Chapter Five

Chapter Five

In the days following Lord Crabb"s death, Jane kept her eyes and ears peeled for any sight or sound of Plumpton"s new viscount. Apart from a quick call to Primrose Cottage to discuss with Mr Mifford—behind closed doors—the arrangements for Lord Crabb"s funeral, and a brief glimpse of him at the funeral itself, Jane had not sighted the new lord at all.

She had, however, heard plenty about him.

In the haberdashery, the much maligned by Mrs Canards, Mr MacDowl, had informed Jane that Plumpton Hall had put in a large order for fabric, to outfit the staff in new livery.

"He might be a murderer, but he"s free with his purse strings," Mr MacDowl had commented, deaf to Jane"s responding protest that Lord Crabb was no murderer.

In the pub, the talk of the new Lord Crabb was also favourable.

"He might have killed Lord Crabb, but he summoned Northcott"s estate manager the very next day, and told him to commence the work on the mill," Angus—polishing the Ring"s brass doorknobs—commented to Jane one day as she passed, "Which rather makes up for the murder."

"And he won me three shillings," an inebriated Mr Marrowbone had added, as he stood slumped against the wall, "Which means he"s alright in my book, murderer or no."

"He"s not a murderer," Jane had replied, exasperated—both at their belief in a falsehood, and Mr Marrowbone"s feckless understanding of his role as constable.

"And even if he were," Mr Marrowbone had replied cheerfully, "Who in Plumpton truly cares?"

Therein lay the issue, Jane thought, nobody at all seemed inclined to try find the true perpetrator of the murder. Except, Jane, that is.

While the inhabitants of Plumpton had been only too happy to accept that their new viscount came with the unfortunate flaw of a murderous temperament, Jane had quietly been doing some investigating to try to discover the truth. As she had no access to Plumpton Hall, or its servants, it had been a difficult task, but she had still managed to sketch a list of possible suspects.

That morning, as she walked along the riverside, she ran through her list again in her head. There were the four farmers—Jacobs, Hendricks, Bennett, and Carlyle—who were aggrieved that Lord Crabb had stalled the progress on expanding the mill. There were the servants in Plumpton Hall, some of whom—according to Mrs Mifford, who Jane had cornered after her nightly glass of medicinal wine—had suffered from having their pensions cut for perceived misdemeanours. Then there was Miss Hughes, though Jane did not believe that she truly deserved to be added to the list. Jane had pressed Sarah—subtly, for though kind, Sarah was no fool—as to why she believed the lovely, young girl had decided to take an octogenarian for a husband.

"It really was so out of character for her," Sarah had sighed, "Though she had visited with her Mama"s cousins in Bath during the summer; Lord and Lady Gale, they have an estate there, just outside town. I perhaps wonder if she was somehow influenced to seek him out after being exposed to the trappings of wealth and title there. Lord and Lady Gale move in very grand circles—their neighbour is an earl."

"It would not be difficult to be blinded by the lights of society, after a life lived in Plumpton," Jane had agreed.

As she continued her walk, Jane"s mind kept wandering toward Miss Prunella Hughes. If she had married Lord Crabb, then she would be suspect number one for the murder, but as she had been left without a title or a penny, it was ridiculous for Jane to even include her on her list. An uncomfortable realisation stole over Jane, that perhaps her own distaste for Prunella so blatantly marrying for title and wealth was clouding her judgement.

Who was Jane to cast aspersions on Prunella"s choice of husband? For eons, marriage had been transactional in its nature—a sad necessity for females—and if Jane had any sense, she would find an aged aristocrat of her own to marry. Had Jane too not recently decided that marriage was a necessity?

Feeling a little shamed for judging Prunella, rather than a society which granted women little liberty and agency, Jane drew her attention away from her thoughts towards her surroundings.

