Death Comes to the Village (28 page)

He was smiling as he retrieved a crowbar from the bushes and set to levering open the door of the tomb. “It’s a shame that you didn’t use that intelligence in a different way, Miss Harrington. Like all women, you just had to keep meddling. But no more.”

The door of the tomb yawned open, and she smelled the sweet awfulness of decay. In the gloom, she could just make out a hint of a pink skirt and pale pearlescent skin. Bookman grabbed her around the waist, and she started to shake her head and kick out but he was far too strong. She screamed behind her gag as he tossed her into the tomb and she scrambled to get up, to turn around to—

The vault door closed behind her with a grating rumble, and she was left alone in complete darkness. She slammed her bound hands against the door, but it was useless, the stone was immovable. With a sob, she rested her forehead against the unforgiving stone and tried to quiet her frantic breathing. She had to get the gag off, or she would faint.

Luckily, he’d tied her hands in front of her, so she was able to use them against the material of the gag and force it down inch by painful inch. Her breath exploded outward as her mouth was suddenly freed. She turned around until her back was aligned with the door of the tomb and she faced inward. It was so dark that she could see almost nothing, only the dark shapes of shelves with coffins on them. She reached out until her bound hands brushed cotton and she instantly recoiled.

Mary was here. Her choices cut short by a man who had refused to allow her to love another. What had driven Bookman to kill his longtime sweetheart? What would it take for him to turn on his longtime employer, as well?

Lucy settled down to endure. If Major Kurland managed to convince Bookman to confess, perhaps she would be rescued. If Bookman outwitted the major and managed to get away, her chances of being found were almost nonexistent. Coldness seeped through her thin gown and she started to shiver. This might be her final resting place. With all her strength, she closed her eyes and began to pray.

 

Robert folded the newspaper and took off his reading spectacles. “Has Foley gone to bed, Bookman?”

“I believe so, sir. Why, do you want something?”

“Not particularly. I just haven’t seen him for a while.” The old clock on the mantelpiece struck eleven times and then wheezed to a halt. “I suppose he might have been helping Miss Chingford and my aunt to pack. They are due to leave tomorrow.”

“Is Mrs. Armitage coming back?” Bookman looked up from tidying Robert’s linen.

“I believe she is. Her intention is to restore Miss Chingford to her parents, attempt to deflect their concerns about their daughter’s future, and return to spend a few weeks with me.”

“I’m glad she’s returning, sir. She’s a treasure.”

“Indeed, she is.” Robert contemplated his folded newspaper. “I wonder what will happen to Miss Chingford now?”

“No doubt she’ll take up with some new man as soon as she can find one.” Bookman slammed the drawer shut.

“Is that what happened to you?”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“You seem disenchanted with the fairer sex, Bookman. Did your sweetheart find another man too quickly?”

Bookman turned slowly around and leaned against the chest of drawers. “What makes you think that?”

“As I said, you seem bitter.”

“Women are faithless, lying creatures who rip out a man’s soul and trample it in the dirt while they laugh and move on to another. I thought my girl loved me. I cherished her letters, read them and reread them until they were nigh worn through.”

“I remember,” Robert said gently.

“And what did she do when I returned to claim her?” Bookman slapped his hand down on the wooden surface, making the sideboard rock. “She swore she’d written to say all was finished between us. She said I’d changed, I was too hard, and that I frightened her. What she really meant was that she’d taken up with another man.”

“And what did you do about that?” Robert tensed as his valet sauntered over to the bed.

“What did I do? What do we do to traitors in the army, Major? We teach them a lesson.”

“But she was a young girl.”

Bookman shrugged. “So? Shouldn’t she be held to the same standards of loyalty and decency as the rest of us?”

“Not if she isn’t a soldier.”

“She was my woman. She betrayed me. I had a right to demand justice.”

Robert held his gaze. “And what exactly did that entail?”

“Why does it matter to you? You’ve killed with the best of them and never asked questions.”

“In a theater of war, yes, but not here in Kurland St. Mary. I repeat, what did you do?”

Bookman’s smile was chilling. “I think you know, Major. That bloody Miss Harrington must’ve told you more than I realized.”

A stab of unease caught Robert in the gut. “What’s this got to do with Miss Harrington?”

“Oh, come on, Major, do you think I was born yesterday? She’s the one who’s been getting you to poke your nose in where it’s not wanted. If it weren’t for her, you wouldn’t be asking all these questions. You’d just let things lie.”

“Why would you think that?”

