Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

The news of the attack upon Flora Bridges had sent Plumpton Hall into a frenzy. She had been discovered lying on the road the previous night by a farmer on his way home from The Ring"O"Bells. He had rushed to the Hall for help and the groomsmen had gone out to fetch her, carrying her back in one of the carriages.

She currently lay in one of the upstairs bedchambers, unconscious but—according to Dr Bates—expected to recover.

"The wound is not so bad," he said, after he had called back that morning to check Flora for a second time, "It is not deep; I expect the exposure to the cold harmed her more than the blow to her head."

"Do you think she will awaken soon?" Ivo pressed, anxious to question Flora on who she thought had attacked her.

"I expect so," Dr Bates regarded Ivo sternly over his spectacles, "But don"t go exciting her when she does wake. She needs rest, not the Spanish Inquisition."

"Very well," Ivo fibbed, fully intending to question Flora the minute she awakened. For, Ivo was certain, if he discovered who was behind the attack on Flora, then he would find Lord Crabb"s murderer—though he already had a suspect.

"James," Ivo roared once the doctor had departed, and the young footman came running to the entrance hall, "Do you know where the farmer, Bennett, lives? Good. I shall need you to bring him here immediately, don"t take no for an answer."

The footman nodded and took off, leaving Ivo with two options open to him; pace the floor of the entrance hall, or retire to the library for a drink.

He chose the latter.

The hour in which it took James to fetch Mr Bennett passed remarkably quickly, the passage of time aided—no doubt—by the consumption of two tumblers of brandy. As he waited, Ivo scribbled out a missive to Miss Mifford, explaining what had transpired. When James eventually returned with Mr Bennett, he was sent straight off again to Primrose Cottage with the note.

"Mr Bennett," Ivo regarded the farmer who stood before him with a cool gaze.

"My lord," Mr Bennett replied, his eyes not lifting from the carpet beneath his boots. He cut a pitiful figure, standing as he was in the middle of the sumptuously decorated library, dressed in muddied trousers and a frayed wool coat, twisting the hat in his hands nervously.

"I presume you know why I have summoned you?" Ivo questioned, the brandy adding a hint of melodrama to his tone.

"I do, my lord," Mr Bennett nodded, "And I should like to apologise. I was in my cups, you see, and did not know what I was doing. I hope you will take my word for it, that it will never happen again, and forgive my poor behaviour."

Ivo raised his eyebrows in disbelief; he had not expected a confession to be so easily extracted. Nor had he expected such a pitiful apology.

"That"s all you have to say?" Ivo questioned, allowing a note of disbelief to creep into his tone, "Apart from the moral issues, there are legal issues too."

Mr Bennett glanced up from the carpet which had been occupying his attention, his brown eyes finally meeting Ivo"s.

"Legal issues?" he asked, licking his lips nervously, "You mean trespassing?"

"I mean murder," Ivo growled, unable to hold his temper any longer, "You convinced Miss Bridges to poison Lord Crabb"s tonic and then, when you were afraid that she would reveal your secret, you set upon her last night and attempted to beat her to death."

"I-I-I-" Mr Bennett stuttered, fanning his sweaty face with his hat, "I did no such thing. And Flora, poor Miss Bridges, was attacked? Why—I—"

Ivo had never witnessed a man of Mr Bennett"s height and breadth faint before. The noise he made when he hit the ground reminded Ivo of cannon fire, though he did not dwell too much on this, for he had to attend to the fainted farmer.

"Mr Bennett," Ivo called, squatting down to shake the man"s shoulder.

Mr Bennett gave a groan, his eyes blinking open. For a moment he looked completely confused, until he recalled where he was and sat up.

"Is Flora alright?" he asked, grabbing Ivo by the lapel of his coat.

"No thanks to you," Ivo responded, removing his hand with a grimace.

"What? You think I attacked Flora?" the farmer shook his head, furiously, "I did no such thing; I love Flora. I thought that"s why you called me here, on account of the fact that I"ve been calling after the pub and throwing stones at her window."

It occurred to Ivo, as he glared down at the flesh-faced Mr Bennett, that the man did not have the intelligence to orchestrate a murder. He did, however, have two huge, meaty fists, and a rumoured short temper.

"Did Flora return your affections?" Ivo questioned, and the farmer flushed a little.

"Not exactly," he mumbled, his eyes once more on the carpet, "But my Da always said that when a woman says no, she just needs more persuading."

"Or perhaps she actually means no," Ivo sighed, standing to his feet and offering the farmer a hand up, "Now tell me, from the beginning, what happened between you both."

In a halting manner, Mr Bennett explained how he had first met Flora when she was selling some of her tonics in the village. He had taken a shine to her and when he had learned that it was not only beauty potions and restorative drops that she sold, but another concoction as well, he had grown concerned.

