Death Comes to Kurland Hall (6 page)

The room had been untouched since the morning of the wedding and was a veritable mess of abandoned clothing, beauty aids, and the other feminine jumble. Lucy stripped the sheets from the bed and bundled them up by the door for washing. She picked up and carefully folded all Mrs. Chingford's discarded clothing, searching the pockets before putting each garment in a pile on the bed.

The large trunk was open, its contents spilling out onto the floor. Lucy knelt and checked what else was in there before replacing the assortment of footwear at the bottom and adding the folded clothes. She finally turned her attention to the dressing table, gathering the powders, creams, and lip tints into a large enameled box. Mrs. Chingford's jewelry case was nowhere in sight. Lucy could only assume Penelope had taken charge of it.

All was still quiet, so Lucy moved across to her mother's old desk, where a large leather writing case lay open. An inkpot and a pen were balanced precariously on top of a pile of letters. It appeared as if Mrs. Chingford had been an avid correspondent. Lucy closed the inkpot and laid the pen down on the blotter, her gaze caught by a half-finished letter in what she assumed was Mrs. Chingford's hand. The names Miss Stanford and Mrs. Fairfax were quite legible. Holding her breath, Lucy leaned closer and put on her reading glasses.

“Can I help you with something, Miss Harrington?”

Concealing her start of surprise, Lucy picked up the inkpot and turned toward Miss Chingford. Her old nemesis didn't look very well, her skin pale and her eyes shadowed. She was dressed in a black dress she had borrowed from Anna.

“Good afternoon, Miss Chingford. I do hope you slept well.” Lucy slipped the letter into her pocket and placed the inkpot and the pen in one of the desk's pigeonholes. “I came to strip the bed.”

“And pry?”

Lucy raised her eyebrows. “Into what, exactly?”

“Intimate details of my mother's life to share with your village friends?”

“I would never to do that,” Lucy replied as gently as she could.

“Then did your father ask you to come up here?” Miss Chingford sank down into the nearest chair, her expression hard. “He and my mother were arguing at the wedding.”

Lucy took the seat opposite her. “What were they arguing about?”

“My mother didn't appreciate him sharing the news of their supposed betrothal to the masses.”

“I did wonder about the wisdom of that,” Lucy admitted.

Miss Chingford dabbed at her eyes with one of Lucy's handkerchiefs. “I don't think she had any intention of marrying him. She just wanted to return to London with that news to use as a threat to ensnare the man she really wanted.”

“I assume she didn't tell my father that.”

Miss Chingford snorted. “Who knows? Perhaps she did. She had a sharp tongue. She called it being honest. I often suspected her ‘honesty' came with a healthy dose of malice. Your father was very angry with her.”

“He hates being embarrassed.” Lucy collected her thoughts. “When did they fight?”

“I told you, at the wedding, just before she—” Miss Chingford pressed the handkerchief to her lips. “I disliked her intensely, Miss Harrington, but I can't seem to stop crying.”

“She was your mother. It is quite understandable.” Lucy handed over her last clean handkerchief. “How is Dorothea bearing up?”

“I can't get a word of sense out of her. She didn't like our mother, either, and was arguing with her about the intended marriage at the wedding.” Miss Chingford sighed. “
Everyone
was arguing with her about something, and she seemed to be enjoying it. She loved being at the center of things. After my father's death she lost her social position and would try anything to reclaim it.”

She paused and shot Lucy a suspicious look. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Because you and your sister have just suffered a grievous loss,” Lucy said. “I lost my own mother eight years ago. I know how hard it was.”

“By all accounts, your mother was a saint.” Miss Chingford blew her nose with great force. “My mother was immensely disliked, and for very good reason.”

Lucy rose. “I made a start at packing up your mother's things, but you might wish to finish the task yourself. I do hope you have your mother's jewelry case?”

“Yes. I took in into my room last night to put the rubies back in their box.”

“Did she own a locket?” Lucy asked. “I found one at the wedding, and I've been searching for the owner.”

“Not to my knowledge. She preferred gemstones to simple trinkets.”

“Do you or Dorothea remember losing one?”

“I certainly did not. You will have to ask Dorothea herself. I do believe she has a locket that contains a lock of our father's hair. I have no idea why she idolized him so when he couldn't even tell us apart.”

Lucy placed another box of lotions and perfume in the trunk, keeping her back to her companion. “I hesitate to ask you such a personal question, Miss Chingford—Penelope, if I may—but do you have family to help you manage this unfortunate situation?”

“My mother managed to alienate almost everyone. And, as she didn't produce a male heir, even our house will revert to one of our Stanford cousins.”

