Death Comes to the Village (5 page)

He’d barely skimmed the first article about the latest peace treaty before his headache returned. Casting the paper aside, he took off his new spectacles. When Miss Harrington next visited, he’d ask her to read to him. She’d probably enjoy being a ministering angel. He found himself smiling at that thought. Despite her meek appearance, she was no milk-and-water miss, and she certainly wouldn’t allow him to order her around. It was quite refreshing.

“Here you are, sir. A nice glass of port.” Foley was already speaking as he entered the room. “I also brought the post up for you.”

“Thank you. Is there anything of interest?”

“A letter from your aunt Rose, one with no return address, which we had to pay for, and something official-looking from your regiment.”

Robert studied the mail and then returned his attention to the excellence of the port. He wasn’t in the mood to decipher the spiderlike scrawl of his aunt Rose, and the military could wait until he drew his last breath. The unpaid letter from an unknown correspondent was probably his cousin and heir presumptive, Paul, and he was in no mood to read that, either. He put the letters to one side.

“Miss Harrington said there was a disturbance in the village last night. Did you hear anything, sir?” Foley handed Robert a plate filled with bread and rich yellow butter.

Robert stiffened. “What kind of disturbance?”

“She wasn’t sure, sir. She said her father mentioned something on his way out this morning.” Foley refilled Robert’s port glass.

For some reason, Robert was glad Miss Harrington hadn’t said that he’d been the one inquiring about the incident. He didn’t want to have to explain to Foley
quite
how far he’d ventured out of bed. Foley would tell Dr. Baker, who would probably double his dire prediction of how long it would take Robert to walk again.

“I assume you told her we’d keep an eye out for anything suspicious.”

“I did, sir.” Foley deftly stoppered the port and removed it from Robert’s reach. “Let’s hope the rector was mistaken, although I have heard rumors that there are gangs of discharged soldiers roaming the countryside stealing from decent folk.”

“What else are they supposed to do when the government offers them no recompense for their service to their country?”

“Easy for you to say, sir, until you are murdered in your bed.” Foley rearranged the items on the tray. “I’ll tell the staff to make sure they lock their doors tonight.”

“Trust me, Foley, a locked door won’t stop a determined rabble from getting in.”

“Then would you like me to bring you your pistols, sir? Bookman has kept them in perfect order.”

He fixed Foley with his most intimidating stare. “I do not want my pistols, and I do not want you alarming the staff over a potential threat that might not even happen. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir, although . . .”

“Foley . . .” Robert held out his hand. “Give me the port and retire for the night. I won’t need you again.”

With a martyred air, Foley handed over the glass decanter and headed for the door.

“I’ll tell Bookman to check on you later, sir.”

“You don’t have to do that, I’ll—” Robert realized he was speaking to himself as his loyal henchman had deliberately walked out of earshot. He let out his breath. There was no point in becoming agitated. After last night’s debacle, he suspected Bookman would be coming in to see him at whatever time of the night he returned, regardless of Robert’s commands.

He settled back against his pillows and refilled his glass. Were Foley’s remarks about marauding soldiers true or a fabrication? He didn’t like to think of the men under his command begging for food or work. After helping defeat Napoleon, it didn’t seem right. But what was a landowner to do? He couldn’t feed them all, or he’d bankrupt his estate in a week.

He slowly sipped at his port. What if the man he thought he’d seen last night was one of those displaced soldiers intent on robbing the villagers? Should he in truth be encouraging Foley to set his staff and his neighbors on their guard? A headache pushed against his temples, and he pressed his fingers into the pain. Whatever happened, in his present condition, he could do nothing to save anyone—not even himself. He swallowed down that bitter reminder and contemplated finishing the decanter of port. Perhaps he should have told Foley to bring him his pistols. Not for his own defense, but to put an end to his miserable existence once and for all.

“
I
’m not sure what else you want me to do about this matter, Lucy.”

