Death Comes to Kurland Hall

by Catherine Lloyd

  Lucy closed the dead woman’s eyes. “I’ll find Miss Chingford and Dorothea and tell them what has happened.”

  Dr. Fletcher stood and brushed down his buckskin breeches. He had a lilting Irish accent that was very soothing. Lucy imagined that unlike the brusque Dr. Baker, he would be comforting to have at one’s bedside. “That would be most kind of you, Miss Harrington. I can lay out the body properly and arrange for them to see their mother whenever they are ready.”

  As Lucy attempted to make the body look decent before it stiffened, she noticed something caught between Mrs. Chingford’s fingers. Lucy eased the chain free and found a gold locket strung on it that was badly dented. She took another glance at the dead woman’s throat. Mrs. Chingford was wearing jewelry of far greater value than the simple locket. She’d never seen the rather vain Mrs. Chingford wear such a plain trinket.

  “May I help you, Miss Harrington?” Major Kurland had returned from seeing Dr. Fletcher out and offered her his hand. After slipping the locket into her pocket, she accepted his help to rise and stood, smoothing down her now dusty silk skirts.

  “Thank you.”

  “Bring Miss Chingford and her sister into my study. That will give you some privacy when you break the bad news.” He paused. “Perhaps I should be the one to tell your father?”

  “Yes, please,” Lucy said fervently. “I’d quite forgotten about him.”

  “Then I shall willingly relieve you of that burden.” He shook his head. “This is a shockingly bad thing to happen at a wedding.”

  Lucy hesitated. “Do you think it would be better to wait until the party is over to inform everyone else?”

  He walked with her toward the hall door. “You might think me a coward, but I’d rather not have to stand up in front of everyone and tell them such bad news. By the time we have informed the Chingfords and your father of this tragedy, I suspect the evening will be nearly over, anyway.”

  “I agree.” She almost smiled. “And in a village as small as this, everyone will know by morning, anyway.”

  They emerged into the brightly lit hall, and Lucy blinked at the sudden infusion of light and noise. It was strange how even when one life ended, the world still went on.

  “Thank you for your help, Major.” Lucy firmly disengaged her arm from her companion’s. “I’ll go and find Miss Chingford and bring her and her sister to your study.”

  “And I will seek out your father.” He squeezed her fingers. “Good luck, Miss Harrington.”

  Several hours later, after dealing with Miss Chingford’s uncomprehending fury and Dorothea’s hysterics, Lucy almost wished she had chosen to tell her father and had left Major Kurland to deal with the sisters. According to the major, her father had taken the news remarkably well and had retired to his study with a bottle of brandy. Lucy closed the Chingfords’ bedroom door and went slowly down the stairs.

  She and Major Kurland had accompanied the sisters to Dr. Fletcher’s to see their mother’s body and had eventually persuaded them to come back to the rectory. She had given them all her handkerchiefs and eventually dosed them both with laudanum to help them sleep. Straightening her shoulders, she stepped into the small back parlor, where she’d left Anna entertaining Major Kurland.

  He stood when she entered, his gaze fixed on her face. “Is everything all right?”

  She sank down gratefully on the couch. “They are both sleeping. Dorothea hasn’t stopped crying long enough to form a sentence, and Miss Chingford is simply angry and asking me a thousand questions I cannot answer.” Lucy sighed and pushed a stray pin back into place in her hair. “At least Sophia and Mr. Stanford were able to get away before their whole wedding was ruined.”

  “I’ll write to Andrew and tell him what has occurred, but I’ll make sure he understands that we are more than capable of dealing with it.” Major Kurland sat down again. “I don’t want him to feel as if he has to rush back here. But I also don’t want him to read about this in a newspaper and be taken by surprise.”

  “Lucy, you look exhausted. Let me go and fetch you a cup of tea.” Anna leapt to her feet. “Would you like some tea, Major?”

  “As the rector has taken all the brandy, I suppose tea will have to do.” He hesitated and made as if to rise. “Unless you wish to be alone, Miss Harrington? I’m sure Foley can take care of my needs if I go back to the manor.”

