Page 24 of A Body, A Baron, and Miss Mifford (Regency Murder and Marriage #4)

“I had cross words with Mable last night, for she disappeared after tea and didn’t help me with the cleanup,” Flora explained.

Rob, who had refereed enough spats between staff, thought that there must be more to the story.

“And when we came downstairs this morning, there was a dead rabbit over there on the counter,” Flora added, proving Rob correct.

The very mention of the deceased herbivore caused Flora to turn deathly pale. Eudora leapt into action, procuring a footstool and ushering the maid to sit.

“They’re saying I performed some strange ceremony to curse Mable,” Flora sniffled, “You know me well enough, Miss Eudora, to know I’d never hurt a fly.”

“Of course, you wouldn’t,” Eudora gently assured her, patting her arm. “Why, I must tell Jane that her staff are behaving like bullies.”

“It’s not entirely their fault,” Flora whispered, as she wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand, “Mable has been filling their heads with tales since I caught her—”

Rob bit back a groan as Flora trailed off just as she had gotten to the good part.

“Caught her what, Flora?” Eudora prompted, “You must tell us, even if it gets Mable into trouble. Her life may be at stake.”

Flora nodded, turning her eyes to the dried herbs and flowers hanging in bunches from the ceiling.

“The morning that Lord Albermay was discovered to have been murdered,” she began, “I came down here to fetch some chamomile powder to brew a tea for Lady Albermay.”

Flora gestured her arms wide to indicate that by “here”, she meant the still room.

“Barring me, the only other people who come in here are Mr Allen or the mistress herself,” she continued, “But that morning, I opened the door and found Mable helping herself to a bottle of oil of pennyroyal.”

Eudora’s face remained so blank at this revelation, that Flora was forced to turn her eyes to Rob to make certain that someone understood the implications of what she had said.

He gave a slight nod to indicate he knew what the herb could be used for.

“She told me that if I told anyone what I’d seen, she’d tell them that I had advised her to take it,” Flora finished, her tone glum, “Then, even when I kept my counsel, she set about telling everyone I was a witch.”

“Oh, that awful girl,” Eudora exclaimed, her choice of words far gentler than those Rob would have employed.

“Rest assured, Miss Bridges,” Rob added, in a manner he hoped would reassure, “If Mable attempts to sully your name when she is found, she will have me to deal with.”

Flora and Eudora cast Rob glances of such admiration that he rather rued not saying something more heroic.

No one liked a popinjay, Rob reasoned, and brevity was always weightier than verbosity in his mind.

He had also—very sincerely—meant what he had said; from what Flora had told them, it was Mable who was the witch of the tale.

When the girl turned up—and Rob was confident she would—if she even attempted to cast aspersions on Flora’s character, she would feel Rob’s wrath.

“Why don’t you take the morning off, Flora?” Eudora suggested, “I can tell Jane that you need a rest.”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that, Miss,” Flora protested, leaping to her feet, “Not when we’re down a pair of hands. Besides, I’d rather keep busy to distract my mind. Now, if that’s all you’ll be needing from me, Miss and m’lord?”

“That’s all,” Rob answered, “Thank you very much for your help, Miss Bridges.”

Flora gave a small bob and scurried from the room. As the door shut behind her, Eudora turned to face him.

“How was what she said helpful?” she queried, her brow creased in confusion, “Apart from revealing Mable to be something of a bully.”

Rob stiffened, a little embarrassed—not by her nativity, but rather by the subject matter.

“Pennyroyal is sometimes used by women who…,” he paused, wondering how to word such a delicate matter, “It can be used by women who have had relations with a gentleman but do not wish to carry said gentleman’s offspring.”

He felt rather pleased with this explanation of the uses of pennyroyal, though it still caused Eudora to blush beet red.

“It has other uses too,” he added, to distract her, “It’s usually used for ailments like…”

Rob paused; he had jumped from the proverbial frying pan straight into the fire.

“…Menstrual cramps.”

“Oh, I see,” Eudora nodded, averting her eyes from his, “And what makes you think that Mable was using it for the—eh—former, rather than the—um—latter?”