With the air of a martyred man, the rector put down his knife and fork. They were enjoying a light luncheon, and the sun was shining directly over the newly laid out garden. After her siblings dispersed to their various pursuits, Lucy had lingered at the table to consult with her father.

He continued, “Mary has obviously disappeared. Luckily for us, she didn’t take the silver with her. Where she has gone, I have no notion.”

“But you will ask around on your travels, won’t you, Papa?” Lucy encouraged. “You
will
be visiting the smaller parishes this week as usual.”

The rector glanced across at his curate, who paused with a piece of toast halfway to his mouth. He swallowed hastily and spoke through a mouthful of crumbs.

“Actually, Miss Harrington, I will be visiting Lower Kurland and Kurland St. Anne in the rector’s stead while he concentrates on writing his sermon.” His cheeks flushed an unbecoming shade of red. “I would be honored if you wish to accompany me.”

Lucy flashed him a distracted smile. “That is very kind of you, Edward. Please let me know when you intend to go. If I’m able to leave my duties here, I will definitely come with you.”

She returned her attention to her father, who had picked up his paper again. “Do you not think we have a responsibility to discover what happened to poor Mary? She was a foundling. As far as we know, she has no other family to care about what has become of her.”

“The Bible has much to say about ingratitude, Lucy, of nourishing a viper in one’s bosom.” He stood up and looked down his nose at her. “Perhaps you might reflect on
that
before you presume to lecture
me
about my Christian duty to one who has sinned by leaving a perfectly good home provided to her by a loving, spiritual family.”

Lucy opened her mouth to refute his argument, and then closed it again. She would never convince him of anything when he was offended by her suggestion that he was being less than Christian.

The rector folded his paper and tucked it under his arm. “In truth, Daughter, perhaps you should examine your own conscience more thoroughly. Mary was under your domestic care, not mine. Perhaps if you had been a little more diligent in your duties, this unhappy occurrence would not have arisen.”

An all-too-familiar anger coiled in Lucy’s stomach, but before she could speak, her father left the room, his demeanor that of a man who had nothing on his conscience at all. She’d forgotten he hated to be put in the wrong, especially in front of his curate. As soon as he had ascertained that Mary hadn’t stolen anything from the house and had left without her quarterly wages, he considered his part in the matter closed.

Lucy stirred her tea with such unnecessary vigor that half the liquid trickled down onto the tablecloth.

“Miss Harrington?”

She looked up to find Edward staring at her. “Yes?”

“I’m sure the rector is concerned about Mary. He just has a lot on his mind at the moment.”

“I understand that—what with that new horse to be broken, and the hunting season approaching.”

The moment she said the words out loud, Lucy regretted them. Being angry with her own father was not new, but sharing that resentment with his curate was reprehensible. She forced a smile.

“I’m sorry, Edward. I am worried about Mary, and my father is right. I do feel responsible for her sudden departure. I had no idea she was so unhappy here.”

Edward poured himself another cup of tea and took the last four slices of toast. He was perpetually hungry, and could always be relied upon to finish even the most unappetizing meals that emerged from the rectory kitchen. Despite his prodigious appetite, he was as thin as a rail, his pale complexion mottled with pimples and his hair a dull mouse brown.

“She did seem rather disengaged from her duties recently—as if her mind were elsewhere. She left your brother Anthony’s garments in my room on several occasions recently, and I had to ask her to remove them.”

Lucy handed him the dish of plum preserves, and he spread them lavishly on his toast. “You are the second person who has told me that she was distracted. I must confess I barely noticed her at all. She always performed her duties perfectly when she was with me.”

“Naturally, you are the mistress of the house.” He crunched his way through another piece of toast, sending crumbs all over the tablecloth. He gulped down some tea. “She was in awe of you—as we all are.”

“I’m only the temporary mistress. One day, I hope to be in charge of my own establishment.” Lucy longed for that day, but still couldn’t quite see how to accomplish it. It wasn’t as if she went out in society much and could look for a husband. Sometimes she wondered if her indolent father expected her to dedicate her whole life to him. Sometimes she awoke in the night from a horrible dream of being suffocated and was quite certain of it.

