Death Comes to Kurland Hall

by Catherine Lloyd

  A slight sound from one of the guest bedchambers made Lucy look up. Someone was in Mrs. Chingford’s bedroom. Holding her breath, Lucy tiptoed along the landing until she was outside the relevant door. It was slightly ajar, so she pushed it with a fingertip until it quietly swung open enough to reveal a figure rifling through the contents of the desk.

  A small fire burned in the grate and was rapidly consuming the balled-up paper being thrown at it. Lucy came in and closed the door behind her.

  “Dorothea, what are you doing?”

  “You frightened me!” Dorothea gasped and spun around, an armful of letters crushed to her chest.

  “What are you doing?”

  Dorothea’s face went red. “Nothing that concerns you, Miss Harrington.”

  “You and your sister are guests in my father’s house. I have a perfect right to ask you what you are about.” Lucy paused. “Do you wish me to fetch your sister or the rector?”

  “Please don’t!”

  “Then tell me what you are looking for.” Lucy advanced on the girl. “Does it have something to do with your mother’s death?”

  “Of course it does!”

  “Are you looking for evidence?”

  “Evidence of what?”

  Lucy raised her eyebrows. “You tell me. You were the last person to see your mother alive. What happened, Dorothea?”

  “My mother liked to tell lies and spread untruths.”

  “So I’ve been told.” Lucy sat on the corner of the bed and tried to look as unthreatening as possible. “She’s dead now, so who exactly are you trying to protect?”

  “People whose reputations should not be in shatters because of her.”

  “People like Mrs. Fairfax?”

  Dorothea looked at Lucy as if she was an idiot. “No!” She shivered. “Although she should leave Kurland St. Mary as fast as she can.”

  “Why?”

  “Because my mother loved to meddle in other people’s lives. I’m going to destroy her correspondence so that no one will be able to read her untruths anymore.”

  Lucy fixed Dorothea with her most quelling stare. “You will not burn another thing. Your sister needs to make sure that all your mother’s acquaintances are notified of her death. If you destroy those letters, she will not be able to perform this task.”

  Dorothea made no effort to put the letters down, and Lucy stood up.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Dorothea. There is nothing here than can harm anyone now.”

  Tears shone in Dorothea’s blue eyes as Lucy advanced toward her. “What if I promise to burn everything that your sister doesn’t want to keep after the funeral? Would you trust me to do that?” Lucy offered. She didn’t want Dorothea destroying anything more.

  “I suppose so.” Dorothea didn’t look convinced, but as Lucy had suspected, she was too young to have acquired the necessary will to disobey an older woman in a position of authority.

  Dorothea let go of the now crumpled letters and placed them back on the desk.

  “Thank you,” Lucy said. “You have made a very wise decision. I will destroy everything as soon as your sister is done with it.” She moved past Dorothea and spent a few moments straightening out the papers and returning them to Mrs. Chingford’s traveling writing case

  “Please don’t tell Penelope about this.”

  “I won’t say a word.”

  Dorothea took out a handkerchief and wiped her eyes before turning to the door.

  “Why do you think Mrs. Fairfax should leave before the funeral?” Lucy asked.

  “Because she is in danger.”

  “From whom?”

  “Whom do you think?” Dorothea’s sneer was unmistakable as she slammed out of the room, rattling the door on its hinges.

  “I don’t know. I do wish I understood what was going on.” Lucy spoke to the empty room. Was Dorothea worried that her dead mother had stirred up trouble for Mrs. Fairfax? Or was it far simpler, and Dorothea wanted the widow out of the way for her own reasons? Had Mrs. Fairfax witnessed the argument between mother and daughter and perhaps seen the fateful push? That would make the most sense.

  Lucy glanced at the clock and then sat down at the desk to go through Mrs. Chingford’s remaining correspondence more carefully. She had at least half an hour before she was due to leave on her outing with Major Kurland and his guests. She would certainly make the most of it.

  Chapter 8

  “Where you looking for something earlier, sir?”

  Robert looked up as his valet, Silas Smith, appeared in the doorway with a jug of hot water and placed it beside the shaving stand.

