Murder at Newstead Abbey

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Book: Murder at Newstead Abbey Read Free
Author: Joan Smith
Tags: regency mystery
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Byron said with a sheepish face after he had got rid of his caller and was leading Prance toward the breakfast room. “I daresay you overheard that harangue. The locals elected the vicar to represent their concerns.”
    “The vicar!” Prance exclaimed. “He sounded more like an irate husband.”
    “He may be that as well, but I assure you not one ounce of his wife’s two hundred pounds has been molested by me. He tells me that when the parish heard I was entertaining gentlemen friends they were afraid I was repeating my youthful folly of carrying on what he chose to call ‘orgies’ with the local girls. I had Matthews and a few of the fellows down here after graduation. We managed to scandalize the neighbors with our foolish carrying on. Staying up late and sleeping in till one o’clock. Of course we indulged in the usual juvenile delinquencies, with the innovation of dressing up in monks’ robes to lend it an air of diablerie. We drank too much, et cetera. I daresay it was the et cetera that really bothered him, for Ruttle wouldn’t object to drinking. He likes his bottle as well as the rest of us. The best we could do in the way of women was two skinny house maids and one married woman of uncertain character, but certainly not chaste.”
    “Now I have the gentleman’s character. You’re speaking of a parson squire, I take it?”
    “Just so. Spends his days astride a monstrous bay mare which rather resembles his wife, and his nights with his crones, drinking and gambling, while a curate does his work for him. Except, of course, for such occasions as baptisms and weddings, when there’s likely to be a pourboire involved.”
    “Why not be rid of him? Isn’t the living yours to give — or take away?”
    Byron assumed an expression of mock horror. “Oh lord, I’m unpopular enough without making changes, Prance. You must know changes are anathema in the provincial backwoods. I explained that I had reformed, and was entertaining the crème de la crème at a perfectly respectable house party. Pray don’t tell Luten and Lady deCoventry he was here. He already thinks me a fool, and I wouldn’t want her to think any worse of me than she already does.
    “I’ve braced myself to behave like a proper gentleman for two whole weeks. I’ve even given orders to keep my animals out of the main rooms. No flirting with Corinne, no carrying on with the housemaids. In fact I’ve hired the ugliest ones I could find especially for the occasion. I can do without the girls but I do miss Abu and Nelson.” Abu was his favorite dog, an ugly yellow hound, and Nelson his one-eyed cat.
    Prance adored secrets and always enjoyed anything in the way of mischief. He was also delighted to hear himself described as the crème de la crème. “Fear not, Byron. Your secret is safe with me. These country folks are Mrs. Grundys, one and all.”
    “I expect it was the skull cup that set him off. That seemed to be a major bone of contention. He wanted me to give it a decent burial.”
    “What, bury a cup?”
    “A skull cup, skull being the offending word. I found a monk’s skull in the grounds and had it set in silver to use as a drinking cup in that orgy I spoke of. Luten would no doubt think it blasphemous and you, I expect, would find it vulgar. I was careful to hide it away before you worthy folks arrived.”
    “I’ve heard of it. May I see it?” Vulgar or  not, his mind was already scurrying around to think where he could get hold of a skull, without rifling a graveyard.
    As they talked, they continued down dim corridors and around corners, finally arriving at a sunny paneled room with a cozy fire blazing in the grate. The aroma of coffee, toast and bacon hung appetizingly on the air. A round table was set for five. Two young maids with mobcaps over their curls and white aprons that emphasized their curves were just setting the dishes on the sideboard. Both bobbed a curtsey. If these were Byron’s idea of ugly, he would like to

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