Death Comes to Kurland Hall

by Catherine Lloyd

  Lucy turned to look at the major, who was watching Mr. Fairfax carefully. He continued speaking.

  “We could say that Mrs. Fairfax died due to unexpected complications from the carriage accident. It would be better for her son if her legacy was untainted by other matters.”

  Mr. Fairfax drew in a long shuddering breath. “That is true. But what of the Chingfords? Aren’t they entitled to the truth? It sounds as if Mrs. Fairfax inadvertently killed their mother.”

  “I ask you again, what good will it do to tell them?” Major Kurland shrugged. “Mrs. Chingford is still dead, and for all intents and purposes, her death was seen as a tragic accident. It still is a tragic accident. I’m sure even if Mrs. Fairfax was guilty of pushing her down the stairs, she never intended to kill her.”

  Silence fell in the bedchamber, and Lucy moved to stand next to Major Kurland’s chair.

  “I suppose you are right, Major. There’s nothing I can do to fix this, is there?” Mr. Fairfax made a hopeless gesture. “The only thing we can do is save what we can for my half brother and leave the Chingford ladies to mourn in peace.”

  Lucy cleared her throat. “I will tell the Chingfords and my father what has happened to Mrs. Fairfax. There is no need for you to be involved, Mr. Fairfax.”

  “Thank you, Miss Harrington.” He bowed to her. “And thank you, Major Kurland and Dr. Fletcher, for your Christian charity in this matter.”

  “I’ll arrange with Foley for the body to be sent to my house, and I’ll speak to the undertaker.” Dr. Fletcher moved toward the door. “I assume you will take her back home to be buried?”

  “I suppose I should. There is a family plot.” Mr. Fairfax shoved a hand through his hair. “I’ll contact her man of business and send a message through to Fairfax Park.”

  “Do what you need to do and don’t worry about your work here,” Major Kurland said. “I understand that your circumstances have changed considerably and that you might need to return home to manage your half brother’s estate.”

  “That rather depends on what Mrs. Fairfax put in her will. I’m not convinced she would appoint me as a guardian. The best thing I can do is write to her solicitor in London. Perhaps, if you permit it, sir, he might come to Kurland Hall to discuss what will happen with the estate.” Mr. Fairfax hesitated. “I would appreciate your help with this. I admit to feeling rather overwhelmed.”

  “That’s understandable. Please invite the solicitor here. I would be more than happy to stand your friend in this matter.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Major Kurland nodded. “Then may I suggest you make a start on those letters? Tell Coleman to send them out posthaste.”

  Mr. Fairfax started for the door and paused beside the major’s chair. “I can’t adequately express my gratitude to you, Major Kurland, but—”

  Major Kurland waved him onward. “Get along with you. Come and report back to me when the letters have gone out.”

  The room fell quiet as Mr. Fairfax and the doctor left. Lucy remained, with one hand on the back of the major’s chair.

  “Well, what is it now, Miss Harrington? I can almost hear you thinking.”

  “I find it difficult to believe that you are willing to let this matter go—to prevent the Chingfords from ever really knowing what happened to their mother.” She studied his set features. “It isn’t like you.”

  “To accept that I can’t change anything?” He snorted. “Death is rarely expected or comfortable, Miss Harrington. I learned that during the war. When I had to write letters of condolence to the families of my men who died, I didn’t mention how they died, because it was rarely heroically or bravely. Sometimes they died of disease or were killed by their own incompetence or by our allies. They were still dead, and all their relatives needed to know was that they died bravely on the field of battle for their King and country.”

  He looked up at Lucy, his blue gaze clear. “What good would it do to tell Miss Chingford who was responsible for pushing her mother down the stairs? Mrs. Chingford is still dead.”

  Lucy nodded. “I suppose that is the end of it, then. We know what happened to Mrs. Chingford, and we know that Mrs. Fairfax took her own life.” She looked over at the bed. “She looks so perfect in death, doesn’t she?”

  “Almost as if someone had come in and laid her out like that.”

  “Exactly.”