  Lucy waved him back to his seat. “No, please stay. I wanted to ask your opinion on this matter.”

  “My opinion?” Major Kurland sat back as Anna whisked herself out of the door in a swirl of petticoats.

  “Does it not seem very convenient to you that Mrs. Chingford fell down the stairs?” Lucy asked.

  “In what way?”

  “Don’t you remember your history? Robert Dudley was desperate to marry Queen Elizabeth the First, but he couldn’t, because he was already married.”

  “And what exactly does this have to do with Mrs. Chingford?”

  “Amy Dudley, Robert’s wife, was mysteriously found dead at the bottom of a flight of stairs at their country home while he was busy cavorting with the queen in London. Opinion at the time was divided between those who thought Dudley had ordered his wife’s death in order to free himself to marry the queen, and those who believed Dudley’s enemies had done it to discredit him, because how could a queen marry a man under the suspicion of murdering his own wife?”

  “But the queen didn’t marry him.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I fail to see your point.”

  Lucy sighed. “Mrs. Chingford liked to stir up trouble. One has to wonder whether someone decided she had gone too far and took the opportunity to get rid of her.”

  “Following your interesting logic, one would assume that the only people who would want to stop the marriage and murder Mrs. Chingford would be you, your sister, or the Chingford ladies.”

  “Well, it wasn’t me or Anna or my father. But you do have a point. I wonder if Dorothea met her mother at the top of the stairs and had an argument with her. It might explain her current state of hysteria.”

  “Or Mrs. Chingford simply caught her heel in her gown and fell.”

  “Her gown wasn’t damaged at the hem. I checked. If she’d caught her heel in it that badly, there should have been some ripped fabric.” Lucy sat forward and stared at the major’s skeptical face. “It just doesn’t seem quite right to me.”

  “And yet you have no proof that anyone was even in the vicinity when the accident occurred.”

  “It is true that I was close enough to hear her fall and yet saw no one when I arrived at the stairwell, but that doesn’t mean she was alone.” She took the locket and chain out of her pocket and held it up. “She had this clutched in her hand.”

  He leaned forward to take it from her. “Perhaps it came off her neck when she fell.”

  “She was wearing a rather nice set of rubies to match her gown. I doubt she would’ve worn a cheap item such as this unless it held some sentimental value to her.”

  “She didn’t strike me as a sentimental woman.” Major Kurland attempted to open the locket, but it was badly dented. He handed it back to her. “So you suspect she tore this off her assailant’s throat as she tumbled down the stairs?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “It also means we’re probably looking for a woman.”

  “Men do wear lockets sometimes, Major.”

  “But they are usually secreted beneath a man’s shirt, not hanging out for all the world to see.”

  “True.” Lucy frowned and slid the locket back into her pocket. “If the locket did come from around someone’s throat, that person might have a red mark from the force of its removal.” She smothered a yawn just as Anna reappeared with the tea tray, and she quickly changed the subject.

  After a couple of sips of tea, Major Kurland stood and bowed to Lucy and Anna.

  “I must go home and attend to my remaining guests. Thank you for your hospitality, Miss Harrington, Miss Anna.”


  Lucy met his gaze. “Are you planning on visiting Dr. Fletcher tomorrow?”

  “I had thought of it.”

  “Then perhaps you could take me up in your carriage when you pass our door.”

  “If you wish.” He studied her intently. “You look tired. I won’t call for you until at least noon.”

  “Thank you.”

  He took hold of her hand “Please don’t worry yourself into a state about this. It might just be an unfortunate accident.”

  “I do hope you are right. I assure you, Major, that I don’t wish to spend my time chasing murderers.”

  “Neither do I, although we seem to have an uncanny knack of attracting them.” He kissed her fingers and bowed. “Good night, Miss Harrington. Sleep well.”

  Deep in thought, after sending Anna up to bed, Lucy took the tea tray back to the kitchen. To her surprise, Mrs. Fielding sat at the long pine table, helping herself to one of the cut-glass decanters that usually resided on the dining room table.

