Death Comes to Kurland Hall (12 page)

He grabbed his cane and made his slow way out toward the stairs, where James was patiently waiting for him. He would speak to Silas first, but he suspected the items had been removed from his bedroom during the confusion of the past few days. As Miss Harrington had mentioned, there were still more questions than answers, and now he had another one. If the matter of Mrs. Chingford's death had been satisfactorily cleared up by Mrs. Fairfax's confession, who had stolen the locket and why?

Chapter 11

L
ucy allowed Penelope to go up to her sister and sought Major Kurland in his study. He looked up as she tapped on the half-open door and went in.

“Miss Harrington. I was hoping to see you this morning.”

She curtsied. “I came with Penelope to see Dorothea. I'm so glad you found her.”

“I did nothing. Give your thanks to Thomas and my staff. Dr. Fletcher says Dorothea shouldn't be moved for a few days, until her fever abates. I will make sure Mrs. Bloomfield takes excellent care of her.”

“Where exactly did you find her?”

“In the stables, attempting to steal a horse.”

Lucy took the seat in front of the major's desk. “I wonder where she thought she was going.” She sighed. “I told her and Miss Chingford that Mrs. Fairfax had died. Before I could even explain the circumstances, Dorothea leapt to her feet and was out the front door before either of us could stop her.”

“It certainly is strange.” Major Kurland folded his hands together on his desk. “At least she is safe here for a while. I'll make sure that she doesn't get the opportunity to run away again.”

“But
why
is she running, Major? What does Mrs. Fairfax's death have to do with her?”

“That's an excellent question.” He fiddled with some of the items on his desk and then looked up at her. “Would you be willing to come out with me this morning?”

Lucy stared at him. “And do what?”

“Some investigating.”

“But I thought we'd decided there was nothing left to investigate.”

“I'm not so sure. Dorothea's behavior makes me think that we haven't come close to the truth yet. Why is she still scared, Miss Harrington, and what don't we know?”

Lucy clasped her hands to her chest and beamed at him. “I am so glad you said that, because I have my doubts, as well.” She studied his face. Should she mention the strange behavior of Mr. Reading or simply start with her observations about Mrs. Chingford's letters? If she mentioned Mr. Reading, she was fairly certain Major Kurland would want to ring a peal over her head about getting into dangerous situations, and she didn't want to distract him just yet. She decided to start with the evidence in her pocket.

“I wanted you to see these.” She came around the side of the desk and brought out the sheets of paper she had extracted from Mrs. Chingford's writing case. “I'm afraid Dorothea had already gotten to the letters before I had a chance to read through them all properly.” She pointed at one of the letters. “In this one, her correspondent mentions Miss Stanford's betrothal to a rake of the first order and goes on to comment on several rumors about his fitness to be considered a gentleman.”

Major Kurland raised an eyebrow. “What does Miss Stanford have to do with anything? I'm more interested in any correspondence between Mrs. Chingford and Madge.”

“I couldn't find anything from her.” Lucy grimaced. “I did write to all three Madges and ask them if they knew the nursemaid, but I haven't received any replies.”

“Which is why we will take the opportunity to drive over and invite at least two of them to the funeral personally.”

“I still don't understand why you are suddenly so certain that this is important. For all we know, Dorothea's current emotional state might have nothing to do with her mother's death and everything to do with her age.”

He sat back in his chair until she could see his face. “It's not just that. Last night I dreamed about finding Mrs. Fairfax. She'd been strangled. I could see the vivid marks around her throat. I woke up, and while I attempted to regulate my breathing, I realized something important. If Mrs. Chingford
were
strangled, how would such a petite woman as Mrs. Fairfax manage it? Her fingers would hardly have the strength to succeed.”

“But we don't
know
if Mrs. Chingford was strangled.”

“I know, but something else has happened.” He took a deep breath. “The locket has disappeared.”

“You mean that you've
lost
it?”

“I
mean
that it was taken from me. The last time I saw it was on the night of the carriage accident. My clothes were filthy, so Silas took everything away, including my waistcoat, to get them clean. The locket was in my pocket, along with the list of names you gave me. The list turned up here, but the locket is gone.”

