Death Comes to the Village

by Catherine Lloyd

  There was a note of hysteria in Miss Chingford’s voice that made Lucy feel more sympathetic. She of all people knew how the chains of family duty could constrain a woman’s ambitions.

  “Your family doesn’t have to live with him. You do. If you can’t honor him and support him, you will both be terribly miserable, you know that. He has a dreadful temper, which has not been improved by his current condition.” She touched Miss Chingford’s rigid arm. “Surely one uncomfortable conversation with your parents and the opportunity to find another husband you can love is worth more than a lifetime of regret?”

  Miss Chingford’s chin came up. “You want him for yourself, don’t you?”

  “No, I do not.” Lucy held her gaze, her own full of wry amusement. “I would probably murder him on our wedding night. He is not an easy man.”

  “He is quite horrible to me.” Miss Chingford shuddered.

  “Then don’t marry him. Release him from his promise and then write and tell your parents what you have done. By the time you return to London, the worst of their anger will be over, and they will be busy making other plans for you. I’m sure Mrs. Armitage would help you, as well. She wouldn’t want either of you to be unhappy.”

  Miss Chingford bit her lip. “You make it sound so simple.”

  “It is simple. You just have to be brave.” Lucy smiled. “You are so beautiful that I’ll wager all your parents’ threats about you being left to die an old maid will be proved wrong in an instant.”

  “I did have a large number of suitors.”

  “And I am sure that several of them are still wearing the willow for you. At least think about what I’ve said.”

  Miss Chingford curtsied. For the first time, she looked a little more hopeful. “Perhaps I will.”

  “I know how difficult it is to stand against your parents’ wishes, but you need to be strong.” Unwilling to belabor the point and raise any more suspicions as to her motives, Lucy turned back to her sister. “I think our tea is ready, and then Anna and I really must be getting on our way. It has been rather an exciting morning.”

  Chapter 14

  With a quick prayer to the heavens, Lucy knocked on Anthony’s bedchamber door and stood back to listen. It was mid-afternoon, and if she was correct, he had finished with his tutor and was about to embark on another of his mysterious expeditions. To her relief, there was the sound of movement and the door opened.

  “Lucy? What is it? Have you seen any more ruffians in the churchyard?”

  She fixed him with her best sisterly glare. “That isn’t amusing. In truth, I wanted to talk to you about something else.”

  The good humor died from his face. “What am I supposed to have done now?”

  With ill grace, he stood back and she preceded him into his room. She looked for a place to sit amongst the piles of books, clothes, and riding equipment that littered the surfaces. Eventually, she removed a hefty folio of Shakespeare’s plays that she knew her father had been looking for from the chair beside the fire, and sat down.

  She studied her hands in her lap and took a deep breath. “I don’t want to quarrel with you, but I need to know something.”

  “Is this about me gambling away Father’s fortune?”

  “Not exactly.” His expression darkened and she hastened to continue. “If you will just let me explain. As I mentioned before, I found a porcelain snuffbox in your blue coat when I was mending it. You denied all knowledge of the item.”

  “I still do.”

  She looked up at his uncompromising face. “The thing is, I found a piece of the box in the graveyard crushed in the mud. I asked Major Kurland if he recognized the fragment, and he confirmed it had belonged to his mother and that it had disappeared along with several other items from Kurland Hall.”

  “And now you think I stole from him as well as Father?”

  “No, but if you won’t tell me why you are sneaking out at night and acting so suspiciously, I fear others might believe you are involved in the thefts.”

  “Because I took money before.”

  “Yes.”

  Silence fell between them and Lucy continued to stare at her clasped hands. Eventually, Anthony sighed.

  “And if I give you my word that I have never seen the damned box, or stolen anything from Kurland Hall, will that not suffice?”

  “For me, yes, but I am not the only person seeking this thief. Others might wish to press charges or make accusations.” She drew an unsteady breath. “If I am asked to tell what I know, I will not lie, even for you.”

  “And what do you think you know?” He got up and walked over to the window, his hands clasped behind his back.