The Churn flowed slowly along, the chill north wind sending ripples across the water"s surface. The bare branches overhead dripped, as the morning"s frost thawed under a weak winter sun. In nature, all was as it always was, which offered Jane some comfort.

She traipsed along a while longer, carefully avoiding any puddles, and as her eyes were trained to the ground, she did not notice a rider approaching until she heard the sound of cantering hooves.

"Miss Mifford, what a surprise."

Mr Bonville—or rather, Lord Crabb, as he was now styled—sat atop a beautiful beast of a horse, looking rather beautiful himself. Feeling conscious of her appearance, Jane subtly attempted to straighten her bonnet, hoping against hope that she looked somewhat presentable.

"My lord," Jane said, as the new viscount dismounted his horse, "I have not had the chance to offer you my condolences on the passing of Lord Crabb."

"Thank you," a pair of knowing green eyes—framed by thick dark lashes—met Jane"s. "As you and your family were more acquainted with Lord Crabb, I rather feel it is I who should be offering my condolences and not the other way around."

The viscount, who held his stallion"s reins in hand, gestured for Jane to continue her walk, and fell into step beside her. Beneath her bonnet, Jane"s cheeks flamed, as she wondered why his lordship had chosen to stop at all. If he had wished to be polite, a mere "hello" as he had passed would have sufficed, which made Jane wonder—did his lordship wish to be more than polite with her?

"How are you settling into your new role, my lord?" Jane asked, unwilling to allow an awkward silence fall between them, when she already felt awkward enough.

"As well as can be expected," Lord Crabb replied, flashing Jane a smile, "Though I will admit that while I find holding a new title easy enough, I am struggling to deal with being labelled as a murderer."

"Oh, no one thinks you a murderer," Jane replied, out of reflexive decorum.

Lord Crabb paused and cast her a disbelieving glance. As he looked at her, the winter sun caught his eyes, making them warm and bright. They were the same colour as the sea, Jane thought absently; though she could not say this for definite, having only ever seen the sea in paintings.

"I beg you, Miss Mifford," the viscount said, as a smile tugged the corners of his generous mouth, "Please tell me the truth; you do not need to be polite for fear of hurting my feelings."

"I was not being polite," Jane protested, but another look askance from Lord Crabb forced the truth from her, "Oh, alright, I was. Just a little bit. Not everyone thinks you murdered Lord Crabb, just..."

Jane trailed off, as she struggled with how she might word her next sentence.

"Not everyone thinks it, but most people do," she finished, rather lamely.

To her surprise, the viscount threw back his head and laughed; a deep, rich sound, which made one want to laugh along with him.

"Your honesty is refreshing, Miss Mifford," the viscount said, when he had finished chuckling at her remark, "And if I might be so bold as to ask, where do you stand on the matter?"

"Why, I think you innocent, of course," Jane"s tone was certain and she met the viscount"s gaze with a steady one of her own.

"Why?"

For a moment, irritation fluttered in Jane"s belly; she was on his side, why was he questioning her? Had inheriting a title transformed the charming Mr Bonville she had met into a brittle lord so soon?

However, when Jane glanced at him to gauge his mood, she saw that Lord Crabb appeared rather nervous as he awaited her reply. He wanted her to reassure him that her claim was true, and not based on mere manners, she realised.

"I do not know you very well," Jane began, as she struggled to think how she could best explain her belief in him, when she could barely explain it to herself, "But having met you once, I suppose that some of my belief is based merely on the fact that you do not seem like a murderer."

Lord Crabb"s face fell with disappointment—though he tried to conceal it—and Jane rushed to explain herself further.

"As well as that," she continued, "There are other reasons; you did not need to kill Lord Crabb for his wealth, for I am informed you have wealth enough of your own. You appear to be quite worldly, so I think that if you had wished to kill Lord Crabb, that you would have paid someone else to do it while you stayed in London. You being in Plumpton and under Lord Crabb"s roof at the time of his death made you the obvious suspect. One would have to be terribly stupid to think that a good plan—and as I have mentioned, you do not give the appearance of a terribly stupid man."