  “Like what?”

  “I’m not sure.” Silas put a warm folded towel beside the basin. “Everything on your dressing table and desk was in a muddle, as if you’d been searching for something.”

  Robert stopped unbuttoning his waistcoat. “I haven’t been up here since before breakfast.”

  “Then I wonder who it was.” Silas frowned. “I suppose it could’ve been Mr. Foley or one of the new maids, but you’d think they’d come and ask me first.”

  “You would indeed.”

  Robert felt inside his waistcoat pocket and produced the broken locket Miss Harrington had given him. He weighed it in his palm. Had someone been after the locket? On a normal day he would probably change into riding dress after breakfast in preparation for going out to manage the estate. This morning he had been closeted with Thomas and then dealt with his farm manager and balanced his accounting books. There had been no need for him to change, especially as he’d have to do it all over again before the afternoon excursion.

  “Silas.”

  “Yes, Major?”

  “Make sure you lock my door if I’m not in here, will you?”

  “Do you think we have a thief, sir?”

  “I’m not sure. You might care to check and see if anything has been taken.”

  “I’ll do that immediately.” Silas hesitated. “Do you want me to inform Mr. Foley?”

  “Good God, no. Don’t tell him, or else he’ll set everyone into a flutter.”

  He just caught Silas’s grin before he smothered it. “As you wish, Major.”

  After he’d washed and donned buckskin breeches, tall boots, and a wool coat suitable for a typical, cloudy English spring day, Robert picked up his caped driving coat and headed down the stairs. If he were to make a guess, he’d have to assume that someone wanted that locket back.

  The trouble was, it could be anyone. His rooms weren’t guarded or locked, and there were numerous staircases and passages for someone to traverse to avoid detection by him or the household staff. What it did suggest was that the locket was important. He’d tucked it back in his waistcoat pocket for safety. If it came down to it, he was quite prepared to use it to lure the owner out of hiding.

  He looked down from the top of the stairs to ascertain who awaited him in the hall below. Mrs. Fairfax was present with Thomas, as were Mrs. Green and Miss Stanford. Most of his other guests had declined his invitation or were getting ready to leave Kurland Hall. Mrs. Chingford’s funeral was less than two weeks away, and then all opportunities to discover if she had been deliberately killed would be at an end.

  Robert pulled on his gloves and came carefully down the stairs, using his cane. If nothing came of Miss Harrington’s attempt to speak to Mrs. Fairfax, he would lay his own plans to catch a murderer, using the locket as bait. It was time to resolve this matter and move on. If he could do it without placing Miss Harrington in danger, he would be greatly relieved.

  Two carriages arrived on the circular drive in front of the rectory, and Lucy shepherded her charges out of the house. George, the curate, helped Miss Chingford into the second carriage, where Miss Stanford and Mrs. Green were already seated. Lucy found herself sitting with Major Kurland and the Fairfaxes, which suited her purpose admirably.

  The widow was swathed in black veils and, despite Lucy’s best efforts to engage her in conversation, hardly spoke above a
whisper during the journey. Major Kurland and Mr. Fairfax conferred about farming matters involving the expansion of the dairy herd, which was hardly something Lucy could contribute to, so she spent most of the time looking out the window at the tall hedges and patchwork fields.

  When they arrived in Saffron Walden, it was market day and the carriages were forced to drop their respective passengers at the Sun Inn, amongst a gaggle of visitors and farmers from the surrounding villages. Major Kurland invited everyone inside to partake of a luncheon in the private parlor he had reserved for the duration of the visit.

  Lucy looked up at him as he escorted her through the door. “What an excellent plan to reserve a parlor.”

  “It was Thomas’s idea. He is very efficient.”

  “Thank goodness for that.” Lucy entered the warm low-beamed room and untied the ribbons of her bonnet. “I have discovered more information from Mrs. Chingford’s correspondence.”

  “About what?”

  “The woman she wrote to is definitely called Madge.” She hesitated. “The only thing is that there appear to be three Madges she wrote to regularly.” She handed him a scrap of paper on which she’d copied the names and addresses.