  “That I found stolen property in your pocket and that you spend an inordinate amount of time dodging your tutor and loitering at the Red Lion.”

  “Who told you about the Red Lion?”

  “It doesn’t matter who it was. What matters is why.”

  He sat down on the window seat and shoved a hand through his thick hair. “I’ll wager it was Edward. He’ll do anything to get into your good graces.”

  Lucy ignored that. “What draws you to the Red Lion?”

  He looked away from her. “It’s a rather delicate matter, not fit for your ears.”

  Lucy quickly sorted through the possibilities. “Then I assume there is a woman involved?”

  His head shot up. “What makes you think that?”

  “If you aren’t gambling, it is the only thing that makes sense.” She raised her gaze to the heavens. “Why didn’t I think about that before?”

  “Because you are a young lady who shouldn’t know about such things.”

  “Now you sound like Papa. I’m older than you, and I’m a rector’s daughter. I know everything.” She held his gaze. “Who is she?”

  “Not someone you would know. She isn’t of our social class. Not that I care for such matters.” His brown eyes softened. “She is worth a thousand of most of the young ladies I’ve met.”

  Lucy held up her hand. “Unless you are treading on highly dangerous ground and courting Mrs. Dobbs, there are only two unmarried women at the Red Lion young enough to interest you. The landlord’s daughter, Chrissie, or the new barmaid, Dorcas. Which one is it?”

  Hot color flooded his cheeks. “You are the devil.”

  “Which one?”

  “If you must know, it’s Dorcas. She is an angel.”

  Lucy studied her brother’s enrapt face. “May I ask if you have considered marrying her?”

  “What?”

  “I just wondered why there is all this secrecy.”

  He started to fidget, his color high. “Lucy, you are incorrigible! Do you think I’d ask her here? I’m not quite that stupid. Father would have my head, and poor Dorcas would be so overawed that she’d be unable to speak!”

  “Then you don’t see her as a permanent fixture in your life?”

  “I’m off to Cambridge in the autumn, you know that.” Gloom descended over his features. “I can hardly ask her to go with me.”

  “It wouldn’t be fair on her, either, would it? She’d lose her job. Does she have family around here?”

  “Yes.” Anthony looked out of the window. “That’s one of the reasons we’ve been keeping things quiet. They wouldn’t approve of me at all.”

  “Whom exactly is she related to?”

  He hunched a shoulder. “Her mother was sister to Ben Cobbins’s wife.”

  “Ben Cobbins? Now I understand why you have been creeping around at night.” Lucy shook her head. “I hope to God that you have been careful and Ben doesn’t have cause to seek you out and force you to marry this girl. He’d love to bring our family low.” A thought struck her. “Ben hasn’t spoken to you recently about her, has he? I thought I heard him shouting at someone in the graveyard the other day.”

  “That wasn’t me. As far as I know, Ben doesn’t suspect a thing. At least I hope that’s the case.” Anthony groaned. “The only person from this household I’ve s
een Ben talking to recently is Edward, and I somehow doubt he is chasing Dorcas. She isn’t that kind of girl.”

  That wasn’t what Lucy had heard, but she wasn’t going to say that to her obviously infatuated brother. Why hadn’t she suspected he was at the perfect age to fall in love with someone unsuitable? She remembered Tom’s infatuation with the dairymaid at the Kurland Hall home farm, how he’d constantly smelled of the cowshed and they’d suffered from a surfeit of milk....

  “So you don’t intend to see Dorcas when you move to Cambridge?”

  “At first I thought I would, but it wouldn’t be fair on her, would it?” He met Lucy’s gaze for the first time. “She’d be better off finding a nice local man who wants to wed her.”

  “She probably would be better off,” Lucy said gently. “If she gets a reputation for being above herself, she might suffer for it.”

  He sighed. “I know, but I do care about her. She is so sweet and understanding and her brother was in the army and—” He paused. “And I need to talk to Father about my future, don’t I?”

  “If you know what you want to do.”

