Page 30 of A Body, A Baron, and Miss Mifford (Regency Murder and Marriage #4)

AS SHE RAN , Eudora wasn’t entirely sure if she was running toward Dr Bates or away from Lord Delaney.

Robert’s patent jealousy at finding out that the handkerchief belonged to Mr Lowell had set off a cascade of guilt within her—and something else.

Eudora had never inspired jealousy in a man before, especially not in one as handsome and strong as the baron, and the knowledge of her new power was a little alarming.

Thank goodness for the arrival of the village doctor, who was attempting to dismount his steed in the yard with help from one of the stable boys.

“Yes, thank you,” Dr Bates said brusquely, as his boots finally hit firm ground, “I was quite capable of dismounting myself.”

The stable hand looked suitably sceptical, but he kept quiet. Dr Bates noted his dubious mien and gave a huff of annoyance.

“Tell me, lad, where is Lord Crabb? I have news on the body that was found.”

Eudora let out a gasp, and beside her, Lord Delaney let out a whistle of surprise.

“I expect Lord Crabb is still asleep, my good man,” Robert said as he took charge. “But if you have urgent news, share it with me.”

“I was hoping to speak with Lord Crabb myself,” Dr Bates answered peevishly, “Over a glass of Armagnac, he said he had a fine bottle in his cellar.”

“I don’t think the viscount would mind if we opened a bottle to warm ourselves,” Rob answered congenially. “Why don’t you come inside where it’s warm?”

Lord Delaney gestured for the doctor to lead, then followed him, discreetly winking at Eudora.

She tailed them at a considerate distance, certain the doctor would object to her presence. Dr Bates was not the type of man who believed in discussing corpses in front of young ladies.

Robert led Dr Bates through the entrance hall and down the corridor to Ivo’s library, where he helpfully left the door ajar so Eudora could listen in.

“Please, take a seat,” she heard Robert say as she pressed her ear close to the door. “What was it that you wished to tell Lord Crabb? Were there any signs of mischief surrounding the man’s death?”

“Just a small glass of Armagnac to start,” Dr Bates stressed loudly, obviously afraid that his earlier hint had been too subtle.

“Of course, I’ll call for a footman in a moment,” Eudora could hear the bite of annoyance in Rob’s voice, “Please, do tell me what you learned from examining the body.”

Dr Bates sighed so loudly that it was audible even to Eudora.

“There was nothing much of note,” the doctor conceded, “From what I could see, the old man expired from natural causes. His heart, or perhaps his lungs—there was a lot of strange white dust in his pockets and shoes.”

Something stirred in Eudora’s memory, but she couldn’t grasp it.

“You came all this way, along muddy roads, to tell the viscount that the man expired of natural causes?”

This time, it was Rob’s sigh, which was loud enough to be audible from behind the door.

“Yes, well, it’s been a long few days all cooped up inside,” Dr Bates blustered, “And Lord Crabb does keep a well-stocked cellar. You almost sound as though you’d like the man to have been murdered, my lord?”

“It might make solving a murder we had here much easier,” Rob responded to the doctor’s scolding tone with a snap.

“A murder?” Eudora heard the doctor gasp, “Here? Heaven, I really will need that brandy.”

Eudora stepped back from the door as Lord Delaney uttered several epithets—one or two entirely new to Eudora’s ears. A bell tinkled in the distance, indicating that the baron had acquiesced to Dr Bates’—almost admirable—dogged pursuit of a brandy.

“Someone will be along in a moment,” she heard Rob assure the doctor before adding, “One last question: Was there anything at all on the man’s person that might have identified him?”

“Just all that strange white dust,” Dr Bates replied, “And his coat was initialled on the inside collar; R.L.—don’t suppose you know someone by those initials?”

Once again, Eudora felt a stirring somewhere deep in her mind. She closed her eyes and furrowed her brow as she tried to dredge up a memory that would not come. She clutched the rag-doll in her hands so tightly that her knuckles ached as she tried to will her brain to work.

“Are you well, Eudora, you’ve turned awfully pale?”

Eudora opened her eyes to find the baron staring at her, his chocolate-brown eyes deep with concern. His nearness caused her heart to flutter, but she ignored it as best she could.

“I was thinking,” she whispered, gesturing for him to follow her away from the door, “I’m certain the body that we found has something to do with Lord Albermay’s murder; I just can’t make the connection.”

“It will come to you,” Robert assured her.

His confidence in her was so certain that it filled Eudora with warmth. There was no one else in the world who held such a firm belief in her.

As they returned to the entrance hall, Eudora worried that Lord Delaney’s belief might be somewhat misplaced. For, try as she might, she could not summon up the memory that niggled at her.