"Thank you—" the viscount began to speak, but Jane had warmed to her theme.

"Not only that," Jane added, in a rush, "But nobody liked Lord Crabb. In fact, so many people disliked him that I managed in a day to compile a list of possible suspects—and I believe I have only scratched the surface."

"My goodness," Lord Crabb paused his step and looked at her warmly, "You really do believe in my innocence."

Jane flushed, glad that he had interjected, for she had been so carried away with speaking that she might have let slip her final reason; that she thought him too handsome to be wicked enough to kill.

"Yes," Jane averted her eyes from his, suddenly shy at having revealed how often she had thought of him over the past few days, "I do."

"Thank you, Miss Mifford," the viscount replied, most formally, "I cannot tell you how much that means to me. It warms me to know that there are now two people in Plumpton who do not think me a murderer. Unfortunately, as the second person is me, I fear that there is a lot of work to be done, if I am to clear my name."

"I can help you," Jane"s reply was hasty, but she hoped not overly eager. "That is, if you wish to be helped?"

"I do," his lordship smiled, "Why don"t we begin by comparing our thoughts on who might be guilty? I am afraid that, as a blow-in, I do not have the same insights as you might have to the villagers."

And so, as they walked, they began to share their suspicions. Jane was rather pleased to find that the viscount"s list of suspects was similar to her own; a wronged staff member, a farmer vexed by the delay with the mill"s expansion—Mr Bennett, the farmer whom Nora was sweet on was mentioned particularly— and Miss Hughes.

"I too suspected Prunella," Jane confided, "Though it makes no sense to do so. She would have gained a title and wealth, had she married Lord Crabb."

"Perhaps she did not wish to marry him at all?" Lord Crabb suggested, "Maybe her father forced her into the match?"

"No," Jane shook her head, "If anything, from what I have heard, Sir Charles is relieved that there will be no wedding. Miss Hughes devised to marry Lord Crabb all by herself, and her father allowed it because she said it was what she wanted."

"How peculiar," Lord Crabb said, thoughtfully, "I would not have believed that she had acted of her own volition, unless you had told me. How sad it is to think that a girl so young, thought that her most promising path in life."

"When a man has ambition, he can go out into the world and try to realise it," Jane replied, her tone rather snippy, "A woman can have no other ambition than to marry well. She cannot try to make anything more of herself than a wife, for fear of facing scorn and ridicule. Miss Hughes chose wisely; we must not judge her choice."

Jane exhaled as she finished speaking, surprised by the passion she felt. Was her vigour inspired by sympathy for Miss Hughes, she wondered, or did it reflect more on the pity she felt for her own station in life? She was a single lady, perilously close to verging on spinsterhood; choices were few and far between. A lifetime with an as-yet-unknown man, or a lifetime with her mother—no wonder Jane was feeling prickly.

"May I ask what your ambitions for life are, Miss Mifford?"

It was an unexpected question, and it took Jane a moment to reply. No one had ever thought to ask her if she longed for anything more than what she had; if she desired to be more than a daughter who hoped to be a wife. While touched by his interest in her, Jane found that she was too shy to reveal her deepest wishes, so she answered lightly.

"I should like one day to see the sea," she said, her words inspired somewhat by her earlier thoughts on his eyes.

"You have never seen it?" Lord Crabb raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

"I have never been farther than Bath," Jane laughed, "I suppose I must seem provincial to you, who is so well travelled."

"You are far from provincial, Miss Mifford," the viscount replied, "You might have said that you wished to own a dozen dresses purchased on Bond Street, or to see Prinny parade along The Row, but you chose the sea—a thing which stretches the whole world. You are a lady of great ambition, I think."

