Death Comes to the Village (21 page)

“It isn’t too much, Robert, but I think you underestimate your neighbors. Most of them have known you since you were in shortcoats. They’re not like the
Ton
. They won’t come to stare and spread gossip.”

He studied his aunt for a long moment. In her own way, she was as straightforward and honest as he was. “You’re probably right. I promise I’ll make an effort to be civil to anyone who calls.”

“Thank you.” Aunt Rose blew him a kiss. “That’s all I ask. Your mother would hate to see you like this.”

“Barricaded in my bedchamber?” Robert chuckled. “Between you and Miss Harrington, I’m being forced into the open, room by room.”

The door opened again and Foley stepped aside to reveal another visitor. Robert automatically tried to rise and then sat down again.

“Good afternoon, Major Kurland, Mrs. Armitage.”

“My dear, Miss Harrington. How are you?” Aunt Rose bustled over to take Miss Harrington’s arm and seat her on the couch nearest Robert. “We didn’t expect to see you today.”

“I’m quite recovered, thank you.” She touched her bonnet. “Apart from the remnants of a headache, which simply refuses to depart.”

Robert scanned her face but could see little of her expression beneath the deep crown of her dull brown bonnet. “Are you quite well?”

Her smile was wry. “It depends who you ask. My father and Dr. Baker think I’m imagining things.”

“From the bruising on your face, I find that difficult to believe.”

“Oh, they think I fell and hit my face.”

Robert glanced at his aunt, who was pouring Miss Harrington a cup of tea. “Aunt Rose, I doubt that tea is hot enough for our guest. Could you ask Foley for a fresh pot? And maybe you might wish to find Miss Chingford and ask her to join us so that she will not miss out on the pleasure of a visitor.”

“Certainly, my dear nephew. Why would I want to waste my time sitting down, anyway?” Aunt Rose gave him a speculative glance as she left the room.

He gestured at the cup in Miss Harrington’s hand. “If it isn’t warm enough, Foley will bring some more.”

“It is fine, Major.” She sipped at the beverage slowly. “It’s a beautiful day. You should consider sitting outside. The leaves are just starting to bud on the trees. I suspect we will have some blossoms soon. The elm trees in your driveway will look magnificent.”

“What does the weather have to do with anything?”

“I was merely commenting that with the chill of winter behind us, you would be safe to venture outdoors. Why are you frowning at me?”

“Will you take off your damned bonnet?”

She looked up at him. “I
beg
your pardon?”

“Take off your bonnet. I want to see your face.”

She put her cup down so sharply that it rattled in the saucer. He waited as she untied the gray ribbons and placed the bonnet on the seat beside her. For once, her brown hair wasn’t braided closely to her head but was arranged in loose curls and waves that softened her appearance considerably. But nothing could cover up the ugly bruise that marred her cheek.

“Good God.”

She patted her hair and looked remarkably self-conscious. “I have a bump on the back of my head. I couldn’t braid my hair. It pulled too much.”

“Come here.”

“Major, you don’t need to—”

“Please, Miss Harrington, will you at least oblige me in this?”

She rose to her feet and came to stand in front of him, bending down so that he could observe her face at close quarters. He could see the smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose and the green-gray shards in her brown eyes.

“You will have a black eye.”

“So everyone keeps telling me. I’m not sure why they all sound so pleased about it.”

He gently touched her cheek. “How did this happen?”

“Have you finished with your inspection? May I sit down? I told you what I intended to do in my note. Didn’t you receive it?”

“I received it well after the events had occurred.” He glowered at her. “Which I assume was deliberate.”

“I didn’t want you trying to stop me.”

“Because you knew you were in the wrong?”

“No, because it didn’t matter what you thought, I knew I was going to do it anyway.”

“Didn’t
matter?
You could’ve been killed because of this wild goose chase I started!”

“There’s no need to get angry, Major. I agreed to participate in the investigation, and I accept the consequences of that choice.” Her eyes flashed a warning. “Just because I’m a woman, doesn’t mean I can’t look after myself.”

