Death Comes to the Village

by Catherine Lloyd

  “Mrs. Weeks was looking for you, Miss Harrington.”

  There was an ominous note in the cook’s voice that had Lucy searching her memory. “What did she want?”

  “I can’t say. She refused to tell me.” She sniffed. “Although the rector’s birthday is fast approaching. The sly minx probably thinks to beg you to make his cake.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Fielding. I’ll speak to Mrs. Weeks when I go into the village tomorrow,” Lucy promised. “Is the rector still in his study?”

  “I believe he is, miss.”

  “Perhaps Betty could bring me some tea.”

  There was no answer to that. Lucy made her escape into the hallway and knocked on the door of her father’s study. He was sitting at his desk, staring down at a letter written in a distinctive slashing hand, his expression careworn.

  “Papa?”

  He looked up. “Ah, Lucy. Do come in. I’ve just had an extraordinary interview with Edward.”

  “I know.” She took a seat. “Did you read Major Kurland’s letter?”

  “I just finished it.” He shook his head. “The major is being exceptionally generous considering the circumstances. My first thought was to turn Edward off without a character, but luckily for him, my Christian charity reasserted itself. It will also help tremendously if Major Kurland can find a new living for Edward. If word gets out as to his activities in this neighborhood, I doubt anyone would welcome him into their houses again.”

  “I’m quite confident that Major Kurland will find a new place for him. He can be quite determined when he sets his mind to something.”

  “So I’ve heard, although we’ve hardly seen any sign of it since his return from the continent.”

  “I truly believe he is on the mend now, and more than ready to take up his responsibilities.”

  “Well, thank goodness for that. It hasn’t been easy being the sole arbiter of authority in this district. Quite fatiguing, in fact.” He sighed. “And now we will have to go to the bother of finding a new curate.”

  “I’ll help you with that, Papa.”

  He put on his spectacles. “I’m afraid I’ll need your help for a lot of things in the near future, my dear. In fact, I won’t be able to do without you.”

  “I know, Papa.” Lucy forced a smile. “I’ll do my best.”

  “As you should, my dear.” He smiled at her fondly. “You, of all my children, know your duty.”

  She stood up, walked over to the desk, and kissed her father on the cheek. “I must go and see about dinner.”

  “That’s my girl.” He patted her hand. “And make sure Mrs. Fielding doesn’t offer me mutton again, will you?”

  “Of course, Papa.”

  Lucy closed the door to the study and stood for a moment in the darkened hallway, leaning against it and listening to the stifling silence. After a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and went to do battle in the kitchen.

  Anna selected a square of fabric from the ragbag and inspected it in the candlelight. “This will do for a border, but won’t make a full square.” She dug her hand in again and pulled out another piece. “Are you worried about having so many different colors in this quilt, or is that the intention? Whom is it for?”

  Lucy started and looked down at her sister, who sat by her feet. It was quiet in the house. The twins were in bed, and Anthony had gone to see his tutor to explain why he would no longer need his services.

  “The quilt is for one of the Coles’ family. It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

  Anna laid her hand on Lucy’s knee. “What’s wrong?”

  “Why should you think anything is wrong?”

  “Because you look so sad this evening.”

  “I’m sorry, love. I was just wondering what would become of Edward.”

  “Have you come to care for him, Lucy?”

  “Not in that way. But I do feel sorry for him. We might not have everything we want here, but at least we are always well fed and not in fear of losing our home.”

  “We have much to be thankful for.” Anna picked out another piece of material. “Do you think the Cole boys will mind some pink?” Anna unfolded the square and smoothed it out.

  Lucy stared at the pattern until it seemed to have burned into her brain. “Whose dress was that from?”

  “This pink?” Anna asked. “I have no idea. Why, is it important?”

  Lucy ran toward the stairs, the scrap of fabric clutched in her fingers. She burst into the nursery, surprising Jane, who was settled at the nursery table darning socks.

  “Jane, have you seen this material before?”