“The subterfuge on Mable’s part,” he replied, glad to be on steadier ground, “Her slandering of Flora to the other staff. Besides, I am certain that there is a difference in dosage if one is treating one ailment rather than the other—and that is why she had to steal it.”

“Of course,” Eudora nodded in agreement, though her cheeks were still pink. “Do you really think that Mable will turn up soon? What makes you so certain that she hasn’t been harmed somehow?”

“The dead rabbit,” Rob replied, his tone grim, “I’d wager that Mable used its blood to create her ‘murder scene’ but was so taken with malice that instead of disposing of it, she used its corpse to incriminate Flora. Silly chit, she served only to incriminate herself.”

Eudora again cast him a look of such admiration that Rob was certain his head was visibly swelling.

“How clever you are,” she said with a shy smile, “I would never have thought of that.”

It was Rob’s turn now to blush; he wasn’t accustomed to compliments, especially from someone he held in such high esteem.

“You would have linked it all together without my help,” he assured her, “But now we must try and link another mystery—is Mable’s disappearance her way of telling us that Lord Albermay is capable of murder?”

“Or, is it simply a scorned lover’s act of revenge?” she finished for him.

Rob’s initial hope that the maid’s disappearance might be linked to the viscount’s murder faltered a little as Eudora voiced his fears.

“Do you recall last night?” Eudora began.

Rob, keenly aware that he was alone in a dark room with her, had to bite his lip from saying he had recalled last night about three hundred times since breakfast.

“Er, yes,” he said carefully, afraid his resolve would slip.

“I thought that Mrs Canards and Mrs Wickling had followed us,” she continued, her eyes alight with excitement, “But you said that it was impossible because they left before you. Can you remember who left the drawing room before you did?”

“I do,” he said, his certainty surprising her.

“Lord Albermay left quite soon after you, followed shortly after by your two neighbours. I remember it clearly because I was both glad that their departures distracted from my own and irritated because it meant I had to wait a bit longer before I could come to you.”

He was momentarily gratified that his words had made her blush.

“They must have been following the viscount,” Eudora surmised before gasping excitedly, “Lud! Mable was serving tea in the drawing room. They thought they were following her and Lord Albermay, not us.”

“Is it possible that the two ladies might know something which will help with our investigation?” Rob pondered, earning himself a pained look from Eudora.

“Oh, I can’t bring myself to ask them,” she groaned, “They’re insufferable—and they shan’t tell me anything, just to spite me.”

If ever a moment had called for gallantry, it was this. Though Rob would have preferred slaying a dragon in Eudora’s name or rescuing her from a tower, he nevertheless squared his shoulders and gamely volunteered to sacrifice himself before the altar of the two village tabbies.

“Oh, you’re my hero,” Eudora cried after he voiced his plans.

Her exuberant response allowed Rob to slip his arms around her and draw her into a quick embrace. A kiss with Eudora was worth any sacrifice, he thought, as he ravenously captured her lips with his own.

As Rob listened to Mrs Canards list her hundredth complaint about the house party, he recanted his earlier thought that a kiss from Eudora would inspire him to do anything.

Oh, he’d do anything else for another kiss—fist-fight Gentleman Jackson with one hand tied behind his back, give up brandy and cheroots, he’d even act as Highfield’s valet if needs be—but he would never, ever again offer to spend any amount of time with Mrs Canards, nor her friend Mrs Wickling.

As the former continued to grouse, Rob glanced furtively at her companion; from what he could see, Mrs Wickling’s sole reason for existing on this earth was to agree with her companion.

“That’s right, Mrs Canards,” Mrs Wickling said, proving Rob’s point, as Mrs Canards finished complaining about the food.

Agitated now—for Robert was more accustomed to avoiding those who annoyed him rather than ingratiating himself to them—he offered both ladies an innocent-sounding word of advice.

“I do think that the next time Lord and Lady Crabb invite you to stay ladies,” he said, smooth as silk, “That you should refuse the request—you’re obviously accustomed to far superior gatherings.”

