Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Freddie was kept busy in the days which followed the kiss, but just because Emily was absent from his sight, did not mean she was absent from his thoughts.

She was in them constantly; in fact, part of the reason for Freddie"s unusually packed schedule, was his search for a house in the Cotswolds.

Charles Chesterton had proved a font of information regarding which of the aristocrats between Evesham Vale and Severn Valley, were in the market to sell their estates. Given the market, as well as the popularity of the gaming-hells in the likes of Pickering Place, there were quite a few titled gentlemen in need of funds.

In between sessions of Parliament, Freddie read over descriptions of manor houses in Tetbury, Tudor piles in Chipping Norton, and even a castle in Winchcombe, but none sounded right--nor were they close enough to Plumpton for Freddie"s liking.

He had nearly given up hope, when, just a few days before the ball that was to be held at Northcott House, a servant arrived from Chesterton"s with a missive from his master.

My lord, I have had news that a Mrs Lacey, of Wynding House, just outside your preferred village of Plumpton is seeking to sell the house she inherited from her late husband. The lady in question is keen for a quick sale, as she is due to remarry and it is not certain that her husband-to-be will survive much longer. If you have an interest, send word with my lad, and I shall have an agent meet you there this evening.

"Tell your master to go ahead and send the agent down to Plumpton," Freddie instructed the young lad, who bobbed his head, then left.

Freddie, who had taken the message in the entrance hall, turned to a lingering footman and instructed him to have his carriage readied.

"Then, tell Farley to pack me an overnight bag," Freddie added, for by the time they reached Plumpton, it would be nearly dark.

Filled with excitement, Freddie made for the library and wrote a short note to Emily, to explain that he would be out of town for the evening. He had expected to spend the evening at Lady Hubbard"s ball, which Emily was also due to attend, and regretted that he would be forced to spend another evening without glancing upon her.

It was for the greater good, however, and when the footman returned to tell Freddie that everything would be arranged within the half-hour, Freddie gave a broad smile. The future was within his reach; in just a few more days, Emily"s name would be cleared, he would have a house to offer her in Plumpton, and she would have very few reasons to refuse his proposal.

The journey from London to Plumpton took the best part of the day. Though the weather was fine, and the road in good condition, the length of the journey necessitated several stops to change horses. At last, the postillion who had travelled with them since the first stage, gave a shout that The King"s Head Inn was in sight.

"Thank heaven for that," Freddie called back. His posterior had taken a battering, despite the luxury of the coach.

At the Inn, Freddie was shown to the grandest room, which overlooked the town of Plumpton. He freshened up, with the basin of warm water a chamber maid had brought for him, before setting straight back downstairs to have a chaise readied for him.

"In which direction does Wynding House lie?" he questioned the young groomsman assisting him.

"Over yonder," the lad waved a hand in an eastward direction, "Take the bridge to Lower Plumpton and follow the road past the church and Northcott Hall, then you"ll come to a crossroads and you take the left. It"s behind a big set of gates, with some ornamental pineapples on "em."

"Of course it is," Freddie hid a smile; pineapples had been the status symbol of the previous century, and even today to have one as a centrepiece at a dinner-party was considered the height of fashion.

Mrs Lacey"s late husband must have made his wealth in importing from the new world, Freddie deduced, as he clambered upon the chaise.

With a neat flick of the reins, the two horses took off, turning from the courtyard to the main street. Plumpton was a quaint village; nearly every building had a thatched roof, and the numerous shops sported mullioned windows and brightly painted doors.

As Freddie drove on, he noticed the townsfolk staring openly at him. Outside a pub, which--according to the sign outside--was called The Ring"O"Bells, several gentlemen, holding half glasses of ale and enjoying the late evening sun, gawped at him passing.

Glad to offer some entertainment, Freddie tipped his hat as he passed, and the gentlemen in turn raised their hands in salute--even though none knew him. Plumpton, Freddie guessed, was the type of small village where a perceived slight might be remembered for decades. Best to wave at everyone, just in case.

The road curved slightly, and Freddie sighted the low stone bridge which crossed the stream. He followed the road on further, past the church, past the gates of Northcott Hall, reaching the crossroads in jig-time. There he took a left, until he found himself outside the gates of Wynding House.

They were made of black, wrought iron, and decorated with gold leaf pineapples, as the groomsman had said they would be. Freddie guided the chaise through them, up the long winding path, to a fine house in the early Georgian style.

The yellow bath stone glowed warm in the evening sunlight, and the perfectly symmetrical windows reflected the pink of the gathering sunset. A climbing rose, with a few early pale blooms, framed the doorway in a charming disarray.

