Death Comes to the Fair

by Catherine Lloyd

  A clatter of noise from the kitchen reminded her that time was short. She headed upstairs, pausing only to make sure that Betty wasn’t around to notice where she was going. The door to Nathaniel Thurrock’s room was unlocked and Lucy eased it open. He was not as tidy as his brother. His possessions were strewn over various chairs and his dressing table. She stepped over a pair of rolled-up stockings and some muddy boots, her gaze fixed on the large leather-bound book he used for his notes and sketches.

  Disturbing as little as possible on the crowded writing desk she opened the book, and turned the pages, pausing every so often to notice a familiar place or landmark. He had obviously gone farther afield, for among his drawings of the church were sketches of Lower Kurland and Kurland St. Anne. There were views of the countryside, hedgerows, stone-built walls, and farm buildings.

  Lucy fished her spectacles out of her pocket and put them on her nose. There was no denying that Mr. Thurrock was an excellent draughtsman. His handwriting, however, left much to be desired. There were copies of some of the Thurrock gravestones from the St. Anne churchyard, and copious notes beside the sketches in tiny print that was almost impossible to decipher.

  There were no portraits within the pages, and none of the local flora or fauna, which struck her as odd. But Nathaniel had said that his interests lay in the local architecture and history; unlike a lady, his sketchbook was not meant to display his artistic abilities to potential suitors.

  But what had made him decide to draw so many of the buildings? And why pick these, and not others that were equally ancient or more important? There were no sketches of Kurland Hall that she could see, and that was the largest and most splendid building in the area.

  She turned another page and discovered a picture of the church at Kurland St. Anne from a different angle. To the right of the boundary wall Nathaniel had drawn a large X and written underneath it.

  “Potential site of the cloister? Close enough to the stream and . . .” Lucy couldn’t make out any more letters.

  What exactly was the verger’s brother looking for?

  “Miss Harrington?”

  Betty’s voice penetrated the closed door from the hallway below. Lucy reluctantly closed the book and made sure it was settled back in its correct place before turning to leave. Mr. Thurrock liked to talk. Perhaps all she needed to do was encourage him to speak about his passions, and she would gain a better understanding of what exactly he was up to, and why it had disturbed his brother so greatly.

  “Miss Harrington?”

  Picking up her skirts she made her way through the mess to the door, and immediately stubbed her toe on something hard. As she hopped on one slippered foot, she looked down and discovered a woolen shawl wrapped around something. Hardly daring to breathe, she carefully unwrapped the object. She barely managed to stifle her gasp as an ancient stone face leered grotesquely back at her.

  Fingers shaking, she re-covered the stone and limped out into the hallway, closing the door firmly behind her. Betty was already coming up the stairs, her footsteps firm. Lucy moved as far away from the guest room as possible and tried to look as if her mind had been on other things.

  “There you are, miss. Major Kurland sent a note to ask if you were free to see him in a quarter of an hour. He’s driving down, and will call in to the rectory on his way.”

  “Thank you, Betty.” Lucy gathered her composure. “Harris will be bringing Mr. Thurrock and Maisey back soon. Will you help them with the verger’s possessions?”

  “Certainly, Miss Harrington.” Betty turned as if to go down the stairs again.

  “Betty, who is supposed to be cleaning Mr. Thurrock’s room?”

  “Maisey, miss, why?”

  “I noticed yesterday that it seems to be rather untidy. Perhaps you might ask Maisey if she is having trouble getting her work done.”

  “I’ll ask her, miss.” Betty shook her head. “She’s such a little scatterbrain. She’d rather sit in the kitchen and watch Mrs. Fielding cook than do her own work.”

  Lucy came closer and lowered her voice. “Do you think she’ll manage when you’re gone?”

  “Not by herself, miss. Mrs. Fielding doesn’t seem to mind what she gets up to, but that’s hardly surprising. Maisey needs someone like me telling her what to do.”

  “Then I’ll have to speak to my father about hiring more staff.” Lucy managed a smile. “If Major Kurland arrives while I’m still upstairs, please inform him that I will be down directly.”