“Did you ask Silas what he did with it?”

“He swears he left it on my dressing table.” He groaned. “I slept like the dead that night. God, I hate the thought of someone standing over me while I slept. Anyone could've come into my bedchamber and taken the locket.”

“Even Mrs. Fairfax.” Lucy shook her head. “Did you ever get the locket open?”

“No. Yet another thing I failed to do,” he growled. “I am a most incompetent accomplice, Miss Harrington.”

“Then finding the right Madge becomes even more important. I will accompany you to meet the two candidates.”

“All we can hope is that we have the devil's own luck and one of them is the right woman.” He rose to his feet. “Are you ready to leave right now?”

She raised her eyebrows. “I can't come with you unchaperoned, Major, and I haven't even seen Dorothea yet.”

He frowned at her. “Then go and see her, and I'll find a maid to accompany us. I will meet you in the stables in a quarter of an hour.”

 

“Major Kurland, do you have a moment?”

Robert looked up from his contemplation of the state of the paddock fencing to find Coleman, his head coachman, standing in front of him.

“What is it, Coleman?”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but I thought you should know that we've retrieved the wreck of the carriage and that the horses are both doing well.”

“Thank you.” A vision of how close Miss Harrington had been to the out-of-control lead horse flashed through his head. “Will it be possible to save the carriage?”

“I don't think so, Major, and as to that . . .” Coleman paused. “I went over the wreckage quite thoroughly me self to be sure that I hadn't made a mistake while I was driving you, sir.”

“And?”

“Something weren't right. Someone had tampered with the wheels on the right side of the coach. One of them sheered clean off, which has never happened before in my tenure at this stables, sir. We keep your horses and carriages in perfect order.”

“Yes, you do.” Robert saw Miss Harrington coming down the path toward the stable yard, one of the maids at her heels. “Who knows about this?”

“Only me and young Crawford, sir, and he can keep his mouth shut.” Coleman hesitated. “I did wonder if someone at the Saffron Walden inn meddled with the carriage while we were all eating our dinner, sir. It's the only time the carriage was left unattended.”

“Can you keep this to yourself, Coleman? I don't want to worry my guests or the rest of the staff.”

“Aye, Major. And I'll set a lad to sit up for a few nights to make sure nothing funny is going on around here. You can't be too careful.” The gig appeared, driven by Reg, and Coleman looked it up and down. “Nothing to worry about with this one, sir. I checked it over myself this morning.”

“Thank you. I wouldn't want Miss Harrington to take another spill.”

Coleman chuckled. “She's a right brave young lady, isn't she? Came to help with the horses without a moment's thought for her own safety.”

“Yes, she's definitely impulsive.” He eyed his companion as she arrived at his side, her cheeks flushed with color. “Sometimes I wish she was a little more careful.”

“Are you ready, Major Kurland?” Miss Harrington turned to smile at his coachman. “And how are you, Mr. Coleman? Has your daughter recovered from the mumps yet?”

“She's doing much better, miss. Thanks for asking.” He touched his hat and stepped back. “Mr. Fairfax was inquiring about your whereabouts earlier, Major. He said that if I saw you to tell you he had business in Kurland St. Anne's and would be back by nightfall.”

“He did mention it to me yesterday. I'm glad that he was feeling well enough to go.”

“He seemed fine, sir—apart from that shiner he got in the accident yesterday.” Coleman shook his head. “You'd better be getting along before the rain comes back, Major. You don't want Miss Harrington getting soaked now, do you?”

Robert helped Miss Harrington up into the gig and followed her up. Coleman seated the maid beside Reg, and they were ready to leave.

“If it rains, I have my umbrella, Major,” Miss Harrington said as she retied the ribbons of her very practical bonnet. “We will not get wet. How far away is the first Madge's house?”

 

Less than two hours later they arrived at the village of Great Dunmow, where Robert paused at the Saracens Head to ask for directions to Goose Green Cottage. It seemed as if the address in question was very close, so Robert elected to leave the gig with Reg at the inn and test his leg by walking the rest of the way.