  They both contemplated the body for another moment.

  “The thing is . . . ,” Lucy said tentatively.

  “What now?”

  “We still don’t know what Mrs. Chingford said to anger Mrs. Fairfax enough to push her down the stairs and kill her.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “I suppose not.” Lucy heaved another sigh. “I just hate these loose ends.” She tentatively patted Major Kurland’s shoulder. “You will ask Dr. Fletcher to take a look at your leg before he leaves, won’t you?”

  “I damn well will not.” He shrugged off her hand and slowly and painfully stood up. “I am perfectly fine.”

  “You are not if you need James to help you up and down the stairs.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “If you wanted the opportunity to continue to nag me, Miss Harrington, you should’ve accepted my offer to become my wife. As it is, my condition is no longer any of your concern.”

  She raised her chin at him. “And now I know that you really are in pain. Your language and your behavior toward me always become intolerably rude.” She swept him a grand curtsy. “Good morning, Major. I am going back to the rectory to share the news of Mrs. Fairfax’s death. I promise you I will not utter another word on the subject of your obviously damaged leg!”

  She opened the door and beckoned to James, who was standing against the wall. “Major Kurland is ready to be helped downstairs now.”

  “Yes, Miss Harrington.”

  She cast one last dark look over her shoulder and was given a scowl in return. “Good day, Major Kurland.”

  She went down the staircase and had a quick word with the doctor before taking charge of the horse and trap and driving back to the rectory. As she maneuvered down the drive, she considered what she would say to the Chingfords. Luckily, as the daughter of the rector, she was skilled in delivering bad news. She agreed with Major Kurland that throwing blame around for Mrs. Chingford’s death was not beneficial to anyone, but she still didn’t like to lie, even by omission.

  And, if she was honest with herself, she desperately wanted to know why Mrs. Fairfax has pushed Mrs. Chingford down the stairs. She pulled the gig up to the rear of the rectory and handed the reins over to the stable hand. There was another carriage parked on the drive, which she didn’t recognize. Brushing the dust off her skirts, she walked through the house to the back parlor and found her father sitting with Miss Stanford, Miss Chingford, and an unknown man with black hair and a somewhat strained appearance.

  Her father turned to her, his expression cold. “Lucy, Miss Stanford brought her fiancé to pay his respects to Miss Chingford. I’m sure you will make him welcome.” He bowed. “Please excuse me. I have a sermon to write.”

  Lucy gazed inquiringly at Miss Stanford, who placed her hand on the unknown gentleman’s sleeve. “Miss Harrington, may I introduce Mr. Reading?”

  “Enchanted, Miss Harrington.” Mr. Reading bowed. “I wish my visit was being made under happier circumstances, but I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” He glanced around the room. “I haven’t been in Kurland St. Mary for many years. I seem to remember the rectory as a far older building.”

  “My father rebuilt the house about ten years ago.” Lucy gestured at him to take a seat. “Did you spend much time in the village, sir?”

  “Not much.” Mr. Reading smiled. “I am sad to be here in such circumstances, but I wished to support my dear Miss Stanford and hastened to her side when she wrote to tell me of the tragedy.”

  Miss Chingford snorted, and Lucy turned to look at her. “Is there something wrong, Miss Chingford?”

&nb
sp; “No, not at all. I am just surprised to see Mr. Reading here. He once offered to marry my mother, when he thought she was wealthier than she actually was.”

  Miss Stanford straightened in her seat. “That isn’t true. Paul explained it all to me. I do not wish to speak ill of the dead, but it was your mother who was doing all the pursuing.”

  Lucy moved between the two women. “Did my father ring for some tea? Perhaps I should—”

  “I do beg your pardon if I have offended you, Miss Chingford, but I understood that your mother had become engaged to the rector here.” Mr. Reading looked bewildered. “Is that not true?”

  “She did it to make you jealous.” Miss Chingford glared at Mr. Reading. “Much good it would’ve done her. It was obvious to everyone that you were committed to Miss Stanford.”

