Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Emily awoke late the next morning, to a house in chaos.

Mrs Mifford had arrived before the occupants of Northcott House had even risen, incensed to have learned of the previous night"s outing from the gossip columns.

"Nobody told me," she wailed, as Emily entered the dining room.

"Told you what?" Emily queried blearily, in response.

She had not slept well, having spent the night tossing and turning, with thoughts of Lord Chambers running through her head, and she had not the energy to humour her mother speaking in riddles.

"Nobody told me about your jaunt to the theatre with the marquess," Mrs Mifford answered, waving a folded-up newspaper manically in the air.

"I was forced to endure the dullest of evenings, when I could have been at the theatre, basking in the triumph of my daughter making one of the best matches of the season," she continued, with evident displeasure.

"My dinner party was not dull," Jane--who had followed her mother across the square--objected, at the same time as Emily exclaimed, "Lord Chambers and I are not going to be married."

"Dull in comparison to Emily"s night, dear," Mrs Mifford offered her second eldest a half-hearted apology, before turning back to Emily, "Now, tell me everything about Lord Chambers. When do you expect he will propose? I do hope it"s before Mary"s ball, for I"d like to have something to crow over to Lady Jacobs--her youngest recently became engaged to an earl."

"Coffee, please," Emily called to the footman who was hovering in the corner; if she was to deal with her mother, she would need something more stimulating than a cup of hot-chocolate.

"Lord Chambers is just a friend," Emily said, once she had a steaming cup of coffee before her, "Mary thought it would be beneficial for me to be seen with him after the murder accusation, and he agreed to offer me his support. In his mind, our outing was not romantic but altruistic."

"How clever your sister is," Mrs Mifford breathed, hearing only what she wished to hear, "To throw you together like that. Tell me what he said, and what he did--I have a gift for reading men, and can divine from even a twitch of the eye if one is about to propose."

Emily bit back a groan; her mother frequently decided she was bestowed with supernatural gifts, and could rarely be deterred from this belief, unless something came along to distract her...

"Mrs Canards was there," Emily exclaimed, suddenly, "And Mrs Wickling. They"re staying with Ethel, Lady Hardthistle"s maid, who inherited her mistress" fortune."

Mrs Mifford"s eyes instantly narrowed in annoyance; she and Mrs Canards shared a mutual dislike of each other, and both were constantly vying against the other for the imaginary position of leader of The Plumpton Parish Ladies" Society.

"That old shrew," Mrs Mifford grumbled, forgetting that she was almost the same age, "And with Lady Hardthistle"s maid? No doubt she is fishing for gossip on you, Emily, and will return to Plumpton to tell everyone about you being a murderess."

"I am not a murderess, Mama," Emily gently reminded her.

"Of course you"re not, dear," Mrs Mifford responded, in a tone which sounded remarkably dubious.

Emily took a sip of her coffee, to keep her mouth occupied, for she felt an irritated outburst coming on. Mercifully, distraction arrived, in the form of Eudora and Mary.

"You"re all here," Eudora called accusingly, as she stomped into the room, "I woke up to find the house empty, then I arrive here to find you"re all sharing a jolly breakfast--I"m never included in anything!"

"I was not invited, either, Eudora," Mary--who had followed the youngest Mifford into the room--said, sounding equally as petulant as her younger sister.

"It is an impromptu gathering," Jane called, cheerfully, "Mama read about Emily"s trip to the theatre with Lord Chambers, and could not wait to discuss it."

"Yes, I"m very annoyed with you, Mary," Mrs Mifford added, forgetting that just moments ago she had been singing her praises, "You should have invited me to come with you."

"I couldn"t," Mary grumbled, "Lord Chambers invited us, I couldn"t demand that he bring you too. I wouldn"t want him to think us unreasonable now, would I? And I do not have the mental faculties to deal with you being vexed with me today; I have to call on Cecilia to discuss the final plans for the ball and I"m so nervous--what if it all goes wrong, and I end up the laughing stock of London?"

"I didn"t want to say, Mary," Mrs Mifford replied, with the air of someone who was about to be most unhelpful, "But I couldn"t help but notice that you keep pear soap in the water closet--it"s so old fashioned, this year the fashionable scent is rose. You"ll have to change it, before the ball, you don"t want your guests laughing at you, or casting up their accounts at having to endure such an out of style scent."

"It"s a disaster," Mary wailed, throwing herself into the chair at the head of the table, "I was not cut out to be a duchess! I cannot possibly host a ball. I shall have to--I shall have to--"

Emily, her sisters, and their mother, waited with bated breath to hear Mary"s plan to get out of hosting the ball. When she got an idea into her head, the eldest Mifford girl was wont to lose all sense of reason.

"I shall have to fake my own death," Mary said firmly, confirming Emily"s suspicions that her plan would be mad, "There"s nothing else for it. Northcott can visit the baby and I in Plumpton, but during the season he will have to play the part of the grieving widower, so as not to give the game away."

"You are not faking your own death," Jane interjected, sounding remarkably reasonable in the face of such madness, "And no one shall give a fig about what type of soap you have in your water-closet--isn"t that right, Mama?"

