Page 25 of A Body, A Baron, and Miss Mifford (Regency Murder and Marriage #4)
WHILE LORD DELANEY was busy interviewing Mrs Canards and Mrs Wickling, Eudora found herself at something of a lose end.
She attempted to whittle away some time in the main drawing room, but the arrival of her mother soon put a dampener on that plan.
Mrs Mifford, armed with wool and knitting needles, deposited herself on the chaise closest to the fire and immediately began complaining about the dowager duchess.
“Apparently, she’s used all her time here to knit a summer wardrobe for Baby George,” Mrs Mifford groused, as she attacked her misshapen creation with gusto. “Little does she know, that I know that knitting is not her only past-time.”
The last comment was delivered in a tone that begged Eudora to ask her to share some gossip. When Eudora did not respond in kind, Mrs Mifford offered it anyway.
“Apparently, Lord Percival has been spotted making visits to the duchess in her rooms,” Mrs Mifford whispered, her tone scandalised.
“Mama you should not spread rumours of that kind about the duchess,” Eudora chided, “It’s not kind and she is Northcott’s mother. Imagine how upset he would be if he knew that you were saying such things.”
“Cecilia is a widow, she may do as she pleases,” Mrs Mifford huffed, “And I am not so foolish as to share such gossip with anyone outside my immediate family.”
“Even then, your immediate family do not care to hear such things,” Eudora retorted sharply, before adding, “You dropped a stitch.”
As her mother glanced frantically down at her woolen-monstrosity, Eudora took her leave from the drawing room. She did not have the patience to indulge her mother’s one-sided competition with the dowager duchess.
Once out in the hallway, she decided that a walk might soothe her nerves—which were decidedly agitated.
Mable’s disappearance, coupled with Flora’s information about the maid’s liaison with Lord Albermay, did not sit well with Eudora. Though she longed for someone—anyone, really—who wasn’t Lady Albermay to emerge as the main culprit for the murder, Eudora was not entirely convinced that this was it.
Even their final wild-card-suspect, Lord Percival, now seemed to have an alibi if Mrs Mifford’s gossip was to be believed.
With a glum heart, Eudora continued her trek around the manor, which was empty, bar a few servants flitting here and there.
She took several flights of stairs at a run, desperate to burn off the restlessness she felt, but even that could not dissipate the sense of despair which threatened to overwhelm her.
Without realising, Eudora found herself outside the old housekeeper’s parlour room, that Mr Lowell had requisitioned as his personal hiding place. The door was ajar, and as Eudora approached, she realised that the industrialist was not hiding alone.
“Miss Mifford,” Lady Albermay greeted, as she spotted Eudora lurking at the door, “Come in. Mr Lowell and I were just discussing our plans for when we escape our confinement. Mr Allen expects that anyone riding on horseback will be able to depart by the morning.”
“Did you not come by carriage, Mr Lowell?” Eudora questioned, as she took the last remaining seat—an overstuffed Queen Anne.
“Indeed I did,” he confirmed, with one of his gracious smiles, “But-as I was saying to the viscountess-I am two days past my intended departure date and I have urgent business to attend to.”
“That’s a polite way of saying that he can’t stick another night under the same roof as my wretched stepson,” Lady Albermay informed Eudora, with a mischievous wink. “I can’t say that I blame you, Mr Lowell. If I was comfortable with any other position than side-saddle, I’d be gone by dawn myself.”
A faint pink stain arose on Mr Lowell’s cheeks, and Eudora guessed that if she hadn’t intruded on their tête-à-tête, that Mr Lowell would have gallantly offered to spirit the viscountess away on his mount.
Eudora did not blame Mr Lowell his infatuation; the viscountess was breathtaking, perhaps even more so in her grief. Her eyes seemed larger than usual, etched soulfully with a pain that even Eudora longed to soothe.
“Where will your business take you, Mr Lowell?” Eudora ventured, feeling suddenly like an interloper.
“Bristol,” the industrialist replied firmly.
Eudora could only imagine the bustling city on the West Coast, famed for its port, which carried loads of sugar, coffee, tobacco, and chocolate from the Americas. Cotton, she imagined, was not the only material Mr. Lowell traded.
“Oh, to go to Bristol and set sail for home,” Lady Albermay said wistfully.
“Perhaps you will be able to visit soon?” Eudora suggested, omitting the reason why the viscountess was now free to travel as she liked.