Jane flushed at his praise; that she had only envisioned herself dipping a toe into the surf at Weston was not something she would now share with the viscount. It was rare for Jane to see herself through someone else"s eyes, and she was rather taken by the way Lord Crabb looked at her—like someone worldly and worthy, rather than a woman on the brink of being placed on the shelf.

The air, Jane realised, had suddenly become heavy with something unknown. She felt rather strange; excited and giddy, yet nervous all at once. She longed to question him in turn, to learn of his travels, his hopes and his dreams, but a sudden shyness prevented her from reaching out.

"Nora, our maid, is a little bit in love with Mr Bennett," Jane said, abruptly changing the conversation"s direction, "I shall endeavour to find out what she knows of him."

"Capital idea," Lord Crabb replied.

If he was taken aback by Jane"s volte-face, he did not show it. His handsome face was unreadable, his eyes trained on the path ahead.

"Are you of a mind to think that Nora knows a lot about this Mr Bennett?" his lordship questioned, thoughtfully.

"I would wager that she knows what he had for his breakfast," Jane smiled, "She"s really quite determined when she puts her mind to something."

"So, you shall take Nora aside and see what she knows," he agreed, "And I will attempt to discover if there was any disharmony between the late Lord Crabb and any of his staff."

"I will keep an ear out for that too," Jane offered, for she was not terribly confident that he would make much headway amongst the servants. Lord Crabb did not seem to realise that his new position had placed him so far above his staff that they would be reluctant to share their—or anyone else"s—secrets with him. He held so much power that it was only natural that those beneath him might be distrustful.

"I will send word to Plumpton Hall, if I discover anything," Jane finished, for they had reached the point where the path diverged. She would go left to Lower Plumpton, allowing Lord Crabb to continue on straight.

"Very good," the viscount said, "Perhaps, though, I shall see you before then; I have been meaning to ask your father if you and your family would care to dine with me at the Hall."

"That"s very kind of you."

"It"s expected of me," Lord Crabb replied, his words stiff but his cheeks remarkably pink, "Your father does, after all, hold the living here. It has been remiss of me not to invite you all sooner."

If Jane had regarded herself as a catch, she might have suspected that there was an ulterior motive to Lord Crabb"s invitation, besides getting to know her father better. As it was, she was too humble to even acknowledge that she alone might have inspired the viscount to invite the Mifford family en masse to dine with him.

"My mother will be delighted," Jane smiled in response, though her smile faltered a little bit as she realised that meant Mrs Mifford and Lord Crabb would be in the same room for an extended period, "She is—er—a very enthusiastic woman, don"t be alarmed when you first meet her."

"I am certain she will be every bit as charming as her daughter," Lord Crabb replied, sincerely.

He then tipped his cap to Jane, before remounting his steed and taking off along the path at a brisk canter.

Jane"s stomach sank a little as she watched him go; his sincere belief in Mrs Mifford was rather misplaced. Her Mama was many things, but restrained was not one of them, and she would see an invitation for her daughters to dine with the viscount as tantamount to a marriage proposal.

Heaven only knew how she would behave in Plumpton Hall, Jane thought miserably, as she traipsed back to Primrose Cottage.

At home, all was quiet; Mrs Mifford had taken Emily and Eudora to Cirencester in the gig for market day. As Daisy, the family nag, was old and temperamental, it was anyone"s guess when they might return.

"Hello," Jane called out.

Her greeting was met by one from her father, who was ensconced in his library, under the stairs.

"I am attending to the family finances," Mr Mifford answered in reply, when Jane asked if he would like to take tea with her, "Or, rather, what"s left of them. Your mother appears to think that it is she who is now a duchess, not Mary, judging by the money she has spent this last month."

Mr Mifford slashed his quill across the ledger, in a decidedly irritated manner, and Jane decided it was best not to press him on the subject of tea.

She retreated quietly from the library, and made for the kitchen, but as she approached, she heard the sound of voices within. One voice was Nora"s, but the other Jane could not place—though it was definitely male.