Edward smiled at her, a splodge of purple jam dangling from his top lip. “You will make some man very happy one day.” He swallowed hard. “Very happy indeed.”

Lucy avoided his beseeching gaze and started to gather up the breakfast dishes. Thank goodness Anthony was not present to hear Edward’s remarks. He would be winking at her, clutching his chest, and making lovesick eyes. It was common knowledge that the curate would like to make Lucy his wife, but that didn’t mean she had to encourage it.

“Well, please let me know when you intend to visit the other parishes. I would like to make sure that everyone knows Mary has disappeared.” She paused while stacking the plates. “Do you know if anyone was courting her?”

“I don’t, Miss Harrington. She did have a habit of loitering around the new stable block while it was being built, so perhaps she had a young man who worked there.”

“That’s an excellent point, Edward. I can find out the names of the men who worked on the construction from my father’s bills. I intend to go into the village and ask if anyone there has any notion of what might have become of her.”

It also meant she could carry out Major Kurland’s commission and find out if there had been any recent robberies or disturbances. She would call at the houses of the local gentry and see if they had taken on any new staff. Poaching another family’s servants was generally frowned upon. But as her father often pointed out, some of the new families in the area had money, but not the necessary breeding, and might think nothing of offering a trained servant a higher wage to entice her away.

Lucy rang the bell for the breakfast room to be cleared, and Edward hurriedly finished his repast. He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin and stood up.

“I’ll wish you good afternoon, Miss Harrington. I will let you know as soon as I plan to visit the smaller parishes.”

“Thank you, Edward.”

Lucy nodded and continued to stack the plates. She wasn’t sure why she found his regard so objectionable. He would be the most obvious person for her to marry. Her father had even hinted at the suitability of such a match. Such a marriage would only enhance his comfort, and bind both her and Edward to the yoke of carrying out the duties of the parish for the rest of their lives.

Betty came into the parlor with an empty tray and started piling the crockery onto it. “Any news about Mary, Miss Harrington?”

“I’m afraid not, Betty.” Lucy picked up a knife that had fallen to the floor. “I’m going into the village now. Mayhap I can discover more there.”

She hurried to put on her bonnet and cloak before anyone else in the household needed to speak to her, and escaped into the fine spring sunshine. She’d wasted several minutes looking for her best gloves until she remembered their bloodied state and several more trying to relocate her old pair. Her first call would be on the Hathaway household, where her friend Sophia resided with her parents and two brothers. If Mary had been a friend of one of the maids, it was a good place to start. As she walked along the narrow lane, Lucy wondered if either of the Hathaway brothers would be at home. She always enjoyed conversing with Rupert Hathaway, the younger of the two. Since he’d started to practice law in London, he came home very irregularly. In truth, she’d always hoped he’d develop stronger feelings for her, but he had never broached the subject, and it was unbecoming for a lady to ask about such a delicate matter.

She sighed and kicked a dried-up cowpat from her path. If only she might be allowed to visit London and persuade one of her father’s sisters or cousins to let her stay for the Season. But every time she suggested it, he put her off, insisting he needed her at home. And he had needed her; there was no doubt about that. But with everything about to change at the rectory with the twins and Anthony’s departure, surely she would have her chance to escape her domestic duties now?

The main gates to Hathaway House were closed, but Lucy knew the way through the smaller, less obvious pedestrian gate behind the lodge. To her delight, the bluebells in the ancient wood incorporated within the park were in bloom. She extended her walk to pass through the middle of them, inhaling the peppery scent and marveling at the waxen nature of the tiny bell-shaped petals. As children, they’d rolled down the hill through the bluebells until the nursemaids grew tired of trying to get the stains out of their clothing and complained to their parents.

Reluctant to disturb such perfection, and determined to bring her sketchbook on her next visit to capture the view, Lucy picked just one and tucked it in her buttonhole before heading for the kitchen door of the large stone-built house. The distracted cook and youngest scullery maid were busy at the range, their backs turned toward her. Lucy inhaled the smell of roasting beef and immediately felt hungry.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Lucas, and how are you today?”