“Then where do you think you will live?”

Penelope shrugged. “You know how it is, Miss Harrington. Someone in the family will take pity on us, will give us a home, and then will expect us to be grateful for the rest of our lives.”

There was a bitter sound to her words, but Lucy couldn't blame her. Unwanted or unwed female relatives had very few options if their menfolk died. She had always known that if she didn't marry, Anthony or her younger siblings would give her a home where she would be valued. But many women weren't so lucky and became unpaid drudges to their richer relatives.

The sound of a carriage stopping outside the rectory brought Penelope to her feet. “I suppose I'd better go and finish dressing before the vultures descend to offer their condolences.”

“Will Dorothea be well enough to come down?” Lucy moved toward the door and picked up the bundle of dirty bedclothes.

“I don't think so.”

“Then I will go and greet our callers.” Lucy hesitated. “If you don't wish to speak to anyone, Penelope, no one will fault you for it.”

“Yes they will. They will think I am too ashamed of my own mother to face them, but I have done nothing wrong, and I refuse to be cowed.”

She swept past Lucy and went into her bedchamber, closing the door behind her with a definite bang.

On the landing Lucy almost ran into Betty, who had been coming to fetch her down to the parlor. She thrust the washing into the maid's arms and patted her own hair before descending the stairs. She suspected the rectory would soon be awash with villagers and wedding guests eager to see the Chingfords and relive the tragedy over tea and cake. Luckily, Mrs. Fielding had baked enough for a hundred such visitors.

Would her father emerge to accept the condolences of his parishioners, or would he continue to hide himself away in his study? And was his nonappearance due to grief, anger, or regret? She hated to consider her father amongst those who had argued with Mrs. Chingford on that fateful day, but she couldn't allow her prejudices to cloud her judgment.

Opening the door into the parlor, she surveyed the early visitors, who were mainly the elderly village busybodies who prided themselves on finding out all the juicy gossip first. Also present was the new curate, George, who was handing round cake and chatting with his parishioners Mr. Thomas Fairfax and Mrs. Fairfax.

She went over to Mr. Fairfax, and he bowed. “Good afternoon, Miss Harrington. Mrs. Fairfax wished to visit to offer her condolences to you and the Chingford family.”

Lucy waited for the widow to draw back her veil and was surprised to see real tears on her cheeks.

“I am so sorry,” she choked out in a small whisper. “Your poor, dear papa. I had to come. . . .” She gripped Lucy's hand very tightly between her own. “The Chingford ladies must be devastated.”

“Is Miss Chingford coming down today?” Mr. Fairfax made a slight movement forward and gently disengaged the widow's gloved fingers from Lucy's wrist. “If she isn't, I'll take Mrs. Fairfax back to the manor house, and we can call another day.”

His worried gaze met Lucy's over his ex-employer's head, as if he was trying to apologize to her. He lowered his voice. “Being so recently bereaved herself, Mrs. Fairfax takes these matters to heart.”

“Which is very considerate of her.” Lucy guided the weeping widow to a chair. “If you will just rest for a moment, ma'am, I'll go and see if Miss Chingford is available.”

She turned toward the door, only to see that Miss Chingford had entered the room, her head held high, her gaze challenging anyone to feel sorry for her. Her black garb did nothing to distract from her frozen blond beauty. The curate almost dropped the plate of scones he was handing around, and Mr. Fairfax went still, his gaze fixed on Miss Chingford's pale face. For a moment, Lucy found herself admiring her former foe, whose future was now so precarious.

“Ah, Miss Chingford.” Lucy met her gaze. “Have you made the acquaintance of Mrs. Fairfax and Mr. Thomas Fairfax? They called to offer their condolences for your loss.”

Miss Chingford's arrival caused a second wave of weeping from the widow, which made Lucy cravenly withdraw from her side and circulate amongst the other guests. As the gossips left, Miss Stanford arrived, and Lucy hastened to greet her and offer some refreshment. After a while, Lucy managed to find a seat beside Miss Stanford as she handed her a cup of tea.

“Thank you, Miss Harrington.” The teacup rattled on the saucer as Miss Stanford placed it on the table beside her.

“Are you quite well, Miss Stanford?” Lucy asked quietly.

“As well as can be expected, seeing as my brother got married yesterday and the woman who threatened to destroy that marriage and his reputation died.”

Her forthright manner reminded Lucy of Major Kurland and made her feel rather more hopeful that some direct questions might yield answers.

“I doubt Mrs. Chingford could have done much damage to your brother or your family, Miss Stanford.”