  “I think so. I helped Mary hem a summer dress she’d made in that color last year.”

  Lucy clutched the fabric to her breast and briefly closed her eyes.

  “Are you all right, Miss Harrington?”

  Lucy nodded and walked back down the stairs. She was absolutely certain that the material she held was identical to the swatch of fabric jammed into the doorway of the DeVry vault. Her thoughts circled as she tried to decide what to do. If she went to her father in his present mood, she was certain he would refuse to accommodate her wish to open the tomb. But whom could she ask for help?

  Before she realized what she was doing, she walked toward the back door. Major Kurland was the local magistrate. Surely he would have the power to overrule her father and order him to open the vault? She paused with her hand on the latch. Was she willing to take such an outrageous step? Her father would think her mad. But would the overprotective Bookman let her anywhere near the major at this time of night? Somehow she doubted it.

  “Lucy?”

  She glanced up the stairs and saw Luke standing on the landing in his nightgown, one hand cupping his cheek.

  “What is it, love?”

  “It’s my tooth. It’s hurting like the devil.”

  “Don’t use that word, dear. Did you tell Jane?”

  “I wanted you.”

  She tucked the material into her pocket and went up the stairs toward him. She frowned at his obviously swollen jaw. He looked like one of the field mice that clung to the heads of corn, all wide eyes and chubby cheeks. “Let me see.”

  He reluctantly opened his mouth to disclose a small back tooth that was badly decayed and swollen around the gum.

  “That does look painful. I suspect you’ll have to have the tooth drawn. I’ll take you to Dr. Baker first thing in the morning.”

  “Oh, goody, will there be blood?” Luke’s twin, Michael, appeared beside her, his eyes bright with anticipation.

  “There will not. Dr. Baker is very skilled. Come along, boys.” She put an arm around both of them and steered them back to the nursery. “I’ll get you some laudanum, Luke, so that you can at least get some sleep.”

  He pressed up against her, his small, strong body hot to the touch. “Thank you, Lucy. Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?”

  “Of course, I will.”

  Lucy patted his tousled blond head and helped him into bed while Jane fetched the laudanum. After Luke was settled, she would take a moment to pen a note to Major Kurland and have it delivered first thing in the morning.

  Chapter 16

  Dr. Baker’s house was at the opposite end of the village to the rectory, and quite a long walk. Despite Michael’s strong objections, Lucy had left him with Jane, and taken Luke by himself. To her relief, the good doctor had not only been home, but dispensed with the tooth in a matter of seconds, leaving Luke sniveling and clutching a bloodied handkerchief to his cheek, but otherwise unharmed. Dr. Baker informed her that it had been a baby tooth, without much of a root. He told Luke to take better care of the new tooth that was pushing up underneath.

  As they entered the high street, Lucy glanced down at the woebegone face beside her. “I have to speak to Mrs. Weeks at the bakery. Perhaps you might choose a cake to take home for your tea?”

  “Just for me?”

  “Well, it might be nice if you shared it with Michael.”


  He considered the enticing display in the steamed-up window. “It depends how big it is, doesn’t it?”

  Concealing a smile at his logic, Lucy pushed open the door and walked up to the counter. The smell of yeast and sugar billowed around her, and she realized it was early and the Weeks family was still baking.

  “Can I help you, miss?”

  “Yes, I wanted to talk to Mrs. Weeks about my father’s . . .” Lucy stared at the apparition who had appeared from the back of the shop. “Daisy?”

  The girl’s mouth turned down at the corners. “Yes, Miss Harrington.” She gestured at Luke, who had his face pressed against the glass separating the cakes from the buyers. “Does he want something?”

  “I’d like a Chelsea bun, please,” Luke said clearly. “That big one at the back because I have to share it with my brother.”

  Lucy waited as Daisy put the bun in a paper bag and handed it to Luke. She touched her brother’s shoulder. “Do you want to start for home? Tell Anna I’ll be there as soon as I can. If your face pains you, ask Jane to give you some more laudanum.”

