Death Comes to the Village (14 page)

Her letter to William Bowden was short, and asked him to contact her as soon as possible either in person or by letter. She didn’t mention Mary, thinking that such a declaration of intent might make him suspicious or cause him problems at home. Of course, if he saw Isaiah Bridges before he received her letter, he’d know she was looking for Mary anyway. She sanded the letter and sealed it with wax before writing William’s name and direction on it.

She found another sheet of foolscap and dipped her pen in the inkwell. Whom exactly should she address the letter to—the Prince Regent, or Major Kurland’s commanding officer? Lucy considered the matter and then decided to address her reply to them both. She gracefully declined the invitation, adding that Major Kurland was still laid up in bed with injuries from his heroic conduct at Waterloo. With a private smile, she signed herself
L Harrington,
secretary to Major Robert Kurland.

Just as she finished addressing the second letter, the door opened and Anna appeared.

“Oh Lucy, there you are. I’ve been looking for you. Michael stabbed Luke through the ear with a penknife, and there was blood everywhere! Jane was in complete hysterics.”

“Is Luke all right?”

Anna slumped into the nearest chair. “Of course he is. He thought it was highly amusing. Apparently, he and Michael saw a picture of some of the savages from America and decided they wanted to pierce their ears and put big hoops through them.”

Lucy started to get up. “Where are they?”

“It’s all right. They’ve been sent to bed without any supper, and Jane is guarding the door. There’s nothing for you to do.”

Lucy subsided onto her seat. “Those boys will be the death of me. The moment my back is turned, they are up to something.”

“Just remember that in six months’ time they will be somebody else’s responsibility. I shudder to think of the poor teachers at their school.” Anna leaned against the cushions and tucked her feet underneath her.

“Where did the twins get the knife?”

“Oh, it was Anthony’s. He’s not very pleased with them for taking it from his room, either. He shouted at them that they had no right to invade his privacy.”

“As if he wasn’t just as bad at taking Tom’s things when he was a boy.”

“He misses Tom.”

“We all do.”

“But it’s different for Anthony, isn’t it? He worshiped him. I fear he’s been rather adrift since Tom died.”

Lucy closed the desk and turned to Anna. “Have you noticed Anthony’s been behaving oddly, too?”

“Yes. I asked him what was wrong, but he said I would never understand.”

“I asked him, and he accused me of snooping for Papa. I was hoping he’d confided in you.”

“Unfortunately not, and before you ask, he hasn’t borrowed money from me again, either.”

“After he promised not to? I should hope not.” Lucy shut the inkwell. She was reluctant to share her suspicions with Anna, but she had no choice. “If he hasn’t borrowed money from either of us, I’m worried he’s gotten himself into debt again, and is too scared to tell Papa.”

“Lord, I hope not!” Anna clutched her hands together at her bosom. “Papa was furious with him for weeks!”

“Which means he’s unlikely to confide in us if he’s in the same position again. I don’t want to compromise your relationship with Anthony, Anna, but if you can get him to talk to you about any of this, please do.”

“I will.” Anna nodded. “And if he does confide in me, I promise to tell you what’s going on if I feel it is necessary.”

“That’s very good of you.” Lucy rose to her feet and smoothed down her skirts.

“By the way, Lucy, Mrs. Fielding was looking for you. Someone left a heavenly smelling pie in the kitchen, and after I mistakenly complimented her on it, she demanded to know where it came from.”

Lucy groaned. “I should have eaten it all myself, but I foolishly wanted you all to share in my good fortune.”

“That was very noble of you, but now Mrs. Fielding is extremely cross and threatening not to cook anything at all.”

“Really?”

Anna sat up. “Yes. Why are you smiling?”

“Because if she doesn’t cook
anything,
Papa is sure to notice and call her to account for it, especially if it means the reoccurrence of the rabbit stew.”

The sisters smiled at each other in perfect accord.

