Death Comes to the Village

by Catherine Lloyd

  Robert allowed his head to fall back on his pillows and stared up at the embroidered hangings of his four-poster bed. An ancestor of his—no doubt in an effort to inspire future generations—had embroidered the family crest above his head.

  “Fight until breath and blood have fled and fight again.”

  He didn’t feel like fighting anymore.

  Bookman came through the door balancing a tray on his hip. “Mrs. Armitage says to tell you she will be here in a moment. She is just finishing writing a letter.”

  “Thank you. I suppose she is writing to the Chingford family. Miss Chingford has decided we will not suit.”

  Bookman put down the tray. “That’s a shame, sir.”

  “Not really. She is quite right. We would not suit each other at all.” Robert sighed. “It seems we are both unlucky in love, Bookman.”

  “At least Miss Chingford had the guts to tell you to your face, sir.” With a snap, Bookman placed Robert’s napkin on his lap. “Do you want to start with the soup or the lamb?”

  “The soup, I think, although my hands are still shaking.”

  “I can feed you if you like, sir.”

  “No, thank you, Bookman. I’d rather manage for myself.” He took the spoon and concentrated on getting the fragrant broth from the bowl to his mouth. It seemed all he was capable of at the moment as his body trembled and threatened to betray him. What a fool he’d been to venture outside. He should have stayed in bed where he obviously belonged.

  “Mr. Hodges was after you earlier today, sir.”

  “Who is that?”

  “Your head gardener, sir.”

  There was that tone again, as if Robert were an invalid who needed pandering to. But he was abnormal, wasn’t he? Miss Chingford had very kindly pointed it out to him while repudiating his proposal of marriage. Of course, she’d also had the pleasure of seeing him rolling on the ground in terror over nothing. If only she knew his physical deformities were only the most obvious of his problems....

  “Major?”

  He looked up. “Yes?”

  “Have you finished with the soup?”

  He stared at his empty bowl. “I suppose I have. It was delicious.”

  “Would you care for some lamb?”

  “The soup was quite sufficient.”

  “You should try and keep up your strength, sir.”

  “For what? So that I can lie in bed and grow fat?”

  Bookman took the tray. “You’ll come about, sir. You always do. Just stick with me and Foley and we’ll see you right. Keep away from women. They always complicate matters.”

  Robert slid down under the covers again. “I’m beginning to think you have a point.”

  “What point is that, dear?”

  “Aunt Rose.” Robert opened his eyes and struggled to sit up again. “Thank you for persuading Miss Chingford to change her mind, and make us both much happier.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t me, dear. It was Miss Harrington.”

  “Miss Harrington? But Miss Chingford despises her.”

  “I’m sure she does, but she at least had the sense to listen to her. I’ve written a letter to the Chingfords. I’m sure you will want to add a note of your own. I will take her back to Town in a few days and help her navigate the wrath of her parents.”

  “That’s kind of you.”

  “I’m not doing it for her. I’m doing it for you. She would’ve made you a terrible wife.”

  “No, you have that wrong. I was informed that I would make her a terrible husband, and that she deserved far more than an elderly invalid.”

  “She didn’t actually say that to you, did she?”

  Robert’s smile was wry. “She came pretty damn close. But I have to respect her honesty. She knows what she wants from life, and she is determined to get it.”

  Aunt Rose took his hand. “I’m sorry, love. You deserve so much better. When you are on your feet, we will look around and make a list of all of the eligible young ladies. Then you can have your pick.”

  “I don’t think so, Aunt. I’m hardly much of a catch.”

  “Don’t be so modest, my lad. You still have your wealth and position.”

  “Ah, how kind of you to remind me that if all else fails, I might always be married for my money.”

  She patted his cheek and left him alone with his thoughts.

