Page 31 of An Execution, an Earl, and Miss Hughes
At Long Acres they were greeted at the front door by Mrs Vickery, all starch and buttons like Lucian remembered.
“My lords,” she said grandly, “Might I offer you an elderflower and horseradish cordial? It’s freshly bottled this week. Mr Leek swears it keeps his blood flowing.”
“We’ll have to take his word on that,” Crabb replied, a bit green around the gills. “I’m afraid this isn’t a social call, Mrs Vickery.”
“Is something amiss, my lord?” she questioned, her face pale.
Lord Crabb answered her gently by explaining that they needed an alibi for Mr Leek’s whereabouts on the night of the murder.
“He was here, all night,” the housekeeper replied, without missing a beat.
“You’re certain?” Lucian prompted, a little suspicious that she didn’t have to think on her answer.
“Quite,” Mrs Vickery sniffed. “He took a late supper then afterward repaired to his bedchamber. I stayed up until eleven,attending to my mending basket, and not a sinner entered or left the house. I’d know; the hinge on the front door makes enough noise to wake the dead.”
It was all rather convenient, Lucian thought sourly.
“Have you any proof that it was he who committed the murder?” the housekeeper continued, her eyes assessing them both shrewdly.
As they had no proof but a hunch, Lord Crabb glossed over the question.
“My good lady, we are merely being fastidious and noting the whereabouts of anyone with a vague connection to poor Mr Hardwick,” he assured her. “I must be seen to be doing something.”
“Naturally, my lord. Heaven forbid anyone think you indifferent,” Mrs Vickery replied, her tone perfectly polite but her eyes cold.
Sensing that there would be no further offers of cordial, Lucian and Lord Crabb thanked the housekeeper for her time and departed.
“That’s another name scratched from the list,” Lord Crabb commented, as they trotted back down the gravel drive.
“Perhaps,” Lucian replied; he wasn’t entirely convinced by Mrs Vickery. The housekeeper was far too loyal to her master to be considered a credible witness.
Outside the wrought-iron gates of Long Acres they turned left for Mrs Bridges’ cottage. They rode in silence, both men appreciating the fine summer day.
“It’s down this way,” Lord Crabb called, guiding his horse down a narrow lane.
Lucian followed suit but was quickly forced to pull hard on the reins, as Crabb came to an abrupt halt before him.
“Mr Treswell,” he heard Lord Crabb exclaim, “Whatever’s the matter?”
The diminutive solicitor raced past them, his spectacles askew and his face pale.
“That woman is a menace,” he panted, throwing a fearful glance down the lane to where Mrs Bridges’ cottage stood. “You should do something about her, Lord Crabb, before she kills someone.”
Lord Crabb hastily dismounted his horse and Lucian followed suit.
“Whatever do you mean?” Lucian pressed, his eyes scanning the man from top to toe to assess for injury.
“I-I-I called to ask her some q-questions and she ran me off her p-property with a shotgun,” Mr Treswell stammered. “She’s fit for B-Bedlam and a danger to society.”
Lucian cast a startled glance down the lane at the cottage, though his eyes were caught by a figure hurrying toward them; Miss Hughes.
“Sarah,” he cried, rushing toward her. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m perfectly well, my lord,” she answered, though Lucian could discern a slight quiver in her voice. “I’m afraid that it’s Mrs Bridges who is unwell. I wonder, Lord Crabb, would it be best to fetch Flora and have her check in on her grandmother?”
“Good idea,” the viscount nodded, turning to saddle up immediately. “You wait here; I’ll return as quickly as I can.”
“I’m afraid that I too must leave,” Mr Treswell interrupted, “I hope The Ring is open, I need a stiff drink after that shock.”