  The major snorted as he folded it up and put it in his waistcoat pocket. “Typical. What do you propose to do about them?”

  “I intend to write to all three, but two of them live within twenty or so miles of Kurland St. Mary. It might be worth paying them a visit to inform them of Mrs. Chingford’s demise.”

  “That’s an excellent idea. We can discuss it when we return to Kurland Hall.”

  The rest of the party came into the parlor, and Lucy excused herself from the major. Mrs. Fairfax lifted her veil and sank into a chair by the fire. Lucy immediately went over to her and took the seat opposite.

  “May I fetch you some refreshment, ma’am?”

  The widow jumped as if Lucy had stabbed her. “Oh! No thank you, Miss Harrington. I couldn’t eat a thing.”

  “A warm drink, then, perhaps? You must attempt to keep your strength up, Mrs. Fairfax. Think of your little boy and the stresses of your journey home.”

  Mrs. Fairfax shuddered as Lucy continued speaking. “Have you heard how your son is faring in your absence? He is probably missing you terribly. Having a good nurse must make all the difference when you leave a child at home.” She paused. “I understand that the nurse you employ used to be with Mrs. Chingford. What an interesting coincidence.”

  “Who told you that?” Mrs. Fairfax whispered. “It isn’t true.”

  “I believe Mrs. Chingford mentioned it.” Lucy pretended to frown. “But perhaps I was mistaken.”

  “She was mistaken.”

  “If you say so, ma’am.” Lucy rose to her feet. “I assumed that’s what you and Mrs. Chingford were arguing about at the wedding. She could be remarkably persistent when she wanted to make her point.”

  “We were not arguing! I barely spoke to the woman.” The widow’s voice rose on each word and became tinged with hysteria. “The only people I remember arguing with Mrs. Chingford were Miss Stanford and her own daughter Dorothea, who was most upset about her impending marriage to your father.”

  “Miss Harrington?”

  Lucy turned around to find Major Kurland and Mr. Fairfax at her side. The major was frowning, and Mr. Fairfax looked rather bemused. She accepted the major’s hand to rise and brushed down her pelisse.

  “I was just asking Mrs. Fairfax if she wanted some refreshment. You did say that you had ordered a luncheon for us, didn’t you, Major?”

  “Indeed I did.”

  He took her elbow in a firm grip, and she was steered away from Mrs. Fairfax to the other side of the room.

  “What were you thinking, Miss Harrington?” Major Kurland demanded. “It looked as if you were bullying the poor woman. I thought you intended to be discreet.”

  “I asked her only if she shared a nurse with Mrs. Chingford. Her overwrought reaction to my question was hardly to be expected.”

  “She is a recent widow!” He sighed. “I told you to let me deal with her.”

  “Because you are so good with the delicate sensibilities of widows?”

  “I am apparently better at it than you are. At least I’ve never made her cry.”

  Lucy glanced over her shoulder, where Mrs. Fairfax was ostentatiously dabbing at her eyes with a black lace handkerchief.

  “She cries at everything. I didn’t get the opportunity to ask her if she’d seen Dorothea near her mother, although I suppose she intimated that was the case by suggesting Miss Stanford and Dorothea had pursued Mrs. Chingford and were continuing their arguments with her. Although, how could she know that if she wasn’t there herself?” Lucy looked up at Major Kurland. “Perhaps I should let you talk to her.”

  “Perhaps you should.” He turned to the spread of food on the table and loaded a plate with a few small, tempting morsels. “I’ll try to coax her out of her sullens.”

  Lucy surveyed the food, and her stomach grumbled. She helped herself to a large slice of mutton pie and some pickled eggs and retired to sit beside Miss Stanford, who was hardly eating anything at all.

  “Miss Harrington.”

  “Yes, Miss Stanford?”

  “I overheard your conversation with Mrs. Fairfax.”

  Inwardly Lucy winced. “I suspect everyone did.”

  “She did see me.”

  Lucy stopped eating to stare at her companion. “I beg your pardon?”

