Death Comes to the Nursery

by Catherine Lloyd

  Lucy was smiling as he handed her into the gig.

  “What is so amusing?” Robert asked.

  “You are.” She patted his cheek. “You might not agree with a word I say in private, but in public you are always on my side and my staunchest defender.”

  “Which is just as it should be.” He walked around and hauled himself up into the gig. “Do you wish to accompany me to the Queen’s Head before we go back to the hall? It is on our way.”

  “That would suit me very well.” Lucy settled her skirts around her and drew her cloak closed at the throat. “Did Dr. Fletcher have anything more to add to his conclusion that Polly was strangled?”

  “Only that she was beaten,” Robert said, his gloved hands curling into fists. “I wish I had the bastard who did that to her in front of me now.”

  “I am not one to revel in violence, but in this instance, I cannot help but agree with you.” Lucy said.

  “Dr. Fletcher mentioned that he had seen Polly out walking with James.”

  “Oh, dear.” Lucy sighed. “If Dr. Fletcher noticed them together, then everyone in the village will immediately leap to the obvious conclusion.”

  “That James murdered Polly?” Robert frowned. “He grew up here with a family who are well known and liked. Do you really think people will believe that about him?”

  “Whether they believe it or not is hardly the issue, is it? They will talk about it. James had better stay up at the hall until we have cleared this matter up.”

  Robert negotiated the turn onto the village high street. “But what if it was James?”

  Lucy was quiet for some while before she answered him. “We already know that love can turn ugly—that reasonable people can do unthinkable things when they feel threatened.”

  “Agreed.” Robert slowed the horse down and nodded to one of the local shopkeepers who had stepped out to watch them go past. “Don’t forget, we still have to speak to Bert Speers.”

  He drew the gig up in the enclosed courtyard of the Queen’s Head, glad that it wasn’t market day and that the mail coach had long since gone. One of the ostlers ran out to hold the horse’s head.

  “Morning, Sir Robert.”

  “Good morning, Fred. We’ll only be here for a short while, so there’s no need to stable the horse.”

  “As you wish, sir. I’ll get one of the lads to hold onto him for you then.”

  “Thank you.” Robert helped Lucy down, and they went through the side door that led directly into the inn.

  Mr. Jarvis came to greet them, his expression troubled.

  “If you’re here for Bert Speers, sir, he didn’t come back last night.”

  “Did he not?” Robert glanced down at Lucy before returning his gaze to the landlord. “Are his possessions still here?”

  “Yes, sir. I checked his room.” Mr. Jarvis grimaced. “I heard about what happened to Polly Carter. If Bert does turn up, I’ll lock him up myself.”

  “If you would, I’d appreciate it greatly.” Robert nodded. “And let me know immediately, because it is imperative that I speak to him.”

  “Understood, sir.” The innkeeper nodded.

  Robert escorted Lucy back to the gig, and they rode home in silence along the narrow cow-parsley-lined lane until they turned in through the gates of Kurland Hall.

  “I’d best speak to Agnes first.” Lucy visibly braced herself.

  “We’ll speak to her together.” Robert briefly clasped her hand. “I assume she has an address for Polly’s mother?”

  “Yes.” Lucy lapsed into silence again as they pulled up in front of the main door.

  “Are you feeling quite well?” Robert asked as he walked around to help her down. “Would you prefer it if I spoke to Agnes alone?”

  “I’d prefer it if we both talked to her.” She flashed him a tired smile. “And then I might take a restorative nap.”

  He ushered her straight through the hall and into his study, where he asked Foley to make them some tea and to fetch Agnes. While they awaited her arrival, Robert paced in front of the fire.

  “You wished to see me, Sir Robert, my lady?” Agnes spoke from the door.

  She looked her usual immaculate self, her lace collar ironed to perfection and her petticoats rustling with starch.

  “We have some sad news about your cousin, Polly,” Robert said. He strongly believed in getting straight to the point when being the bearer of bad news. “Her body was discovered in a drainage ditch on the Durley farm.”