The air in the entrance hall was frigid, for the door had been left ajar. Eudora moved to close it—fearing a lecture from Jane when she woke—but before she reached the door, the dainty figure of Flora dashed through it.

“It’s still cold enough,” the maid grumbled, “Despite the thaw.”

She held an empty tray in her hands, which Eudora assumed she had used to ferry cups of tea to the lads working outside.

“Oh,” Flora blinked as she realised she wasn’t alone, “Begging your pardon, Miss Mifford. I didn’t think there were any other guests awake.”

“Is someone else about?” Eudora replied, casting a nervous glance over her shoulder in case Mrs Canards suddenly appeared.

“Just Mr Lowell, Miss,” Flora replied cheerfully, “He was up at dawn, readying himself for his trip to Bristol. It’s madness to travel today, in my opinion, but what do I know about business?”

“Last night, he said he was going to Plymouth…” Eudora stilled as, finally, the dots connected.

She whirred on her feet to face Lord Delaney, who read her expression correctly.

“Where is Mr Lowell now, Flora?” Rob asked his tone so mild that Flora thought nothing of the question.

“He’s gone!” she answered, in her sing-song voice, “Just left for the stables with some of his belongings. He’s ever so kind; he gave me six pence for making sure he had a cup of tea before he set off.”

“How kind of him,” Eudora agreed, though the words almost choked her. Flora smiled in agreement, bid the pair goodbye and scurried off to the kitchen.

Once her footsteps had faded, Eudora burst out, “It’s him! Mr Lowell murdered Lord Albermay—oh, but I don’t think he’s Mr Lowell at all.”

“Take a breath,” Robert commanded, “And then explain.”

“It’s the dust,” Eudora whispered before hastily continuing so he would not think her fit for bedlam, “On the first night, Lady Albermay complained about all the dust in her father’s cotton mills—and now Dr Bates has said he found it all over that dead man’s clothes.

I saw it myself on the man’s handkerchief, remember?

He has to be connected to a cotton mill; there’s no other explanation. ”

“So you think the dead man travelled with Mr Lowell to Plumpton?” Rob clarified, his expression a little perplexed.

“I don’t think that our Mr Lowell is who he says he is,” Eudora stressed, “Did Dr Bates not say that the initials on the dead man’s clothes spelt R.L.? That’s a better match for Lowell than J.A.M., don’t you think?”

“It is,” Rob conceded, “But I can’t see a motive, Eudora.”

Eudora was about to throw her hands up in frustration when she realised she was still clutching the rag-doll. The doll found at the scene of the murder—the one which Lord Albermay’s valet claimed he had never seen in his long years of service.

She stilled, raking over every conversation she’d had with Mr Lowell until it finally dawned on her.

“His sister,” she whispered, “Mr Lowell—or whoever he is—told me that he’d lost his sister at a very young age. I’ll bet you anything that this doll belongs to her, and that Lord Albermay somehow played a part in her death.”

Eudora watched carefully as Lord Delaney digested her theory. She briefly wondered if she was asking too much of his faith in her. Was her supposition so wild as to be unbelievable?

“Did you spend much time alone with Mr Lowell, then?” he finally said, his words sounding a little strangled.

Eudora bit her lip to hold in a giddy giggle; he wasn’t doubting her, he was jealous.

“I hold no feelings for Mr Lowell whatsoever,” she assured him, “We had one conversation alone that happened by chance and was fleeting.”

“Right,” Lord Delaney nodded, rubbing a hand through his dark curls, “Forgive me, I’m not usually the jealous sort. And, I suppose, now is not the time for me to seek to reassure my ego—we have a murderer to catch.”

With that, Lord Delaney threw open the door, grabbed Eudora’s hand, and raced outside. Together, they ran toward the stables, both now acutely aware that Mr Lowell might already have vanished.

When they reached the stable yard the only person to be seen was a young lad brushing snow from the cobblestones.

“Is Mr Lowell about?” Robert called to him.

“In the last stall, my lord,” the lad replied, as he tipped his hat respectfully.

Rob clutched Eudora’s hand tighter and led them briskly to the stall at which the lad had pointed.

Once they reached it, Rob stepped forward, gesturing for Eudora to stay behind him.

For a moment, she thought he meant to exclude her from the entire confrontation, but as he glanced back to make sure she was following him, she realised that he simply wished to protect her.

He wanted to place his body between her and an uncertain danger—if their situation hadn’t been so dire, Eudora might have swooned.

She stayed behind him as they entered the dimness of the stall. The air inside was an earthy mix of dirt, hay, and feed, and the only sound was the disgruntled snorts of its occupant.