“You'd be surprised. She told me quite openly that she was paid by some of the newspapers and scandal sheets to provide gossip about the
ton
.” Miss Stanford's mouth twisted. “My brother is a lawyer. He cannot afford to have his reputation brought into question. She also told me that she had already sent a letter about his new marriage to all her sources.”

Lucy remembered the vast amount of correspondence she'd discovered in Mrs. Chingford's bedchamber. She certainly had a wide acquaintance, and now it appeared that some of it was for personal gain.

“But Mrs. Chingford is dead now,” Lucy reminded her companion. “She can no longer persecute or gossip about anyone.”

“That's true.” Miss Stanford bit down on her lip. “I just feel so terribly guilty.”

Lucy held her breath as she surreptitiously offered the other woman a handkerchief. “Why would you feel like that? From what I observed, you simply stood up for your brother. That was an admirable thing to do.”

Miss Stanford shuddered. “And I argued with Mrs. Chingford just before she apparently died. Perhaps it was my harsh words that made her forget to pay attention on the stairs and lose her footing.” She sighed. “And now I cannot take those words back.”

“With all due respect, Miss Stanford, unless you were actually present in the moment Mrs. Chingford fell, you can hardly consider yourself responsible.” Lucy watched carefully to see how Miss Stanford reacted to her honesty, but detected nothing untoward.

“I thought about following Mrs. Chingford and having it out with her in private, but in the end, thanks to your timely intervention, I went upstairs to help Sophia change into her traveling dress.”

Lucy tried to recall if she had seen Miss Stanford with Sophia, but had no recollection of her being present.

“So you have nothing to feel guilty for.”

“Only my bad temper.” Miss Stanford bit her lip.

“One doesn't wish to speak ill of the dead, but in my opinion, Mrs. Chingford was a difficult woman
not
to argue with,” Lucy murmured. “In truth, she seemed to be at odds with half the wedding party. You were not the only person who was annoyed with her on that day.”

Miss Stanford reached over and took Lucy's hand. “Thank you, Miss Harrington. You have made me feel so much better about my behavior. Robert
said
you were a remarkable woman.”

Lucy had no answer to that. Major Kurland thought her remarkable? It appeared he had some very peculiar notions in his head about everything at the moment.

“You are most welcome, Miss Stanford. We all have regrets, but I wouldn't allow your remorse to overcome you.” Lucy hesitated. “If you wish to make amends, you might consider asking your family whether there is a place for the Chingford sisters within their ranks. Not only have they lost their mother, but they will also lose their home to a male relative in the very near future.”

“I will speak to my brother when he returns. At least in that way I can make amends for my temper.” Miss Stanford took a deep breath. “Now I will go and speak to Miss Chingford.”

Chapter 6

“I
f the Chingford family wishes it, Major Kurland, I would be more than willing to conduct the funeral service in our church.” The rector paused. “It would be a fitting way to bid adieu to the woman who had promised to be my wife.”

“Indeed, sir.” Robert nodded. “It would be most fitting. I believe Miss Harrington has already spoken to Miss Chingford about this matter, and she is happy for you to lead the service.”

The rector lowered his voice. “Is there a family vault to which the body should be conveyed after the funeral?”

“No. I believe Mrs. Chingford can be buried here at St. Mary's.” Before the rector could start speaking again, Robert continued. “I will, of course, cover all the costs of the burial and other funeral expenses.”

“That is very good of you, Major.”

“As she died when she was a guest at my house, I feel somewhat responsible.” Robert rose to his feet. “Do you think you could have everything organized within a week or so? I'm sure we can persuade some of our guests to remain here for another few days.”

The rector bent to consult his diary. “I'll have George contact the church warden and the grave diggers to find out exactly when I can conduct the burial service. I usually advise that a body is buried sooner rather than later.”

“Thank you.” Robert shook away the memories of bodies strewn over battlefields and instead shook the rector's hand. “Are the ladies at home? I wish to confirm the plans with Miss Chingford.”

“I believe they are in the back parlor, sir. I'll take you to them.”

Robert followed the rector through the hallways until he could hear the unmistakable sound of female voices.

“Ah, Anna, Miss Chingford. Major Kurland is here.”

Anna Harrington came across the room to greet him with her usual charming smile. “Major Kurland, how good of you to call.”

“Miss Anna.” He bowed over her hand as the rector disappeared, murmuring something about tea and fetching Lucy. “Miss Chingford.”

His former betrothed raised her head and studied him. “Major Kurland. Did you settle matters with the rector?”

He took the seat opposite her and rested his cane against the chair leg. “I did, Miss Chingford. Hopefully, the funeral will take place a week from Saturday, and your mother can be buried in the graveyard here.”