  Lucy walked back from the Hathaways’ through the deepening gloom, her thoughts troubled, her steps slow. Wisps of fog from the deep-water ditches alongside the road floated across the path, muffling the sounds of nature and obscuring Lucy’s vision. Despite her objections, Sophia had reiterated her invitation and Mrs. Hathaway had seconded the proposal so firmly that it seemed it might be made to happen. If only her father could be persuaded. The Hathaways didn’t know that Anthony was about to disturb his father’s plans for the future, and that he might retaliate by clinging more fiercely to his other children.

  The plan was for Mr. Hathaway to invite the Harringtons to dinner and to take her papa aside and broach the idea of Lucy accompanying Sophia to London next spring. Lucy knew that her father would take more note of the idea if a gentleman he respected proposed it.

  A horse neighed behind her on the path and Lucy looked over her shoulder, suddenly aware that she was very much alone. Did Ben Cobbins own a horse?

  “Good evening, Miss Harrington.”

  The smell of warm saddle leather and horse surrounded her, and she looked up at the rider who touched his hat.

  “Mr. Jenkins.”

  His smile was warm. “I hear that you visited my grandmother this week. I’m sorry I missed you.”

  “It was of no matter, sir. We only talked of the most domestic things. You would probably have been bored to tears.”

  “Probably. But I always enjoy your company.” He indicated the path ahead. “You shouldn’t be standing around in the cold. May I walk my horse alongside you?”

  “If you wish.” She could feel the heat coming off his horse in waves and was grateful for the shelter it provided from the stiff breeze. “I am heading home.”

  He glanced behind. “Ah, you were visiting the Hathaways. Are they well?”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  “And your family, Miss Harrington? Your sister?”

  Lucy concealed a smile. The honorable Nicholas Jenkins, whose grandfather was a viscount, was definitely rather fond of Anna. “She is in great beauty. My father is considering sending her to London next year to stay with his brother, the earl, and make her curtsy to the queen.”

  “To London?”

  She marked his frown and kept smiling. “Yes. It is about time, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose it is. Will you be accompanying her?”

  “I’m not quite certain. Our plans are not yet fixed.”

  “I’m considering going up to London myself next year. My grandfather says all young men need a little town polish.”

  His parents had perished of the smallpox and his grandparents had brought him up at Farleigh Manor. He was an amiable young man and a friend of Anthony’s, whom Lucy liked very much. “Then you might certainly encounter Anna. It will be nice for her to see a familiar face.”

  “Indeed.”

  They continued in silence until Lucy spied the approaching crossroads that designated the parting of their ways. “It was nice to see you, Mr. Jenkins. Please give your grandmother my best wishes.”

  “I’ll do that, Miss Harrington, and please tell Miss Anna I was asking after her.” He tipped his hat again and then paused. “I just remembered something my grandmother said to tell you if I saw you. She said that she’d lost two figurines and two small candlesticks from her morning room. Does that make any sense to you?”

  “Unfortunately, it does. It seems several of the houses in Kurland St. Mary have been suffering from theft.”

  “That’s a bad business.” He frowned and his horse shifted its feet. “Do you have any idea who it might be?”

  “Not quite yet, b
ut I’m determined to discover the culprit.”

  “She also said that the only people who have been in that room recently are her servants, you, the curate, and Mrs. Hathaway.” He turned his horse’s head. “Well. I mustn’t keep you chatting in the cold, Miss Harrington. I’d best be on my way.”

  Lucy smiled up at him. “Thank you for your company.”

  He nodded, wheeled his horse around, and trotted down the lane. Lucy kept walking until she could see the tower of the church clearly in her sight. The welcoming lights of the rectory cheered her and made her increase her pace. Anna met her at the front door.

  “How was your walk?”

  Lucy divested herself of her bonnet and gloves. “It was most productive. I spent some time with Sophia and her mother. I met the Honorable Mr. Jenkins on the way home. He asked after you.”

  Anna smiled the complacent smile of the acknowledged local beauty. “He always does.”

  “He is a very nice man.”

  “I know.”

  “He told me that his grandmother had some pieces stolen, as well.”

  Anna held on to Lucy’s coat. “Was it that awful monkey? I bet he steals things.”