 

“You can’t stay in your bedroom forever, Robert.”

“I am aware of that.” Robert turned to look at his aunt Rose, who had taken a seat by his bed with a determined air. It was late in the evening, the curtains were drawn, and a small fire blazed in the hearth. “Are your rooms satisfactory?”

“No, they are not. I don’t know what your staff have been doing while you’ve been bedridden, but they haven’t been airing out the beds and the draperies. I had to go into Miss Chingford’s room and clean out at least a dozen spider’s webs!”

“I wondered what all that shrieking was about.” Robert took his aunt’s hand. “My staff hasn’t been neglecting their duties. I haven’t had any guests to entertain. There was no point in keeping the upstairs rooms in order because they weren’t being used.”

Aunt Rose squeezed his fingers. “You can’t let this turn you into a recluse.”

He’d forgotten how blunt his northern relatives were compared to southerners. They certainly didn’t mince their words. “I’m not. It just seemed like a false economy to waste my staff on cleaning rooms that were never occupied. I’m sure the downstairs is perfectly fine apart from the west wing.”

“While I’m here, I’ll set everything to rights for you. Perhaps Miss Chingford can help me.” Rose chuckled. “I don’t think she’s been very impressed so far with her future home.”

“As to that—”

“By the way, she made it very clear that she won’t come and see you while you’re in your nightclothes and in your bedchamber.”

“Why ever not?”

“Because she doesn’t consider it seemly.”

“Even if I’m sitting up by the window in my banyan?”

“She’s a lady, Robert, and according to her, you’re still in a state of undress. Her reputation means everything to her, and I did promise her parents I’d keep her safe. They were fairly reluctant to leave her in my care, seeing as I’m so vulgar, but money won out in the end. It usually does.”

“How did you meet Miss Chingford? Forgive me, Aunt, but you hardly move in the same social circles.”

“Nor would I wish to. I only visit London to see Henrietta and my grandchildren. I know I’m not welcome at their grand home, either, despite the fact that Hen’s dowry paid for it all.”

Robert allowed himself to be diverted. “I have no idea why she chose to marry Northam, a duller, more pompous individual I’ve never met.”

“She married him because he’s a baron, and she gets to call herself Lady Henrietta. He married her because his finances were all to pieces and he needed the capital.”

“A match made in heaven, then.”

She swatted him with her lace handkerchief. “Don’t be so dismissive. Men have always married for money and women for position. No one considered it odd when your father married my sister.”

Robert found himself smiling. “By all accounts, it was a love match.”

“They were lucky and they left you in excellent financial shape.”

“I know. I thank God for it every day.” He brought his aunt’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “If Miss Chingford won’t come to my room, how am I supposed to speak to her? Why make the effort to visit me and then not take advantage of it?”

“I don’t think she realized how badly injured you were, Robert. Did you not inform her?”

“I believe my commanding officer wrote to tell her I’d been wounded, and I dictated a note to Foley once I regained consciousness here.”

“That’s all?” Aunt Rose shook her head. “No wonder the poor girl felt obliged to come and see for herself.”

He was aware of a strong sensation of guilt. “Well, I can hardly ignore her now.”

In truth, he wished he could, but he was a gentleman, and he’d made a commitment to Miss Chingford that he’d tried to ignore. He hadn’t seen her for so long that he’d almost forgotten how beautiful she was. Had she really decided she’d waited long enough for him to crawl out of his shell? He smoothed a hand over his covered legs. He hadn’t wanted her to see him like this. He’d been vain enough to dream of returning to London in perfect health to claim her again.

“Did she say exactly why she wanted to come with you?” Robert asked.

“Not directly. I met her at Henrietta’s, and once she knew I was related to you and was fixed on visiting, she insisted on coming with me. She certainly didn’t confide in me on the journey here. In fact, when she forgot her society manners, she treated me more like a poor governess than a potential relative.”