With the maid following along behind, he offered Miss Harrington his arm and walked slowly across the market square and out onto a smaller less traveled road. It felt good to stretch his legs. The cottage stood within a large thriving garden and was red bricked and thatched. A line of washing blew in the breeze, and from within the house came the sound of barking as they approached.

Robert unlatched the front gate and ushered Miss Harrington into the garden.

“I assume you still have your umbrella,” he murmured as two dogs tore down the path to greet them. “Let's hope these beasts are friendly.”

A woman appeared in the doorway and waved at them. “Don't worry about the dogs. They won't hurt you.”

“Thank you, ma'am,” Miss Harrington called out. “Are you Mrs. Madge Troughton?”

“Aye, and who might you be?”

“I'm Miss Harrington, from the rectory at Kurland St. Mary, and this is Major Sir Robert Kurland. May we come in for a moment? We have some news to share with you.”

Mrs. Troughton twisted her hands in her apron. “Oh yes, miss. Come in, come in.” She stepped back and opened the first door on the right. “Sit yourselves down, and I'll make some tea.”

“That would be most kind of you, Mrs. Troughton.” Miss Harrington smiled.

Robert sighed as he took the chair opposite Miss Harrington. “Why do we have to drink tea? Why can't we just ask our questions and leave?”

Miss Harrington smoothed down her skirts. “Because we are being
polite
, Major Kurland, and we wish to engage her goodwill. Behaving like reasonable members of society will help her to trust us.”

Robert said nothing more but waited meekly for his hostess to return with three strong cups of tea and a plate of biscuits. He was unwise enough to take one and almost cracked a tooth. While he surreptitiously left the rest of the biscuit on the side of his plate, he listened to Miss Harrington exchanging innumerable pleasantries. After a few minutes he caught her eye and gestured to the clock.

“Mrs. Troughton, we came to deliver some sad news to you,” Miss Harrington said gently. “A mutual acquaintance of ours, a Mrs. Maria Chingford, is dead. I did write to you with this news, but as we were in the area today, we thought it best to contact you directly in case you wished to attend the funeral in Kurland St. Mary.”

“Mrs. Chingford?”

“Yes. She was visiting Kurland St. Mary for a wedding with two of her daughters when she suffered an unfortunate accident and fell down the stairs.”

Mrs. Troughton sat down abruptly. “She's dead?”

“Yes. I'm so sorry.”

“Good riddance,” Mrs. Troughton snapped. “She was a terrible employer. She cast me off without a reference after she found out that Mr. Chingford had spoken well of me.” She snorted. “As if I would've allowed that old man any liberties.”

“In what capacity did you work for her?” Robert asked.

“I was her dresser, her lady's maid, and she treated me like dirt.” Mrs. Troughton folded her arms across her chest. “When my husband came courting, I was more than willing to leave that house for good.”

“You weren't involved in the nursery, then?” Miss Harrington said.

“No, but I did meet her daughters. In truth, I felt sorry for them.”

“Please excuse the question, but if you parted on bad terms, may I ask why you continued to correspond with Mrs. Chingford?” Robert intervened again.

Mrs. Troughton sighed. “Because my cousin Rachel still worked for her. It was the only way Mrs. Chingford would allow me to write to her.”

Robert frowned. “I don't understand.”

“Mrs. Chingford insisted on reading all our letters before she passed them on, so I addressed them to her, and she gave them to Rachel.”

Miss Harrington leaned forward to pat one of the dogs on the head. “Then our errand was probably unnecessary, and I apologize for disturbing you. I doubt you would wish to attend Mrs. Chingford's funeral in person.”

“That's all right, miss. I'd rather know.” Mrs. Troughton hesitated. “What will happen to the household now that both the master and mistress have gone?”

“I believe Miss Chingford and her sisters will be going to live with relatives and the house will be closed up,” Miss Harrington said.

“Then my cousin will have to look for a new position.”

“Unless a Chingford family member takes on the house and decides to retain the staff.”

“It's unlikely, miss. At least Rachel knows that she always has a home here. I wonder what everyone else will do with themselves.”