” Lucian commented, aiming for insouciance to start.
Unfortunately, the mere mention ofworkcaused Mr Marrowbone’s smile to curdle.
“And why’s that?” the constable questioned, regarding Lucian with hostile suspicion.
“The murder of Silas Hardwick,” Lucian said mildly.
He briefly wondered if the news hadn’t yet made it into the pub. It was entirely possible that Marrowbone hadn’t moved from his stool since last night. Lucian leaned in, discreetly sniffed the air, and decided it was more than possible.
“Oh, that,” Mr Marrowbone shrugged with disinterest. “Reckon we all know who did it.”
“We do?” Lucian raised a brow.
Mr Marrowbone looked over his shoulder to ascertain that no one was eavesdropping, then leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially to Lucian.
“Well, it was Mr Hughes, wasn’t it?” the constable hissed. “We all saw him threaten Hardwick just minutes before he was shot.”
“Can that be proved?” A feeling of dread stole over Lucian at Marrowbone’s certainty; he could not bear to inform Miss Hughes that her father might face the end of the hangman’s rope.
“Lud, no,” Mr Marrowbone chortled, easing Lucian’s worry. “No witnesses to speak of, just you and His Grace. Neither of you saw nothing of worth, according to Lord Crabb.”
