“You can’t possibly be considering going out there yourself?”
He glanced down at his cane. “Of course not. I bloody well can’t, can I? After you’ve found Foley, come back and see if you can revive the nurse. I’ve already sent for Broughton.”
Lucy forced her trembling limbs to obey and ran to do his bidding.
Robert contemplated the open window and the hunched figure to the right of it. During the war he’d gained a lot of experience in how to talk to frightened young men. Boys who were afraid to go into battle for the first time, or soldiers who couldn’t bear the thought of being in the middle of such senseless slaughter again. Usually a dose of calm good sense won the day. He could only hope his skills hadn’t deserted him. . . .
He set a pillow on the window ledge and sat sideways on it, favoring his injured leg. The chill of the wind gusted through his hair, but it was a mere nothing to the winters he’d faced in Spain. He leaned out as far as he could and contemplated the hunched figure.
“Oliver?”
There was no response.
“It’s Major Kurland. Do you wish to return to your bed now? It is getting rather cold out here.”
He tensed as Oliver slowly turned his head toward him. His eyes glittered black and his complexion was flushed. He wore a white nightshirt and his arms were wrapped around his knees, which were drawn up tightly against his chest. Robert judged the ledge to be less than two feet wide.
“Are you in pain? Can I get someone to help you? I’m sure Dr. Redmond could give you something to make you feel better.”
“No more potions. Can’t trust him!” Oliver muttered. “Can’t trust anyone. Think he’s trying to kill me.”
“You’re obviously not well, Oliver; perhaps you should come back to bed. I can call my own physician if you prefer.”
Oliver shuddered so violently that Robert instinctively reached for him before stilling the motion. He doubted that even with his arm extended to the fullest he could get hold of Oliver’s shirt, let alone something tangible like his elbow.
“I’m sure we can sort this out. Why don’t you come back in and we can discuss it in a more reasonable manner?”
“No, I’m not going back in there! Broughton thinks I killed the old lady, but I didn’t. I wanted to and I’m glad that she’s dead, but I didn’t kill her.”
“If you say so, I’m sure you are right.”
Oliver licked his parched lips. “You believe me?”
Robert held his gaze. “I’m willing to try.”
“No, you’re his friend, you believe all his lies.” His gaze dropped lower. “No! They’re both coming back!”
Robert looked down, too, and saw the top of a hackney cab from which Broughton and Dr. Redmond were emerging. Broughton looked up, his face white, and Oliver screamed and tried to press himself back against the unforgiving wall, his fingers scrabbling against the brickwork.
Robert leaned out even farther. “Oliver, look at me, don’t—” Just as his fingers brushed frantically against Oliver’s shirt, the boy jumped.
“God, no!” Robert closed his eyes as the sickening crunch of a body hitting the cobbled street below reached him. For a moment he thought he might vomit but managed to control himself and finally look down.
Oliver’s body lay at an unnatural angle on the ground and even from his viewpoint, Robert could see the bright red of his blood draining away through the cobblestones and into the gutter. Several figures were running toward Oliver, including Dr. Redmond, who crouched down beside the body and immediately shook his head. He remained kneeling, his frantic hands feeling over Oliver’s torso as if desperately seeking a heartbeat that was no longer there.
“What happened?”
Robert turned to face Miss Harrington, who had just come back into the room.
“I couldn’t stop him.”
She raised her fingers to her mouth. “Oliver’s dead?”
“Don’t look.” He nodded as he eased away from the window and found his cane. “How is the nurse?”
Miss Harrington swallowed hard. “She has a bump on her head. She thinks Oliver must have hit her when her back was turned.”
“Does she remember what happened just before that?” Robert’s gaze fell on the bedside table where an empty glass and spoon stood beside a black bottle.
“She was giving Oliver his medicine and waiting for the maid to bring up his dinner.”
Robert picked up the bottle and after checking that the cork was firmly in place, put the bottle in his pocket.
“What are you—?”
He put a finger to his lips. “I’ll explain later. Miss Harrington, you need to remove yourself from this room. In truth, I don’t want Broughton or Dr. Redmond knowing you were here at all.”