  Luke happily departed clutching his bun, and Lucy turned to Daisy.

  “When did you come back?”

  “The day before yesterday.”

  “Was London not to your liking?”

  She scowled. “It was horrible. The only work that was offered to me was in a brothel. I didn’t want that. When my money ran out, I decided it was better to come home.”

  “A wise decision.” Lucy paused. “Did Mary come back with you?”

  A flush covered Daisy’s cheeks. “Mary who?”

  “Mary Smith, who was in service at the rectory. I understand that you planned to leave for London together.”

  “Mary changed her mind, miss. She was like that, always agreeing with everyone and then letting people down.”

  Lucy gripped her reticule so hard her fingers hurt. “Then where is she?”

  “How should I know?”

  “You’re saying that she didn’t come away with you?”

  “She said she was coming, and then at the last minute, when I met her at the rectory, she said she couldn’t go, that she’d rather stay here.”

  “Why?”

  Daisy bit her lip. “She said she had some man trouble, an old flame and a new one. She was afraid of the first, and eager to marry the second. That’s why she didn’t come with me to London. She said she was going to meet William Bowden instead. I was right cross with her, miss. I wasn’t counting on going to London all by myself.”

  “Did you see her with William?”

  “No, we had a bit of a fight and I left her standing by the church. That’s the last time I saw her face-to-face, like.”

  “She didn’t meet William. He was left waiting in vain for her, too.”

  “Then where is she, miss?”

  “I don’t know. Will you come with me to Major Kurland and tell him what you’ve told me?”

  “Why would you want me to do that?” Daisy glanced over her shoulder, her fingers pleating her apron. “I don’t want any more trouble, my mam will kill me.”

  “I’ll ask her if you can go with me, so that she knows that you are safe.” Lucy gathered up her skirts. “Is she inside? May I come in and speak with her?”

  Five minutes later, Lucy and Daisy were walking up the driveway of Kurland Hall. Lucy entered through the back door and sought out Foley.

  “Is the major awake?”

  “I believe so, Miss Harrington. He’s in his study. He is expecting you.”

  “Can you take us to him?” She nodded at Daisy to follow her. “Is Mr. Bookman here?”

  “No, he’s out at his mother’s this morning. There was a hole in her thatch roof that needed patching. The major gave him leave to attend to it.”

  “That was good of him.” Lucy smiled reassuringly at Daisy, who was looking around rather apprehensively. “Thank you, Mr. Foley.”

  Major Kurland looked up as she entered. For the first time, he was formally dressed in a brown coat, cravat, and waistcoat.

  “Good morning, Miss Harrington. Foley, would you bring us some refreshments? My aunt and Miss Chingford are out saying their good-byes to the local families. They won’t be back for some time.” He turned to Daisy. “And who is this?”

  She dropped an awkward curtsy. “I’m Daisy Weeks, Major. How do you do?”

  “Daisy Weeks?” He stared at Lucy. “But I thought Miss Weeks left for London with your Mary Smith.”

  “Apparently not.” Lucy gestured for her companion to take a seat. “Daisy did go to London, but she had the good sense to see that she wasn’t yet qualified to obtain the position she wanted, and she came home.”

  “But what about Mary?”

  “She didn’t go with her.” Lucy held the major’s appalled gaze. “She didn’t go with William Bowden, either, so where is she?” She turned to Daisy. “Can you tell Major Kurland what happened the night you left?”

  As Daisy continued her tale, Robert sat forward, his hands gripped in front of him on his blotter. “So when you met Mary at the church, she refused to come with you?”

  “Aye. She said she was supposed to meet William, but that something bad had happened.”

  “Did she say what that was?”

  “No, but she was shaking and pale. I thought she was lying to get out of going with me, so I didn’t give her much chance to explain things.”

  “And you didn’t see her meet up with William Bowden, either?”

