Death Comes to Kurland Hall (18 page)

Dorothea shook her head. “Penelope has already asked me that question. But what does it matter anymore? My mother is still dead. What is to become of
me
?”

She went back down the stairs, leaving Lucy full of exasperation. Young ladies just out of the schoolroom were often exhausting, and Dorothea Chingford was certainly no exception. Her entire world revolved around her needs and feelings. If she
had
pushed her mother down the stairs, she certainly was learning that her actions had consequences.

And what exactly had Dorothea told Penelope? Lucy frowned as she opened the door into her bedchamber and took a clean handkerchief out of her top drawer. Penelope had promised to tell Lucy the results of her conversation with her sister, but so far she had said nothing. After a deep breath, Lucy resolved to return downstairs. She'd run away from Major Kurland, and that would never do. She still had responsibilities as her father's hostess and had yet to speak to all the guests. A subdued Miss Stanford was there with Mrs. Green, but there was no sign of Mr. Reading. One might almost think he was avoiding being seen.

Once the funeral was over, there would be no further reason for Miss Stanford and her fiancé to remain in Kurland St. Mary, and all opportunities to discover exactly what Mr. Reading was up to would disappear along with the couple. Perhaps, despite everything, Major Kurland was right, and it was better to let things lie.

“Miss Harrington?”

She looked down to see Mr. Fairfax awaiting her at the bottom of the stairs and summoned a smile.

“Mr. Fairfax.”

He held out his hand. “I wonder if I might have a word with you in private.”

 

Robert excused himself and walked out into the rectory garden. Because the house was barely ten years old, the space was rather bare, boasting a variety of saplings, trees, and plants that needed time to grow. Luckily for the rector, there was one fine old copse of beech trees grouped toward the rear of the garden, which offered both shade and a softening of the hard boundaries of the newly erected stone and brick walls.

He followed the path toward the trees and paused to light a cigarillo. He'd managed to upset Miss Harrington again and failed to spot Miss Stanford's errant betrothed. All he needed now was for Miss Chingford to inform everyone that he'd agreed to marry her, and his day would be complete.

“Major Kurland?”

He turned to see Dorothea Chingford behind him, her ungloved hands clasped together at her waist and her expression anxious.

“Miss Dorothea?”

She took a step toward him. “I . . . found something at Kurland Hall. I think you should have it.”

She held out her hand, and he instinctively opened his palm to receive the all too familiar weight of the battered gold locket.

“Where did you find this?” he asked gently.

She bit her lip. “I don't remember. In one of the upstairs hallways, I think.”

He didn't believe that but was reluctant to cross-question her on the day of her mother's funeral. “Why are you giving it to me and not to its rightful owner?”

“You were the one asking about it, sir. I thought you should have it.”

“May I ask why you imagined you might . . . need it?”

“I thought it might prove useful, sir.”

“For what purpose?”

“As evidence.”

Robert studied her carefully. “Of a crime?”

“I'm not sure. I just thought it was better to be safe than sorry.” She took a step away from him. “But it doesn't matter now, does it?”

“Do you have an idea who it might belong to?”

“Give it to Mr. Fairfax.” She turned away. “Mrs. Fairfax should have it, don't you think?”

“Wait,” Robert said. “I'm not exactly sure what you are trying to say.”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “Mrs. Fairfax should take the locket to her grave.”

“Did you see her wearing it?”

To his annoyance, she set off without answering the question, leaving him staring down at the locket in his hand. Miss Dorothea was as bad as Miss Harrington for making things more complicated than they needed to be—perhaps worse. He really had to take the cursed thing to the blacksmith or a jeweler, who could open it for him.

Even as he had that thought, he became aware that he was no longer alone in the garden. Someone was moving through the beech trees toward him. Robert's hand instinctively went for his sword, which no longer swung at his hip.

“Good afternoon, Bobby.”

Robert straightened, put the locket in his pocket, and faced the gentleman dressed in black.

“Paul? What in God's name are you doing here? I thought you were still in India.”

His second cousin shrugged. “I wrote to tell you of my imminent arrival on these shores over a year ago. My letter was returned unopened.” Paul's gaze swept over Robert and lingered on his cane. “I heard you were a cripple.”

“I suffered a broken leg and hip at Waterloo.”

“Of course you did. What a hero.” Paul's laugh was meant to offend. “You were always such a good little soldier, Bobby, and now I hear that you have been granted a title.”