“You claim you were hit on the head. Do you consider that looking after yourself?”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, how was I to know that someone would be lurking in the graveyard? You wouldn’t have done any better.”

“I would’ve taken the means to defend myself. And if you had told me what you intended to do in good time, I would have insisted you take someone with you, as well.”

She had the grace to look a little guilty, but it wasn’t enough to assuage his anger. “And what was all that nonsense about your gloves, anyway?”

She told him about the blood on her gloves, and her deductions as to where it had come from and he listened intently.

“. . . I knelt down in front of the tomb and found a scrap of pink material stuck in the opening. When I tried to pull it free, it wouldn’t move. I took my gloves off to get a better grip. The next thing I remember is waking up with my face wedged against the DeVry tomb and a headache of monstrous proportions.”

“A bang on the head will do that to a person.” He was aware that he wasn’t sounding very sympathetic.

“Papa and Dr. Baker decided I was imagining things, and put me to bed with a dose of laudanum. This morning I went back to the graveyard with my father. I told him I wanted to look for my gloves. We found everything just as it should be. No blood on the tomb, no fabric stuck in the door, no signs of any disturbance at all. It was quite uncanny.”

Robert smiled. He knew how that felt. “Perhaps you were imagining things.”

Her expression turned to ice. “I thought you, of all people, would believe me. Isn’t it obvious? Someone didn’t want me looking in that tomb.”

“I accept that might be the case, but you can’t deny that your father also made some very good points.”

“About grave robbers, and unsanctioned burials, and the hysterical nature of women?”

“Not the last one, obviously, although you do seem to be getting a little agitated. But there are many reasons why someone might be loitering in that graveyard. You said so yourself. Didn’t you see Ben Cobbins in there, too?”

“But none of those reasons concern me quite so intimately as the disappearance of my maid!” She rose to her feet and walked away from him. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“Miss Harrington, if you are angry with me, it is with good cause. I should never have involved you in my stupid schemes. I never intended for you to get hurt. Will you accept my apologies?”

She spun around, her hands fisted. “By that, do you mean that I should go meekly home and sit by the fire, obeying my father’s dictates until I am an old maid?”

“That’s going rather too far, Miss Harrington. I have no desire to tell you how to live your life.”

“Apart from the fact that I should keep out of your current concerns?”

“No. It’s not like that. I’m beginning to believe I was mistaken in what I saw.”

She sat down quite suddenly and looked at him.
“Why?”

“My reasons are my own.” He had no intention of telling her about his overindulgence in laudanum. “Just let me say that they have nothing to do with you, and your estimable intelligence.”

“That’s very gallant of you, but are you ordering me to stop looking into this matter?”

“There is no ‘matter.’ Just two silly girls and some petty theft.”

“Silly and petty to you, perhaps, Major, but not to me.” She looked right into his eyes. “If nothing had happened at the tomb, why weren’t my gloves still there, or any evidence of where I knelt down on the ground? Someone eradicated all traces of my presence.”

She reached into her pocket and brought out her handkerchief. For one terrifying moment Robert feared she was going to start sobbing.

“I found this in the bushes near the tomb. Have you ever seen it before?”

She placed the unfolded handkerchief on his palm. He squinted at the piece of broken porcelain and then flipped it over with his finger.

“It reminds me of a snuff box that used to be in my mother’s apartment downstairs. She kept it because it was a gift from her father, although she never took snuff. I’ll ask Foley if it is still there.”

He wrapped the fragment up and gave it back to Miss Harrington. “Even if it is my mother’s box, it proves nothing except that we have thieves in our village.”

Her shoulders slumped. “You are determined that the disappearances and the thefts are not connected.”

“Why should they be? Come now, Miss Harrington. Wouldn’t you be pleased to catch these thieves?”

“I’d rather find out what happened to Mary and Daisy.”

He heard voices in the hallway and stopped talking as his aunt and betrothed came into the room. Miss Chingford took one look at Miss Harrington and shot him an accusing glare, which Robert ignored. Instead he smiled at his aunt, who had turned to speak to Miss Harrington.