  “Thank you for your understanding, Miss Chingford.” Mr. Reading inclined his head.

  “But only because she is far wealthier than my mother,” Miss Chingford added.

  Miss Stanford shot to her feet. “Paul came to offer you his condolences! How can you treat him so abominably?”

  “I’m just being truthful.” Penelope raised her chin.

  “Like your mother was? Why do you think she ended up dead?” Miss Stanford gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. “Do forgive me. That was an unpardonable thing to say.”

  Mr. Reading put his hand on her shoulder. “Perhaps we should go. Thank you for your hospitality, Miss Harrington. I apologize for any distress I might have caused. Please believe me that it was unintentional.”

  Lucy could only watch helplessly as Mr. Reading escorted a white-faced Miss Stanford out the front door of the rectory. She assumed they would return to Kurland Hall, where Major Kurland could share the news of Mrs. Fairfax’s untimely death. It was her duty to tell the Chingford sisters and her father.

  She returned from seeing the couple out to find Penelope sitting in the back parlor, helping herself to a cup of tea.

  “You were remarkably rude to Miss Stanford and Mr. Reading,” Lucy said.

  “I’m allowed to be rude. I’m in mourning, and Miss Stanford is a fool if she thinks that man is truly in love with her. He is a scoundrel and a rake.”

  “He might well be, but surely that is for Miss Stanford to discover for herself.”

  Penelope’s shoulders slumped. “I suppose you are right. She is in love with him and cannot see his faults. That’s why you should never be in love with the man you intend to marry. It clouds your judgment.”

  Unwilling to become involved in a discussion about matrimony with Major Kurland’s ex-fiancée, Lucy focused on her own agenda. “Is Dorothea awake? I have some news from Kurland Hall.”

  “I will go and fetch her if it is important.” Penelope stood up.

  “I would appreciate that. I will tell my father and then will come back to you.” Lucy turned and went down the corridor to her father’s study. Just as she reached the door, George came out with a pile of papers clutched to his chest.

  “Good morning, Miss Harrington!” He smiled brightly and pushed the door open wide to allow her to get past him. “Is Miss Chingford in the parlor?”

  “She is, George, but—”

  He departed with some alacrity.

  She turned to her father, who sat behind his desk. “Is George enamored of Miss Chingford, Father? He seems remarkably keen to speak to her.”

  “I have no idea.” Her father wasn’t smiling. “Is there something you want, Lucy? I am rather busy today.”

  “I have some bad news from Kurland Hall. Mrs. Fairfax died last night.”

  “Mrs. Fairfax? The young widow?” He frowned. “I had no idea she was ill.”

  “She wasn’t. It seems as if she inadvertently took too much laudanum. Dr. Fletcher believes she might have injured her head more badly than we realized in the carriage accident yesterday.”

  “Dear God, what a tragedy.” He shook his head. “Should I send George to the manor to say a prayer over the body?”

  “I don’t think that is necessary. I believe she is being laid out in Dr. Fletcher’s house and will be transported back to her home for burial in the family plot.”

  “Well, thank goodness for that.” He sat back in his chair. “I was dreading having to perform another funeral.”

  “Father.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that, Lucy, although it would be rather inconvenient for me to have to devote more hours away from my horses. I meant that it would be difficult to bury another young woman who reminded me of your mother.”

  Lucy briefly closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, Father. It must be a very difficult time for you, especially as you intended to marry Mrs. Chingford.”

  “And find myself conducting a burial service rather than a wedding.” He grimaced. “That man who came here today . . .”

  “Mr. Reading?”

  “Yes. Mrs. Chingford mentioned him to me on the day of the Stanford wedding. She was annoyed with me for announcing our engagement without consulting her.” He met Lucy’s gaze. “I gained the impression that she wished to use my marriage proposal as a threat to inspire Mr. Reading to abandon Miss Stanford and marry her instead.”

  “She told you that herself?”

  “I don’t think she truly wished to marry me, after all, Lucy.” His smile was rueful. “I can’t help but feel a somewhat unchristian sense of relief that she died so tragically before I had to honor my promise.”