“No one calls me Bobby anymore. I'm rather too old for such a childish name. Why are you here?”

“Not to bother you, dear cousin. Never think it.” His gaze moved beyond Robert to the back of the rectory. “Please excuse me. I really must be getting along.”

He attempted to move past Robert, who blocked his path. “By the terms of the agreement you signed with my father, you are not allowed to set foot in Kurland St. Mary.”

Paul patted his hand. “No, I am not allowed to set foot on Kurland
property
. I don't believe the rectory counts. Now, move out of my way, please, there's a good fellow. I don't want to have to embarrass a war hero.”

Robert stepped back. “And I cannot allow you to embarrass yourself as an unwanted guest at a funeral.”

“Unwanted?” Paul raised an eyebrow. “I was invited by Miss Chingford, who, I understand, had the good sense to break off her engagement to you.” He started walking, and Robert followed him. “I do hope you aren't going to make a scene, old chap. This is hardly the place to air ancient family quarrels, is it?”

“I agree. Why don't we take this discussion back to my study in Kurland Hall?”

Paul reached the door into the house and held it open. “Perhaps after I've had a chance to pay my respects to the Chingford ladies.” He raised his voice until it seemed everyone in the room was looking at them. “As delightful as it is to catch up with you, Bobby, my first duty is to my betrothed and to those who mourn.” He held out his hand to Miss Stanford, who had risen to her feet, her expression anxious.

“My dear Miss Stanford. I do apologize for my tardiness. Have you met my second cousin, Major Sir Robert Kurland?”

 

Lucy, who had just returned from speaking to Mr. Fairfax and was still attempting to decide what to do about what he had suggested, stared at Mr. Reading as he made his announcement. Seeing the two men side by side, she could detect the family resemblance, which had previously eluded her. Both he and Major Kurland were dark haired, with blue eyes, and were about the same height. Despite the lines that pain had etched on the major's face, she judged Mr. Reading to be slightly the older of the two.

Miss Chingford walked over to the two men.

“Major Kurland is your cousin, Mr. Reading? Why didn't you mention that interesting fact before? You've been practically living in his village for the past week.”

Mr. Reading bowed. “Alas, Miss Chingford, my branch of the family is not considered worthy enough to be granted access to the delights of Kurland Hall.”

“That's not quite true,” Major Kurland said abruptly. “I am very fond of your mother and sister, Paul. They are welcome to visit me at any time and have done so frequently since you left to ‘better' yourself in India.” He sounded remarkably calm to Lucy's ears. “I'm more interested in hearing why you felt it necessary to use a false name.”

“Hardly
false
.” Mr. Reading gave an airy laugh. “As if I would use a surname that I no longer consider my own. I would've thought you would prefer me to use my mother's name.”

“I have no objection to it in principle. I just wonder why you chose to deceive those around you.”

“I don't believe I have deceived anyone. Miss Stanford knows the truth, as does her mother.” Mr. Reading bowed to Miss Chingford and took her hand. “If I might direct this conversation back into rather more conventional channels? I came to pay my respects to your mother, my dear, and to wish you and your sisters well in the years ahead.”

“Thank you.” Miss Chingford swiftly disengaged her hand from his. “I can't say it has been a pleasure knowing you, but I appreciate the fact that you came to the funeral.”

Mr. Reading bowed again and turned toward Miss Stanford, who began whispering urgently in his ear. Major Kurland placed Penelope's hand on his sleeve and brought her back across the room to where Lucy was standing.

“Miss Harrington, I saw Miss Dorothea out in the garden without her shawl. Should I send one of the maids to coax her back inside?”

Lucy managed not to look directly at him as she fussed around Penelope. “Yes, Major. That would be very kind of you.”

There was a sharp tug on her elbow, and she obediently sank down onto the seat beside Penelope.

“Why didn't Mr. Reading tell us he was Major Kurland's cousin?” Penelope whispered.

“He didn't even tell you?” Lucy raised her eyebrows. “What about your mother?”

“She might have known, but she certainly never mentioned anything to me about the matter, even when I was engaged to the major.”

“How odd,” Lucy commented as she watched Miss Stanford and her beau make their way around the guests, presumably making their adieus. “Perhaps he didn't want Major Kurland to know he was here.”

“Which brings us back to whether he was involved in planning my mother's death.”

Lucy sighed. “Even if he was, what can we do about it? He wasn't at the wedding. We have no evidence against him, Miss Stanford is going to marry him, your mother is dead, and we have no idea where Madge Summers is.”