  Agnes gasped and pressed her hand to her mouth. “Oh, my lord.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Agnes. I can assure you that Lady Kurland and I will do everything in our power to find out what happened to Polly and, if necessary, to bring the wrongdoer to justice.”

  “What have I done?” Agnes whispered, her eyes wide and her words barely audible. “Why did I ever allow myself to get caught up in this terrible muddle?”

  Robert raised an eyebrow and looked over at Lucy, who approached Agnes.

  “I’m not quite sure what you are trying to say, Agnes. No one is blaming you for what happened.” Lucy said.

  “If I hadn’t allowed that woman to come here . . . and bring such grief to this family—”

  “As I just said, Agnes, no one is blaming you,” Lucy said firmly. “I know that you and Polly didn’t always see eye to eye, but that’s often how it is with one’s family. It doesn’t mean that you didn’t care for her or that you should feel guilty in any way.”

  “But she wasn’t.” Agnes was openly sobbing now.

  “Wasn’t what?” It was Lucy’s turn to offer Robert a puzzled glance.

  “Part of my family.” Agnes gulped hard. “I’d never clapped eyes on her in my life before she turned up at Kurland Hall.”

  Chapter 6

  As Agnes continued to cry, Lucy led her to a seat by the fire, offered her a new handkerchief, and waited patiently for the storm to pass. When Agnes appeared to have sufficiently composed herself, Lucy met her gaze.

  “I thought Polly was your cousin.”

  “She is, ma’am—well, Polly Carter is, but that wasn’t her.”

  “I don’t quite understand. Are you saying you were duped?

  “No, my lady.”

  “If the Polly we met wasn’t your cousin, then why didn’t you mention it when she arrived bearing a letter from me offering her a position in my nursery?” Lucy asked.

  Agnes swallowed and stared down at her apron. “Because when she came upstairs after meeting with you, she handed me a letter from my cousin Polly explaining what had happened, and why she was here instead.”

  “And yet you didn’t think to mention it to me or to Lady Kurland?” Robert intervened, the irritation in his voice quite apparent. “Did it not occur to you that introducing a complete stranger into our household, one who was to care for our son, was perhaps something that we should have been made aware of?”

  Agnes dissolved into tears again, and Lucy frowned at Robert. He was far too used to dealing with military subordinates to have the finesse necessary to coax answers out of a distraught female.

  She curbed her own impatience until Agnes composed herself.

  “You said that your cousin Polly sent you a letter. What did she say?”

  “She asked me to let the Polly you know take up her position.”

  “Did she explain who she was sending in her place?”

  “No, my lady. I don’t even know her real name. My cousin Polly said that the deception was necessary, and that she would vouch for her friend.”

  “And that was sufficient for you to allow this fraud to take place?” Robert asked.

  Agnes’s worried gaze flicked toward Robert, who had retreated to the window seat but was still staring at her intently.

  “She gave me money,” Agnes whispered. “A lot of money—more than two years’ wages.”

  Lucy attempted to conceal her surprise and disappointment with her son’s nurse, but feared she made a bad job of it as
Agnes again began to weep.

  “I’m so sorry, my lady, sir. I don’t know what I was thinking. She promised me ‘Polly’ would be gone in a month, which didn’t seem long enough for her to cause any mischief.” Agnes looked up. “And she was good at her job, respectful to me for the most part, and Ned liked her. If that hadn’t been the case, I would’ve told you earlier, I swear it.”

  “But Polly agreed to stay on for another quarter,” Lucy said slowly. “Is that why you were arguing just before she disappeared?”

  “Yes, my lady. I told her I would reveal the truth if she stayed on.”

  “And what was her response?”

  “She laughed and told me to go ahead and see how long I kept my own job. She said she liked it here.” Agnes dabbed at her eyes. “I knew she was right. I wished with all my heart I had never allowed myself to get caught up in something so wrong.”

  Robert cleared his throat. “Don’t we all?” He walked back over to the fireplace and stared down at Agnes. “Perhaps you might return to the nursery. My instinct is to let you go without a reference, but Ned has had enough disruptions in his life this week without depriving him of his nurse. We will reconsider your employment at the next quarter day.”