  “At the wedding. I went up the main staircase to help Sophia, and then I doubled back to see if I could find Mrs. Chingford.” She swallowed hard. “I’m not proud of that, but I was so consumed with anger over her cavalier attitude to my brother’s future career that I could hardly think.”

  “I understand that Mrs. Chingford also suggested that your fiancé was not all that he seemed.”

  “That’s correct. She had designs on him herself and resented me horribly for winning his heart. Unfortunately, her fury at our engagement led her to start questioning his reputation.”

  “I believe she suggested he was a confirmed gambler.” Lucy paused. “That must have been very difficult for you.”

  “He . . . he has changed. I know that every woman says that about the man she loves, but he truly has grown up and has learned to face his responsibilities. I fear that if his reputation is called into question again, he might stop trying.” Miss Stanford drew an unsteady breath. “I couldn’t bear to see him lose hope again.”

  Mrs. Green came to sit on the other side of Miss Stanford, and Lucy left them to talk as she considered what she had learned from her conversations. Mrs. Fairfax was impossible to speak with, and Miss Stanford continued to suggest that her emotions had led her toward making a fatal mistake. But would she ever confess? She was so consumed with protecting her brother’s and her fiancé’s reputations that it was highly unlikely that she would want to mire her own.

  Lucy withdrew her shopping list from her reticule and consulted it. She had a horrible suspicion that Mrs. Fairfax wouldn’t seek her company for the remainder of the day, which at least left her free to pursue her own needs.

  Miss Stanford, Mrs. Green, and Penelope were more than willing to accompany her around the shops and the market in the square. George offered to guide them through St. Mary’s Church, which, he proudly proclaimed, was the largest church in the county of Essex.

  Mr. Fairfax looked over at Major Kurland, his smile resigned. “I think Mrs. Fairfax would prefer to stroll quietly down by the river. We will meet you in the church or back here at the inn, ready for our return journey.” He hesitated. “If that is acceptable to you, sir?”

  The major inclined his head. “Indeed. I am more than happy to escort the rest of the ladies through town.” Lucy raised an eyebrow at that, but he ignored her. “Perhaps we should agree to meet back here at three for the trip home.”

  “Yes, Major.”

  Lucy put her plate back on the table and strolled over to Major K
urland with a sympathetic smile.

  “What, Miss Harrington?”

  “It seems that neither of us will get the opportunity to converse with the widow.”

  He sighed. “She was remarkably resistant to my charms. I learned nothing except that she can cry quite beautifully without ruining her complexion.”

  “Then she is very lucky, indeed. As you know, it is a skill I do not possess.” Lucy gathered up her possessions, put her bonnet back on, and produced her list. “The first place I simply must visit is Prynne’s Haberdashery.”

  Major Kurland groaned and offered her his arm. “I can’t wait.”

  With the addition of all the shopping, the carriage was packed to the gunnels for the return journey. Lucy’s feet rested on numerous bulky packages, and several more were stashed under the seat. Major Kurland seemed resigned to being squashed into his corner, and Mr. Fairfax and the widow were separated by a large basket containing more precious foodstuffs on the seat between them.

  Lucy hid a yawn behind her gloved hand as she watched the sun set over the green fields. They might not have learned much about Mrs. Chingford’s death, but it had been a most satisfying day in other ways. She noticed Major Kurland was surreptitiously rubbing his left knee, and she had a moment of compunction for dragging him around every single shop in Saffron Walden.

  She slid the largest brown paper parcel toward him with the side of her foot. “Rest your heel on this, Major. It is just skeins of darning wool, so you cannot damage anything.”

  “Thank you.”

  The fact that he didn’t argue made her realize he must truly be in pain. She knew better than to mention it. At least the drive was almost over. Her eyes half closed, and she found herself leaning toward the comfort of the major’s broad shoulder. Mrs. Fairfax also appeared to be sleeping. With a resigned shrug, Mr. Fairfax moved the basket out of the way and allowed the widow to curl up against his side.

  Lucy wished that Major Kurland would do the same for her. . . . She’d already experienced the felicity of being pressed against his chest once before, and she hadn’t disliked it at all. Lucy sat bolt upright, her hands twisted in her lap.