Death Comes to the Fair

by Catherine Lloyd

  “I am on my guard now, as is my entire staff. I doubt anything else will happen.”

  “What exactly did the note say?”

  He frowned and then recited: “Leave well alone, or worse will follow.”

  “I assume you didn’t recognize the handwriting.”

  “It was rather crudely done, but that means nothing. I intend to travel to Hertford tomorrow with Mr. Fletcher to seek some information from the County Records Office. Do you think your father would allow you to accompany me?”

  She sighed. “Not unless I take at least one chaperone, and can think of a very good reason.”

  “Try to think of one. I would value your assistance in this matter.”

  “I’ll do my best, but don’t be surprised if I cannot find a way.”

  “You? Not find a way?” His smile was full of warm amusement. “I’d wager my fortune on you coming up with something.”

  “I appreciate your confidence in me, sir.” She picked up the book of letters beside her chair. “I have been reading the Kurland letters.”

  “Good for you. I’ve been too busy to even think about them. Have you discovered anything useful?”

  “Only that the Thurrocks have been causing problems in the villages for years, and that after originally selling them the land, your family fell out with them. I’m not quite sure why.”

  “Mr. Fletcher and I reached the same conclusion. Maybe the records the county holds will shed more light on the matter. We can examine them while we search for the lost land deed.”

  “Did you find out if your solicitors paid the Thurrocks for the land?”

  “No, but Mr. Fletcher is going to travel on from Hertford to Bishop’s Stortford and find out the answer to that one himself. When the Thurrock solicitor comes down for the joint funeral, I’ll hopefully have enough information on hand to prevent him from even thinking of taking the matter to the courts.”

  Lucy looked at him searchingly. “Then you don’t mean to stop meddling?”

  He offered her a determined blue stare. “I don’t stand for being threatened in my own house, Miss Harrington, and I certainly won’t obey the dictates of a cowardly blackmailer who poisons horses!”

  Lucy cast a quick glance toward Betty, who appeared to be looking out of the window, and placed her hand on Major Kurland’s sleeve. “Please be careful.”

  “You have my word on it.” He brought her fingers to his lips. “Having come this close to being married to you, Miss Harrington, I cannot possibly disappoint you and disappear now.”

  * * *

  “Father? May I speak with you?” Lucy put on her most humble expression as she approached the desk. In an attempt to make him more amenable to her plans she’d made sure the family dinner had been one of his favorites, and that his glass remained full of the best vintage wine from his cellars.

  “What is it now?” He took off his spectacles and put down his book.

  “Will you be able to take me to Hertford tomorrow?”

  “To Hertford? Whatever for?”

  “To see my dressmaker, of course. I am getting married in three weeks, and my bride clothes were supposed to be made in London.” She paused to make sure he was still listening. “You must agree that I need something fashionable to wear for my wedding to a newly created baronet? I would not want to shame our family.”

  “Bride clothes?”

  To her secret delight he looked as uneasy as any man dragged into a discussion of feminine matters.

  “Yes, Father—unless you wish me to ask that London dressmaker of Aunt Jane’s to supply them instead? I’m certain she could come down here and fit them for me.”

  “And add to the outrageous cost she was already asking?” Her father contemplated his joined hands before looking up at Lucy.

  “You are right as usual, Father,” Lucy agreed. “Madame Harcourt would probably be much more reasonable.”

  “I am due to go to Hertford in a week’s time. That should suffice. I will take you up with me then.”

  Inwardly Lucy groaned. “If that is your wish, but I wrote to her a few days ago, and she suggested I should come and see her as soon as possible in order to get the necessary work started.” She bit her lip. “I did so want to look nice on my wedding day.”

  He heaved a sigh. “Then go tomorrow—take Harris and the carriage, and the Chingfords with you.”

  “Without you?”

  “I hardly wish to spend my valuable time in a dressmaker’s shop, my dear.” He waved her away. “Now please don’t bother me again this evening. I have a letter to write to the author of a most interesting academic thesis on the Greek sculptures found at the Parthenon.”