  “Miss Harrington?” The cook smiled at her. “You should share a glass of port with me.”

  “And why is that, Mrs. Fielding?”

  “Because Mrs. Chingford is dead. I was helping up at the manor, and I heard the news.” A satisfied smirk crossed the cook’s face. “She won’t get her hands on my kitchen or the rector now, will she?”

  “I suppose not.” Lucy paused. Judging from the two bright red spots on Mrs. Fielding’s cheeks, this wasn’t the first glass of port she had consumed. “You were at Kurland Hall?”

  “Yes. Mrs. High and Mighty ordered me to go and help. She threatened to have me dismissed for pilfering.” Mrs. Fielding’s eyes flashed. “As if me giving my nephew the odd piece of meat for a stew is a crime!”

  “It certainly isn’t. We all know that you support your sister’s family to the best of your ability.”

  “I do my duty, Miss Harrington, and for that old harridan to suggest that the rector would dismiss me just for that was ridiculous. And I told her so, and she threatened to tell him about—” Mrs. Fielding stopped speaking and busied herself with finishing the port in her glass.

  “About what?”

  Cook stood and drew the tea tray toward her. “Good night, Miss Harrington. I’m sure we will have a busy day tomorrow, what with dealing with all the callers to the Miss Chingfords. I’ll have to bake some more cake and funeral meats.”

  “Good night, Mrs. Fielding.”

  Lucy turned and reversed direction to the hall. She paused for a moment outside her father’s study, but there was no sound from within, and she didn’t have anything to say that he wouldn’t misconstrue and make her feel guilty about. Picking up her skirts, she headed up the stairs. It seemed that Mrs. Chingford had even found out something detrimental about the rectory cook. And Cook had been at Kurland manor all day....

  The trouble was, Lucy could easily imagine Mrs. Fielding losing her temper and pushing Mrs. Chingford down the stairs. She had long considered Lucy’s father her own personal property both in bed and out of it, and the rector had seemed quite happy to accept the arrangement. Until he’d met Mrs. Chingford, who had threatened to dismiss Mrs. Fielding at the earliest opportunity.

  But what was Mrs. Fielding concealing from her father? Was it possible that she was considering leaving the rectory for another position or, even worse, another man? Lucy made a mental note to ask Betty for any new scandalous details about Cook’s love life.

  Lucy caught a yawn behind her hand and decided to undress herself rather than call for her maid. There was much to arrange on the morrow. The Chingfords needed help to organize their mother’s burial rites, and the entire village would probably insist on descending on the rectory to find out exactly what was going on. It would make the day difficult, but it would give her an opportunity to study the other wedding guests to see if any of them had red marks on their necks or admitted to losing a piece of jewelry.

  Major Kurland would probably tell her to curb her imagination and stick to the facts. In her experience, getting involved in investigating a murder often led to the murderer having designs on oneself. She really ought to learn to let things be.

  As she undressed, she rediscovered the battered locket and placed it beside her bed. If the locket didn’t exist, she might be more willing to listen to the major’s advice. But someone owned it, and she’d wager a hundred pounds that it wasn’t Mrs. Chingford.

  Chapter 5

  “Good afternoon, Miss Harrington, Major Kurland. Do come in.”

  Dr. Fletcher opened the door to his house himself and ushered them inside. Instead of steering them toward the front parlor, he indicated that they should follow him to the back of the house, where, Lucy knew, there was a separate entrance to his medical practice.

  The faint smell of chemicals and harsh cleaning agents made her fumble for her handkerchief and press it to her nose. The last time she’d been in a scientific laboratory, someone had died horribly.

  “You don’t have to go in there, Miss Harrington,” Major Kurland said quietly. “You can wait for us in the kitchen.”

  Lucy stiffened her spine. “I’m quite all right, Major.”

  He looked down at her and then stepped aside. “Stubborn as ever, I see.”

  She ignored him and swept past him, all too aware of the still figure laid out on the cold marble slab in the center of the room. Gathering her courage, she approached Dr. Fletcher, who was writing a note in a large book.