  Lucy followed Anna into the back parlor. It was almost time for dinner, and she didn’t want to get in Mrs. Fielding’s way in the kitchen. “I don’t think it was Claude. In fact, if you discount her servants, it could only be one of a very small number of people. . . .” Her gaze fell on her sewing box, which was open, the contents spilling onto the floor. “Were you looking for something?”

  “It wasn’t me.” Anna frowned at the mess. “I wonder who did that? It was probably the twins.”

  “I have to go and see Major Kurland.”

  “At this hour?”

  “I have to go. If Father asks, will you tell him I’ve gone to bed with a headache?”

  Lucy ran past the church, squeezed herself through the gap between the cornerstone and the wall, and hurried across the expansive lawn to the side door of Kurland Hall. She didn’t bother to knock, just lifted the latch and made her way through the narrow winding passageways into the cavernous kitchen. Foley sat at the table with a tankard at his elbow and the newspaper in front of his nose. He went to rise but Lucy held up her hand.

  “Is Major Kurland still awake?”

  “I don’t know, Miss Harrington.” He glanced at the kitchen clock. “Do you wish me to inquire?”

  “Don’t trouble yourself, Mr. Foley, I’ll go and see for myself.”

  “But—” Foley was half-rising to his feet.

  Lucy had already left the kitchen and started up the main stairs. She paused at the major’s door, but there was no sound from within. She gently raised the latch and peered inside. The major was in bed, but he was sitting up and staring pensively at the fire. His gaze fastened on hers and he frowned.

  “Will this day never end? What do you want?”

  “That’s hardly a polite way to greet a guest, Major.”

  “Guests wait downstairs and are announced by my butler. Then I decide whether I wish to see them or not.”

  “I told Foley I’d see myself up the stairs.” She studied his averted profile, noticed the harsh lines of strain around his mouth and eyes. “Don’t you want to talk to me?”

  “It doesn’t seem as if I have any choice, do I? I can hardly leap out of bed and run away.”

  She took a step closer. “Are you angry with me because of what happened earlier today?”

  “Why would I be angry? Humiliated beyond measure, perhaps, but hardly in a position to be annoyed.” He finally looked at her. “In truth, I should be thanking you for concealing the real reason why I threw myself to the ground like a coward in the stable yard.”

  “I’m still not quite sure why you did it. Was it something to do with the horse?”

  He glared at her, his blue eyes glinting in the candlelight. “You know damn well it had to do with the horse! I was terrified of the creature.”

  “Well, that is hardly surprising seeing as the last time you were on one it fell on top of you and broke both your legs.”

  “Stop being so damned reasonable.” A muscle flicked in his cheek. “I have no reason to be scared of a horse. I’m a major in the Prince of Wales’s Tenth Hussars.”

  “Well, you were.” She advanced another step. “I doubt you’ll ever be again.”

  Pain flinched across his face as if she had slapped him. “Don’t you think I know that?”

  “You cannot allow one facet of your personality to define you. You are far more than a soldier.”

  “Yes, I’m an invalid and a coward. Let’s not forget those fine attributes.”

  For one moment, she wanted to walk over and hold him in her arms, and tell him that everything would be all right, but she sensed he wasn’t ready to accept her sympathy yet. Perhaps he never would be. Male pride was a peculiar beast. She had to reach him another way.

  “You might be an invalid, but you are certainly not a coward. It takes more courage to get out of bed and try to improve your condition than lie around bemoaning it.”

  “Stop nagging me.” He rubbed a hand over his unshaven cheek. “Perhaps I’m tired of trying.”

  She took three more hasty steps until she was right next to him. “Don’t be so stupid. This is a minor setback. Next time—”

  He cut her off. “There won’t be a next time. I’m not leaving this house unless I can damn well ride a horse, or call on my neighbors on foot!”

  She stuck out her hand. “Do you want to make a wager on that?”

  “What?”