  “Under the circumstances, that is perfectly understandable, Father,” Lucy said firmly. “She didn’t deserve you. Now I have to go and inform the Chingford sisters about Mrs. Fairfax’s death, so I shall leave you in peace.”

  She was already at the door when he spoke again.

  “Thank you, Lucy.”

  “For what, sir?”

  “For not telling me what a fool I’ve been.”

  She left the room and headed for the parlor, her mind whirling as the implications of the morning’s events turned in her head. Two tragedies had occurred that, in her opinion, could and should have been avoided. How likely was it for two perfectly healthy women to die within days of each other in the same small village? There had to be more to it than blind bad luck.

  Lucy entered the parlor to find Dorothea sitting beside Penelope on the couch. She still looked disheveled, but at least she wasn’t weeping.

  “Did George find you, Penelope?” Lucy asked.

  “He did. I offered to read over his Sunday sermon for him.” Penelope smiled complacently. “He appreciates my insights.”

  “It is very kind of you to help him. He is still rather self-conscious about speaking in public and finds giving a sermon quite impossible.” Lucy sat down and took a deep breath. “I regret to tell you that I have more bad news to share. Mrs. Fairfax died last night.”

  Dorothea gave a gasp. “Oh, no. That’s not possible. She—” With a shudder, she got to her feet and ran for the door, her skirts clutched in one hand.

  “Oh, good gracious, that girl!” Penelope half rose. “What is wrong with her now?” The front door slammed, and they both flinched. “I suppose she’ll come back when she’s finished crying.” Penelope rearranged her skirts and turned her attention back to Lucy. “What exactly happened to Mrs. Fairfax?”

  “Dr. Fletcher thinks she might have been more affected by the carriage accident than we realized, and suffered from such a severe headache that she took too much laudanum to stop the pain and accidently killed herself.”

  “How terrible. She had a young son, didn’t she?”

  “Yes. I should imagine Mr. Fairfax will have to leave Kurland Hall now and deal with his family’s affairs. Major Kurland will miss him if he chooses not to return.”

  “And what about you? Will you miss him?”

  “Mr. Fairfax?”

  “I’ve seen how he looks at you.”

  “I like him. He is intelligent, hardworking, and makes dealing with Major Kurland look easy. But that is the extent of my interest in him
.”

  “Because you are still waiting for Major Kurland to notice you himself.”

  Lucy scowled at Penelope. “For goodness’ sake, will you let that particular bone go? Major Kurland is not for me.”

  “My mother told me he proposed to you and you turned him down. Is that true?”

  “Your mother, God rest her soul, was an extremely indiscreet woman.” Lucy rose and started putting teacups and saucers back on the tray. “I must take this back to the kitchen.”

  Penelope stood, too, a small smile playing on her lips. “He did propose, didn’t he? Why on earth didn’t you accept him?”

  Lucy picked up the tray. “That is my business, Miss Chingford. Not yours.”

  “Take care, Miss Harrington. If you keep turning away husbands you might find yourself in my position one day, desperate to marry anyone.”

  “I hope I never feel that desperate.”

  “Because you feel safe here?” Penelope gestured at the cozy sitting room. “Your father obviously wants to get married again if he considered marrying my mother. You will be replaced. Don’t ever doubt it.”

  “Then I hope one of my siblings will invite me to live with them.”

  “So you can become a favorite aunt?” Penelope snorted. “You will have no power. You are far too managing to stand for that.”

  Turning her back on her companion, Lucy marched away to the safety of the kitchen. She had enough questions to answer without complicating matters by worrying about her potential future. She wouldn’t allow herself to believe what Penelope was predicting. Whether her father chose to marry again or not, she would never put herself in a position where she had no choice but to accept a proposal of marriage. She would rather be an old maid than end up under the thumb of a man she couldn’t love and respect.

  Drawing a deep breath, Lucy started up the stairs. She had a decision to make—either she let the unanswered questions about the two deaths go or she embraced her fate and sought justice.

  Chapter 10