"I"m telling you, Nora," the male voice grumbled, "That man has it in for me. First, he was annoyed with me for reporting the missing painting, then he made me ride to Cirencester to deliver a message when everyone else got the morning off, now he tells me my conduct is under review."

"If your conduct is under review," Nora replied, tartly, "Then why are you sitting in my kitchen, when you should be carrying out your duties? You can"t get dismissed from your position, Jimmy, not when Ma needs the money we send home."

Jane"s shoulders sagged in relief as she realised that the gentleman in the kitchen was not a suitor calling for a tête-à-tête with Nora, but rather her brother James, who worked as a footman in Plumpton Hall.

"I reckon Mr Allen broke the frame and hid the painting," Jimmy continued, as though Nora hadn"t spoken, "And that"s why he has it in for me."

"Or maybe he has it in for you because you"re a work-shy lump, who prefers to spend the morning eating currant buns in my kitchen over working," she replied, her tone far more affectionate than her words belied.

Beyond the door there was the sound of a chair scraping against the flagstone floor, and Jane realised that Jimmy was about to leave. Adopting an innocent expression, Jane pushed the door of the kitchen open, and went inside, hoping to delay him a little.

"Miss Mifford," the young footman flushed, casting his sister a nervous glance.

"James, how nice to see you," Jane responded, offering him a warm smile, "Are you just passing through?"

"I was on my way to the village to fetch something for the house and I thought that I would call in on Nora on the way," James replied, apologetic for his intrusion.

"Lovely," Jane smiled again, in order to assure him that she would not tattle, before glancing pointedly at the teapot on the table, "Would you like to stay for another cup?"

"No, thank you, Miss Mifford," the young man shook his head, "I had best be off, before I get in trouble for dallying. Goodbye Nora."

"Behave," his sister called back, as James slipped out through the kitchen door.

"Brothers," Nora grumbled, as the door closed behind him, "You"re lucky you"ve only sisters, Miss Mifford."

"You can"t truly believe that, Nora," Jane chided, with a smile, "When you"ve met all three of them. How is James faring up at the Hall? Is all going smoothly with the new Lord Crabb? Come, have some tea with me while all is quiet."

Nora, who never said no to a cup of tea, seated herself back at the table with a happy sigh.

"I don"t think James is high-up enough to have many dealings with Lord Crabb," Nora offered, "He mostly deals with the head footman, Mr Fitzherbert, and the butler, Mr Allen. By all accounts, the staff are very pleased with their new master—new uniforms, more pay, less trouble—though Mr Allen is quite sore that everyone has taken such a liking to the new lord, given how he murdered the last viscount."

"There"s no evidence that he killed Lord Crabb," Jane interjected, but Nora merely shrugged and took a large bite from a currant bun.

"Mr Allen seems to think he did, according to my Jimmy," Nora commented, "Jimmy reckons he"s real shook up about the whole thing. Understandable, I suppose, given his history and the fact he"s worked there for more years than the two of us have between us."

"Quite," Jane placed a hand to her brow, momentarily weary. How on earth would she discover the true killer, when everyone seemed too happy to accept that it was Lord Crabb?

"We"ll have to arrange a dance, at the end of the month," Jane said, deciding to change tack, "An assembly to welcome the new viscount; I shall see if Mrs Canards will allow the Ladies" Society to organise it."

"Oh, a dance," Nora"s eyes lit up, "The perfect thing to banish the cobwebs of winter. I don"t know about you, Miss Mifford, but I find the dark mornings so wearisome."

"Er, yes," Jane replied, longing to ask Nora when she had last risen early enough to find the morning still dark, "Is there any lucky man in town you have your eye on, Nora? I thought I caught Mr Bennett glancing your way the other day."

Nora"s face lit up at the very mention of Mr Bennett, and Jane felt a pang of guilt for falsely raising her hopes. Nora"s hope, however, was soon replaced by realism, and she gave a derisive laugh.