  Agnes stood and bobbed a curtsey. “Thank you, Sir Robert. I am so sorry, my lady.”

  She rushed out of the room, and Robert turned to Lucy.

  “Please don’t suggest that I was too harsh with her.”

  “I won’t. I have never been so shocked in my life! What on earth possessed her to do such a foolish thing?”

  “Money, of course,” Robert said grimly. “Two years’ wages for what she thought was going to be one month of a different Polly Carter in our house? I can almost understand her reasoning—except this concerns my house and my son, and I can’t help but be enraged by such a deliberate deception.”

  Lucy let out a slow breath. “If Agnes was desperate enough to conceal what she had done, was she desperate enough to kill Polly?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.” Robert paused before continuing, his gaze assessing. “But I doubt she would’ve had the strength to strangle Polly.”

  “Perhaps she paid someone to do it for her?” Lucy suggested. “She certainly had the money to do so.”

  “It is still rather unlikely, but I will not discount it,” Robert said. “Should we get rid of Agnes immediately, then?”

  “My instinct is to agree with you, but if we do suspect her of murder, then it would be better if we knew where she was,” Lucy said. “I’ll ask Anna to supervise the nursery and pay close attention to everything Agnes does.”

  “I suppose it will have to suffice.” Robert moved restlessly around the room. “But I have to tell you, Lucy, that the mere idea that Agnes and Polly were around our son appalls me.”

  “I’m sorry, too.” Lucy met his gaze squarely. “As I was responsible for hiring Agnes in the first place, the blame lies squarely with me.”

  He waved away her concerns. “She isn’t the first person to be corrupted by money, and she won’t be the last. You did everything you could.”

  Lucy rose to her feet. “I’ll go and speak to Anna, and then I’ll go to Polly’s room, and see if I can find any evidence of who she really might be.”

  “That’s an excellent idea. I had Foley take up the box of her possessions Dr. Fletcher gave me to her room as well. Let me know what you discover.” Robert went over to the door.

  “What are you going to do?” Lucy inquired.

  His face settled into grim lines. “I’m going to have another conversation with James.”

  * * *

  Robert went up to the top floor of the house, where Michael was sitting patiently outside James’s bedchamber. Michael jumped up when he saw Robert and stepped back from the door.

  “Morning, Sir Robert.”

  “Good morning, Michael. You may go down to the kitchen. I’ll let you know when you should return.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Robert went into James’s small room, bending his head to avoid the blackened beams that formed the structure of the Elizabethan roof. James was sitting up in bed, a Bible at his side.

  “Sir Robert, I’m feeling much better today. May I resume my duties?”

  “Not quite yet.” Robert sat on the only chair and stared at his footman. The bruises and scratches on his face were less vivid now, but still obvious.

  “We found Polly Carter.”

  The relief on James’s face was immediate. “Is she all right?”

  “No. Her body was recovered on the Durleys’ farm.”

  James briefly closed his eyes, his hand fumbling to find his Bible. “I . . . don’t know what to say.”

  “Perhaps the truth?”

  “I told you what happened, sir,” James blurted out and then stopped, a look of horror transforming his expression. “Do you think—I killed her?”

  Having learned the value of silence early on in his military career, Robert continued to study James.

  “I loved her! Why would I want to do that?”

  Robert shrugged. “Love is a very strong emotion, and closely akin to hate.”

  “I didn’t kill her.” James’s mouth set in a firm line.

  “Then who did?”

  “Bert Speers? Mr. Fletcher?” James shook his head. “Anyone but me, sir, I swear it.”

  Robert let another long moment elapse before he replied. “I am the local magistrate, and I’m responsible for investigating and prosecuting crime in this vicinity. It is therefore my duty to find out who killed Polly Carter. I will carry out that duty without regard to whether I know the murderer or his family.”

  “You’re saying that if it is me, you’ll send me to hang.”

  “Yes.” Robert held James’s anguished gaze. “Now, is there anything else you wish to tell me about what happened when you last saw Polly Carter?”