  * * *

  “Thank you.”

  Robert relinquished the reins of the gig into the stable boy’s hands, and knocked rapidly on the front door of the rectory.

  “Come in, Major Kurland.” Betty bobbed a curtsy as she opened the door. “Miss Harrington is in the back parlor.”

  Robert left his hat and gloves on the hall table and followed her down the corridor. Miss Harrington was standing looking out the window and turned as he came in.

  “I am so glad you are here.” She looked beyond him to where Betty had already disappeared and grabbed his hand. “You need to come upstairs with me right now.”

  Robert went still. “Steady on, Miss Harrington. I cannot be seen going up there with you. Think of your reputation!”

  She gave him a severe look. “We are engaged to be married. What can they do to us?”

  “Well, for one thing, your father is a damned fine shot, and not someone I wish to be facing at dawn on the village green in a duel.”

  “I doubt he’d kill you outright, sir. He does wish this marriage to take place.”

  “That is hardly reassuring.” He refused to move. “What is so vitally important that you need to drag me upstairs to see it?”

  She wasn’t looking at him, her gaze focused outward on the sound of cart wheels coming up the drive. “Drat. It’s too late anyway. They’re back.”

  “Who is back?”

  “Harris, Maisey, and Mr. Thurrock.”

  He retained her hand, drawing her close. “What’s going on?”

  “I inadvertently tripped over a gargoyle in Mr. Thurrock’s room.”

  “A gargoyle?” Robert blinked at her. “You jest.”

  “No, it was wrapped up in a shawl. I stubbed my toe on it as I was leaving.”

  “Is it the same one that was in your father’s study?”

  “I’m not sure. It certainly seemed to be fashioned in a similar style.”

  “Have we time to go and look at that one before Mr. Thurrock descends on us from the stables?” Robert demanded.

  “I should think so. Father is not at home.”

  They completed the short journey back through the house to the rector’s study without incident, and went inside, closing the door behind them.

  “Where is it, then?” Robert scanned the neat, book-lined room.

  Miss Harrington frowned. “I . . . don’t know. It was right here on the desk.”

  “I remember seeing it there as well. Perhaps your father put it in a safe place.”

  “If he did, we will never find it.” Lucy groaned. “What is going on?” She turned to Robert. “Remember the night Ezekiel died, and Mr. Thurrock came home late? I saw him in the hallway and he was carrying something wrapped in the shawl.”

  “If you are correct, it probably means it wasn’t the gargoyle that killed his brother.”

  “Yes, you’re right.” Her expression lightened. “But why did he bring it back to the rectory, and what connection does it have with the other one that has now disappeared?”

  “I have no idea, Miss Harrington, but I do know that I intend to invite you, the Chingfords, the Fletchers, and Mr. Thurrock to dinner at Kurland Hall tonight. Mayhap if we are lucky, we can kill several birds with one stone.”

  * * *

  Lucy considered the crowd assembled at Kurland Hall and wondered what the cook had thought when her employer suddenly decided to add six extra covers for dinner with less than an hour’s notice. Mrs. Fielding would probably have stormed out
in a huff. Foley was looking rather flustered. She guessed he was the one who had ended up having to tell the housekeeper and the cook the bad news.

  When she was mistress of Kurland Hall, things would run far more smoothly. She had almost forgotten that she’d received letters from both Anna and her aunt Jane that morning. Knowing they would be full of questions as to her delay in arriving in London, she’d shoved them into her pocket and pretended to forget about them, which was not like her at all. Her gaze strayed to the fireplace, where Major Kurland was talking to Dr. Fletcher.

  Maybe her intended had a point about eloping. She was becoming increasingly frustrated by the machinations of her aristocratic family. All she wanted was a simple wedding in the church at Kurland St. Mary. Perhaps it was time to have an honest discussion with her father—who would probably be relieved at the reduction in costs—and persuade him to keep the big wedding in London for Anna, who was sure to marry well.

  “Miss Harrington, have you a moment to show me the picture gallery?”

