Death Comes to the Village (4 page)

Lucy felt herself blushing as she removed herself and reclaimed her chair. “I am my father’s spiritual representative in this matter, and thus above such material things.” She helped herself to one of the buttered muffins and chewed thoroughly.

After a while she dared look up at him again. His eyes were closed, and he looked almost as pale as his pillows. “If you truly wish it, sir, I will inquire further into the matter and report back to you.”

“That would be most kind of you, Miss Harrington.”

She stood and gently laid the newspapers on the bed. “Good-bye, Major. I’ll call again tomorrow.”

He didn’t respond and she realized he was falling asleep. She picked up her basket and tiptoed out into the hallway, almost colliding with Foley and the major’s valet, Bookman, who were huddled in conversation just outside the door.

“Is the major all right, Miss Harrington?” Foley asked.

“He seemed rather tired. I left him with my father’s newspapers to read later.”

Bookman shook his head. “He’s worn out, miss, that’s for sure. The doctor was very concerned about him this morning, threatened to amputate his leg if he didn’t follow instructions and stay off it.”

Lucy brought her hand to her mouth. “Amputation? I didn’t realize things had become that bad. Is there still an infection?”

“Not that we know of, miss, but with all those broken bones to mend, the major needs to take his time recovering, and he is not the most patient of men.”

“So I should imagine. What exactly happened last night?”

Bookman shrugged. “It appears that the major attempted to get up and refill his water glass, without ringing for me. He fell and couldn’t get back into bed. I found him on the floor this morning.”

Lucy wondered why Major Kurland hadn’t discussed his suspicions about a robbery in the village with his servants. Did he think they wouldn’t believe him?

“Oh dear. He said that he has trouble sleeping. Is there nothing he can take to help with his slumbers?”

“He doesn’t like taking laudanum, miss. He says it dulls his senses, and he was quite unlike himself when he was forced to take it regularly—hallucinations and nightmares, and the like.” Bookman shook his head.

“I hate to take it myself. Is there a way to carry the major to sit in a chair by the window for part of the day? Does he have the strength to sit up? I suspect he would feel much better if he could at least see what was going on outside.”

“That’s a good idea, miss. I’ll ask Dr. Baker what he thinks when he visits on the morrow.” Bookman sighed. “I don’t like to see the master like this, I really don’t.”

Lucy turned to walk down the shallow oak staircase and into the medieval hall complete with the suits of rusting armor that had enchanted her as a child. Foley went ahead of her and opened the front door wide, his lined face still worried.

“Thank you for visiting, Miss Harrington. Despite what he might say, the major does appreciate it.”

Lucy smiled. “I’ll return in a day or so, and hope that he is feeling more the thing.” She hesitated on the bottom step, and Foley looked inquiringly at her. “Did you hear any disturbance from the village last night, Mr. Foley?”

“Last night, miss?” Foley frowned. “Not that I can recall. Has something happened?”

“I’m not sure.” Lucy hurriedly turned away. She had no ability to conceal her feelings, especially when she tried to fib. “I thought my father mentioned something before he left this morning, but I might have been mistaken.”

“Well, let me know if there is anything I can do, Miss Harrington. We all want this village to remain a safe place to raise our families.”

Lucy headed back down the drive, her thoughts consumed with the notion that there had been something going on in the village that she didn’t know about. In such a small place, most people knew each other’s business far too intimately. Had someone been robbed, as the major seemed to think, or had he been dreaming? If he
was
taking laudanum at night, he might be suffering from night terrors and have imagined the whole thing. It was odd that Foley hadn’t heard anything, and that the major had failed to confide in his staff about his suspicions.

Lucy changed direction and took the path that led directly from the house to the church. It was a shortcut that allowed the occupants of the manor to avoid the longer walk around to the bottom of their driveway and up again to the front of the church. As she walked, she glanced back at the manor house trying to pinpoint Major Kurland’s diamond-paned bedroom windows, which formed the end part of one of the three wings.

In the shadow of the high church wall, the temperature dropped suddenly. The gate that led into the churchyard proper hung open, and the mud beneath the stile was churned up as though several feet had tramped through it. A hawthorn bush grew on the other side of the gate, its branches ragged as though someone had recently forced a way through it.

She studied the gate and stile. Had Anthony brought his three hound puppies through here on a walk early this morning and left the gate open? It would be just like him to forget anything but the well-being of his dogs. Or had someone with more devious motives used the path to avoid the village as the major suspected? Sidestepping the mud, Lucy passed the gate and made sure it was latched. She followed the line of the wall toward the graveyard and the side entrance to the church, her breath freezing in the cold.

