Death Comes to Kurland Hall (11 page)

“Because you feel safe here?” Penelope gestured at the cozy sitting room. “Your father obviously wants to get married again if he considered marrying my mother. You will be replaced. Don't ever doubt it.”

“Then I hope one of my siblings will invite me to live with them.”

“So you can become a favorite aunt?” Penelope snorted. “You will have no power. You are far too managing to stand for that.”

Turning her back on her companion, Lucy marched away to the safety of the kitchen. She had enough questions to answer without complicating matters by worrying about her potential future. She wouldn't allow herself to believe what Penelope was predicting. Whether her father chose to marry again or not, she would
never
put herself in a position where she had no choice but to accept a proposal of marriage. She would rather be an old maid than end up under the thumb of a man she couldn't love and respect.

Drawing a deep breath, Lucy started up the stairs. She had a decision to make—either she let the unanswered questions about the two deaths go or she embraced her fate and sought justice.

Chapter 10

“D
orothea hasn't come back.”

Lucy looked up from counting the sheets to find Penelope blocking the doorway of the laundry room.

“Do you want me to send one of the maids to search for her in the village?”

“I intend to go out with Mr. Culpepper and look for her myself, but any additional assistance would be most welcome. It is already clouding over, and I fear it will turn into rain.”

“I do hope Dorothea is all right.” Lucy placed the last folded sheet in the basket. “Perhaps I should come with you, or maybe go up to Kurland Hall and ask them to watch out for her, as well. There aren't many places for her to find shelter around here.”

She followed Penelope out into the kitchen and spied Betty sitting at the table, peeling apples.

“Betty? Would you mind helping Miss Chingford?”

“Of course not, miss.”

“Don't you leave those apples unfinished, girl. It's my afternoon off, and I want everything done before I leave.” Mrs. Fielding's sunny mood had obviously dispersed. “I need those apples for a pie. The rector loves a nice piece of apple pie.”

“Then come and find Miss Chingford when you have finished your task for Mrs. Fielding, Betty,” Lucy said, amending her request. “Miss Dorothea is missing. We fear she has lost her way in the village somewhere.” She turned back to Penelope, who was putting on her bonnet. “Do you want me to go up to Kurland Hall?”

“I'd rather you stayed here, in case Dorothea returns. Otherwise there will be no one to greet her and make sure that she is all right. The rector is out, Mrs. Fielding is leaving, and it is the kitchen maid's afternoon off.”

“I'll send Bran, the stable boy, up to the manor to inquire about Dorothea instead, then.”

By the time Lucy located Bran and sent him on his way, thick clouds were massing overhead, making the skies dark and threatening, even though it was only two o'clock. The slight drizzle turned to rain, and it was definitely getting chilly. When she returned to the kitchen, it was deserted, apart from the lingering fragrance of apples and cinnamon. There was a note in the cook's handwriting, telling Betty to take the pie out of the oven in an hour and that there was a cold collation of meats and pork pies in the larder to serve for dinner.

Lucy made note of the time. If Betty didn't return, she didn't want to incur Mrs. Fielding's wrath by leaving her apple pie to burn in the oven. The rectory was unusually quiet around her. She missed the racket of her twin siblings and her brother Anthony clattering around the place. Even well-behaved Anna had contributed to the noise when she squabbled with her brothers....

Lucy took a deep breath. Sometimes it felt as if everyone had moved on without her. The brief few moments when she had realized she would have to relinquish her responsibilities to Mrs. Chingford had reminded her that her tenure at the rectory wasn't permanent. Her father did deserve a loving companion, and so did she. It was unfortunate that London was the only place where she would find a husband.

After checking the pie in the oven, she lit a solitary candle, kicked off her boots that were muddy from the stables, and made her way upstairs. The creak of a floorboard made her go still.

Had Dorothea already sneaked back into the house and gone to sleep in her own bed? Lucy started toward Dorothea's bedchamber and saw a crack of light shining underneath the door of Mrs. Chingford's old room. She frowned. Perhaps Dorothea was back to destroying her mother's correspondence. It was a good thing that Lucy had already retrieved the names she required and had them hidden securely in her reticule.

Not that she needed the names anymore if she obeyed Major Kurland and let go of the mystery surrounding the deaths . . . Grasping the latch, she slowly raised it and went into the room. A man spun around, with a pistol aimed at her. She gasped and almost dropped her candlestick.

