Lucy smiled at him and slid off the bed to fetch a chair. “Then I will stay for a while. It is laundry day at the rectory. In truth I have no wish to get back there too soon.”
“Thank you, Miss Harrington.” He shifted on his pillows as if trying to find a position that didn’t pain him. “Is your family well?”
“Yes, Major, very well. I am attempting to civilize the twins before they leave for school in the autumn.”
“They are old enough to go to school?”
“Indeed.” Lucy summoned a smile.
“I remember my mother writing to tell me about their birth, and your mother’s death. That must have been a difficult time for your father.”
“I believe it was.”
“He was lucky that you were there to support him, and take over the household so competently.”
“It was my duty, sir.”
“Ah, that word again.” His fingers gathered up the sheet into a crumpled ball. “We all have our duties, don’t we?”
“I suppose we do.” Lucy tried to think of something else to talk about. Sometimes her family’s demands felt suffocating, but she didn’t think Major Kurland would want to know about that. He’d answered the call of duty for his king and country and been wounded as a result. Her pathetic complaints about being the daughter who had to stay at home were nothing in comparison.
“And how is your cousin, Paul, sir?”
He raised his eyebrows. “I have no idea.”
“He hasn’t even written to inquire about your health?”
“The last time I saw Paul, Miss Harrington, he asked me for a substantial loan for a new business venture. I refused to give him a penny. He hasn’t spoken to me since.”
“Oh.” From the forbidding set of the major’s mouth, Lucy knew he would not speak of his wayward cousin again. “Would you like to read the paper, or shall we play chess?”
“I don’t have the concentration to play chess, and I can’t read without getting a headache. Mayhap you could read to me instead?”
Lucy reached down to take the newspapers out of her basket and was interrupted by a knock at the door and the appearance of Foley with a tea tray.
“Here you are, Miss Harrington.”
“Thank you, Foley.” Lucy smiled at the butler, who placed the tray on a small table at her elbow.
Foley withdrew and Lucy looked over at Major Kurland. “May I pour you some tea?”
“Is there coffee instead?”
Lucy inspected the silver tray and shook her head. “No, just the tea and some toasted muffins. Are you hungry?”
“No, thank you. I’ll just have the tea.”
Lucy could tell that he was just being polite, but at least he was trying. She poured him a cup of the fragrant brew and walked with it over to the bed.
“Do you need help sitting up?”
“No, I can manage.”
He struggled to push himself more upright, and Lucy fought down an urge to help him. She had no desire to be shouted at. Men were so ridiculous about their pride sometimes. She blew on the tea and held out the cup and saucer.
“Should I . . .”
“No.”
He snatched it from her, and the china wobbled dangerously, the teacup rattling like a frail barque on the ocean. Even as she reached for the cup, she knew it was too late as hot tea cascaded down over the major’s hand and onto the bedclothes.
“Devil take it!”
She ignored his appalling language and attempted to retrieve the cup and saucer and mop up the tea. He clutched his hand to his chest, the tea staining the whiteness of his nightshirt. Carefully, Lucy took his clenched fist, unfolded his fingers, and examined them.
“I don’t think you’re badly hurt. Let me get you a cloth to clean yourself.”
She went to his nightstand where a jug of water and a bowl stood ready. She poured some cold water in the bowl and brought it back to the bed with a soft drying cloth. Major Kurland didn’t speak as she reclaimed his hand and placed it in the bowl of water on top of the wet cloth. Bending over the bowl, she studied his fingers.
“Do they still hurt?”
“There is no need for you to fuss over me.”
She drew his hand and the cloth out of the water, wrapping his now cold fingers in the wet cloth and gently squeezing.
He hissed a curse and startled her. She looked straight up into his blue eyes.
“Are you all right, Major?”
“What do you think? I can’t even drink a cup of tea without help. What kind of a man have I become?”
“You are not well, sir. In a few weeks, you will be much stronger.”
“It’s been months, Miss Harrington, and I can still barely stand.”
Lucy picked up the basin of water and returned it to its place. She poured another cup of tea and brought it over to the bed.
Major Kurland made a sign of distaste. “I don’t want any more damned tea.”
“Then I’ll drink it.”
Lucy sipped at the hot beverage and waited until Major Kurland sank back against his pillows, his scalded hand clasped to his chest. He closed his eyes and a shudder ran through him. Lucy suspected he was about to apologize to her again. It disturbed her to see her most difficult patient at his lowest ebb, and it made it hard not to feel sorry for him. But from what she knew of him, trying to sympathize about his current condition would only rouse his ire.
“You wished to see me this morning. Was there something in particular that you needed?” Lucy put her cup and saucer down on the tray.
He slowly raised his gaze to meet hers and exhaled.
“I was wondering if there was any disruption in the village last night.”
“What kind of disruption?”
“Theft of any kind?”
Lucy frowned. “Not that I know of. I was in the village earlier, and no one mentioned anything to me. Why do you ask?”
He smoothed out the tea-stained bedsheets. “I didn’t sleep very well. I thought I heard some kind of commotion.” He glanced over at the bay windows. “My windows face toward the church and the village.”
“Is that why you got out of bed?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” he demanded. “I merely asked if you were aware of any disturbance.”
Despite being glad that he seemed to be his old irascible self, she couldn’t help but bristle at his tone.
“And I said that I wasn’t.” She glared right back at him. “Do you wish me to inquire further?”
“I wish that I could get out of this damned bed and inquire myself, but that is impossible.”
“I know that you are scarcely at your best, Major, but perhaps you might refrain from using such language in front of a lady. It is the fourth time you have cursed this morning.”
He inclined his head a stiff inch. “Then I apologize. I didn’t realize you were keeping score.”
Goaded by the lack of true remorse in his clipped reply, Lucy carried on. “I know I’m the rector’s daughter and you’ve known me for years, but I am still a lady.”
His slight smile was unexpected and set her on guard. “I do tend to forget that, Miss Harrington. Not many young unmarried ladies of my acquaintance would be lounging on my bed in the middle of the day without instantly expecting a marriage proposal.”
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 a
sleep. 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?”
Chapter 3
Lucy 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 t
he 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.”
Death Comes to the Village Page 3