"What on earth is the other concoction?" Ivo asked, bemused by the farmer"s further blushes.

"A tonic to aid fecundity, my lord," Mr Bennett whispered, "Flora"s grandmother invented it, and Angus down the Ring swears half the population in Plumpton have it to thank for their conception."

Ivo hid a grin behind his hand, cleared his throat, then beckoned for Mr Bennett to continue.

"I was afraid some fellow would get the wrong idea about her," Mr Bennett assumed the look of a pious parson, "And I took it upon myself to offer for her hand, so that she would not be forced to engage in such business any longer."

"Let me guess, Miss Bridges refused your kind offer?" Ivo was droll.

"She did," Mr Bennett bit his lip, "And I might have become a little agitated by her refusal. I took to calling up here at night and throwing stones at her window, hoping she would let me speak with her, but she refused to answer. One night, deep in my cups, I accidentally threw stones at the wrong window and was escorted off the estate by one of your footmen."

"And a good job too," Ivo scolded, as Mr Bennett sulked, "If a lady says no, Bennett, you must listen. Now, you have explained yourself well enough, but your explanation leads me to wonder if, in a fit of pique at her refusal, you attacked Miss Bridges on her way home?"

"I did no such thing, my lord," Mr Bennett squeaked, "She will tell you that herself, it was not me."

"She is not currently conscious," Ivo sighed, unable to verify the truth just yet but inclined to believe Mr Bennett—he truly was too dense to be a criminal mastermind.

A knock on the library door interrupted their tense tête-à-tête, and when Ivo bid the knocker enter, James appeared to announce that Miss Mifford had arrived.

"You stay here," Ivo ordered the farmer, "And do not move until you are summoned. I shall have a footman keep watch on the door, lest you try to escape."

"Yes, my lord," Mr Bennett answered, his eyes sliding past Ivo to the open bottle of brandy which stood upon the desk.

"Don"t even think about it," Ivo cautioned, before following James out the door.

"Miss Mifford is waiting in the entrance hall, my lord," James informed him.

"Excellent," Ivo was brusque in an attempt to hide his excitement, "You stay here, James, and make sure our visitor remains inside."

Despite the brevity of the situation, Ivo felt a vague thrill of longing as he spotted Miss Mifford waiting for him in the entrance hall. She wore an old wool shawl over her slender shoulders and beneath her bonnet her chestnut locks had come askew, but to Ivo"s mind she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her full cheeks were rosy, presumably from the walk, and her eyes—dark as chocolate—glittered with life as she glanced at him.

"Miss Mifford," Ivo offered her a short bow, before gesturing for her to follow him into the small parlour room, pointedly leaving the door open so that no accusations might be made against them.

"How is Miss Bridges?" Miss Mifford questioned, once they were somewhat alone.

"She is still unconscious, but expected to wake. I hope that she regains consciousness soon, for I have just spoken with Mr Bennett and have come to the conclusion that his mental capabilities barely stretch to buttoning up his breeches, let alone orchestrating a murder," Ivo answered, before briefly outlining his conversation with the farmer.

"Oh, dear," Miss Mifford frowned, "I am inclined to agree with you, my lord. He would not offer to wait for Flora to wake if it were he who had attacked her."

"And so we find ourselves right back at the beginning," Ivo sighed, somewhat despondent.

"Not quite."

Miss Mifford began to pace the room, deep in thought, and Ivo took a moment to subtly admire her slender form as she moved. She was the most living thing in the dark panelled parlour; nymph like and filled with light and energy.

"While we may not know who did it," she said, coming to a stop and turning to face Ivo, "We have a more definite idea of who did not."

"It was not me, it was not Allen, it was not Mr Bennett," Ivo listed off, trying not to sound too discouraging, but he could not quite see the point she was getting at.

"Yes, so we know he was not murdered for money, nor because of a long-held grudge, or even because of the business with the mill," Miss Mifford interjected, "So there must be another motive that we have not thought of. Papa always says that crimes of passion are usually motivated by either money or lust."

"Well, in Lord Crabb"s case, we can rule out the latter," Ivo snorted.

"Can we?" Miss Mifford whispered, her eyes far away, "What do we know of the murderer? They had to be close to Lord Crabb, they had to have a reason to want him dead, not to mention a knowledge of poisonous plants..."

Miss Mifford paused, her plump mouth forming an "o" of surprise as something suddenly occurred to her.

"The gardener, what was his name? The handsome fellow."

Ivo bristled a little with jealousy at hearing Miss Mifford refer to Mr Adonis as "handsome".

"Mr Adonis?" he replied, feigning disinterest, "I suppose some might think him handsome, in a showy kind of way. Besides, I highly doubt he fell deeply in love with Lord Crabb; apart from the illegality of it, I fear the only person Mr Adonis loves is himself."