Just ahead of her, on the opposite side of the main road, was the rectory, and a welcome hint of sunshine. The path proper ended at the side door into the church, but Lucy kept walking. She braced her gloved hand against the huge cornerstone for balance and squeezed through the narrow gap between the wall containing the graveyard and the church. The rector didn’t approve of his children using the shortcut, but they all did it. It was much harder to get through the gap than when she was a child, but it did save her valuable time.

As she walked toward the house, she could already smell the dank scent of lye, wet washing, and steam, and she inwardly sighed. Forsaking the front entrance, she took herself around to the kitchens, and found Anna directing operations, her face flushed, her apron soaked with water.

“I’m so glad that you are back, Lucy. Mary still hasn’t come down, and Betty and I have been working like fiends!”

“Where is she? Is she unwell?”

Anna wiped her hands on her apron and bustled toward Lucy. “I haven’t had time to find out.”

“I’ll go up and see where she is. Did Betty not say anything?”

“They don’t share a room. She said she didn’t know.”

Lucy stripped off her gloves, tossed them onto the table, and walked toward the door. “I’ll just take off my coat and then I’ll be back to help you.”

But Anna wasn’t looking at her. She was staring at Lucy’s gloves. “Oh my goodness. Are you hurt, Lucy?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

Anna pointed at the dark red stains now covering the cook’s pine table. “Your gloves are covered in blood. Ugh, can’t you smell it?”

L
ucy pondered the blood on her gloves and ran up two flights of stairs to the attic room Mary inhabited under the eaves of the house. She must have brushed up against something at the butcher’s shop in the village when she stopped to talk about the Christmas goose and the mutton. But why hadn’t she or Foley noticed the blood when she’d taken off her gloves at Kurland Hall?

Breathing rather hard, Lucy paused to knock at the door to Mary’s room and, getting no reply, knocked again. She cautiously turned the door handle and peered inside. To her surprise the room was full of light. The small square-paned window that looked out over the circular driveway was open, and the checked cotton curtain flapped in the brisk breeze. Lucy shut the window, ducking her head, as the plaster wall sloped up at a right angle to meet the ceiling in the center of the room. Mary’s narrow bed was not occupied and was already made.

Lucy frowned as she surveyed the immaculate chamber. Last time she’d inspected the maid’s quarters she’d had to ask Mary to clean her room because the girl was naturally untidy. Now, not a trace of Mary’s personality or her cluttered possessions remained. Lucy knelt in front of the clothes chest and opened the lid. It was empty apart from some hand-stitched sachets of lavender and pennyroyal to ward against moths.

“Mary, wherever have you gone?” Lucy’s words echoed around the small space. “And why didn’t you tell anyone?”

She checked under the bed, but there was nothing there, except an earthenware chamber pot and a tangle of dust. It seemed that Mary had taken everything she owned, but why?

She made her way back down to the steamy kitchen and pulled Anna aside into the hallway.

“Mary isn’t up there.”

“What do you mean?” Anna’s face flushed with indignation. “Did she go shopping with Mrs. Fielding? Why didn’t anyone ask me if it was acceptable for her to leave? Just because I’m not as intimidating as you are, I still need to be consulted.”

“It’s not quite that simple. All her possessions have gone with her.”

Anna brought her hand to her mouth. “You mean she has run off?”

“It certainly looks like it.”

“But why? She seemed perfectly happy here, didn’t she?”

“As far as I know, she was well settled and content.” Lucy took off her bonnet. “Was she particular friends with any of the other maids?”

“I’m not sure. Perhaps Betty might know.”

“Let’s go and ask her.” She turned back toward the kitchen, but Anna grabbed her arm.

“Don’t ask her now, or the washing will never get done!”

Lucy paused. “That’s true. I’ll help you, and then we can question her afterward.”

 

“I don’t know where Mary went, miss.” Betty looked earnestly at Lucy. “She’s been behaving a bit strangely the last few weeks, a bit distracted like, as if her mind wasn’t on her work.”

“But you had no notion that she intended to leave us?”

“None at all, miss.” Betty shook her head so definitely that her dark ringlets bobbed around her face. “But she wasn’t one to share her secrets with me.”

“Was she close to any of the other servants?”

Betty nibbled her lip. “I know she spent some of her time with one of the servants from the Hathaways’ house up the road. But here, she was closest to Jane in the nursery. I think she wanted to work as a nurse one day.”

“She never mentioned that to me. But I suppose she knew there would be no more babies in this family. Perhaps she simply found a new position.”

“Without a reference?” Anna stripped off her apron. “What respectable family would take on a servant, especially as a nursemaid, without first writing to her former employers?”