  She curtsied and turned to the door. “Then I won’t interrupt you. I’ll go and tell Harris to get the carriage ready for the morning so you don’t have to worry about that.”

  “Lucy.”

  “Yes, Father?” She looked over her shoulder at him.

  “Take this with you.” He beckoned her back to his side and placed a leather purse in her hand, which was surprisingly heavy. “For your wedding clothes. I only wish your mother was here to see this upcoming day—although I’ll wager she’d have thought pretty little Anna would be the one marrying a baronet!”

  “Anna will surprise us yet, and marry a duke.” She kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

  He patted her hand. “Do you regret not having a society wedding in London, my dear?”

  “Not at all, and I am fairly certain Major Kurland would have hated every moment and scowled throughout the entire day.”

  She left the study, still smiling; wrote a note to Major Kurland; saw Harris; and went up the stairs to find Penelope sitting on her bed.

  “Well?”

  “He didn’t have time to take us himself, but we have his permission to go tomorrow.”

  Penelope clapped her hands. “That’s excellent news.” Her sharp gaze dropped to Lucy’s hand. “Did he give you money?”

  “Yes, for bride clothes.”

  Penelope stood up and went over to Lucy’s wardrobe. “Then you won’t mind if I have your pink patterned muslin as well, will you?”

  * * *

  “Take the gig into the stables, Reg, and get yourself something to eat.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Robert climbed out of the carriage and stretched his legs, narrowly avoiding being knocked down by an ostler lugging a large bag of grain on his shoulder. He took a hasty step back off the slippery, rounded cobbles and onto the more manageable flagstones leading up to the door of The Bell coaching inn.

  Fore Street was close to the center of the town of Hertford and was always busy with foot traffic, incoming coaches, and private conveyances. It was also close to the Shire Hall, where the county records were stored. Robert had attended both the quarter sessions and assizes and, as a local magistrate, would probably attend them again.

  On the rare occasion he’d had leave from the army, his mother had dragged him to the Assembly Rooms for county balls, which were also housed in the same building.

  “I’ve booked a private parlor for the day, Sir Robert.” Dermot came out of the inn, his hat in his hand. “The Harrington carriage hasn’t arrived yet, but I asked the landlord to keep an eye out for it, and show the ladies to the parlor when they do arrive.”

  “Thank you, Dermot.” Robert entered the inn with his land agent and nodded a greeting to the bowing landlord. “Good morning.”

  “Sir Robert. You are most welcome to our humble establishment. Please come this way.”

  It still confounded him how the mere addition of the word Sir to his name meant so much bowing and scraping around his person. He was far prouder of his army rank than that bestowed upon him by the sentimentality of the prince regent.

  “Do you require some refreshments, Sir Robert?”

  “Yes, I am rather hungry. Send up something substantial for us both, some good strong coffee, and a jug of your best ale.”

  “Of course, Sir Ro
bert.”

  The landlord practically backed out of the room as if Robert were royalty.

  He glanced over at Dermot. “I assume you are hungry.”

  “Always, sir.” His land agent grinned.

  “Now, do you wish to take the gig on with you to Bishop’s Stortford later today, or hire a horse?”

  “I’ll hire a horse. I’ll enjoy the ride more than bumping along that terrible road to Stortford.”

  “It is in an appalling state. The rector told me that the road was laid down when the Romans were here, and hasn’t been improved upon since.”

  Dermot shook his head. “That wouldn’t surprise me, but how on earth can he tell?”

  “Something about the method of construction, I think he said. I must admit I stopped listening when he started to expound on packed chalk levels and drainage ditches and the like.”

  “The rector is a very well-read man,” Dermot said diplomatically.

  “Indeed.”

  Robert glanced at the clock. “Despite the roads, we did make good time. I don’t expect to see Miss Harrington for at least another hour.” There was a knock at the door and a waiter staggered in bearing a large tray of food. “Plenty of time for us to polish this lot off before the ladies arrive.”