Ivo knew he was being petty, but he could not help himself. It terrified him to think that Miss Mifford might turn her affections to a dandy in too-tight breeches.

"I don"t think he fell in love with Lord Crabb," Miss Mifford interrupted, allowing herself a smile at the idea, "But rather Miss Hughes. Oh, it all makes sense now! Miss Hughes spent the summer in Bath with her cousins, who are neighbours with the Earl of Kettle. I believe I recall someone saying that Mr Adonis was involved in landscaping the earl"s gardens."

"By Jupiter," Ivo whistled, as he recalled that Adonis had told him that very same thing when he had met him in the gardens, "He was."

"Perhaps, he fell in love with Miss Hughes when in Bath, then followed her back to the Cotswolds," Miss Mifford theorised aloud, "But she spurned his affections in favour of a man who might offer her a title. In a jealous rage, he murdered Lord Crabb. But, oh, where does poor Miss Bridges fit into all of this?"

Ivo remained silent as he tried to think how Flora had managed to involve herself in all the madness. It was possible that she had fallen for the handsome Mr Adonis—after all, half the maids had been in love with him—but Ivo did not truly believe she was capable of poisoning anyone.

Crimes of passion are motivated by either money or lust...

Lust; that was it! And not Mr Adonis" lust, but Lord Crabb"s.

The viscount had been anxious about bedding Miss Hughes; on the night of his death, he had thought Ivo was insinuating that his advanced age might prevent him from consummating the marriage. Was it too far-fetched to imagine that Mr Adonis had procured a bottle of Flora"s virility tonic and laced it with nightshade to poison the viscount? If that were possible, one could also imagine Lord Crabb sampling the thing to make certain it worked—especially after how upset he had become with Ivo on the night of his death.

Miss Mifford cleared her throat and Ivo realised that he had not spoken for a full minute. In a halting voice, he gave a much redacted account of his thinking—taking a moment to be charmed by Miss Mifford"s innocent blushes—and she nodded along eagerly.

"But why now?" Ivo wondered, "Why attack Flora now?"

"Yesterday, Mary and I called on Sarah Hughes—Prunella"s cousin. We were discussing the murder and I mentioned that you suspected Lord Crabb had drank a poisoned tonic. Maybe she met with Mr Adonis and told him. Oh, but do you think...?"

Miss Mifford trailed off as she realised what her words might mean.

"Perhaps," Ivo said, gently, "Miss Hughes is more involved than we thought she might be."

"Do you really believe it?" Miss Mifford groaned, "She is a silly girl, I"ll admit, but I cannot think she is evil. Though, it might explain why she has looked so wretched of late. Oh, Ivo, whatever shall we do?"

Even in the midst of discussing murder, Ivo could not help but feel pleased by the way his given name had slipped so easily from her lips. Then, his attention was momentarily taken by appreciating said lips—their plumpness and full Cupid"s bow—until, finally, he reminded himself that now was not the time.

"Do not fret," he replied, placing a firm hand upon her shoulder, "I shall ride to Hillside House and question Miss Hughes. You wait here and try not to worry too much."

He had thought he was being chivalrous by offering to ride to Hillside House alone but, too late, Ivo recalled that Miss Mifford was not the type of woman who would be pleased to be left behind. Her brown eyes narrowed into a frown of annoyance and she opened her mouth to object, but Ivo beat her to it.

"Forgive me," he held up his hands in surrender, "I shall summon the carriage to take us and one of the maids to act as chaperone."

"Thank you, my lord," she replied, mollified by his suggestion.

Thus, a few minutes later, Ivo found himself ensconced inside a carriage with Miss Mifford and Mrs Hardbottle, racing across the barren winter landscape at lightning speed. Ivo sat on one side of the compartment, while Miss Mifford sat on the other beside the housekeeper, who was taking her new duty very seriously and watching Ivo like a hawk.

Perhaps her distrust was warranted, Ivo thought, for he was greatly regretting his gallant idea to fetch a chaperone. The carriage compartment was small and intimate; a place where a man might get up to all sorts of mischief, if he was so inclined. Though, he reminded himself, Miss Mifford"s anger at him had not abated, and he doubted she would have entertained his desire for a kiss. Not to mention that within the inside pocket of his coat, he carried a small pistol; if he had attempted a passionate embrace with Miss Mifford, it might have resulted in a—well deserved—hole in the belly.

The carriage jolted as it hit a bump in the road, dragging Ivo from his less than gentlemanly thoughts back to the present. He glanced out the window to find that they were almost at Hillside House and he offered Miss Mifford an encouraging smile.

"Almost there," he commented, with a forced cheerfulness. Inside, he doubted that there was anything to feel cheerful about; as much as he had disliked Prunella, he had not actually wished for her to turn out to be the villain of this piece—well, one of the villains.