“I suppose I should thank you.”

“There is no need. As I said to the rector, your mother died in my house. I feel somewhat responsible for that.”

“Responsible enough to marry me?”

Robert jerked to attention. “I beg your pardon?”

Miss Chingford didn't appear to be jesting, her blue eyes sharp. “With my mother gone, my sister and I are dependent on our distant family to provide us with a home and a dowry. I need to marry to prevent that.”

“We have already decided we would not suit.” Robert eased a finger into his collar. Was it getting hot in the room?

“There is also the matter of your understanding with my sister, Major, isn't there?” Anna Harrington said, intervening, her voice sweet and very welcome, until he realized she intended to rescue him from the pot by throwing him into the fire.

“My father did speak to you about your intentions, didn't he?” Anna continued.

“He certainly did, but—”

Anna smiled at him and then more sympathetically at Miss Chingford. “So you see, your suggestion wouldn't work at all. There are several other gentlemen of our acquaintance who would make you an excellent husband. We can discuss the matter after the major has gone.”

“Please do,” Robert muttered as the door opened to admit one of the maids with the promised tea. Where the devil was Miss Harrington?

 

Lucy sat on the bed and smoothed Dorothea's tangled hair away from her cheek.

“You really should get up, Dorothea. You cannot stay in bed forever.”

Dorothea didn't speak and turned her face deeper into the covers, making Lucy sigh.

“Your mother's funeral will be soon. Do you think it is fair to place the entire burden for this matter onto Penelope's shoulders? She needs your support.”

“She doesn't need anything. She's just like her.”

“By
her,
I assume you mean your mother.”

There was no answer, so Lucy tried another tack. “At the wedding, I saw you watching from the minstrels' gallery above the hall. Did you hear me call you?”

Beneath her fingers Dorothea went still, and Lucy carried on speaking. “Did you see your mother up there as you ran away? I should imagine you wished to speak to her about the news of her impending marriage.”

“She would never have married him.”

“Why do you say that?”

She jumped as Dorothea suddenly sat up, throwing off the blankets. “Because she
wouldn't
have! Because she was a liar and . . .” Dorothea stopped speaking and glared at Lucy. “Go
away
!”

Too used to the tactics of younger siblings to be put off by Dorothea's sudden rage, Lucy stared right back at her. “What are you so angry about? Did you see your mother fall?”

“I said, go away!”

“If you saw anything or know what happened,
tell
me,” Lucy said firmly. “We can sort this out. We—”

“We can do
nothing
! We cannot bring my mother back to life.” Dorothea turned away and curled up in a little ball before dragging the covers back over her head.

Lucy waited another minute but knew she wouldn't be granted any more insights. She patted the lump under the blankets. “If you wish to talk about anything, you know where to find me. You cannot keep grieving like this, Dorothea, and you cannot hide yourself away forever.”

Leaving the room, Lucy made her way down the stairs and saw Betty coming out of the back parlor.

“Do we have visitors?”

Betty nodded. “Just your Major Kurland, Miss Harrington. He came to talk to the rector about the arrangements for the poor lady's funeral. I just took him in some tea.”

Lucy continued down the stairs. Just when had he become
her
Major Kurland? She didn't think he would appreciate being considered someone's property. The mere thought of it made her smile, and she had to fight to conceal it as she entered the room. The major stood and bowed to her.

“Miss Harrington. I was hoping you would be here today. I wanted to ask your advice about something.”

He stared at her so intently that she blinked. “I'm always willing to aid you, sir. How may I help?”

Even as she sat down, Penelope stood and left the room with an audible sniff. Lucy looked uncertainly from the major to Anna.

“Is everything all right?”

“I believe so.” Major Kurland raised an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”

“Miss Chingford seemed upset. Did she not wish for the funeral to be held here, after all?”

“Oh no. She was perfectly content with that,” Anna said. “But she
was
quite annoyed when Major Kurland declined her offer to marry him.”

The major shifted uneasily in his seat. “It was hardly that, Miss Anna. I think Miss Chingford was joking.”

Anna winked at Lucy. “I don't think she was, but you handled it very well, Major.” Leaning over, she picked up the teapot. “I will ask Betty to refresh the pot for your tea, Lucy. Excuse me a moment.”

Silence filled the parlor after Anna left. Major Kurland fiddled with his pocket watch, and Lucy tried to make sense of what was going on.

“Did she really expect you to marry her?” Lucy asked the question before she could stop herself.