"I doubt he was looking at me, unless Flora Bridges was standing behind me," Nora grumbled, good-natured despite her disappointment.

"I do not know Miss Bridges," Jane ventured, her mind casting back to the morning she had spotted Mr Bennett talking with a servant on the village green.

"She works up in Plumpton Hall," Nora shrugged, her brow marred by a frown, "I personally don"t know what he sees in her—she"s a witch."

"Nora," Jane scolded; disappointment was perfectly acceptable, but name calling to soothe it was not.

"I don"t mean it like that," Nora gave a giddy laugh at Jane"s censure, "I mean she"s really a witch. She grew up near Pudding Hill on the Bath Road, in a little cottage with her grandmother. Old Mrs Bridges makes herbal potions and the like, for those who can"t afford the services of Dr Bates or the druggist in Cirencester. Flora"s the same, she has a potion for every ailment. She sells them down The Ring on occasion."

"Oh," Jane"s sense of indignation dissipated at Nora"s explanation. Mrs Mifford kept a copy of Culpepper"s Herbal Compendium and a medicine chest full of homemade salves and ointments, but for country folk—with no reading skills—a woman like Mrs Bridges, who knew the old secrets of the still room, was usually the first port of call in a crisis. In the past, such women would have suffered accusations of witchcraft, and though these days people were somewhat more enlightened, old habits—and old insults—died hard.

"She"s welcome to him, anyway," Nora sighed, her mind still on Mr Bennett, "By all accounts he has a temper, and his father hasn"t a hair on his head. I may not have many choices, but I"d rather no husband than be married to an egg."

"That"s the spirit," Jane replied, encouragingly, "Does this Flora girl return Mr Bennett"s affections, do you know?"

"I don"t think she even sees him," Nora answered, the slight bitterness to her tone portraying the wounded pride of one who had also failed to be noticed.

Oh, Jane frowned; if Flora Bridges held no interest in the farmer, then it was difficult to see how he might have convinced her to act as his accomplice inside Plumpton Hall. Still, Jane added Flora to her list of suspects, alongside Mr Allen the butler.

As Jane wondered where and how she might get to share her discoveries with the new viscount, there was a loud commotion out in the hallway.

"Jane! Jane!" Mrs Mifford called frantically, causing Jane and Nora to leap to their feet in panic.

Had something happened? Had Daisy somehow found the energy to bolt and caused the gig to overturn?

Visions of disaster danced through Jane"s mind as she raced from the kitchen to the hallway.

"What is it, Mama?" Jane pressed, as she reached them. Mrs Mifford"s colour was high as she struggled out of her coat, and she wore the look of a woman possessed.

"It is Lord Crabb," Mrs Mifford breathed, dropping her coat to the floor, "A footman arrived at the same time as we did, carrying a letter inviting us all to dine with him tomorrow."

Jane bit back a groan as she realised that her mother had interpreted Lord Crabb"s invitation exactly as she had feared.

"It is just an invitation to dinner, Mama," Jane cautioned, but Mrs Mifford brushed her words away with a gloved hand.

"Don"t be silly, child," she said, her blue eyes alight with a hope that looked somewhat manic, "It is so much more than that; he wants to marry one of you. Which one, I don"t know, nor do I care. Oh, did I not predict that I would have one daughter as mistress of Northcott Manor and the other as mistress of Plumpton Hall?"

"And did I not tell you that you were getting ahead of yourself?" Jane cautioned, through gritted teeth.

"You were always a pessimist, Jane," her mother responded with a sniff, "I always thought of myself as something of a clairvoyant, I"ll have you know. I imagine I could be a famous fortune teller, if I was so inclined."

"I doubt that, mother," Jane snipped; her mother was not as skilled at the art of seeing as she so believed—for if she was, she would see that Jane was on the verge of committing the second murder in Plumpton in less than a week.

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