Bookman’s contemptuous gaze swept over him. “Because you’ve become a coward lying here, letting me and Foley take care of you. You’ve shown no interest in anything.”

“I’m interested now. I certainly cannot allow you to impose military rules on my village. When did you last see Miss Harrington?”

“What does it matter? She’s not going to come telling tales to you tonight, I can assure you of that.”

Robert slid one hand beneath the covers. Despite his growing concern for Miss Harrington, he had to carry through with his plan.

“Where is Mary Smith?”

“She’s safe enough.” He grabbed hold of the bedpost and looked down at Robert. “Major, it’s me, Bookman, the man who saved your life on more than one occasion. What do you care about one stupid servant girl?”

“I care that you might have harmed an innocent.”

“She wasn’t innocent. She was a lying, faithless slut.”

“Who had the decency to write to you to say she had a change of heart. Who expected you to respect her decision and not destroy her for wanting another man? I cannot condone such behavior, Bookman.”

Bookman smiled and brought the laudanum bottle out of his pocket. “You disappoint me, Major. Where’s your much-vaunted loyalty to me? Why shouldn’t Mary feel a little of the pain I’ve endured being shot at, bayoneted, and stabbed? She told me she was going to marry another man. Why should I have to come home to
nothing
?”

“We’ve all endured such things. It doesn’t give us the right to inflict them on innocent civilians.”

“Why not? We inflicted them on the damned French! We slaughtered innocents by the hundreds over there, and you damn well know it!” Bookman was sweating, his skin pale, his nightmarish gaze back in the past with the horrors he’d endured. “I fought for the likes of her to live a peaceful life, and she betrayed me.”

“So you killed her.”

“Damn right I did, Major. Strangled her with my bare hands.” Bookman stared at him. “And I’d do it again if I had to.”

Robert studied his longtime friend and valet, and it was like looking at a stranger. He’d seen it before. Some soldiers never came home from the terrors of war; they could never settle down in peace.

“Bookman, I can’t let you get away with this, but I swear I will stand by you. I’ll note your exemplary war record, your mentions in dispatches, your—”

“You’ll do no such thing, Major.” Bookman studied the black glass bottle. “You’ll drink this down like a good boy, and you’ll go to sleep and never wake up. No one will be surprised. I’ve told enough stories about how worried I am about your addiction to the stuff.”

He uncorked the bottle and stared down at it. “I’ll be mortified when I realize how you took advantage of me and swiped the bottle when my back was turned.” He chuckled. “Not mortified enough not to accept the pension your aunt will surely give me, though. Now come on, sir, lie back and let me settle you to sleep. What do you have to live for anyway? You’re unlikely to walk again, you’re scared of your own shadow, and no woman in her right mind would want to marry a bad-tempered cripple like you.”

He put a hand on Robert’s shoulder and Robert pushed aside the sheet to expose the gun he held in his hand.

“Step back, Bookman.”

His valet laughed. “You think you’ve got the nerve to shoot me, sir? How many times have I had to save your neck when you were too scared to pull the trigger?” He held up the bottle. “Now come on, sir, lie back.”

Chaos erupted as Robert fired and James and Foley ran from the corridor to secure a cursing and bleeding Bookman, his hand clasped to his shoulder.

“Nicely done, Major,” Foley puffed, as Bookman slid to the floor in a dead faint. “Enough to incapacitate him, but not kill him outright.”

Robert put his smoking pistol on the nightstand. “That’s the thing Bookman never understood. You can stop a man quite adequately without killing him.”

His insides were churning at the smells of blood and powder mingled, and he swallowed hard. Violent death wasn’t meant to happen in the quiet of a man’s bedchamber. It defiled him somehow.

“Tie him up, James, and put him in the storage cellar. Send for Dr. Baker and the village constable.”

“Yes, sir.”

James hoisted Bookman over his shoulder and took him out, leaving Robert and Foley staring at each other. Foley mopped his brow and picked up the fallen bottle of laudanum.

“That was a very close thing, sir. A very close thing indeed.”

Robert slowly exhaled. “Get Joseph Cobbins and go down with him to the rectory as fast as you can. Rouse the Reverend Harrington and tell him if he wants to save his daughter, he needs to open the DeVry tomb immediately.”

“The tomb, sir? Are you quite sure?”

“Yes, Foley. I’ve stopped taking laudanum, remember? Go quickly, her life might depend on it.”