Before he had even entered it, Wynding House had Freddie smitten.

Mr Waters, the agent from Chesterton"s met Freddie at the door, while a handsome groomsman took charge of the horse and chaise.

"My lord, I am honoured by your presence," Mr Waters gushed, revealing himself as a potential sycophant.

Freddie, who quite liked being adored, beamed in reply.

"The pleasure is all mine," he said, as he strode into the entrance hall followed by the agent, "You have an easy sale on your hands, I am already very taken by the outside of the house."

"A man of great taste--which one could easily guess from your attire alone, if you don"t mind me saying so, my lord."

"I don"t mind at all."

"If you are taken by the exterior, then I can assure you that you will be just as delighted by the interior," Waters continued, "If you"d like to follow me?"

Freddie followed the agent, who began the tour on the third floor, where the servants were quartered. From there, they viewed the bedchambers on the second floor--all bright and airy, with floor to ceiling windows.

On the ground floor, Freddie was shown the kitchens, then the dining room, parlour room, drawing room, and library, before finishing the tour in the long room, which ran the length of the house and doubled as a ballroom.

"Is this the mistress of the house?" Freddie queried, gesturing to a large portrait of a woman of about forty years, above the mantelpiece.

"Er, yes, that is Mrs Lacey," Mr Waters confirmed, his ears pink.

It was not usual for one to display one"s own portrait so ostentatiously, but Freddie rather admired Mrs Lacey"s confidence that her likeness demanded adoration.

"The stables have eight bays," Mr Waters continued, "With room for three vehicles. They are fully staffed at present; in fact, Mrs Lacey can offer you a full retinue of servants--barring her lady"s maid--if you so wish."

"Excellent," Freddie nodded, "My wife shall probably like her own."

"I did not know you were married, my lord," Mr Waters smiled, as though he was glad to learn that he was.

"I"m not, but I intend to be," Freddie"s admission slightly disarmed the poor agent, but he recovered quickly.

"It would be a foolish lady, indeed, to say no to you, my lord," Mr Waters said, with such conviction that Freddie half-thought he was offering himself for the position.

"Have any necessary papers sent to my solicitors, Nelson and Son, on Sloane Square," Freddie finished, offering his hand to Mr Waters so they might shake and make it a gentleman"s agreement.

"Of course, my lord," Mr Waters" eyes lit up, no doubt imagining his share of the commission for such an easy sale, "I must say, this was an absolute pleasure."

With the formalities over and done with, Freddie made for the entrance hall, to request a footman ready his chaise.

He rocked backwards and forwards on the heels of his boots, as he waited for his vehicle to be brought round. As he hummed a jovial tune, he heard a set of footsteps upon the stairs, and turned to find Mrs Lacey--easily recognisable from her portrait--smiling down at him.

"Congratulations, my lord," she said, flashing him a pearly white smile, "Mr Waters has just informed me of your intention to purchase the house."

"A fine home it is too," Freddie bowed his head, "I"m certain you"ll miss it."

"My late husband and I shared many happy memories here," Mrs Lacey agreed, her voice rather devoid of emotion, "However, I should not wish to enter into my new marriage encumbered by another man"s estate."

Freddie hid a smile; money was far easier to hide than property, and he would hazard a guess that Mrs Lacey had no intention of telling her new husband that she had profited from the sale of Wynding House.

"Mr Shufflebotham, my husband to be, owns a grand estate in Norfolk," Mrs Lacey continued, "His mind will rest easier knowing that he is leaving it to a woman with no other obligations."

"Indeed it will," Freddie answered, politely. Mrs Lacey spoke of her husband-to-be as though he already had one foot in the grave--which, he probably did.

They were interrupted by the footman, who returned to inform Freddie that his chaise was waiting.

"My thanks, Mrs Lacey," Freddie said, hiding his relief that he could now leave.

"I will be in London next season," the dashing widow replied, eying him speculatively, "Perhaps our paths will cross then."

Freddie, who did not wish to be added to Mrs Lacey"s list of prospective next husbands, gave a noncommittal reply, before dashing through the door to safety.

Outside, the sun was setting, casting the bucolic countryside in a warm glow. Freddie hummed to himself as he guided the chaise along the winding country lanes towards Plumpton. Birds chattered in the hedgerows, in a distant field a cow was lowing, and the occasional hare scampered across his path.

It was idyllic, but there was one thing which would make it even more perfect--Miss Mifford seated at his side.