  They were just finishing their coffee when the landlord reappeared accompanied by Miss Harrington and the Chingford sisters.

  “Your guests, Sir Robert. Shall I bring a fresh pot of coffee?”

  “That would be most appreciated.” Miss Harrington took off her gloves and warmed her hands in front of the fire. “Good morning, Major Kurland, Mr. Fletcher.”

  Robert stood and bowed. “Good morning, ladies. Have you eaten?”

  A delicate shudder ran through Miss Harrington. “Unfortunately, yes, which meant Dorothea felt unwell for the entire journey, the poor dear girl.” She led the younger Chingford sister to a seat by the fire. “Do sit down. I’ll ask the landlord if he can get you some warm milk, or something to soothe your stomach.”

  “She’ll be fine if she’s just allowed to sit still for a while,” Miss Chingford said bracingly. “It’s the motion of the carriage that upsets her.”

  Her remark made Robert wonder why on earth Miss Dorothea had decided to come if she knew she would feel poorly. Miss Chingford was looking very fetching in a yellow bonnet and a somewhat familiar pink dress. “She’ll be fine while we do our shopping.”

  “Shopping?” Robert caught Miss Harrington’s eye.

  “I have an appointment with my dressmaker.” She narrowed her gaze. “My reason for coming to Hertford today, remember?”

  “Ah, yes, of course.” He inclined his head. “Perhaps you would enjoy a stroll around the market square first, and a visit to the Shire Hall?”

  “That would be delightful. I will send a note to Madame Harcourt to let her know I will be visiting her this afternoon.”

  Miss Chingford took off her bonnet and sat beside her sister. “Then as I have no desire to traipse around a provincial market town, I’ll stay here and look after Dorothea and join you later, Lucy.”

  “As you wish, Penelope.” Miss Harrington nodded and turned back to Robert. “I can take one of the maids with me as a chaperone.”

  Within half an hour Robert escorted Miss Harrington from the inn onto the busy street. Hertford was a prosperous town with mail coaches passing through, good shops, and a thriving market in the main square. Dermot pointed across the way.

  “The Shire Hall is over here, Sir Robert. It’s the brick building. We have an appointment with a Mr. Chestwick.”

  It took them a few moments to cross the street because several huge wagons emerging from the local brewery were slowing the traffic considerably.

  “The Assembly Rooms are housed in the same building in the right wing,” Robert said to Miss Harrington. “There are also two courtrooms.”

  “I’ve visited the Assembly Rooms several times, but never been in the court.” Miss Harrington looked up at the splendid façade. “It is a very elegant building and quite new, I believe?”

  “About forty years old, I think.” Robert held the door open for her and the maid. “Let’s follow Mr. Fletcher. He seems to know where he is going.”

  A young man came forward to meet them and bowed.

  “Major Sir Robert Kurland? It is a pleasure to meet you, sir, ma’am. Please come this way. I have already gathered some of the information your land agent requested, and found additional documents you might be interested in seeing. This is quite a fascinating case.”

  He took them through into a small room that looked like it belonged to the Clerk of the Court.

  “Please sit down.”

  He sat opposite them and shuffled through a stack of papers. “The most important thing in a legal case such as this is to establish the history of the piece of disputed land. In the estate of Kurland St. Mary we have the benefit of stable ownership for the last seven hundred years, which, as you must know, is remarkably rare.”

  “The Kurland family preferred to keep their heads down and not get involved in the squabbles of kings.”

  “A very wise decision,” Miss Harrington commented.

  Mr. Chestwick placed a piece of parchment in front of Robert.

  “This predates your original inquiry, but it does record the first transfer when the land was bought by one Ezekiel Thurrock in 1645. So the Thurrock family did at one point have legal possession of the plot.”

  Robert squinted at the badly stained document. “My Latin was left behind in the schoolroom. Is there anything of note I should be aware of about the original transfer?”

