Page 16 of An Execution, an Earl, and Miss Hughes
A few members of the group murmured in agreement; Mrs Mifford’s cause seemed quite lost.
“Oh, what a pity,” Mrs Mifford gave a dramatic sigh worthy of Drury Lane. “Lord Deverell was so looking forward to some home-baked treats. He hasn’t had any since his poor wife passed.”
Lucian blinked at the audacity of the remark. It was such an obvious ploy that he might have been affronted had he not been certain that his late wife would have found the sheer lengths Mrs Mifford was willing to go to to get her way terribly amusing.
Mrs Mifford’s ploy worked as the ladies’ began to cluck with pity for the poor, cake-deprived earl before them. Lucian dropped his gaze to his boots, worried that he might burst out laughing and give the game away.
“Then it’s settled,” Mrs Mifford cried happily. “We shall have the assembly on Saturday and the fête on Sunday. We’ll have to tell all the ladies to start early on their baking for you, my lord. And, you simply must sample Miss Hughes’ Apple-Tansey—it’s delightful.”
“I’ll prepare one of my seed-cakes,” the youngest of the group—a pretty girl of about twenty—preened, as she batted her eyelashes at Lucian.
“I wouldn’t feel overly obliged to, Miss Morton,” Mrs Mifford commented, crushing the poor girl.
The matter of the fête now settled, the group began to disband. Most seemed satisfied with the outcome of the impromptu meeting apart from Mrs Canards and Mrs Wickling, who cast malevolent glances at Mrs Mifford as they left.
“Now that’s settled I must return home,” Mrs Mifford decided aloud. “I want to catch Nora before she goes to the grocers and tell her that Mrs Bridges has offered us some of the rabbits she shot this morning.”
Lucian stilled, suddenly alert.
“Does Mrs Bridges hunt?” he queried with a raised brow.
“Only lagomorphs, my lord.” Mrs Mifford replied. “And only when they invade her lettuces. She has quite the aim for a woman of seventy!”
“Impressive,” Lucian commented. Internally he wondered if including the healer on their list of suspects hadn’t been as wild as Miss Hughes had claimed.
Lucian bid Mrs Mifford and the remaining ladies goodbye, then set off back down the village. His stomach rumbled loudly, reminding him that he was expected back at the manor soon for lunch with Northcott.
He quickened his pace, his mind mulling over all that he had learned. Colonel Hughes was in town, Mrs Bridges was a fine shot—if only he had discovered something about Mr Leek, then he would have a triad of clues to present to Miss Hughes.
No sooner had he thought this, than a woman came rushing out of the butchers so quickly that she bashed straight into him.
“I do apologise,” Lucian said instinctively, even though it was she who had collided with he.
“My fault entirely,” the woman protested as she righted herself.
She looked up from beneath her ghastly bonnet to glance at Lucian and he realised with a start that it was Mrs Vickery.
The housekeeper was dressed as she had been during his visit to Long Acres; all austere black and prim buttons. The only touch of colour was her bonnet, which was trimmed with a bouquet of paper flowers so garish they hurt Lucian’s eyes.
“Mrs Vickery,” he forced a smile, “How nice to see you again. I trust all is well at Long Acres?”
“Of course it is, my lord,” she replied—sounding a little defensive to Lucian’s ear.
“Awful news about the murder,” Lucian continued, keeping his tone conversational. He wanted the housekeeper to believe that he simply wished to dally for a gossip not fish for clues.
“I doubt Mr Hardwick will be much mourned,” Mrs Vickery sniffed, before following up with a reluctant, “Though murder is, of course, a terrible sin.”
“A mortal sin,” Lucian agreed, “And how is Mr Leek?”
He had broached the question in a casual, off-hand manner, but Mrs Vickery paled as though he had slapped her.
“Mr Leek is at home tending to his gardens as he always is,” she replied, shifting the wicker basket in her arms. “Morning, noon, and night he tends to them—he rarely ventures out.”
She said this all very quickly, like an actress rushing to get her lines out before she forgot them.
“If that is all, my lord,” she continued, clearing her throat awkwardly, “Then I must return to Long Acres to prepare lunch.”
“Of course,” Lucian touched his hand to the brim of his hat. “Good day, Mrs Vickery. It was a pleasure.”
