Mandy

He was still in his brocade dressing gown, although, this was worn over his shirt, breeches, and highly polished boots, as Mandy dove into his arms, and wailed his name, “Skippy—oh Skippy!” It was such a release to be able to let down some of her guardedness with someone she completely trusted.

Ned met Skippy’s eyes over his sister’s head, but she turned in time to catch his expression and objected, “Do not be rolling your eyes like that.” She turned back to the viscount, “We are in a devil of a scrape.”

Ned plopped down on a nearby leather upholstered chair and put a fruit tart into his mouth.

The viscount set Mandy aside and frowned, “What’s this? A scrape? What sort of scrape?” He then turned on Ned and shouted, “Hold there! You scoundrel, that is the last tart.”

“Is it?” Ned returned and grinned. “Well then, you have the satisfaction of knowing it has been appreciated.”

Skippy shot him a fiendish look, but as Mandy was tugging on his sleeve, he returned his attention to her and groaned. “Mandy my dear, you and your brother’s descent into my peaceful morning is both unexpected and an unwanted pleasure, but do tell me, what scrape?”

“Don’t be horrid, Skippy. We are in the rockiest of straits,” Mandy declared wringing her hands. “Aunt Agatha’s stepdaughter, our cousin Celia, was murdered last night.”

“Good God!” the viscount returned his brows arching as his eyes widened with his shock. “Murdered? What do you mean, murdered? How? Why?” He waved her toward a chair, “Sit and tell me the whole.” He waited for her to be seated and took up a hard backed chair and pulled it close to her.

“Someone strangled her,” Ned said on a hushed note.

“Upon my word!” the viscount returned.

“Precisely,” said Mandy, “But—that is not the whole of it.”

“No? What can that mean?” the viscount’s hazel eyes narrowed and he put a hand through the mass of light brown locks around his pleasant face.

“She was with child…” Mandy put in and felt the heat rush to her cheeks.

“Blister it! Are you saying someone killed the poor young thing…while she was…upon my soul!” Skippy was on the edge of his chair and looking thunderous. “Who would have…why, it is unthinkable. Who could have…?”

“Me, they think it was me,” Ned said miserably.

Skippy stood up. “What sort of Banbury story is that?”

“True, both Sir Owen and Alfred were pointing fingers at Ned last evening,” Mandy put in.

“Time for you and your brothe

r to take a jaunt to London,” Skip said with some grimness.

“No, no, I must find out who did this, or people whether they can prove it or not, will always think it was me. That is the rumor already going about in ‘m’own home, Skip. I know, my man told me this morning,” Ned said obviously upset. “If we leave now, they are bound to believe that I am guilty.” Ned sighed heavily, “I must find out who murdered her.”

“Don’t see that you should do that. Bound to be trouble if someone means to implicate you. Leave it to the runners,” the viscount returned.

“Skippy, Ned had an assignation with Celia last night, he was the one that found her…and Sir Owen came upon them. Earlier, Alfred saw Ned go into the woods and well, it looks awful, you see.”

It was then that the viscount made them tell him all from the first moment that Ned became interested in Celia to the very last moment when he found her body.

The butler arrived at that moment to announce the arrival of two gentlemen, Squire Bevis Speenham and Mr. Alfred Speenham.

Ned cursed beneath his breath, but Skippy’s eyes had narrowed as he murmured, “Leave them to me, Ned…Mandy. Try not to engage them or get ruffled by them.”

No more than the required amenities were exchanged when Squire Bevis nodded at Ned and said, “Edward, it grieves me deeply, for it is a blot against the entire family, but I must ask you to accompany me to Harrowgate to speak with Magistrate Connors.”

“Why?” Mandy was on her feet.

“Because he must. His involvement in this situation, this ugly situation requires that he appear for questioning.”

Mandy saw red color fill her twin’s cheeks, “No! Why should he be questioned? Your son and Sir Owen both came to Sherborne last evening to meet with Celia. Either one of them could have murdered her. It is more likely that one of them committed the crime as it is my brother,” Mandy retorted in high form. “How dare you charge my brother as a suspect! Two other men were supposed to meet her at the pond and for all we know, they did…”

“They are not suspect,” Her uncle returned coldly.