Chapter 14
“Oh, the poor lady, to lose her mother-in-law and her youngest son within such a few days.” Mrs. Hathaway wiped her eyes with her lace handkerchief as Sophia patted her hand.
Lucy could only nod as she tried not to think of what had happened to Oliver. At Broughton House, she’d slipped back into the morning room and had sat quietly, gathering her shattered nerves until Lieutenant Broughton had burst into the room, awakening his mother, and told them both the bad news.
The countess had indeed been inconsolable. So much so that Lucy had helped her up the stairs, watching very carefully as a pale Dr. Redmond dosed her with laudanum and put her to bed. There had been no sign of Major Kurland, who she assumed had answered Broughton as to his part in the tragedy and gone back to his room. Why had he taken the medicine bottle from beside Oliver’s bed? What further horrors was he imagining?
A knock on the door heralded the arrival of the butler, who bowed to Mrs. Hathaway.
“Ma’am, there is a man in the kitchens who says he was sent here by a Major Kurland to await further orders. Do you know of this person, or should I eject him from the house?”
Lucy looked up. “It might be a messenger from Kurland St. Mary who doesn’t know that the major moved into the Broughtons’ house. Did he give you his name?”
“Silas Smith, Miss Harrington.”
Lucy touched Mrs. Hathaway’s shoulder. “If you permit, ma’am, I’ll speak to this man and ascertain what he wants. If he does have a message for the major, it might be better to keep him with us this evening rather than send him over to the Broughtons.”
“That’s an excellent thought, Lucy. We don’t want to put them to any more trouble.” Mrs. Hathaway blew her nose twice. “I think I’ll take myself off to bed. It’s been a horrible day.”
“Then I’ll go and speak to him, shall I? And if the matter is truly urgent, I’ll send a message around to Major Kurland and ask him if he is well enough to meet Mr. Smith here.”
After bidding Mrs. Hathaway a fond good night and promising to come back and speak to Sophia before she, too, went to bed, Lucy went down to the kitchens and was taken into the butler’s pantry.
“Mr. Smith?”
The young man who stood up wasn’t one she remembered from the village.
He doffed his hat. “It’s Miss Harrington, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I understand that you are looking for Major Kurland. He’s not at Fenton’s at the moment. He moved into a friend’s house.”
“I know where he is, Miss Harrington. That’s why he told me to come here.” He straightened his spine. “I can’t show my face at Broughton House. I was dismissed by Lieutenant Broughton without a reference for aiding Mr. Oliver.”
“Oh good gracious, I remember now. You were Oliver’s manservant, weren’t you?”
“Yes, Miss Harrington. Just after I was dismissed, Major Kurland asked me to take a message to his land agent and return with the reply. He thought it best if I came here.”
She studied him for a long moment. “I’ll send a message to Major Kurland telling him you have arrived. I’m sure he’ll come immediately. Have you had your dinner yet?”
Robert alighted carefully from the hackney cab and threw the
driver a coin before mounting the steps to the door of the rented house the Hathaways had retained for the Season. Within a few moments, he was taken in to the drawing room where Miss Harrington and her friend Mrs. Giffin awaited him.
After inquiring about Miss Anna and Mrs. Hathaway and murmuring some general replies to Mrs. Giffin’s anxious questions about the state of the Broughton family, he became aware that Miss Harrington was not her usual self. Despite several attempts to engage her interest, she simply stared into the fire and nodded absently at all his remarks.
Eventually, to avoid spending the whole evening talking around the painful topic of Oliver, Robert was forced to ask the question outright. “I understand there is a messenger awaiting me here?”
“Oh yes, that’s right!” Miss Harrington jumped. “If you’ll excuse me, Sophia, I’ll take Major Kurland down to the kitchens.”
Sophia smiled at them both. “I was just thinking about going to bed, actually.”
There was a knock on the door and the butler appeared again. “I apologize for interrupting you again, but a Mr. Stanford has arrived. He seems to think he was invited for dinner.”