“As you requested, Robert, Foley is bringing a fresh pot of tea and some parkin.”

“Your recipe, I hope, Aunt?”

“Of course. No southerner can make good parkin.”

“What is parkin, Mrs. Armitage?” Miss Harrington asked.

“It is a kind of gingerbread. Robert always loved it when he was a boy.”

“It sounds delightful. Perhaps you could give me the recipe.”

“Indeed, I will. It’s quite simple to make.” His aunt continued to talk and Robert noticed Miss Harrington sway a little and briefly close her eyes. He beckoned to Foley and spoke quietly in his ear.

“Have Granger bring the gig round. He can take Miss Harrington home.”

“Yes, sir.”

 

Lucy wasn’t sure if the ride in the gig had made her head feel worse or better. At least it was of short duration. Granger handed her down, and set off again back the way he’d come, leaving Lucy to ponder her conversation with Major Kurland.

He’d
decided not to pursue the matter, and he expected her to do the same like a well-trained dog dropping a bone on his command. She found herself baring her teeth. How dare he assume she’d just quietly go along with his orders? He wasn’t the one who had been hit on the head in a graveyard and left for dead! She slammed the back door and then regretted it as the sound reverberated through her sensitive skull.

And what of the matter of the porcelain box? Feeling like a thief, she’d checked the pockets of all of Anthony’s coats and the box she’d seen had disappeared. What if it had been originally stolen from Kurland Hall? Had Anthony taken it? How had it ended up crushed underfoot in the graveyard just where she had been knocked unconscious? All the unanswered questions circled in her mind, making her headache even worse. Anthony had been at home when she’d struggled back from the graveyard. Had he also been there earlier?

A letter awaited her on the hall table, so she took it into the back parlor with her to read. Even when wearing her spectacles the words danced around like hens scattering before a fox. After suffering the indignities of a headache, she was almost beginning to have some sympathy with Major Kurland again. Letter in hand, she went to find Anna, who was in the stillroom at the back of the house making an infusion of witch hazel, probably for Lucy’s black eye. They also needed a constant supply of witch hazel for the twins’ innumerable bumps and scratches.

“Can you read this for me, please?” Lucy held out the letter.

“Certainly.” Anna cleared her throat. “It says, ‘Dear Miss Harrington, thank you for your letter. If it is convenient, I will come to the rectory this evening around six o’clock before I return home to Lower Kurland. Yours, William Bowden.’ ”

Anna lowered the letter. “Who is he, Lucy?”

“Do you remember me telling you that Mary had an admirer who had worked on our new stable block last summer?”

“Yes. Is this him?” Anna folded up the paper into neat squares.

“I believe so.”

“I wonder if Mary is with him?” Anna’s smile grew hopeful. “Maybe they have got married and she is expecting his child.”

For some reason, Lucy found it difficult to smile back. “I hope you are right. I really do.”

Anna peered into Lucy’s face. “You don’t look well. Why don’t you go upstairs and have a rest? I’ll make sure Mrs. Fielding gets the dinner on the table on time and that the twins eat their food rather than throwing it around the room like that despicable little marmoset monkey Nicholas’s grandmother owns. I’ll wake you up well before Mr. Bowden arrives, I promise.”

“Are you sure, Anna?” For once, she was too overset to argue. It was an unusual sensation. She’d never felt quite so fatigued in her life. Between the horrors of the graveyard, and Major Kurland’s unexpected dismissal of her concerns, she was ready to hide under the covers for a month. “I do have a terrible headache.”

Anna produced a bottle and a spoon and proceeded to dose Lucy with willow bark tea while ignoring her sister’s shudders at the bitterness of the taste.

“Now go to bed. I’ll manage.”

Lucy tucked the letter into her pocket, made her way back into the house, and wearily climbed the stairs. Her bed had never looked quite so welcoming. With a groan, she stretched out on the sheets and inhaled the scent of lavender and line-dried linen. The usual sounds of the busy household enfolded her. She slept until Anna shook her awake into the darkness of the evening with the reminder that William Bowden would be arriving within the hour.