  “Nothing other than that even during the civil war it was properly stamped and legalized.”

  “Is there any evidence held here about the land being leased back to my family?”

  “There is a note in the county records as to that being the case, but no formal documentation. I assumed that was kept at Kurland Hall?”

  Dermot nodded. “We do have that in our records.”

  “Good.” Mr. Chestwick added another piece of parchment with a dangling red seal and ribbon attached to it. “This is the document you wanted to see. The sale of the land back to your father in 1790.”

  “Excellent.” Robert examined the land transfer stamp closely, smiled at the man and then at Dermot and Miss Harrington. “Then the Thurrock estate has no claim on the land at all.”

  “I cannot give you the original document, Sir Robert, but I have prepared a letter attesting to its existence, and offering access to view it for any interested parties.” He passed the very official-looking letter over to Robert.

  “Thank you.” Robert handed it straight to Dermot. “You can take this with you when you visit my solicitors in Bishop’s Stortford, and they can make their own copy.”

  “I’ll do that, sir, and I’ll make sure to bring the original back to Kurland Hall and store it in a safe place.”

  Robert reached over to shake Mr. Chestwick’s hand. “Thank you very much for your help.”

  “You are most welcome, Sir Robert. I was glad to be of service.”

  Robert emerged smiling from the Shire Hall and looked down at Miss Harrington. “Shall we celebrate with a grand luncheon? Then you and the Miss Chingfords can shop to your heart’s content while I confer with Mr. Fletcher about the next part of his journey.”

  His betrothed patted his sleeve. “That would be quite delightful.”

  His faith in his father had been justified, and any case the Thurrock solicitor attempted to launch for Nathaniel’s heirs would be pointless. If Dermot could prove the older Thurrock had taken the money for the land, and later denied doing so to his son, then that would be even better.

  Not that he would pursue the matter if the remaining Thurrock family was prepared to let it go. He had no need of the money and no desire to go to court over the matter.

  Miss Harrington cleared her throat. “One has to wonder why the original Ezekiel bothered to buy the land when he le
ased it back to your family, and left the area.”

  “Perhaps because his family were so disliked?”

  “But why? If the land was bought, sold, and leased quite legally, then what other bone of contention did the village have against the Thurrocks?” She sighed. “No one will actually say—or mayhap they don’t exactly know because it happened so long ago, and no one can remember the details.”

  Robert’s happy mood dissipated slightly. “But it mattered enough for the return of the Thurrocks to Kurland St. Mary and to cause problems.”

  “Not the verger’s return. Only Nathaniel’s.”

  “The avid amateur historian and believer that his family had somehow been blackmailed out of their rightful inheritance?”

  “Exactly. He riled everyone up, and Ezekiel didn’t thank him for it, did he?”

  They crossed the street, Robert gave the maid a coin, and she disappeared back into the kitchens. Dermot went on ahead to consult with the landlord about their luncheon, leaving Robert alone with Miss Harrington in the narrow corridor leading to the rented parlor.

  “I’m not sure we’ll ever find out why the Thurrocks had to die,” Miss Harrington said. “And it seems . . . wrong. Even if they weren’t likable, or their forebears did something hundreds of years ago to set the village against them, they didn’t deserve this.”

  “I agree. Just because I have resolved my personal issue with Nathaniel Thurrock doesn’t mean I intend to forget what has happened.” Robert held her gaze. “And if I have anything to do with it, I’ll make sure we find the culprits and bring them to justice.”

  “Thank you.” She offered him a small smile. “I knew you would feel just as you ought.”

  “Or more importantly, just how you think I should feel. We will solve this riddle, Miss Harrington, I promise you. I have a sense that if we can just unscramble the pieces correctly they will all fall into place.”

  “I appreciate your optimism, sir, and now I am ready for my repast.”

  He bent and quickly kissed her nose.

  “Then let us rejoin the others and enjoy a splendid afternoon.”