  She turned to find Mr. Thurrock bowing obsequiously behind her.

  “Major Kurland would probably be the best person to do that, sir. His knowledge of the subject matter is far superior to mine.”

  “But he is otherwise engaged, and, as you are soon to become part of the Kurland family, I am certain your information will be perfectly sufficient for my purpose.”

  He offered her his arm, and she had no choice but to place her hand on his sleeve and head toward the door that led into the long gallery that ran along the back of the house. She wondered why he didn’t want to wait for Major Kurland to show him around. Foley bowed as he passed her with a tray of drinks.

  “Dinner will be served shortly, Miss Harrington, so don’t wander too far off.”

  “I won’t, Foley. I’m just taking Mr. Thurrock to see the family portraits next door.”

  She smiled and kept walking, Mr. Thurrock at her side.

  “I assume you’ll get rid of that doddering old fellow when you’re mistress here, eh?”

  “Foley?” Lucy raised her eyebrows at her companion. “Of course not. He’s always been here. I think Major Kurland would like him to retire, but as long as he is happy and willing to perform his duties I can see no reason to replace him.”

  “He is a mite familiar, too.”

  Lucy smiled. “He’s known me since I was a baby. He has a very kind heart.”

  Mr. Thurrock sniffed. “Perhaps one has to be raised in the countryside to appreciate such sentiments, Miss Harrington.”

  “You were born in Cambridge, sir?”

  “Indeed, as was my brother.”

  “Yet he chose to return here.” She stopped in front of the first portrait, which portrayed a stern-looking Kurland in military uniform, his sword in his hand. “The Kurlands have a fine tradition of serving their country. The first Kurland came over with William the Conqueror and settled here.”

  “I am aware of that, Miss Harrington. As you no doubt might recollect I am something of an amateur historian.”

  Lucy disengaged her hand from his arm. “Then perhaps it is you who should be showing me the portraits, Mr. Thurrock.”

  He chuckled. “I am quite certain you know more about them than I do.” He pointed at the next picture. “This gentleman has the same blue eyes as the current Sir Robert Kurland.”

  Lucy peered closely at the portrait. “Indeed he does, and judging from the house in the background, he was also responsible for building the original Kurland Hall in the fifteen hundreds.”

  They carried on down the line, Mr. Thurrock slightly ahead of Lucy asking questions about the various Kurland offspring, horses, and children depicted in the paintings. She replied easily, having spent many hours asking Foley the same questions herself as a child.

  Eventually, Mr. Thurrock stopped walking and studied the two small portraits at the end of the row. Lucy came to stand beside him. She touched the frame on the left.

  “This is William, the Kurland brother who fought for Cromwell.” The painting showed a scowling man with a severe haircut dressed in the uniform of the New Model Army. She pointed at the next picture. “And this is his twin brother, Thomas, who fought for the king. They’ve always been a remarkably practical and pragmatic family.”

  “Indeed.” Mr. Thurrock leaned closer to inspect the two brothers. “I’ve heard of this Captain William Kurland. He was supposedly a godly man who held the villages for Parliament during the war, and stayed on as master of Kurland Hall during the Commonwealth.”

  “That’s correct.” Lucy straightened the corner of the other gilt frame. “I was always far more interested in his brother, who fled with the young Prince Charles, and only returned to England during the restoration of the monarchy.”

  Mr. Thurrock gave the second portrait of the long-haired lace-and-satin-dressed Cavalier a scathing glance. “He was almost as ungodly as the king he supported. He didn’t survive to enjoy his return to Kurland for very long.”

  “Indeed not. His health never recovered from the hardships of his exile. His brother’s son inherited the estate after all, but at least it stayed in the family.” Lucy gestured at the opposite wall. “His picture is over here.”

  Mr. Thurrock ignored her as he produced his spectacles and stared intently at the background of the first portrait. “Is that Kurland St. Anne church behind him?”

  Lucy looked as well. “It might be. Local legend has it that William hid out in the ruins of the priory while the king’s troops searched for him in the village.”