As Freddie rounded the corner, into Lower Plumpton, he felt a strong urge to celebrate his good fortune in life. He guided the chaise up through the main street and brought it to a halt outside The Ring"O"Bells.

"I"ve sixpence for you, lad," he called to a young boy loitering nearby, "If you guide my carriage back to the stables at The King"s Head."

The lad hopped to attention and pocketed the coin, with a cry of thanks, before taking the reins to walk the horses and chaise to the coaching inn.

Freddie, so thirsty he could almost taste ale on his lips, quickly ducked inside the warmth of the pub. When his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he found a scene similar to most country pubs; a low ceiling, criss-crossed by wooden beams, a flagstone floor in need of a good wash, and a suspicious gentleman behind the bar.

"Aye," the man acknowledged Freddie"s existence with a nod, still eying him with suspicion.

"Pint of your finest," Freddie replied, taking a seat on one of the stools by the bar.

"Ain"t none of them fine, but they do the job," a small, squat man, seated at the other end of the bar called, earning himself a few guffaws of laughter from the other customers.

"Quiet Marrowbone, or I"ll call the constable to have you ejected," the barman grumbled, as he poured a pint for Freddie.

This remark earned a few more laughs from the customers, though the squat gentleman rolled his eyes.

"It was funny the first five hundred times, Angus," he grumbled into his pint, "But it"s now gone rather stale."

"Like your tenure as constable," Angus agreed cheerfully, as he placed a frothy pint of hoppy mead before Freddie.

Freddie took a coin from his purse and pushed it across to Angus, who pocketed it with a wink. "That"ll cover your next one," he advised, "We don"t do change here."

"No, I didn"t expect you would," Freddie answered, thinking that the pub had probably looked the same since its inception a few hundred years before.

"You down from London?" Marrowbone called, as Angus moved away.

The whole pub fell silent, as they waited for Freddie"s answer. Guessing that the arrival of a strange face in their midst was probably the most exciting thing to have happened to the pub"s patrons this week, Freddie duly obliged them by answering loudly that he was.

"I have just agreed to buy Wynding House," he added, for good measure, "Mrs Lacey wishes to sell before she marries."

"Poor bugger," another gentleman chimed in, a farmer by the look of him, "Her husbands have a nasty habit of dying off quite soon after marriage. Regular Mary, Queen of Scots, so she is."

"Mr Lacey"s unfortunate demise was ruled as an accident," Mr Marrowbone interjected, crossly.

"Only because you were too lazy to investigate it," the farmer replied, scowling across at the constable.

"How dare you," Marrowbone, who was--Freddie guessed--deep in his cups, stood from his stool in outrage. He swayed a little on his feet, before judging the effort too much, and sitting back down with a thud.

"I am something of an expert when it comes to solving murders," the constable called to Freddie, keen to save his reputation, "Over the past few months our little village has witnessed not one, not two, but three murders--all solved by yours truly. You can ignore Mr Fielding"s comments on my work ethic; the citizens of Plumpton rest easily at night, knowing their safety is in my hands."

A few muted laughs followed this statement, but Mr Marrowbone paid no heed.

"Yes, if I wasn"t such a gifted sleuth, poor Miss Mifford--I mean, Her Grace--would still be living under a dark cloud of suspicion. Her sister, now Lady Crabb, has also benefited from my expertise--Lord Crabb was thought to have murdered the last viscount, you know, until I proved otherwise."

"You"re stretching the truth a bit there, Marrowbone," Angus chuckled, "And if you"re so gifted at solving murders, then why don"t you take yourself to London and help out there? Mrs Canards wrote to my missus, to say that the other Mifford girl--Emily or Eudora, I can"t remember which--has found herself accused of strangling a baroness to death."

"I have no jurisdiction in London," Mr Marrowbone clarified, with great haste, just as Freddie interjected to defend Emily.

"Miss Mifford was wrongfully accused--Mrs Canards should not be spreading such malicious rumours."

"I think you"ll find that spreading rumours is Mrs Canards' specialty," Angus guffawed, taking Freddie"s, now empty, pint glass to refill, "No one believes a word that comes out of her mouth."

"I do not like to hear that Miss Mifford"s reputation is being besmirched," Freddie sniffed, "Even if it is well known the source is not credible."

"If Mrs Canards told me the sky was blue, I"d still look out the window to check that she was telling the truth," Angus called cheerfully, as he set a fresh pint before Freddie. Angus then gave Freddie an appraising glance, his eyes twinkling with mischief, "Tell me, sir, is there a reason you have such an interest in Miss Mifford"s reputation?"