“But Mr. Reading is the key! He knew everyone and has been pretending to be something he is not.”

Lucy shook her head. “I can't believe I didn't make the connection sooner. While I was acting as Major Kurland's secretary, I saw at least two letters from a Mr. Paul Kurland, which I was instructed to return unopened.”

“I wonder what he wants?”

They both stared at the oblivious Mr. Reading.

“He is officially Major Kurland's heir,” Lucy noted.

“Unless the major marries and has children of his own.” Penelope gripped Lucy's arm so hard, she jumped. “What if Mr. Reading got to know my mother only because he knew I was engaged to be married to Major Kurland?”

“With what end in view?”

“To prevent the marriage?”

Lucy thought about this. “I suppose that could be true, but your mother must have informed Mr. Reading that the engagement was over, so why is he here now?”

“Because my mother said she knew something that connected him to Major Kurland. She threatened him!”

“But now that we all know about the connection, what harm can he do?”

“Nothing, which is why he has finally chosen to acknowledge it.” Penelope sat back with the air of a prosecutor who had finished his speech.

“You are suggesting that having got rid of your mother, he had nothing more to fear?”

“It is possible.”

“But what does that have to do with Madge Summers and Mrs. Fairfax?”

Penelope sighed. “I don't know.”

“Perhaps the two things aren't connected, after all,” Lucy said doubtfully. “Although—” She stopped talking as her father looked for her. “Yes, Father?”

He beckoned her over, and she went to join him.

“Ah, Lucy, Mr. Brewerton, the Chingford family solicitor, would like to speak to the ladies. Do you think you could show him into my study and arrange for a pot of tea while George and I stay here and mingle with the guests?”

“Certainly, Father.” She curtsied to the solicitor, who gave her a sharp nod. “Mr. Brewerton, would you like to come with me?”

Chapter 17

“G
ood morning, Bobby.”

Robert raised an eyebrow. It was the day after the funeral, and he'd summoned Paul to the manor house. He'd made certain his cousin would turn up by threatening to come down to the inn and fetch him out of bed himself.

“If you continue to call me that, I'll reciprocate with your childhood nickname of Roly-Poly.” He indicated the chair in front of his desk. “Please take a seat.”

Paul sat down and crossed one leg over the other. “Good Lord, Robert, did you lose your sense of humor on the battlefields of Europe, along with your health? You really should learn to take a joke.”

Robert folded his hands on his desk and focused his attention on his cousin. It was odd seeing that fleeting likeness to himself, which concealed glaring differences that still surprised him. “What exactly do you want, Paul?”

“See, there you go again, forgetting the pleasantries and issuing orders like some kind of drill sergeant.”

Fleetingly, Robert thought of Miss Harrington suggesting the same thing about his dictatorial manners and continued to stare until Paul started to fidget.

“I just came to pay my respects to an old friend who had died. I didn't realize my presence would be so unwelcome.”

“Balderdash. You knew my father banished you from his sight.”

Paul sighed. “But you aren't your father. Perhaps I thought you might be more forgiving.”

“
Forgiving
? Paul, you lied and cheated and stole from my family. A family that took you and your mother in after your father died, and tried to give you a decent upbringing.”

“Hardly decent. I was never allowed to forget who would be inheriting Kurland Hall.”

“Because you constantly pretended it would be you!” Robert shook his head. “The debts you ran up in my name, the loans . . . You could have bankrupted us.”

“Don't be ridiculous. This particular branch of the Kurland family is as rich as Croesus.”

“But not your branch. You ran through your father's bequest and your mother's and sister's portions. You left them with nothing.”

Paul sat up straight. “There's no need to bring up the past, Robert. I am well aware of what happened, and there is no need to revisit it. I've paid the price, and I'm more than willing to move on.”

“I'm sure you are.” Robert paused. “You do realize that in all conscience I cannot allow you to marry Miss Stanford without her brother being fully aware of exactly who you are and what you have done in your life?”

Paul waved a negligent hand. “There is no need for you to interfere. Miss Stanford's mother has already given her consent to the match.”

“Without knowing your true identity?”

Paul shrugged. “She liked me. You've always hated that about me, haven't you, Robert? That people like me more than you.”

“I can't say I've ever really thought about it much. I don't crave approval like you do.”