  “Did you discover the cause of Mrs. Chingford’s death?”

  He looked over the book at her. “Her neck was broken.”

  “By the fall?”

  “I’m not sure.” He put the book down and approached the dead woman, then pulled the sheet down slightly to expose her throat. “Her throat is very bruised. That could be because of the way the bones broke, pushing outward and into the flesh or . . .”

  “It could be because someone strangled her,” Major Kurland said.

  Lucy looked around, startled at his blunt words. “Why do you say that?”

  His mouth twisted in distaste. “I’ve seen such injuries before. I dealt with several unpleasant and unexplained deaths in the army. At least three of them involved soldiers strangling women.”

  Lucy’s fingers crept to her own throat. “If she was strangled, then one must assume that someone wanted her dead.”

  “Yes.” Major Kurland turned to the doctor, who was following their conversation intently. “Is it possible?”

  “That she was strangled? I was an army surgeon. I’ve seen the same sights as you have, Major.” He shrugged. “Those marks could easily be fingers. The thing is, she might have died just from the fall itself. It is impossible to tell.”

  “Perhaps someone wanted to make sure that she was dead,” Lucy commented.

  “Well, they certainly succeeded.” Major Kurland moved away from the body, and Dr. Fletcher covered it with the sheet. “I have a favor to ask of you, Doctor.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “I’d appreciate it if you kept this information to yourself. I’d prefer the wedding guests and villagers to assume Mrs. Chingford died from a tragic accident.”

  Dr. Fletcher’s green eyes narrowed. “I won’t lie for you.”

  “I understand that. But if Miss Harrington and I are going to catch a murderer, we will require your discretion.”

  “That I can manage. If anyone asks me directly how she died, I will simply say that she broke her neck. That covers all eventualities.” Dr. Fletcher went to the door and held it open for Lucy and the major to pass through. “Do you really believe you can find out who did this?”

  Major Kurland looked down at Lucy. “Miss Harrington and I are becoming rather accomplished at discovering murderers. If we can’t bring this off, I doubt anyone can.”

  After bidding Dr. Fletcher a subdued good-bye, Lucy allowed the major to accompany her back to the carriage and then suddenly stopped.

  “Could we walk for a while?�
��

  “If you wish.” He gestured at his damaged leg. “I doubt I can make it the whole way home, but I will do my best.” He shouted to Reg. “Wait for me in the village square.”

  “All right, sir.”

  The carriage moved off. It was a cloudy day, but there was no hint of rain as they walked together down the narrow country road toward the center of Kurland St. Mary.

  “So what shall we do now?” Lucy asked.

  “Our best to discover a murderer.” He sighed. “What an appalling thing to happen on Andrew’s wedding day.”

  “Perhaps we should start by listing those who might have wished Mrs. Chingford dead, or at least might have become involved in an argument with her, resulting in an untimely fall,” Lucy said. “One would assume that if it had been an accident, then someone would have come forward by now, or at least remained with the body and raised the alarm.”

  “You’d be surprised how people behave in such situations. Even if it was an accident, the person might not even have realized Mrs. Chingford had fallen so badly. They might have gone on their way, thinking they’d taught her a lesson.”

  “But now we all know she is dead.”

  “And whoever did it might be too frightened to confess or might have left the wedding immediately afterward and returned home, none the wiser.”

  Lucy glanced up. “You have a very jaundiced view of people’s morals, Major.”

  “I was in the army. I know all too well that civilized behavior is a very thin veneer. It doesn’t take much to make otherwise perfectly decent men behave like savages.”

  They continued for a moment in silence, the only sound the tap of the major’s cane on the hardened mud.

  Lucy considered as she walked. “Dorothea Chingford seemed at odds with her mother, Mrs. Fielding disliked her immensely, as did Mr. Stanford’s sister and Mrs. Green, and . . .”

  “And you. Don’t forget to put yourself on that list. Has it occurred to you that as you found the body, gossip might assume you are the guilty party?”

  Lucy stopped walking to meet his level gaze. “You know I wouldn’t have killed her.”