“She suggested that I owed her a proposal because her mother had died on my property.
I
suggested that we had already agreed that we would not suit, and that was the end of it.”

“Poor Miss Chingford.” Lucy sighed. “She must be feeling quite desperate if she considered marrying you again.”

“Thank you, Miss Harrington. I suppose I deserved that.”

“You know that wasn't what I meant. Her circumstances have changed considerably for the worse. She truly believes that there is no one willing to look out for her interests, particularly her marital prospects. That is rather sad.”

“I suppose it is, but I didn't come here today to discuss Miss Chingford's wedding prospects. I came to ask you whether you had discovered the owner of the locket yet.”

Quite willing to be distracted from the uncomfortable topic of Miss Chingford, Lucy marshaled her thoughts.

“No one has openly claimed the locket or even asked about it. I suppose if they believe they lost it at Kurland Hall, they might be more inclined to ask you. Has anyone mentioned it to you or your staff?”

“No one so far.”

“Or has Foley noticed anyone looking for anything?”

“Not to my knowledge.” He sighed. “So we are at an impasse.”

“Not quite an impasse, Major.” Lucy drew the half-written letter out of her pocket. “Miss Stanford told me that Mrs. Chingford admitted to selling gossip about the
ton
to the scandal sheets. It was one of the reasons why she continued to argue with Mrs. Chingford about her brother's reputation. She was afraid that Mrs. Chingford's ability to publicly destroy Mr. Stanford was considerable.”

Major Kurland raised an eyebrow. “Scandal sheets pay money for the ridiculous gossip they publish? I assumed they made it all up.”

“But you can understand why Miss Stanford was determined that her brother's name and character should not be smeared by lies and conjecture.”

“Miss Harrington, Andrew is a lawyer. If anyone could defend himself against such accusations, it would be him. His sister doesn't need to protect him at all. She should know that.”

“Didn't Mrs. Chingford say something about Miss Stanford's fiancé, as well?”

“I don't recall anything specific.”

Lucy frowned. “There was definitely some mention of him. Perhaps Miss Stanford decided that having to defend two people justified her actions.”

“You've decided that Miss Stanford is a murderer, then?”

“Not quite.” She handed Major Kurland the letter. “I found this in Mrs. Chingford's room. She isn't the only person mentioned in the letter.”

Major Kurland frowned. “I do wish you wouldn't talk in circles, Miss Harrington.” Lucy handed him her reading glasses as he squinted at the letter. “Thank you. Ah, you mean Miss Stanford is mentioned in this letter, as is her brother, her fiancé, and . . .” He flipped the letter over. “Mrs. Fairfax.” He raised his head to stare at Lucy. “Now, why was Mrs. Chingford interested in her?”

“They were definitely acquainted. I saw them talking at the wedding.” Lucy took the letter back. “Mr. Fairfax was puzzled as to how they knew each other.”

“Who would know?” Major Kurland frowned. “Mrs. Chingford mentioned to me that she thought she had met the widow before, but she didn't know when. Perhaps she was attempting to find out more in this letter.”

“The letter is addressed to a lady called Madge.”

“Then it might be helpful to discover who Madge is.”

Lucy nodded. “I will find a way to ask Penelope about her. I will also ask if she remembers anything her mother said about Mrs. Fairfax.”

“And if you will trust me with the locket, I shall have Foley inquire of my guests and the household staff if it belongs to anyone. He can say it was found amongst the soiled clothing in the laundry pile.”

“That is an excellent plan.” She dug into her pocket and brought the locket out. “You might also see if you can open it. There might be a portrait or an inscription inside that will make our job much easier.”

He took the locket and put it in his pocket before standing up. “I'm beginning to think this mystery will remain unsolvable.”

“Perhaps that would be for the best.”

“It's not like you to walk away from injustice, Miss Harrington.”

Lucy drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “Sometimes it feels that the price one has to pay to uphold the truth is too high.”

“As a soldier who has gone into battle to right wrongs, I completely understand your reasoning.” He picked up his hat and paused. “Shall we leave things alone, then?”

She looked up at him. “Let's follow through on what we agreed and then decide.”

“As you wish.”

Lucy stood, as well. “You aren't going to argue with me, Major Kurland?”

“Not this time.” He bowed and turned to the door. “I have no desire to drag you into danger again.”

“
Drag
me?” Lucy followed him out into the hallway. “I was the one who came up with the plan to capture our last murderer.”

“That's hardly the point—”

“Good day, Major Kurland.” Marching ahead of him, she opened the front door and stepped back to allow him to go past her. The glare he shot her as he left was almost comforting. She much preferred him being a tyrant than a proper gentleman.