“Miss Harrington!”

“Mr. . . .
Reading?
”

“I do apologize.” He placed the pistol carefully back on the table. “I thought that everyone was out, and that it would be all right if I just came up here and . . .” He spread his hands wide, his smile engaging.

“And what, Mr. Reading?” Lucy placed the candle down on the bedside table and maintained the distance between them. “What on earth could you possibly want that merited you sneaking around in the dark?”

He sighed. “I suppose this looks rather incriminating, doesn't it?”

Lucy didn't say anything, and eventually, he sat down at the desk, where Mrs. Chingford's correspondence was now on view.

“I will have to throw myself on your mercy, Miss Harrington.” He gave her a rueful smile. “Miss Stanford suggested that Mrs. Chingford had written . . . certain things about me that might prove detrimental to my current financial and social position.” He picked up one of the letters. “I was attempting to read her correspondence in the hopes of removing all references to myself.”

“
Did
you write to Mrs. Chingford?” Lucy asked.

He licked his lips. “I fear I might have said things that
could
be misconstrued if taken out of context.”

“Like an offer of marriage?”

He smiled again, a quick flash that reminded her of someone she couldn't quite place. “You are obviously a very intelligent young lady, Miss Harrington. I would not go so far as to suggest
marriage
in a letter, but my romantic soul sometimes leads me toward the sin of exaggeration.”

“But Mrs. Chingford is dead. What harm can she do you now?”

“That's an excellent question. But I do not think her daughters are predisposed to like me. If Miss Chingford finds evidence that her mother made
assumptions
as to our mutual future happiness, then she might chose to exploit them for her own personal gain and sue me for breach of promise.”

“Surely that is up to her.”

“I can't accept that, Miss Harrington. I cannot allow another person to control my destiny.”

There was an implacable note in his voice, which made Lucy wary.

“And what of Miss Stanford? Do you not owe her an explanation as to your conduct?”

He shrugged. “She knows all. Why do you think she asked me to come down here? She knew I would help her.”

“Do what?”

His eyebrows rose. “Whatever needed to be done. Make no mistake, Miss Harrington, I have no qualms about saving myself and those I love.”

Lucy raised her chin. “Is that a threat, Mr. Reading?”

He laughed. “Of course not, Miss Harrington. Merely a statement of fact. As I have already mentioned, my fate is completely in your hands. I am trying to be a better man for Miss Stanford, and I cannot allow Mrs. Chingford's malicious lies to be spread any further.”

“I think you should leave now,” Lucy said firmly. “You have no right to be here, and you know it.”

He rose slowly from his seat, and she tensed. “May I make a suggestion, Miss Harrington?”

“If you must.”

His gaze dropped to the writing case. “Destroy everything Mrs. Chingford ever wrote. Nothing good can come from such a malicious source.”

“I'll suggest that to Miss Chingford. It is her decision to make.”

“If you say so.” His head angled toward the window. “I hear a horse.”

“It is my father coming home for his dinner. He is always punctual.” She hoped God would forgive her for that lie.

“Luckily for you.” He strolled toward her and inclined his head. “Good evening, Miss Harrington. I appreciate your forbearance in this matter. I'm sure you wouldn't wish to upset the Chingford ladies or Miss Stanford by mentioning my slightly ungentlemanly behavior.”

“I'll think about it. Are you staying at Kurland Hall until the funeral?”

“At the manor house? I don't think I'd be welcome there. I've been staying in Saffron Walden, but now I'm at the village inn.” His blue gaze narrowed. “If you wish to contact me, that's where you will find me. I doubt you will have the need, but if I'm apprehended, I'll know exactly whom to blame.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Reading.”

He blew her a kiss and slipped noiselessly down the back stairs, leaving her leaning against the door frame for support. Beneath his superficial charm she sensed he could be a dangerous man to stand against. It was only pure luck that her father had decided to return early for his dinner.

With hands that shook, she picked up the candlestick and brought it over toward the desk. Unlike Dorothea, Mr. Reading had conducted his search in a neat and methodical manner, with one stack of letters already discarded and the rest in another pile. As quickly as she could, before her father finished with his horse in the stables, she went through the rest of the correspondence, pulling out any mentions of Miss Stanford, Mr. Reading, or anything that was written in a different hand.