“Of course you don't. You are rich. Everyone likes a rich man, especially one who excels in the military.” Paul's dismissive blue gaze swept over Robert. “Although from what I understand, a crippled war hero with an extremely volatile disposition appears to put most ladies of the
ton
off the thought of marriage entirely.”

“Which means that in the fulfillment of time, you might inherit everything, anyway.”

“Exactly!” Paul held up a finger. “Which brings me to the point of my visit. Surely, as your heir, I should be entitled to some portion of the profits from the estate.”

Robert laughed out loud. “You are jesting, of course. You
had
an allowance from my father. He also paid for your clothing, schooling, horses, and travel. In return for his generosity, you took up life as a rake, amassed thousands of guineas of debts, and had to flee the country after a rather nasty duel with the enraged husband of your mistress.”

Paul looked pained. “That was ten years ago, Robert. As you very well know, I ended up in India, where I behaved myself perfectly well.”

Robert held up a sheaf of papers. “No you did not. My father wasn't stupid, Paul. He received regular reports on your behavior, which were sent to me after his death. You haven't changed a bit.” He sat back in his chair. “In fact, I have to assume that the only reason you came back to England was that you had done something outrageous enough to be kicked out of India. No doubt there will be a report on the matter soon.”

“I came back to England to offer you my sympathies on your injuries, and to offer to help you out with the estate,” Paul said haughtily. “I was told that you were unlikely to walk again and would be bedridden.”

“And thus unlikely to reproduce.” Robert glared at his cousin. “Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm quite well enough to manage both my estates and to contemplate a long and happy marriage with the woman of my choice.”

Paul's eyes narrowed. “You have a new candidate in mind?”

“That is none of your business.”

“As your legal heir, I believe it is.”

“If and when I intend to marry, you can read the announcement in the newspapers like everyone else.”

“So you just expect me to disappear again and not bother you?”

“Exactly.” Robert rose to his feet. “I'm not paying you an allowance. I'm going to write to Andrew and tell him about your unsavory history. And now I am going to have Foley escort you to my front door and tell you never to darken it again. Are we quite clear?”

Paul remained seated and looked up at Robert. “I'll be staying at the inn for the foreseeable future.”

“You'll get bored fairly quickly. There isn't much to do here.” Robert walked over to the door and held it open. “I'm not going to change my mind.”

“Then get used to having a poor relation haunting your every footstep.”

Robert looked over at his cousin. “If you can't pay your bills, don't come running to me for help. If you find yourself in debt, as the local magistrate, I'll make sure you are prosecuted to the full extent of the law.”

Paul stood with a lazy grace and sauntered over to the door. “For goodness' sake, Robert. Where's your Christian charity, old man? We're
kin
.”

“More's the pity,” Robert muttered. “Get out and leave Miss Stanford alone.”

“She won't abandon me.” Paul hesitated, his gaze locked on Robert's. “She is the only person in the world who believes in me.”

“Then she is a fool, and the quicker I can return her to the care of her brother, the better.”

“I'm not leaving Kurland St. Mary, Robert.”

“Good
day
, cousin, and get out.”

“May I at least speak to Miss Stanford before I go?”

Holding his cousin's gaze, Robert shouted, “Foley?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Find James and escort Mr. Reading to the front door. Make sure he speaks to no one on his way out.”

“Yes, Major. Now come on, Mr. Paul. You know you aren't welcome here.”

The look Paul shot over his shoulder at Robert was full of malice, but he followed Foley meekly enough down the corridor. Robert realized he would have to ask Mrs. Green to keep a close eye on Miss Stanford. He knew the ladies had originally intended to travel back to London together, but he thought it might be safer for Miss Stanford to remain at Kurland Hall until Andrew returned from his honeymoon.

If Miss Stanford was free to see Paul, there was no knowing what his scandalous cousin might do to ensure he gained a wife and a fortune. With a soft curse, Robert went back to his desk and finished the letter he'd been writing to Andrew and explained his intention of keeping Miss Stanford safely at Kurland Hall. Once Paul realized he couldn't gain access to his supposed fiancée, Robert could only hope he'd move on to pastures new.

He sealed the letter with wax and the imprint of his signet ring and, deciding he was too agitated to remain at his desk, took the letter with him to the main hall. He placed it on the table where Foley would see it and then hesitated.

“Major Kurland!”

He looked up at the minstrels' gallery to see Andrew's daughter waving at him through the bannisters.

“Good morning, Miss Charlotte. Have you escaped your nurse again?”

“Not exactly . . .” She had the grace to look a little conscience stricken, which made him want to smile. “Are you going into the village?”