"I suppose," Mrs Mifford sighed, "Though, we really should change them..."

"No one will care," Jane repeated, with a warning glare to her mother.

"No one will care," she echoed, petulantly.

"You"re certain?" Mary glanced around at her guests, her blue eyes misty with unshed tears.

"Most certain," Jane assured her.

She must have stomped on Mrs Mifford"s foot under the table, for, after giving a yelp of pain, Mrs Mifford offered her own assurances on the matter.

"Why don"t we come with you to see the duchess?" Jane then suggested, "That way you have more people to help you with your planning."

If there was one woman who could frighten Mrs Mifford into submissive silence, it was Cecilia, Dowager Duchess of Northcott. There would be no more talk of unfashionable soaps, once Cecilia had put her seal of approval on things.

"Oh, thank you," Mary beamed, with a grateful smile to her sister, "I should like that very much."

Sensing an opportunity to be alone--an almost impossible task in a family as overbearing as the Miffords--Emily spoke up.

"I think I shall rest, if you don"t mind, Mary. I feel a migraine coming on."

Eudora narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, and Emily feared she might be about to remind her that she did not suffer from the migraine, but instead she offered to stay and keep Emily company.

"Northcott has a copy of the first edition of The Encyclopedia Britannica in his library, which he said I might read," Eudora added, so that everyone might know her motives weren"t entirely altruistic.

With that settled, Jane, Mary, and Mrs Mifford set off for Mayfair, where the dowager duchess kept a townhouse for the season. Once the door had closed behind them, and she was certain that they were out of earshot, Eudora turned to Emily with a frown.

"You don"t suffer from migraines," she accused her.

"I have never once heard Northcott give you permission to read that book," Emily countered.

"He never explicitly said so," Eudora agreed, with the practiced reasoning of a youngest sister, "But by mentioning that he had a copy and where it could be found, implicit consent was given. Now, tell me what you are up to. I shan"t tell anyone, for I never get to be part of a secret."

Emily hesitated for a moment, before deciding Eudora could be trusted. In a rushed whisper, she explained everything; the investigation, Lord Chambers" offer to help, as well as Ethel"s mysterious lover and how identifying him might help solve the mystery of Lady Hardthistle"s murder.

"Who else knows all this?" Eudora queried, once she was done.

"Mary knows some, Jane none," Emily answered, which elicited a smile from her sister.

"I"m not the last to know," Eudora said, smugly, "Very well. I suppose there"s not much you can do now, except try and identify who this chap is."

"Oh, thank you, Eudora," Emily exclaimed, reaching across the table to squeeze her sister"s hand, "If Mary and the others return, try fob them off for as long as you can--though I think they"ll be hours going through all the details."

"What time should I expect Northcott to return from the House of Lords?" Eudora questioned, obviously not as certain of his implicit consent as she had previously expressed.

"Well after noon," Emily assured her, "Might I take your shawl? That way I can slip out the servants" entrance without being seen."

Eudora reluctantly handed over the tartan shawl she wore around her shoulders, and Emily threw it on over her dress. It was a day dress she had brought from Plumpton; practical and plain, the perfect outfit for a young lady who did not wish to be noticed.

"Wish me luck," Emily called, before darting out the door--a woman on a mission.

Outside on the square, Emily kept her head down as she scuttled towards St James" Street, then on towards Piccadilly. Once there, she hailed down a passing hackney cab, and instructed the driver to take her to Berkley Square.

Inside the cab was dank and musty, a far cry from Northcott"s fleet of fine carriages, but as the Mifford"s own vehicle in Plumpton was an old gig, she was not too perturbed by it. Comfort and luxury were a novelty, not an expectation.

The old carriage trundled along for what felt like an age, but at last it drew to a halt in a leafy green square. Emily jumped from the cab to the footpath, and paid the driver--a wizened soul with very few teeth--with coins from the pin money Mary had gifted her on her arrival to London.

Once the hackney had pulled away, Emily glanced around, keen to establish her bearings.

The square was lined with grand buildings, which faced onto a formal garden, whose boundary was marked with black, wrought-iron railings. On one side of the square--Emily well knew--lay Gunter"s, London"s famed confectioner, as well as several other high-end stores. Keen to avoid being spotted by anyone from the ton, Emily made for the opposite side, which was lined with residential homes.

As she walked past the austere, towering buildings, Emily realised that there was one major hurdle in her plan to spy on Ethel--she had no idea which house the maid occupied. She could not very well knock on doors, asking for her, and her chances of spotting the maid were low if she did not know which house to linger outside of.

Feeling defeated, and a little overwhelmed, Emily beat a retreat to the gardens, hoping that the green space might soothe her frayed nerves.

The gardens were larger than those in St James" Square; a formal path, in the shape of a cross, divided the immaculate lawn, while benches shaded by towering bay trees offered respite for tired feet.

Emily duly placed herself on the first bench she encountered, her eyes drawn by a nursery maid chasing her charge across the grass. She felt a momentary pang of longing for Plumpton, where the village square was always filled with friendly faces. Her thoughts then drifted, not to Ethel or her mission to spy on her, but to Lord Chambers.