  He stood up. “I’ve always wanted to be a soldier. I just don’t see myself at Cambridge.”

  She rose, too, and smiled at him. “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “No. I need to do this myself.” He hesitated. “He’s going to be very angry, isn’t he?”

  “Maybe at first, but I’m sure he’ll come around.”

  He grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips. “Thank you, dear sister.”

  “For what?”

  “For believing me when I said I hadn’t stolen a thing.”

  “I wonder who is stealing things.” Lucy disengaged her fingers and headed for the door.

  “If you want to catch the thief, I’d try to discover who put that box in my pocket.”

  Lucy stopped, her hand on the latch. “That is a very good thought. Thank you.”

  Anthony bowed. “You are welcome.” He came up alongside her. “And you won’t breathe a word to anyone about Dorcas, will you?”

  “Not unless I have to, and even then I will be terribly discreet.”

  “I depend on it.” He headed off down the stairs. “Now wish me luck.”

  She watched him from the landing as he headed confidently toward their father’s study, knocked on the door, and was swiftly admitted.

  Lucy walked slowly down the stairs to the back parlor. If he had the confidence to confront their father, her little brother was growing up in more ways than one. She wasn’t sure if that pleased or horrified her. Why was she the only one who was expected to accept her lot and not complain? Everyone else would be moving on with their lives, and she would be left behind. It wasn’t fair.

  She pushed such pointless, rebellious thoughts aside and considered her conversation with Anthony. Who had put the box in his coat? The most obvious answer was Mary, and it tied in nicely with her original theory that the girl had stolen some small items to finance her journey to London. But how had the box ended up smashed underfoot in the graveyard? And how had it gotten out of Anthony’s coat pocket if he hadn’t seen or touched it? Either Mary or Daisy were robbed before they left Kurland St. Mary, or they’d sold the items beforehand to someone else.

  The room was so gloomy that she lit a working candle and sat down. Was it possible that Ben Cobbins had bought their purloined treasures? He had a reputation for handling stolen goods in the village. Had the box accidentally smashed during the exchange and been left behind as worthless? Lucy shook her head. It still didn’t make sense. She’d found the box in Anthony’s pocket after Mary and Daisy had left. Perhaps in her haste, Mary had forgotten it, but it still didn’t explain how the box ended up in the graveyard.

  Lucy rubbed at her temples. It was all too confusing. If only Mary or Daisy would write from London to say that they were settled and all was well, at least they might discover the truth. At the moment, all she had was half the puzzle and it was infuriating. The clock struck four, and she rose to her feet and picked up the candle, knowing she was too restless to sit for much longer. Even the thought of Ben Cobbins lurking in the oncoming darkness couldn’t keep her trapped inside. Anna was reading to the twins, and Lucy would join her later for dinner and then prayers. Before that, she would put on her bonnet and make her way to the Hathaways’ house to consult with her friend Sophia.

  Robert opened his eyes to candlelight and the crackling and hissing of fresh damp wood being placed on the fire. He carefully turned his head and found Bookman crouched on his haunches in front of the hearth, feeding the flames with new logs and balled-up pieces of parchment. He watched for a while, enjoying the flickering light and the hint of wood smoke that reminded him of many campfires.

  “I hope you are burning the letters from my cousin Paul.”

  Bookman jumped and swiveled to face Robert. “I didn’t realize you were awake, sir. The opiate must have worn off quicker than I thought.” He tossed the last piece on the fire and stood up, dusting his breeches. “I read once that the more laudanum you take, the more you need.”

  “Which is why I am supposed to be avoiding it. What are you burning? Love letters?” His voice sounded thin, weary, and most unlike himself.

  “Nothing important, sir.” Bookman stared into the flames, his face half-hidden in the shadows. “I didn’t mean to bother you. The chimney in my room was smoking too badly to risk a fire.”

  “I remember in France that you would use anything to make a fire as long as you didn’t have to burn those precious letters from your sweetheart.”

  Bookman kicked the grate so hard that sparks flew out onto the rug. “More fool me, sir.”