Lucy caught Anna’s eye and nodded at Betty. Sometimes her sister could be a little indiscreet in front of the servants. “Is there anything else you can think of that might help us, Betty?”

“Not right now, miss.” Betty tugged at her wet, clinging skirts. “After doing all that washing, I’m too tired to think.”

“Well, if you remember anything, please don’t hesitate to come and tell me at once.” Lucy rose and Betty nodded.

“Yes, miss.”

“If Jane isn’t busy, could you send her down?”

“Of course, miss. I’ll go and find her before I change my dress.”

“Thank you, Betty. I’m sorry the whole burden of the laundry fell upon you today. I promise I will make it up to you.”

Betty bobbed a curtsy. “That’s all right, miss. But I hope we find out what happened to Mary. I’ll have a few words to say to her myself when I see her next.”

After Betty left, Anna glanced at Lucy. “I wonder what has happened? Had you even paid her quarterly wages?”

“No, I haven’t. She didn’t strike me as the kind of girl who would save her wages, either.” Lucy frowned down at her cracked hands, which now smelled strongly of lye soap. “Do you think she might have broken into Father’s strongbox and taken some money?”

“Oh my goodness. I don’t know.” Anna brought a hand to her cheek, her blue eyes wide. “Unless she had an accomplice—a man who wanted her to run away with him, or simply pretended that he did to get her to steal from us.”

“You have the most vivid of imaginations. Perhaps you should stop reading those horrid gothic novels Mrs. Jenkins lends you.”

“You read them, too, Lucy, and you were the one who mentioned Mary stealing from us first.”

Lucy ignored that remark and continued to think out loud. “It is far more likely Mary found a new position and simply decided to leave us. I suspect we’ll get a letter from her in the mail eventually asking for her back wages.”

“Which you won’t pay.”

“Which Papa won’t pay. He won’t be happy about this at all. I cannot think of a way to conceal what has happened from him. He’ll be sure to blame me in some fashion.”

“It is hardly your fault if one of the maids decides to change employment, Lucy,” Anna said robustly. “You’ll just have to stand up for yourself.”

Lucy bit back her hasty reply. It was easy for Anna to suggest she should be more forthright with their father when she was his favorite child, and not the oldest daughter of the house whose duty had been laid out for her from the cradle. Even now, when she knew her father’s air of authority hid only his appalling selfishness, she still hadn’t found a way to break free of his oft-expressed expectations. What had once been unquestioning obedience had slowly turned into a bitter and unexpressed resentment she had to conceal to avoid telling him her true feelings.

There was a knock on the door and Jane, the twins’ nursemaid, appeared, her pleasant face flushed and her gaze wide with excitement.

“Is it true, Miss Harrington? Has Mary gone?”

“It certainly seems so.” Lucy invited Jane to sit down. “Did she mention anything about leaving to you?”

“Well, she complained a few times about how hard she worked, but no more than anyone else, miss.”

“But did she say anything more specific?” Lucy smiled sympathetically at Jane. “I hate to ask you to share her confidences, but I am very concerned as to her safety. Did she mention seeking a new position?”

“I did say I would help her if she wanted to become a nursemaid, but I don’t think she’d applied for any positions. I told her she needed more experience, and that she should ask you if she could help out sometimes.”

“That was excellent advice,” Lucy agreed. “When did she decide she wanted to become a nursemaid?”

“Quite a while ago, miss.” Jane smoothed her apron.

“Was Mary walking out with anyone in the village?” Anna leaned forward, ignoring Lucy’s glare.

“I don’t think so, Miss Anna. There was a man she was seeing for a while who was working on the new stables, but he’s gone now.” Jane hesitated. “She did get letters occasionally. She said they were from her childhood sweetheart.”

“Her new admirer wasn’t a local man, then?”

“I’m not sure, miss.”

“Perhaps he came to find her and asked her to marry him.” Anna clasped her hands together. “Wouldn’t that be romantic?”

“I suppose it would be, miss.” Jane paused. “But why didn’t he come to the front door and ask permission to court her in a respectable manner like a gentleman and a Christian?”

“That’s a very good point, Jane. Did Mary seem agitated or out of sorts recently?”

“She did seem a mite distracted, but I had no idea that she planned to take off.” There was a loud crash from the upper floor and Jane stiffened. “I told those two heathens to sit still and wait for me to bring up their supper. They are probably fighting again. I’ve never known two lads who can’t resist starting a boxing match with one another.”

“You’d better go, Jane.” Lucy rose, too. “Tell the boys to behave themselves, or else I won’t come up and wish them good night.”

“I will, miss, and if I think of anything else to help with Mary, I’ll tell you right away.”