When he had held her hand last night, his grip had been strong, warm, and reassuring. For all his pomp and swagger, Emily sensed that beneath his expertly tailored shirt, lay a good heart. A kind heart.

Emily blushed a little, as her treacherous mind travelled slightly off course, to wonder what else lay beneath Lord Chambers" tailored shirt--a thought unworthy of a vicar"s daughter, but rather exciting, nonetheless.

She cleared her throat, shifted her weight on the bench, and attempted to bring her attention back to the present. She did not have much time and she could not waste any precious minutes mooning over Lord Chambers--she needed to find Ethel!

As though summoned by her very thoughts, a reed-thin figure dressed in black appeared at the far gate to the park--Ethel!

Emily held her breath as the former lady"s maid cast a fearful look over her shoulder--as though worried that someone was following her--and dashed across the park to the far gate. Not wishing to lose sight of her, Emily rose from her seat and followed behind at a discreet distance, pulling her mob-cap low over her eyes to further disguise herself.

Ethel moved fast, ducking and weaving so quickly through the other pedestrians on Bruton Street, that Emily nearly lost sight of her several times. At last, she slowed somewhat, and turned into the old graveyard of St George"s Church, on Hanover Square.

Though it was not a large graveyard, the towering, old headstones of bishops and clergy long passed, offered Emily some cover, as she followed Ethel on her path.

Ethel"s progress was definite, indicating that she knew exactly where she was going and not simply taking a morning jaunt, and for a moment Emily wondered if she was, in fact, going to visit the grave of a relative or friend.

A call of hello, however, indicated that the friend Ethel was visiting was very much alive.

Emily came to a halt, hidden from view by a towering granite tablet, decorated with a macabre skull and crossbones--a popular memento mori from the previous century, to remind all who passed that death would come to them too.

She gingerly poked her head out from behind her hiding place, to see where Ethel had got to--for the graveyard had fallen silent--and when she caught sight of her target, she had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from gasping.

Ethel was sharing a tender embrace with none other than Sir Cadogan!

Emily quickly ducked back behind the headstone, as she grappled with what she had just witnessed. Two of the main suspects in the murder investigation were lovers! Lord Chambers had been correct to suspect Ethel, all along.

"You kept me waiting."

Emily stilled as Sir Cadogan spoke, the pair had obviously broken apart from their embrace.

"I"m sorry, but it"s impossible to escape that awful woman," Ethel replied, her tone annoyed, "She follows me everywhere like a shadow, and behind her is her own shadow, Mrs Wickling. A more noxious pair I have ever known; they"re constantly complaining about the food, the draught, and the staff. Everything annoys them, they are never happy."

"Ask them to leave, then," Sir Cadogan replied, irritably, "You have spent a lifetime serving cantankerous women, I don"t see why you should continue to do so now."

There was a pause, during which Emily held her breath as she waited for them to continue. The graveyard was so quiet, that any sound she made would surely be noticed. The skull and crossbones which adorned the headstone, looked more menacing than ever as she waited for Ethel to make her reply.

"Mrs Canards is right on one score," came her eventual answer, "I am a woman of great fortune, alone in the world. If I cannot have the protection of a husband in my home, at least I have the protection of two vipers."

"Ethel," Sir Cadogan chided, "Not this again; you know I want to marry you. We just have to wait, though. If that ruddy marquess had not poked his nose in where it wasn"t wanted, and accused me of murdering Lady Hardthistle, we"d already be wed. Even you have to admit how suspicious it looks..."

"No more suspicious than that wretched Miss Mifford wishing death upon her ladyship mere moments before she died," Ethel retorted, followed by a wistful sigh, "I cannot wait forever, Stanley..."

"Nor can I, my love."

Emily"s ears were then assaulted by the sound of moans of passion from the pair, which set her stomach churning. What a wretched couple they were--and how silly Ethel was, to not suspect Sir Cadogan at all when he was quite obviously the murderer!

Careful not to make too much noise, Emily traced her path back through the scattering of headstones, and down the steps back to Barton Street. She had achieved what she had set out to do, but now she was left with more questions than answers.

How could she prove that Sir Cadogan was the murderer? She would have to confront him with what she knew, and draw a confession from him.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, the very idea that Emily could frighten a confession from a grown man gave her cause to laugh out loud--earning herself a few strange looks from her fellow pedestrians.

Blushing, she cast her eyes back to the ground, and continued on her path back to Berkley Square. She would have to enrol Lord Chambers" help, she realised, if she was to extract a confession from the squire. But could she explain how she had discovered the identity of Ethel"s lover, when the marquess had expressly forbid her to go spying?

It was a conundrum, but one which was to be soon solved. As Emily turned off Barton Street, back onto Berkley Square, a grand carriage bearing an unfamiliar coat of arms drew up beside her.

The covering upon the window snapped up, revealing a very unhappy looking Lord Chambers, who leaned forward, opened the door, and gestured for her to climb in.

She was, Emily realised, in trouble.