“Very well, Miss Harrington.” The cook poked her young assistant with her spoon. “Curtsy to the lady and say good afternoon, Maggie.”

Maggie’s thin face flushed red, and she mumbled something inaudible before bobbing a curtsy.

Lucy smiled at them both. “Do you have a moment to speak with me, Mrs. Lucas?”

“Of course, miss.” Mrs. Lucas pushed the scullery maid in the direction of the pans. “Keep an eye on these pots for a minute.”

Lucy waited until the cook joined her by the table. “Mary Smith from my kitchen has gone missing. I wondered if you had heard anything about where she went, or why?”

Mrs. Lucas wiped her hands on her apron. “Gone, has she? Taken another job, or run off?”

“At this point, I don’t know.” Lucy studied the cook’s kind face. “I didn’t think she was unhappy with her lot, but obviously one could be wrong.”

“From what I’ve heard, you treat your servants very fairly, miss. Your Mary was quite friendly with our junior parlor maid, Susan O’Brien. Would you like to speak to her?”

“If that would be possible, Mrs. Lucas. Obviously, I’ll ask Mrs. Hathaway’s permission when I go up to see her.”

“And I’ll check with Mr. Spencer, the butler. He might prefer to be present at any interview you hold with a member of staff.”

“Naturally.” Lucy nodded and turned toward the stairs that led up to the main floor of the house. “I’ll go up and see Mrs. Hathaway immediately.”

She ascended the uncarpeted stairs and pushed open the door that led through into the hallway of Hathaway House. It was strange how as a rector’s daughter she had equal access to all classes of society. She was just as at home in a kitchen as she was in a drawing room. She supposed she should thank her father for that at least. The austerity of the servants’ quarters gave way to a large airy hall with paneled walls, marble floors, and an elaborately plastered ceiling. The Hathaways considered themselves the second highest family in the village—after the Kurlands—and conducted themselves accordingly. They had always been very kind to Lucy, and she was a welcome and valued visitor.

Lucy found her way to the back of the house, where Mrs. Hathaway had a bright and sunny informal sitting room, and knocked on the door. After being told to enter, she went in and was rewarded by a smiling welcome from both the ladies present. She often wondered how it might have been if her own mother had lived and hoped they would’ve been as close as Sophia and her mother.

“Lucy!” Sophia leapt to her feet and ran to hug her friend. She was dressed simply in a soft green muslin dress with a single flounce, her blond hair braided around the crown of her head rather than curled. “How nice to see you. Mama and I were just speaking about Major Kurland. I’m quite certain you have all the latest gossip about him.”

She kissed Sophia’s cheek and sat beside her on the sofa. “Good day, Mrs. Hathaway. Are you feeling better?”

Sophia’s mother smiled in reply. “I am, thank you. I suspect I was just tired from the journey back from London. A few days in my own home have restored my spirits and my health quite wonderfully.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Lucy patted Sophia’s Cavalier King Charles puppy on the head. “Did you find both your sons in good health?”

“Indeed, Perry is rattling around in a manner that makes my husband threaten to cut off his allowance, and Rupert is advancing steadily in his career.”

“Neither of them made the journey back with you?”

“Unfortunately not, but I expect them both at Easter. You will all have to come to dinner and catch up on all the news from Town.”

“That would be lovely.”

Sophia elbowed her in the side. “Are you deliberately ignoring my question about the dashing major, or are you simply displaying your superior manners?”

“I have nothing of interest to tell you about Major Kurland. He is still bedridden and remarkably argumentative.”

“In my experience, men never make good patients,” Mrs. Hathaway said comfortably. “They either behave like children, or imagine they are the only mortal in the entire world to ever be so sick, or near death.” She set a stitch in her embroidery. “Mind you, I’m not surprised Major Kurland is a difficult patient. After his distinguished career in the military, it must be hard for him to be idle.”