  Daisy hesitated. “When I looked back along the path, I saw her with someone. I thought she’d been fibbing again, and it had to be William, but maybe I was wrong. He didn’t look quite the same.”

  “You’ve met William before?”

  “Yes, he’s as tall as a haystack. We used to laugh at him when we were younger, but he grew into himself if you know what I mean.”

  “So it could’ve been another man.”

  “I suppose so. Maybe that was why she was scared. Maybe the other one was after her.” She looked troubled. “Now I feel badly for not listening. I thought she was making things up.”

  “It’s all right, Daisy. You had no way of knowing what was really going on.”

  “But I did know she was scared of John, sir. She’d hoped he wouldn’t come back.”

  “John was the name of her former lover? Do you know his last name?”

  “I don’t remember it, sir. He was an older man, I think, about your age. She was only thirteen when he took up with her.” She shivered.

  “Did you meet him?”

  “I’m not sure, sir. He was away with the army for many years and only recently came back home. Daisy tried to break things off with him in a letter before he came back, but from all accounts, he didn’t take it very well. Maybe he was angry at her for finding another man.”

  Robert let out his breath. “You have been very helpful, Daisy. May I suggest that James, my footman, walk you home? Perhaps you might wait in the kitchen while I write a note for your parents.”

  Miss Harrington rang the bell and Robert wrote a short note to the Weeks family, asking them to keep Daisy safe inside for a few days. When James arrived, he handed the note to him, then told him to collect Miss Weeks from the kitchen and see her safely home. A reply to his note would also be appreciated.

  Miss Harrington poured them both a cup of coffee from the pot Foley had brought in. “What do you think of her story?”

  He lifted his gaze to hers. “John is Bookman’s first name.”

  “What?” She put her cup down with a satisfying clatter. “What are you suggesting?”

  He raked both his hands through his short hair. “It makes a horrible kind of sense. Bookman wrote to a sweetheart here for years. It’s possible it was your Mary. She came here when she was twelve, didn’t she? Who else could it be? How many other local men named John have recently returned from service in the army?”

  “Probably quite a few.”

  “But the possibility t
hat it is Bookman has to be high. He’s been warning me off involving myself in your inquiries ever since you started them.” He groaned. “He’s also been in charge of administering laudanum to me! I’d begun to think I was going mad. . . .”

  Miss Harrington patted his shoulder. “It’s all right. I was beginning to think I was quite deranged, too.” She took something out of her reticule. “I found this last night in our ragbag. That’s why I wrote to you.”

  He studied the piece of cheap pink fabric. “What of it?”

  “This is the same pattern as the fabric I saw stuck in the tomb.” She paused. “It’s a remnant from a dress Mary made for herself last summer. Her best dress. I suspect if I was running away thinking I’d be getting married, I’d wear my best gown, too.”

  “Good Lord. Did you tell your father about this?”

  “No, I didn’t think he’d believe me. I thought I’d ask you to use your powers of persuasion as the local magistrate to order him to open the DeVry tomb.”

  “That’s certainly possible.” Robert shook his head. “I still can’t believe that Bookman would—”

  “Kill someone? Major, you and he are trained to kill. What could be more natural?”

  “You don’t understand. It’s different in a battle. I could no more murder anyone here than you could.”

  But Bookman could. The thought took over before he could stop it. His valet had always been prepared to kill.

  “Before we open the tomb, I want to give him a chance to defend himself. We could be wrong.”

  “Major—”

  He held up his hand. “Let me finish. You said it yourself: There are many ex-soldiers who have come back to these parts recently. And John is a common name.”

  “But what if he turns on you?”

  “We’ve been friends all our lives. I doubt he’d do anything to hurt me.”

  “Apart from try and convince you that you are going mad, and are addicted to laudanum? For goodness’ sake, Major, he tried to convince me that was the truth!”

  “Then we must think of a way to get him to confess and then stop him either from running away or silencing me.” He held her gaze. “I’m sure we can come up with something.”