  “Is all not well between you?”

  “You could say that, sir.” Bookman swung around. “Is there anything I can get you?”

  “Could you fetch me something to drink?”

  “There’s water right by your bed, sir, don’t you remember?” Bookman walked over to him. “Shall I help you sit up?”

  “I think you’ll have to. I feel as weak as a newborn foal.”

  He hoisted him upright and placed his pillows behind him. “There you are, sir.”

  Robert eyed him consideringly. “There’s no need to talk to me as if I were five, and for God’s sake, don’t start feeling sorry for me again. I thought we were done with that. I concede I overreached myself today, and suffered the consequences, but I’m not despairing quite yet.”

  “Nor should you be, sir.” Bookman refilled his glass. “Miss Harrington might have the best intentions in the world, but she doesn’t know when to stop, does she?” He snorted. “Worrying you with all this talk of theft, forcing you to rush ahead and take command again. And now look where it’s left you.”

  Robert let Bookman lecture him. It was easier than defending himself. He doubted his valet would be the last of his acquaintances to advise him to stop getting overexcited and to concentrate on getting well. The only person who treated him like a responsible, intelligent human being was Miss Harrington, and he sensed that since the last debacle with the chair, Foley and Bookman might try to exclude the rector’s daughter from the house altogether.

  He wouldn’t allow that, although he had to admit his life had been more peaceful before she’d turned up and bullied him into taking on his responsibilities. She wasn’t, however, responsible for this latest crisis. That had been entirely of his own making....

  Bookman mentioned something about dinner, and Robert nodded, his attention focused inward as he replayed that moment when Rogue had reared in front of him. He’d never felt such cold, sickening, unreasonable fear in his life. And for a horse! How was he ever supposed to go charging into battle if he was too afraid to even look at his mount? Despair swept over him as he envisioned his future. He’d be better off dead.

  “Major Kurland?”

  He opened his eyes to see Miss Chingford standing by his bed. Could his day get any worse? She was swathed in a large paisley shawl
that he knew belonged to his aunt.

  “Miss Chingford.”

  She clutched the shawl tightly to her chest and averted her gaze from his. “There is something I want you to know. I’ve written to my parents to tell them our betrothal is at an end.”

  “It is?”

  “You must have guessed I was unhappy.”

  “I had begun to suspect as much. If that is what you want, I will not try to dissuade you.” He studied her woebegone face. “I realize I am no longer the man you envisioned marrying.”

  “My parents will try to make me change my mind.” She hesitated. “They have other daughters to marry off, and they will see my refusal to wed you as a rejection of my duty.”

  “But you should not sacrifice yourself for them.”

  “That’s what Mrs. Armitage said.” Her words came in a rush. “I cannot imagine my life tied to an invalid. It wouldn’t be fair. I deserve so much better. I’m sure you can understand that.”

  “Perfectly, Miss Chingford.” Even though her words slashed at his already tottering self-respect, he held out his hand. “May we part as friends? I promise never to speak ill of you to any of our acquaintances, and I accept all the blame for the failure of our relationship. In fact, if you wish, I will write to your parents and tell them that.”

  She took his hand, her fingers warm against his. “Thank you. Perhaps you will find another woman grateful enough to accept your deformities and ill temper for the opportunity to be your wife. Miss Anna Harrington is pleasant enough to look at, and she seems to have a more willing disposition than her sister.”

  Her self-absorption continued to both fascinate and repel him. Had he been that selfish at twenty? He suspected he might have been. “Thank you for the suggestion. Do you know if my aunt is at home?”

  “She is the one who sent me up to speak to you.” Miss Chingford stepped away from him. “She seemed to think I needed to tell you my decision in person.”

  “That was very brave of you.”

  Oblivious to his sarcasm, she smiled for the first time. “I thought so, too. But if I plan on facing my parents, this can only be good practice for such an ordeal—although you are far more frightening than they are.” She curtsied and turned to the door. “I’ll send Mrs. Armitage up to you.”