  * * *

  Lucy went into Polly’s bedchamber and surveyed the contents of the room. On her instructions, no one had entered or attempted to clean it since Polly’s disappearance had first been discovered.

  She started by stripping the bed linen and found nothing but a small, tattered piece of shawl tucked under the pillow that looked as if it might have belonged to a child. Ned had a blanket that he loved to curl his fingers into while he slept. Lucy wondered whether Polly had kept her own keepsake. Not that it had helped to keep her safe from the monsters . . .

  Lucy dropped the dirty bed linen outside the door and turned her attention to the trunk in the corner. She sat on the chair and methodically emptied out the contents, checking pockets and the insides of shoes and handkerchiefs as she went. A faint smell of perfume permeated the garments along with another, more oily scent Lucy couldn’t identify. At the bottom of the trunk she discovered a set of playbills for a theater in London and took them over to the window to read.

  The playbills featured a variety of theatrical experiences, including recitations of Shakespeare, dancing, comedy, and tragedy, which was fairly standard for the more popular theaters in London. Two of the bills were for a theater called the Corinthian, which apparently was located close to Covent Garden, and the third was for the Prince of Wales.

  Lucy hadn’t visited London very often and couldn’t remember attending a performance at either of the establishments. Had Polly kept the playbills because she had enjoyed the shows, or was there a closer connection? At this point, that could be anything. Lucy could only hope that closer inspection would reveal more clues as to Polly’s real name and previous occupation.

  She laid all the garments on the bed and lined up the shoes on the floor beneath it before turning to the dressing table. She tidied up the hairpins, spare buttons, sewing thread, and needles into their respective containers. Opening the first drawer, she checked and then rolled up the woolen stockings before placing them on the bed along with Polly’s spare petticoats and underthings.

  The second, smaller drawer held Polly’s spare handkerchiefs, n
eckerchiefs, and mittens. There was also a garish red lip color in a tin that smelled as strongly of oil as the trunk. Lucy reached farther into the drawer and discovered a small velvet box tucked right at the back.

  “Goodness me,” Lucy murmured as she turned the key to reveal the contents. “I wonder where this jewelry came from. It is rather fine.” She carefully lifted out a diamond necklace and two rings and checked beneath the satin lining of the box. There was a single card wedged into the box with distinctive slashing handwriting on it.

  “To Flora Rosa, with my continued devotion.” Lucy read the words out loud. Unfortunately, the final signature was impossible to decipher.

  Lucy kept the playbills and the jewelry box on the dressing table and packed everything else away. She would take her findings to Robert and see what he had to say on the matter.

  Before she left, Lucy’s gaze lingered on the trunk.

  “Is that your real name? Flora Rosa?” Lucy whispered. “It doesn’t sound real, but I wish you peace, and I swear that I will do everything I can to get you justice.”

  She closed the door behind her and went down the stairs to find Robert.

  * * *

  He was sitting in his study, a frown on his face as he massaged his forehead.

  “Ah, Lucy, come in.”

  She shut the door and went over to his desk, placing the items she’d found on the surface.

  “What did James have to say for himself?”

  “He insists he didn’t kill her, but he did admit to catching up with her before she reached the church.”

  “My goodness.” Lucy brought her hand to her mouth.

  “He says that they argued, she told him to leave her be, and he let her walk away from him.”

  “I assume this was before he was hit on the head?” Lucy asked.

  “Yes.” Robert grimaced. “He’s now saying that he thinks he saw her with Bert Speers just in front of the church. I’m not sure I believe him.”

  “Because now that he knows Polly is dead, James needs to make sure he is seen as innocent?” Lucy suggested. “And implicating Bert Speers is the easiest way to clear his own name?

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I thought.” Robert let out a frustrated breath. “Am I being too cynical? I’ve known James all his life. He’s never struck me as the kind of man to murder someone and then blatantly lie about it. I’ve known people to kill in a moment of anger, but they are usually so overcome with guilt and remorse after the fact that, when confronted with the evidence, they usually confess.”