Mr. Reading had implied that Miss Stanford knew what he was doing. Had she begged him to come to Kurland St. Mary to make sure she was not suspected of any evil intent toward Mrs. Chingford? Was it possible that Mrs. Fairfax had indeed confessed to something she hadn't done? Or had Mr. Reading simply used the excuse of visiting Miss Stanford to make sure he was in the clear and she knew nothing of his plans?

“Lucy? Where are you?” Her father's voice boomed up the stairs, making her jump.

Grabbing the pile of paper, she folded it up and put it in her inside pocket before walking down the stairs to greet her father.

 

“Major Kurland, we've found Dorothea Chingford.”

Robert looked up from his frustrated contemplation of the view from his study window to find Foley at the door.

“Where was she?”

“Coleman found her in the stables, sir. It looks like she was trying to steal a horse and ended up falling and knocking herself out.” Foley shook his head.

“She is alive, though?”

“Yes, sir. One of the footmen is bringing her up to a bedchamber where Mrs. Bloomfield will get her settled. I've already sent someone for Dr. Fletcher.”

“Thank you, Foley.” Robert exhaled. “I felt so damn useless sitting here, doing nothing.”

“Dr. Fletcher said that if you rested up for the remainder of the day, you would probably be able to walk much better tomorrow, sir.”

“I damn well hope he's right,” Robert muttered as he eased his left leg off the footstool. “We should let Miss Chingford know that her sister is safe. It might be worth telling them that Dorothea is sleeping and that they should visit her in the morning.” He paused. “Not that anything I say would make a difference to a pack of females who are determined to bring comfort to an invalid.”

Foley crossed to the windows and closed the curtains. “It is most unpleasant out there, sir. Perhaps if you told the ladies that Dr. Fletcher would call in on his way home and give them a report as to Miss Dorothea's condition, that might stem the flood of concern?”

“That's an excellent idea.” Robert sat down at his desk and wrote a short note, which he addressed to Miss Chingford. There was a knock on the study door, and Dr. Fletcher appeared. He set his bag down on Robert's desk.

“Good evening, Major Kurland. Miss Dorothea is suffering the effects of a severe chill and a blow to the head. Her temperature is elevated, and she is slipping in and out of consciousness. I would not recommend any visitors.”

“But she will recover?” Robert asked.

“I don't see any reason why not. She is young and healthy, and I know Mrs. Bloomfield will give her the best of care.” He came farther into the room and ran a critical eye over Robert. “You shouldn't be on your feet.”

Robert pointed at the chair and footstool by the fire. “I've been sitting there all damned day. Ask Foley, if you don't believe me. I didn't go out searching for Miss Dorothea, either.”

“Good.” Dr. Fletcher smiled. “You are finally listening to me.” He picked up his bag. “I'll call again in the morning. Do you want me to visit the rectory on my way home and let them know how Miss Dorothea is faring?”

“I was just going to ask if you'd mind popping in and reassuring them. I've written Miss Chingford a note, which you can deliver into her own hands,” Robert said. “I'd rather not have all the ladies descend on me tonight.”

“Then consider it done.” Dr. Fletcher took the sealed letter and picked up his hat. “Good night, Major Kurland. Rest that leg.”

Foley escorted the doctor to his gig, leaving Robert to tidy his desk and contemplate going to bed. It was still early, but, in truth, he was exhausted. Struggling with pain made everything harder. Using his cane, he managed to lever himself to his feet and turn toward the door. He'd still need James to help him up the stairs, but he could at least manage a few steps on his own.

A scrap of paper tucked into his blotter caught his eye, and he picked it up, recognizing Miss Harrington's clear handwriting. It was the list of women with the name Madge that she had given him when they'd been in Saffron Walden. He started to crumple it into a ball and then frowned. How had it gotten from his waistcoat to his desk?

“Damnation.” He breathed the curse as he investigated his waistcoat pocket and realized the locket was gone, as well. Miss Harrington was going to be extremely annoyed with him. He was fairly certain that he'd tucked the paper in on top of the locket. Silas had taken the waistcoat away to be cleaned after the accident and had presumably emptied out the pockets. But what he had done with the contents, Robert had no recollection, owing to the pain of that night.