“Her father is a viscount. Her lineage is impeccable.”

“So she told me—as if I should be kneeling at her feet thanking her for deigning to share my carriage and join our worthless family.” Aunt Rose gave an unladylike snort. “She might be mighty high in the instep, but she’s still after your money.”

“I’m certain of it. I know only too well that the Kurland estate is in this robust condition because of the wealth my mother brought into it.”

“Don’t you ever forget it, nephew, even though there are many of your class who will try to make you feel inferior because of it. Now, what is this that Bookman tells me about you having nightmares and using opiates to sleep?”

Robert blinked at the sudden change of subject. “What?”

“There’s no need to sound so alarmed. Both Bookman and Foley are loyal to you. They only told me because I nagged them to death.”

“I . . . did take laudanum for a while to dull the pain. But I didn’t like the effect it had on me. I felt quite unlike myself.”

“Indeed. Bookman suggested they feared for your sanity at some points.”

“He never said that to me.”

“You probably would have dismissed him for being insolent. It’s much easier for him to confide his worries in me.”

“But I’ve practically stopped taking the damned stuff!”

“There, there, don’t get agitated, my love.” Aunt Rose felt his forehead as though he were six again. Robert felt as frustrated as his childhood self. Did no one truly believe he was capable anymore?

“Tomorrow morning I will get up, get properly dressed, and have my chair taken down to the best parlor so that I may converse like a gentleman with you and Miss Chingford. Will that convince you that I’m not some raving lunatic huddled in his bed?”

Aunt Rose kissed his brow. “Of course, my dear. I look forward to it.” She stood up with the happy air of a woman who had achieved her purpose and headed for the door. “Sleep well, nephew.”

Robert glared at the closed door for a good few minutes. In her own way, she was just as manipulative as Miss Harrington. God save him from interfering females who thought they knew what was best for him. He drank the barley water she had placed by his bed and wished he had some brandy to put in it. Did Bookman really think he was still addicted to laudanum? He hadn’t said anything about it, but he and Foley had been rather overattentive the past few weeks. He’d sometimes wondered if Bookman and Foley had been secretly adding laudanum to his food to make him sleep.

He studied the black glass bottle beside his bed and licked his lips, tasting the sickly opiate. Was it possible that what he’d
thought
he’d seen at the church was a figment of his drugged imagination? If he was addicted to the stuff, surely his most trusted employees should share some of the blame?

Robert settled back against his pillows. Thank God he hadn’t mentioned what he’d seen outright to his servants. Even if he had “imagined” the man at the church, someone was stealing things in Kurland and something had happened to the two girls. These were problems that still needed solving, and if he refused to take any laudanum from now on, he was quite capable of solving them—wasn’t he?

“I don’t take kindly to food appearing in my kitchen that I haven’t cooked!”

Mrs. Fielding glowered at Lucy and then returned her gaze to the rector, who sat behind his desk, hands folded on his blotter, his expression beleaguered.

“The pie was a gift from a parishioner. I could scarcely refuse it.” Lucy didn’t even bother to look at Mrs. Fielding. “And you have to admit that it tasted very good. You remarked on it particularly, Father.”

“It shouldn’t have been put out on my table!”

“I put it out, Mrs. Fielding, because I knew that the rector would not be satisfied with a dinner comprised of leftover rabbit stew and boiled mutton.” Lucy noticed her father’s shudder and pressed her point home. “The pie was excellent.”

“It’s not your business, Miss Harrington, to be telling me what to cook, or what not to cook. It’s the rector that pays my wages.”

“I manage the house and the staff for my father. I have done so for the last seven years. I’m sure he doesn’t wish to be bothered by domestic issues when his mind should be on higher, more spiritual matters.” Lucy stared hard at her father. “Do you
want
me to hand over the management of the house to you? Do you want to deal with Mrs. Fielding yourself, because I am more than willing to relinquish my responsibilities, if it suits you.”