The carriage trundled through the gates and snaked its way up the driveway, until it drew to a halt just outside the front steps. They had obviously been sighted from the house, for the instant that Ivo disembarked, the door was thrown open and Sir Charles appeared, waving him a warm hello.

"Let me do the speaking," Ivo whispered to Miss Mifford, as he helped her down.

She frowned, but did not say anything in return, which Ivo decided to take as acquiescence.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Sir Charles asked, as Ivo and Miss Mifford approached the door together. The question was a typically English faux-politeness, which really meant "what on earth are you doing calling unannounced and uninvited?".

"I am afraid I come on serious business, Sir Charles," Ivo replied gravely, "I have an urgent need to speak with Miss Hughes about the late Lord Crabb"s death."

The squire"s two eyebrows drew together in surprise at this statement, and he peered at Ivo suspiciously.

"She is not at home," he finally stated, his tone far less polite than before, "She goes out walking in the morning, sometimes for hours. She"s already upset enough by all this business, Crabb; I won"t have you upsetting her further."

Ivo was about to offer a blunt retort, but he felt a tug on his sleeve. Miss Mifford glanced up at him, her eyes wide as she tried to silently communicate what she was thinking. Not being a mind reader, the only thing Ivo could think to interpret from her gesture was that she had something stuck in her eye, but he guessed that perhaps she had something more important than that to say.

"Perhaps we shall return later, Sir Charles," Ivo answered, as the tugging on his sleeve became more urgent, "Thank you for your time."

Ivo turned on his heel and retreated toward the carriage with Miss Mifford tailing him. Once they were back inside and had closed the door, she rushed to speak her mind.

"At the Ladies" Society meetings, Sarah told me that Prunella goes out walking every day and comes back more upset than when she left—I do not think she is taking the air for her constitution, my lord, I think she is meeting with Mr Adonis."

"That"s all very well," Ivo grumbled in response, a little irritated that she had returned to addressing him so formally, "But where might they be meeting? They could be anywhere."

"Probably not," came the tart reply, for Miss Mifford had not missed his tone, "Prunella is not the type of girl to don practical boots, nor is she the sort who would expose herself to the elements. Wherever she is, I can guarantee you that it is close and well sheltered."

Miss Mifford furrowed her brow as she tried to think of where Prunella and Mr Adonis might be—if, indeed, they were together—while Mrs Hardbottle glanced between she and Ivo, perplexed. The poor housekeeper had found herself in the middle of a plot that no one had explained to her and was trying to disguise her abject confusion.

"The Needle"s Eye Folly!" Miss Mifford exclaimed, turning to Ivo with excitement, "It lies half a mile behind Hillside House. I"m sure that"s where they"ll be. Stop the carriage."

Miss Mifford did not wait for Ivo to do her bidding, instead she bashed repeatedly on the roof of the carriage until the driver came to a juddering stop. They had barely come to a halt before she had the door open and was scrambling down unassisted.

Ivo was momentarily blindsided by her speed and remained seated, until Mrs Hardbottle gave him an almighty prod.

"Go after her," the housekeeper clucked, "Though I shan"t be following; I was asked to chaperone, not go haring across the countryside in my best dress."

Ivo nodded dumbly and leapt from his seat; Miss Mifford had only a slight head-start on him, and he soon caught up with her.

"Where is it that you are taking me again?" he asked, his breath coming in pants as he matched her breakneck pace.

"Needle"s Eye," she answered, "It"s a large archway, built in the shape of a pyramid. Prunella"s great-grandfather is said to have built it in order to win a bet; he was boasting about his prowess as a whip in some club, and claimed he could drive a carriage and four through the eye of a needle. When someone challenged him, he had the folly built to prove it. Men!"

The last word was uttered with a snort of derision, indicating Miss Mifford"s feelings of distaste toward the whole venture. Ivo made sympathetic noises in return, but inwardly he felt a pang of admiration toward the late squire, which led him to conclude that Miss Mifford was definitely correct to hold the male sex in such disregard.

They continued on their journey in silence, both now breathless as they trampled across fields made muddy by winter rain. Ivo"s boots were caked with dirt and he doubted that Newman would be best pleased with him, but as the folly came into view, Ivo concluded that Miss Mifford had been correct in assuming that this was where the pair might meet.

The folly stood about twenty feet high; made of sandstone, it was shaped like a pyramid and topped with an ornamental urn. An ogee arch ran through the whole structure, wide enough to drive a carriage and four through it, and deep enough to offer shelter from the rain.

As Ivo and Miss Mifford approached, they heard the sound of voices coming from within. Inside his chest, Ivo"s heart began to race with excitement. This was it; they had finally solved the mystery!

Any congratulations were soon put on hold, however, when a shrill scream ripped through the air.

"Prunella!" Miss Mifford exclaimed, and before Ivo could stop her, she took off, racing toward danger.