  “And wasn’t he supposed to have stumbled upon the treasure of the forgotten priory and restored the Kurland fortunes?”

  “That is one of the stories surrounding him, although if you ask the Kurland family about that they will deny it.”

  Mr. Thurrock cleared his throat disapprovingly. “Such is the way of the aristocracy, Miss Harrington. They have no care for those below them, and happily lie and cheat and steal to get what they want.”

  “The Kurlands are hardly aristocracy, and perhaps that was the case two hundred years ago, Mr. Thurrock, but the present Major Kurland is an excellent landlord who cares deeply for the welfare of his tenants.”

  “One might hope that is true.” He stopped to study her, his regard calculating. “In truth, I might need to put his goodness to the test quite soon.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Lucy asked.

  Immediately, he smiled and kissed her hand. “Nothing to worry your pretty little head about, my dear. My business is with your intended, and shall remain between us menfolk, as the good Lord intended.”

  Lucy forced a smile when she really wished she could smack him on the nose. “Perhaps we should be getting back. I think I hear Foley announcing that dinner is served.”

  * * *

  Robert glanced around as Miss Harrington came back into the room accompanied by Mr. Thurrock. She wore a gown in his favorite blue, and had allowed her hair to curl in soft ringlets from a knot at the top of her head. His betrothed’s color was high and her fine eyes snapped fire. As her companion was still smiling benignly, Robert was fairly convinced she had managed to keep her temper. He paused to wonder what on earth Mr. Thurrock might have said to ruffle Miss Harrington’s feathers. He doubted the older man had attempted to trifle with her.

  He’d spent some time on the seating arrangement for dinner, far longer than he’d ever spent before in truth, until he’d got everyone where he wanted them. He supposed he should have invited a chaperone for the ladies, but he had asked his housekeeper, Mrs. Bloomfield, to sit with them in the drawing room after dinner to observe the proprieties. Mr. Thurrock was on his left, Miss Harrington on his right. Dermot was beside her and the younger Chingford sister opposite him. Dr. Fletcher and Miss Penelope were thus free to talk or squabble to their heart’s content as far away from him as possible.

  As he took his seat, at the head of the table, he glanced down at the remarkably quarrelsome pair. Despite the frequency of thei
r disagreements, they did seem enamored of each other. Robert had already resolved to find a quiet moment to ask Patrick what his intentions were, and offer his assistance if required. He owed his old friend that much—even if he did question his choice of bride.

  His only concern was that if he removed the Chingford sisters too quickly from the rectory the rector would panic and cling harder to Miss Harrington until her sister returned. The man seemed incapable of managing his life without some female assistance, and Robert didn’t want to give him any more reasons as to why his marriage couldn’t go ahead.

  With a resigned sigh he sat back to allow James the footman to place the tureen of game soup on the table in front of him along with the rest of the first course. He only kept two footmen and Foley as indoor staff at the hall, and had no patience for being waited on during his dinner, preferring the food to be set on the table for guests to help themselves. He did hope Miss Harrington wasn’t intending to make too many changes to his simple routine—although from what he remembered when his aunt Rose and his mother had been in residence there were enough disturbances caused within a house simply by a female’s mere existence.

  He turned to his guest. “We dine rather informally here, Mr. Thurrock. Please do help yourself to some soup. It is excellent.”

  “Thank you, Sir Robert. And thank you for this unexpected invitation to dine. It is most kind of you.”

  “I fear I have neglected my duty to you, sir. Do you intend to return to Cambridge after your brother’s funeral?”

  “I have a few items of business to complete here in Kurland St. Mary and then I shall return home.”

  “It is a shame your visit has ended so tragically, sir.”

  “Indeed.” Mr. Thurrock heaved a sigh. “I wish I had come to see dear Ezekiel more often, but one can never guess what the future will hold. It is in God’s hands.”

  Having lived through a brutal war when God had sometimes seemed remarkably absent, Robert wasn’t willing to discuss that.

  “Did you have the opportunity to speak to the Pethridge family? I believe they have lived in this village almost as long as your family, sir.”