“Perhaps,” Lady Albermay agreed before grimacing, “Though I must first bury my husband. It would really add fat to the fire, if I was to run off traveling instead of mourning him properly, would it not?”
Eudora blinked; she had not expected Lady Albermay to address the suspicion she fell under so directly.
“The disappearance of the maid has exonerated you, my lady,” Mr Lowell rushed to assure, “ It is clear that—unindented—Lord and Lady Crabb are housing a crazed murderer. It may be a guest, it may be a member of the household staff, but the murderer is most decidedly not you.”
Mr Lowell was so firm in his conviction, that even Eudora longed to believe him.
“You are kind, Mr Lowell,” Lady Albermay replied, “But I am afraid that the world is not filled with kind people. Even if the murderer was to stand at Speaker’s Corner and declare his guilt to the whole of London, there would still be whispers that it was really I who did it.”
Eudora was touched by Mr Lowell’s obvious disappointment that he had not managed to comfort the viscountess. She recalled the concern that he had shown in her own hour of need, and she concluded that Lady Albermay was correct—there were few in this world as kind as he.
“I have weathered worse storms,” Lady Albermay continued, in a bright tone that sounded somewhat forced, “And once the business of the funeral is over, I can retire entirely from public life and then I won’t have to worry a jot about what people are saying about me.”
Eudora—who was not overly fond of socialising in London—thought this sounded a marvellous plan. Mr Lowell, however, thought differently.
“If I may speak freely, my lady,” he said, his tone solemn, “You were forced to hide your light for the entirety of your marriage, don’t plan to spend your widowhood in darkness too. Lord Albermay stole some of your youth, but you have much left, spend it freely.”
His declaration was so heartfelt, that Eudora realised that this was not the first afternoon Mr Lowell and Lady Albermay had spent together.
He was the type of man who invited confidences, his calm demeanour and broad shoulders offering assurance.
Eudora could not blame Lady Albermay for seeking refuge in this room with him, when the household was a sea of of suspicion and rumours.
“Thank you, Mr Lowell, you have given me a lot to think on,” the viscountess replied, running a distracted hand through her mane of red hair. “I think I will retire now to my rooms. Miss Mifford, would you like to walk with me?”
Her words were less of an invitation and more a subtle reminder that, as an unmarried young lady, Eudora should not be left alone with a bachelor.
Eudora nodded her agreement and along with the viscountess, bid Mr Lowell goodbye.
They walked in silence along the corridor for a few minutes, headed in the direction of the entrance hall.
“Mr Lowell has been a sympathetic ear these last few days,” Lady Albermay finally said, casting a nervous glance at Eudora. “Nothing more.”
“You must be assured, my lady, that I would never think such a thing about you,” Eudora answered quite truthfully, for she had recognised that Mr Lowell’s attraction toward the viscountess was entirely one-sided.
“Mr Lowell has a very comforting presence. He showed me great kindness, when I was upset. I think he just has that way about him.”
“Those who suffer loss at a young age often do,” Lady Albermay agreed, referring—Eudora guessed—to the industrialist’s deceased sister.
They continued to walk in comfortable silence, until they reached the grand entrance hall, where they parted ways.
“I think I will lie down for an hour or two before dinner,” Lady Albermay said before departing up the staircase.
Eudora watched her fragile figure depart, with a gnawing sense of worry in her stomach.
The viscountess was correct in saying that the world would not be kind to her, even if she was proven innocent.
Eudora hated to imagine how the world would treat her if it was proven that the viscountess had killed her husband.
After parting with the viscountess, Eudora continued her aimless tour of the house. She had no wish to return to her rooms, instead she hoped that she would bump into Lord Delaney so that he could tell her what—if anything—he had learned from Mrs Canards.
The baron’s rooms were located on the third floor of the west wing and though Eudora knew that it would set tongues wagging if she was spotted loitering there, she still found herself drifting that way.
We have a murder to solve, she told herself, as she unconsciously lifted her hand to touch her swollen lips. She was motivated purely by justice and truth, that was all.
As she neared Lord Delaney’s chambers, Eudora was glad to find the hallway deserted. She hesitated outside the door, wondering would it be too brazen to knock and see if he was within.
Her inner quandary was abruptly halted, at the sound of someone stomping furiously down the hallway.
Startled, Eudora turned to see who had caught her malingering by the baron’s door, only to find the baron himself staring back at her. His thunderous expression changed to one of confusion as he caught sight of her.
“Eudora,” he stated as though confirming her presence to himself.