  “I’ll wager you five pounds that you will do both of those things.”

  “You can’t wager on what I’ll do! That’s ridiculous!”

  “Oh yes, I can, because I will do anything to make sure it happens! I refuse to let you slide back into a morass of self-pity and invalidish behavior.”

  “You are the devil. All I have to do is have Foley bar you from the house, and you’ll never get near me again.”

  “I’m here, aren’t I? Foley didn’t stop me this time.”

  She was so close to him now that they were nose to nose and she could stare right into his eyes. It wasn’t a reassuring sight, rather like she imagined looking over the rim of a volcano. It was time to employ her last stratagem.

  “If you won’t get better to help yourself, will you please consider helping me?”

  His gaze instantly turned to one of concern. “What’s wrong?”

  She perched on the side of his bed, which was most improper. “My sewing box was ransacked.”

  “So?”

  “And I realized something important. Mary sewed the button on Anthony’s coat.”

  “What the devil does that have to do with anything, and why are you bothering me with it now?”

  “I also think you are right. The thefts aren’t connected to the disappearance of the girls.” She gazed at him expectantly.

  “Well, thank you for finally agreeing with me for once. I’m still not sure how you reached that conclusion from the scattered facts you’ve given me so far.”

  “Mary sewed the button on so badly that Anthony couldn’t wear the coat. In truth, at first he couldn’t even find his coat because she had put it in Edward’s closet.”

  “So what?”

  “I had to sew the button on again. I found a porcelain snuffbox in the pocket, and asked Anthony where he’d acquired it. He denied all knowledge of the piece, which led to us arguing about his previous troubles with gambling. He got quite angry when I asked him if he was in financial trouble again.”

  “Why are you surprised about that? No man enjoys being questioned by a woman, especially about money.”

  She cast him an austere look. “The box disappeared again. The next time I saw it was in the graveyard in pieces.”

  “And you are sure it was the same one?”

  “I believe so. The painting was particularly fine and unique.”

  “This is the box you
asked me to identify? The one from my mother’s rooms?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then how did it end up in the graveyard?”

  “That’s exactly what I’ve been wondering. At first I was worried that Anthony had indeed been stealing things to cover his gambling debts.”

  “Which is why you didn’t mention any of this to me before now.”

  She felt her cheeks heat. “I found it hard to believe the thief was my brother.”

  “And now?”

  “I know that his furtive behavior is because he is carrying on an unsuitable alliance with the barmaid at the Red Lion.” She shrugged as the major’s eyebrows lifted. “He is of the age to have his head turned by the fairer sex, and Dorcas is very pretty and very generous with her favors by all accounts.”

  “You continue to surprise me, Miss Harrington. Please go on.”

  “And then it occurred to me that Mary sewed the button on Anthony’s coat.”

  “So you think she took the box to sell it? But you just said the two events were unrelated.”

  “Major, you are missing the point!”

  “There doesn’t seem to be one.”

  “Mary sewed the button on, and mistakenly put the coat in Edward’s cupboard instead of Anthony’s.”

  “So she hid it in the wrong place and forgot to go back for it?”

  “No! Edward hid the box in there, thinking it was his coat.”

  He stared at her for a long moment and then shook his head. “And my staff think I am the one in danger of losing my wits.”

  She smacked his hand, which was resting on the quilt. “Just listen. Edward is supporting his entire family on his small salary. He seems to take the responsibility very seriously.”

  “Which is admirable, but hardly makes him a thief.”

  Lucy ignored him. “Having talked with you, the Potters, and the Hathaways, it occurred to me that the thief had to be either a servant who visited the big houses and had access to all the rooms, which seemed unlikely, or someone from the gentry. That’s why I originally thought the culprit was Anthony. Just when I realized it couldn’t be him, Mr. Jenkins informed me that his grandmother had also had some items stolen. She was positive that only her staff, Mrs. Hathaway, the curate, and I had visited her in that particular room. And that’s when I saw my sewing box and remembered the mix-up with the coat.”