The pub fell quiet again, as everyone awaited Freddie"s answer. Thinking to give them something to really talk about, Freddie nodded his head, and proudly proclaimed, "Yes, I intend to ask her to become my wife."

"Well, I think that news calls for a round of pints for the whole pub," Mr Marrowbone cried, as the other patrons burst into a round of applause--for the romance or the pints, Freddie wasn"t quite sure, though he guessed the former.

"You paying?" Angus raised a brow at the constable.

"As our new friend is the one celebrating, I think it"s customary that he pays," Mr Marrowbone cleared his throat, awkwardly.

"You called it, you pay for it," Angus threatened, but Freddie waved a lazy hand to interrupt.

"It"s on me," he said, "What better way to introduce myself to my new neighbours, than with a pint?"

"And your new father-in-law," Mr Marrowbone guffawed, as the door to the pub opened, ""Ere he is now--I say, Vicar, there"s a man here who wants to marry one of your daughters."

Mr Mifford paused in the doorway; he was a tall man, with a shock of white hair and a neat beard, and bright, inquisitive eyes.

"Which daughter?" he called cheerfully, as he ambled towards the bar.

"Emily," the constable answered, with a wink to Freddie, "Though perhaps he"s open to negotiation."

"I am not," Freddie frowned at the very idea, before turning his gaze towards Mr Mifford, "A pleasure to meet you, sir. I am Freddie, Lord Chambers."

"A lord, is it?" Mr Marrowbone squawked, but Freddie ignored him, gesturing for Mr Mifford to join him at the bar.

Angus, who already knew what his customers wanted before they did, set a pint of stout before Mr Mifford and another pint of ale before Freddie.

"You have come from London?" Mr Mifford asked, after he had taken a sip of his pint, "Tell me, how goes the investigation? My second eldest, Jane, wrote to tell me of Lady Hardthistle"s unfortunate demise, and Emily"s equally unfortunate association with it. She also said that you had taken on the yoke of investigator."

"I am nearly certain that I--I mean, that we--have discovered who the perpetrator is," Freddie answered, glad to have good news to impart. In a rush, he explained about Sir Cadogan, his declaration that he would strangle the baroness, and his association with Ethel, which provided perfect motivation.

"It sounds promising," Mr Mifford agreed, once Freddie had finished, "Though I do caution you; not everyone who declares a wish to murder someone is necessarily a murderer. My good wife professes a wish to kill me at least six times a day, yet I"m still here."

Mr Mifford took another, thoughtful, sip of his pint, before continuing with a rueful smile, "Though, I suppose, if my battered corpse is one day discovered, she"d be the most likely suspect."

Freddie, who was not accustomed to such dry humour, choked a little on his ale.

"My daughters have an unfortunate habit of becoming embroiled in murder mysteries," Mr Mifford continued, with a faint look of pride in his blue eyes, "And what I have learned, is that the true culprit is quite often the person you least suspect--the man who said nothing at all."

"That"s very helpful," Freddie answered, politely, "Though, in this case, I rather think we have our man."

"I bow to your superior knowledge on the matter," Mr Mifford raised his glass in toast, "Now tell me, what did my daughter say when you asked for her hand?"

"I have not yet asked her," Freddie, despite his confidence, felt his ears burning, "I wished to procure a house in Plumpton first, to try sweeten the offer."

"I take it you have not spent much time in the company of Mrs Mifford?" the vicar queried, innocently, "Though it is admirable of you to wish for Emily to be close to her sisters."

"I am told it is the best way to keep a woman happy," Freddie shrugged, "Now, all I need, if you don"t mind me asking, is your permission."

"My permission?" Mr Mifford"s bushy brows disappeared into his hairline, "My lord, I have raised four daughters and having spent over two decades in a house full of women, let me offer you this piece of advice."

Mr Mifford paused, for dramatic effect.

"You are not in charge. You might think you are, the world might tell you that you are, but--believe me--you are not."

"Understood," Freddie lifted his pint in salute of his advice, before taking a very large sip.

"Good," Mr Mifford smiled, "Life is much easier when you know your place. Now, the next drink is on me--I rather think you"ll need it after that."

Mr Mifford hailed Angus, who supplied both men with another round of drinks, and continued to do so until the bell was rung and last orders called.

After parting ways with Mr Mifford, Freddie returned to his rooms at The King"s Head, content that his mission to Plumpton had been something of a success.

He had the house, he had met the neighbours, he had even ingratiated himself with his potential father-in-law; now all he needed, was for Emily to say yes.