 

Were there mice in the tomb? Lucy wiggled her frozen toes and contemplated the faint scratching sounds. She didn’t dare contemplate what else the noise could be. It sounded far too like fingernails scraping on the stone, and if it wasn’t her fingernails, whose were they? Her teeth started to chatter and she firmly clenched her jaw. At least her lip had stopped bleeding in the freezing cold.

No wonder the gentry built icehouses that looked like mausoleums. This tomb would do a fine job of keeping the coldest of desserts frozen. She tried to ease her wrist in the tight binding, but couldn’t slip it free. How long had she been there? It felt like hours, but she had no sense of time at all. She turned her wrist again, glad that she was wearing gloves against the chill.

For goodness’ sake, she had
gloves
on. With a squeak of annoyance, she drew her hands up to her mouth and nibbled on the button closure of her glove. If she could loosen that, surely she could get at least one hand free? It seemed to take forever, her chattering teeth slipping and jarring against the unforgiving metal fastening. Eventually she eased it free, and holding her hands between her upright knees, she pulled her fingers free of the tight kid glove and the restraint of the binding around her wrists.

Now at least she could use her fingers to feel around the edge of the door and see if there were any weaknesses or cracks. She turned and her cramped legs folded under her, bringing her down hard on the floor. She managed to catch herself on her hands and knees and stayed there for a moment to regain her breath. It took her a moment to straighten her back, and reach for a handhold on the shelves that bordered both sides of the crypt. Her fingers brushed frozen flesh and she paused.

In the darkness, there was no way of guessing exactly what she’d touched, but the fact that the body wasn’t entombed in a coffin, indicated it was a very unusual burial. With great care she traced a freezing cold hand, arm, and shoulder, shuddered as fine hair entangled her fingers like a spider’s web. It was definitely a woman and she was quite dead.

Lucy said a quiet prayer over the body and then sank back down again. No one was going to come. She was going to die here alone and without the benefit of a proper burial from her loved ones. She felt like crying, but she had a strong suspicion that her tears would freeze on her cheeks like hail in a winter storm. The cold made it hard to think. She wanted to close her eyes, go to sleep, and forget everything. Would anyone even miss her? How foolish of her to worry about going to London next year when she should simply have told her father about the invitation and left him to deal with his cook by himself. How petty her concerns seemed now . . .

She closed her eyes and rested her head against one of the shelves. Once she’d had a sleep, she’d think of something to help her escape. She just knew she would.

The sudden blast of fresh air and the flickering torches made her shield her eyes and cower away. Had Bookman come back to kill her? If he had, she wasn’t sure she had any strength left to stop him.

“Miss Harrington!”

She stared bemused up into Foley’s familiar face. He turned and shouted something she couldn’t comprehend. Suddenly, Anthony and Harris were there, lifting her out of the tomb and carrying her back to the rectory. She managed to tug on Anthony’s sleeve.

“There’s someone else in there. Don’t leave her.”

“It’s all right. We know. We’ll take care of Mary, don’t you worry. Now come inside and let Anna get you to bed.”

R
obert stared impatiently at the clock on the mantelpiece and then back at the door. Where
was
she? Was it too much to ask for a woman to be punctual?

Foley knocked and came in, a smile on his face. “Miss Harrington is here, Major. Shall I show her in?”

“She knows the way, Foley. Go and make yourself useful and fetch some tea.”

“Yes, Major.” Foley stepped aside to reveal Miss Harrington hovering at the doorway.

Robert beckoned to her impatiently. “Come in.”

“There’s no need to bark at me. I’m coming as fast as I can.”

His gaze fastened on her face. “Good Lord. What did Bookman do to you? Take off your bonnet so I can have a proper look at you.”

She halted in front of him, her chin raised. “Major, may I remind you that I am neither your chattel nor under your command? I shall remove my bonnet when I choose to.” She continued to glare at him as she untied the ribbons and placed the bonnet on the couch beside her. “There, are you satisfied now?”

Robert sucked in a breath. “He hurt you. If I’d known that, I’d have shot him right through his black heart.”

She took the seat opposite him and patted the immaculate braids of her hair coiled like a coronet on top of her head. “You did the right thing, Major. You ensured he will come to trial.” She hesitated. “That must have been difficult for you.”

“It was, but I’ve come to realize that Bookman hadn’t settled into civilian life very well at all. He was still haunted by what had happened on the continent, and was unable to control his violent impulses. It’s not uncommon for a soldier to find the transition difficult. Most of us come to terms with it eventually. I don’t think Bookman ever could.”