Lucy pressed a hand to her aching forehead. “Thank you, Jane.”

Anna closed the door behind the nurse. “I still think there is a man involved somewhere, don’t you?”

“It certainly is possible.”

“Perhaps Mary’s suitor went to her parents first to ask permission to marry her and then came here?”

“I don’t think she had parents. I believe Father recruited her from the foundling hospital and orphanage in Cambridge.”

Anna continued to pace the carpet. “It certainly is a puzzle, isn’t it?”

“Indeed.” The clock struck five. “I need to check that Mrs. Fielding has returned from the village and started dinner.” She opened the door and then paused. “Is Anthony back? I wonder if he caught any fish?”

Anna stamped her foot. “Lucy, why do you have to be so practical? What about Mary?”

“There is nothing we can do about Mary until Father returns.” Lucy swallowed hard. “Let’s hope Anthony was successful and that a good dinner will mellow Father’s temper before I have to tell him the bad news and ask him to check we haven’t been robbed.”

 

Robert sat up in bed and waited while Foley carefully placed the tray containing his supper on his lap. It was Bookman’s evening off, and Foley was deputizing for him. Because of their many years away from home together during the war, Robert sometimes forgot that, like him, Bookman still had family and friends in the surrounding area.

“Now be careful, sir. We don’t want you covered in hot soup,” Foley warned.

After his humiliating experiences with Miss Harrington earlier that day, it was a sentiment Robert heartily agreed with. He picked up his spoon and studied the clear broth. “This is scarcely soup, Foley. There’s no meat in it.”

“It’s what Dr. Baker ordered Cook to make you, sir, so don’t go scowling at me. A good broth will help you recover your appetite.”

“My appetite is quite recovered.” Robert put down his spoon. “Will you go and fetch me a nice plate of roast beef? I still have all my teeth. I’d like to use them while I can.”

“Now, sir, don’t you be ordering me about like that when you know I’ll have Bookman and Cook raising hell with me for disobeying the doctor.”

“Then I’ll just have to starve to death.” Robert took a tentative sip. The soup was watery and quite unappealing, but he had to eat something.

“There’s a nice custard for pudding, sir.”

“How lovely. I feel as if I am back in the nursery again being coaxed to eat by my nurse.”

Foley handed him a napkin. “How about I get you a nice hunk of Cook’s newly baked bread and a glass of port?”

Robert smiled for the first time since Miss Harrington had visited him that morning. “You are indeed an angel, Foley.”

“But you must finish your soup first.”

He picked up the bowl and drank the contents down in one gulp.

“I’ve finished. Now fetch me that port.”

“That is hardly the way a gentleman should comport himself at the table, sir.”

Robert placed his spoon in his bowl and handed Foley the tray. “I’m not at the table and I scarcely feel like a gentleman. You, of all people, should know that society regards my lineage as very spotty indeed.”

Foley stuck out his chin. “Don’t be funning with me now, sir. Your mother was perfectly respectable. You are a gentleman born, and you know it.”

Deciding that he had teased his old family retainer enough for one evening, Robert asked, “Did you sleep well last night, Foley?”

“I did, sir. After our supper, Bookman and I played a few hands of piquet and shared a jug of ale. Then I took myself up to bed early and slept like a baby.”

Robert wondered just how much ale Foley and Bookman had shared to make them both sleep through the racket he’d made when he’d fallen, bringing the chair down with him.

“By the way, sir, Bookman felt terrible that you didn’t think to ring for him to help you back to bed last night.”

“And destroy his night’s rest as well as my own?” Robert countered. In truth, he had eventually rung the bell in desperation, but no one had come. He wasn’t going to mention it now and cause a fuss. “I was scarcely on the floor for more than a few minutes before he found me.”

That wasn’t true, either, but he didn’t want his trusted servants to feel guilty about what had happened. They had already started treating him like a permanent invalid, and he didn’t want to encourage them any further. Trotting out a strange story of having seen something mysterious moving through the grounds would hardly enhance his credibility or his claims to be on the mend. He’d more likely end up in Bedlam.

“I’ll fetch the rest of your repast, sir.” Foley bowed and left the room.

While he waited for Foley to return, Robert put on his spectacles and studied the newspapers Miss Harrington had brought him. While convalescing, he’d avoided reading about what was happening in London and the rest of the country. He’d felt quite detached from the social order, the riots, and the fear of revolution wafting seditiously across the English Channel from France. His focus had turned inward to his own pain and loss—to simply surviving. But as Foley had reminded him, he was a gentleman, and at some point he would have to take his place in society, even if only at a local level. His family had held the position of squire and local magistrate for hundreds of years. He wanted that to continue.