“I thought I might walk down there, yes.”

She skipped down the steps, her curls bobbing with every jump. “Can I come with you? Please say yes. I'll be ever so good and . . .”

“Where is Terence?”

“He's out riding with Mr. Fairfax.”

He held out his hand. “Then I suppose you should have a treat, as well.”

She gave a tiny squeal and leapt down the remaining steps. “Thank you, thank you. I'll be very good, and I won't pester you about anything or expect sweets or—”

He drew her toward the kitchens and asked James to tell the nurse where her errant charge had gone. Charlotte's bonnet and pelisse were in the kitchen, being dried out from the previous day's rain, so she had only to fetch her boots and they were ready to go.

She glanced over at him as they left the house.

“Can you walk that far with your bad leg?”

He appreciated the way she just asked the obvious question. It was so refreshing after dealing with the barbs and subtleties of adult society. “I'll certainly do my best. I've been practicing every day.”

She scowled. “Like I have to do on the pianoforte. I hate it.”

“Then perhaps you should tell your new mama, and she can help you choose another instrument to play.”

She gave an extra skip. “That's a good idea. You are so clever, Major.”

They progressed down the driveway and turned out onto the main road that led into the village. The old church loomed up on their right, and on the left was the open gate that led up the drive to the new rectory.

“Miss Harrington is very nice.”

“She is indeed.” He sighed. “Although she can be quite intimidating when she puts her mind to it, believe me.”

“She is the best friend of my father's new wife.”

“That is true.”

“Which means that she will come and visit us in London and at Greenbridge House, doesn't it?”

“I should imagine so.” It had occurred to him that unless she married, he would be bumping into Miss Harrington at the Stanfords' and at home for the rest of his life. Which made it even more imperative that he mended things between them as quickly as possible.

Charlotte tugged on his sleeve. “Can I run a little bit? I promise I'll be careful.”

They were approaching the High Street, and there were some flagstones laid in front of the local shops.

“Go ahead. Stay on this side of the road. I'll watch you.”

He checked his pockets and heard the reassuring jangle of coins. He'd stop in the village store and buy Charlotte something sweet or a new ribbon for her hair. When Andrew had asked if he might leave his children at Kurland Hall until his return, Robert had worried whether he would be able to stand the noise and inconvenience children always seemed to bring with them. But the Stanford children had proven remarkably pleasant.

It wasn't quite enough to make him contemplate setting up his own nursery, but he was more open to the idea of fathering an heir in the future.

“Major Kurland!”

Charlotte was running back toward him, her expression determined, her booted feet thumping down on the flagstones. He took a step toward her and then was impeded by a figure that came out of the village shop. It was too late to call out a warning as Charlotte cannoned into the lady, and Robert attempted to catch them both as they fell backward into his open arms.

For a horrible moment he was almost suffocated by petticoats and the press of the two bodies on top of him. Eventually, order was restored, as Miss Chingford lifted Charlotte off Miss Harrington, and Robert was able to offer her a hand to assist her upright.

“Good Lord!” Miss Harrington gasped. “Are you all right, Charlotte?”

“I'm fine, Miss Harrington.” Charlotte gave an experimental skip and then beamed up at her rescuer. “You caught me like a ball.”

Robert managed to stand up using the window ledge of the store and looked for his hat, which had been knocked clean off his head.

“Do you need help, Major Kurland?” Miss Chingford came toward him, her hand outstretched.

“No. I'm perfectly fine.” Robert found his hat and dusted it down before placing it on his head. “I'm more concerned about the ladies.”

Miss Harrington was bent over young Charlotte, checking her for injuries. “We are both quite recovered, sir.”

Charlotte grinned at Robert. “You caught us both!” Her smile faded, and she ran over to him. “Is your bad leg hurting?”

“Not at all.”

She put her hand on his sleeve. “Are you sure?”

Miss Chingford came up and patted Charlotte on the head. “Major Kurland is a very capable gentleman, Charlotte. Perhaps we should take him back to the rectory for tea and thank him properly. There is something I wish to speak to him about.”

Charlotte looked up at him, and Robert found himself agreeing to the suggestion, despite the lack of an invitation from Miss Harrington. Charlotte took his free hand, leaving the other two ladies to walk ahead of them, which suited his slower pace admirably. By the time they reached the rectory, Miss Harrington had already taken off her cloak and bonnet and was issuing instructions to Betty about tea and buttered muffins.