He sighed, “And of course, Mary’s ‘betrayal’ gave him the perfect outlet for that violence. He considered it justice for her behavior. When he found out she was planning to marry, his rage exploded. He must have confronted her, strangled her, and left her body in the tomb.”

“Which would explain what you thought you saw that night.”

“And why Bookman didn’t answer my calls for help after I’d fallen on the floor.” He grimaced. “I suppose there is some satisfaction in the fact that I am not going mad, even if it does come at some considerable expense.”

“If you hadn’t seen him, we might never have found out what happened to Mary.”

“That’s true. The worst of it was that Bookman seemed to think I’d side with him in the matter. I tried to tell him it wasn’t the same as killing in a battle, but he decided I was being equally disloyal and deserved to die, too.”

“Foley told me what happened.” She shivered. “How horrible for you.”

“In the end, it was quite simple. I couldn’t allow him to get away with murder in Kurland St. Mary.”

She nodded and glanced down at her folded hands. “Will he hang?”

“I should imagine so. I did write to the judge and plead for leniency and transportation instead. The mood in the country isn’t kind to returned soldiers at present, so I’m not sure if it will have any effect.”

“At least you tried.”

“Yes. And how have you been faring, Miss Harrington? Being shut up in a tomb with a corpse would be enough to shake even the strongest constitution.”

“I can’t say it was an experience I would care to repeat. I was so glad to be rescued I’ve tried to forget about it.”

He noted the dark shadows under her eyes. “I suspect you are having nightmares, though.”

“I am.” She shook her head. “I’ve lived such a quiet life that being hit on the head and tossed into a tomb are almost fantastical experiences. I find it hard to reconcile them with my current existence.”

“In my experience, Miss Harrington, the nightmares will eventually cease and you will be able to put the whole episode behind you.”

“I hope so.” She looked up, her brown eyes bright with determination. “But it did make me think about my future. When I was trapped in the vault I realized how petty my concerns were, and how I had to stop living my life for everyone else.”

“I’ve had many a similar revelation on the eve of a battle. It can be enlightening.” He smiled at her. “What do you plan to do? Escape to Egypt on a camel?”

“Oh, wouldn’t that be wonderful? I was thinking more about leaving the rectory for a visit to London.”

Foley entered with the tea tray, and Miss Harrington spent a moment pouring them both a cup. She brought his over to him.

“Why on earth would you want to visit London?”

He wondered if he sounded as petulant as he felt. She put his cup down by his elbow. “Because I haven’t been there since I was a child and I’ve always dreamed of having a Season there.”

“But why would you want to do that?”

“Because I want to find a husband and not always be the daughter at home.”

He considered that. “I still don’t understand why you need to go to London. There are plenty of men looking for wives around here.”

“And they all look at my sister Anna.”

“She is rather beautiful.”

“I know.” With a twitch of her skirts, she went to move away from him. He caught her hand.

“I haven’t thanked you for everything you’ve done for me yet.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, it was nothing.” He was amused to see she was blushing.

“It was far more than that. In his way, Bookman was right. You forced me to open my eyes, and pay attention to what was going on around me.”

“More fool me.” She gently tried to ease out of his grip, but he held on. “I should have left you lying there in your bed in great state and saved myself an adventure.”

He smiled. “Come now, Miss Harrington. You must have enjoyed some of it. Deciphering clues, getting rid of my fiancée, matching your wits against a killer?”

“Some of it was quite interesting.” She paused. “Miss Chingford is no longer engaged to you?”

He nodded. She glared down rather pointedly at her hand. “Now will you let me go?”

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Thank you, Miss Harrington. Thank you for everything. Perhaps you might consider staying in Kurland St. Mary for my sake.”

She wrenched her hand free and stepped away from him. “What on earth do you mean?”

“I was rather hoping you’d take on the position of my secretary.”

“Your
secretary?
You—”

She twirled around, picked up her bonnet, and headed for the door. Foley, who was coming the other way with a plate of scones, just managed to step out of the way. He frowned at Robert.

“What did you say to set Miss Harrington all a flutter?”

“I have absolutely no idea.”

He picked up his tea and finished the cup before asking Foley to pour him another. He had a lot to do. A new valet to find, an estate manager and, judging from Miss Harrington’s reaction to his proposal, a new secretary, too.

His proposal . . .

What on earth had she been expecting him to say? He recalled the look of absolute horror on her face. For the first time in months, Robert found himself laughing out loud.