As neither lady had been invited, this was rather mean on Rob’s part. Luckily, Mrs Canards was as delusional as she was cruel, and she nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

“I shouldn’t like to malign my hosts,” she said before going on to do just that, “And Lady Crabb is the best of a bad bunch, but those Mifford girls were just not reared to mix with the gentry. It’s not their fault; they had no hope with that mother.”

Rob bit down on his lip so hard that he near-tasted blood. Eudora had warned him not to defend her family if Mrs Canards unleashed her claws. Still, it was dreadfully difficult to resist throwing the old boot out into the snow.

“Now,” Rob said abruptly, unable to stomach any more small talk, “I suppose you’re wondering why I asked you to take tea with me.”

Mrs Canards blinked in surprise, leaving Rob to deduce that her confidence was so robust that she would never think anyone would have an ulterior motive when asking to spend time with her apart from the pleasure of her company.

“I have been told that you ladies are a veritable trove of knowledge when it comes to the comings and goings in this house,” Rob continued, slathering the flattery on thick, “I wished to ask if you had noticed Mable interacting with any of the guests over the past few days.”

“Oh, she interacted with one alright,” Mrs Canards answered, to which Mrs Wickling nodded furiously in agreement.

“Was it Lord Albermay?” Rob ventured, though he already knew the answer.

“So you spotted the shameless flirting, too?” Mrs Canards gave him a look of approval, “It doesn’t say much for a household when the servant-folk are so brazen as to behave like that in front of guests. You’re lucky that’s all you saw. Why, Mrs Wickling and I—”

Mrs Canards gave a performative gasp and covered her mouth with her hand.

Rob stifled a sigh at her feigned reticence; they both knew she was simply dying to share what she had seen.

“What did you see?” he pressed, his tone serious.

“I don’t like to slander the poor girl when she may be dead,” Mrs Canards replied, her tone suggesting the opposite, “But on the morning that the viscount’s murder was discovered, Mrs Canards and I stumbled across Mable and Lord Albermay slumbering together in the library.”

“They were in a state of undress,” Mrs Wickling added, afraid that Rob hadn’t understood the subtext.

“Thank you, Mrs Wickling,” Rob gave her a smile that was mostly gritted teeth. His mind whirred as he tried to piece together how this might fit in with the broader investigation.

“If Lord Albermay spent the night with Mable, then he can’t possibly have killed his father,” Rob deduced aloud.

This would also explain the pair’s argument; Lord Albermay must have wanted Mable to confess to having spent the night with him to release him from suspicion.

“Oh no, he was far too busy that night for murder,” Mrs Canards agreed, with a disapproving sniff. “If you ask me, the most likely suspect is Lady Albermay—she is an American, after all.”

A shiver of distaste accompanied the word American, leaving Rob to deduce that Mrs Canards’ guess as to Lady Albermay’s guilt was based on nothing more than bigotry.

“You have given me a lot to think on, Mrs Canards,” Rob said brusquely, suddenly desperate to end the interview, “Thank you for your time.”

“If I might offer you one more piece of advice, my lord?” Mrs Canards called as Rob stood to leave.

“Of course,” Rob answered, with a magnanimity he did not feel.

“Watch yourself around those Mifford girls—their mama is keen to marry the last one off, and I should hate to see a fine gentleman like you fall into her trap.”

This was the final nail in the coffin of Rob’s self-restraint. He drew himself up to his full height and glanced down his nose at the odious woman.

“I’m very pleased to inform you, Mrs Canards,” Rob said, with his haughtiest sniff, “That Miss Mifford is to become my wife the moment we are free from here. If you will excuse me, I wish you both adieu.”

With that, Rob turned on his heel and stalked in a dark thunder from the room. As the door clicked shut behind him, Rob realised that he would have to do some explaining to Eudora.

He would not only have to tell her that he had proposed to her via Mrs Canards, but he would also have to explain that they could no longer ignore the fact that it was most likely Lady Albermay who had killed her husband.