Sophia jumped to her feet. “Good gracious! I completely forgot that Mother and I asked Mr. Stanford to come for dinner tonight! I must see him and explain.”
Robert bowed. “And while you do that, I’ll go down and speak to my man. A pleasure, Mrs. Giffin, as always.”
He headed for the door and Miss Harrington followed him. They passed Andrew Stanford coming up the stairs with the butler. He raised his eyebrows at Robert in a quizzical fashion, but thankfully didn’t ask any awkward questions. Robert wondered if Miss Harrington would prefer to be back in the drawing room with Andrew. She gave no sign of it; her expression was distracted as she silently paced alongside him.
Had she seen more than he’d thought that afternoon? Was her mind busy playing those gruesome seconds of Oliver’s jump from the ledge over and over again as his was? He knew that if he managed to sleep he would face a night full of horrors as he saw Oliver’s terrified face the second before he’d leaped into the air. . . .
“I didn’t tell Silas Smith about what happened to Oliver this afternoon.”
Miss Harrington had stopped outside one of the doors in the dimly lit servants’ quarters.
“That was remarkably sensible of you.”
“It was more that I am a coward. I thought you would do a better job of it.”
“I’ve had to tell many people that their loved ones are dead. It doesn’t get any easier.”
In the semidarkness, her hand fleetingly came to rest on his chest. “Then I apologize for expecting you to deal with such a loathsome task. I’ll tell him myself.”
“There’s no need. You’ve been remarkably brave all day, Miss Harrington.” He turned the door handle and went into the upper servants’ sitting room. Smith sat at the table, finishing what looked like the remains of a large meal. He stood up when he saw Robert and wiped his mouth with his napkin.
“Major Kurland. Good evening, sir.”
Robert gestured for him to sit back down and after setting a chair for Miss Harrington, he sat opposite Smith.
“I have a letter for you from Mr. Fairfax, Major, but he also said to tell you that he is quite content to stay on until you return.”
“Thank you.” Robert took the letter and placed it on the table in front of him. “How did you find the manor house and the countryside around it?”
“I liked it well enough, sir. The soil looks better than that my family farm up north and the climate’s a bit warmer.”
“You still intend to return to farming?”
Smith shrugged. “It’s not as if I have a choice, is it? Without a reference no one is going to take me on as a manservant, let alone an aspiring valet now, are they?”
“Actually, I am looking for a new valet myself.”
“You are, sir?”
“I’d like you to consider taking the position. You might have to spend some of your time in London, but generally I prefer to reside at Kurland Manor.”
“But why, sir? Why me? You of all people know what I did.”
Robert held Smith’s gaze. “Because I believe your loyalty to your young master did you credit, and in light of recent events, I regret ever having insisted that you bring him home.”
“What’s happened to Master Oliver?”
“He’s dead, Silas.”
“But I thought he was getting better. I sneaked in to see him before I left and he looked right peaceful as he lay there sleeping. Did his fever get worse?”
“I’m not sure,” Robert said. “The circumstances of his death were quite unusual. He threw himself off the ledge outside his bedroom window.”
Smith shot to his feet and started to pace the small room. “I told you he was scared to go back there. Mayhap he was right.” He swung around to look at Robert. “Why would he do that? Jump to his death?”
“Because he was afraid. The trouble is, he was so distraught when I tried to talk to him that I couldn’t understand exactly what he was afraid of.” Robert looked up. “Did he ever tell you?”
Smith sat back down with a thump and rubbed hastily at his eyes. “He hated and feared them all. He was convinced that he was such a disappointment that they wanted to get rid of him.”
“Do you think he was correct?”
“To be honest, sir, I merely thought him over-young and rather self-obsessed, but maybe he wasn’t.” Smith raised his head. “Did Lieutenant Broughton tell you why Master Oliver was almost expelled from Eton?”
“Not specifically, although Broughton did tell me that Oliver had a reputation for drinking, gambling, and stealing from a very young age.”
“That’s not all of it, sir.” Smith let out his breath. “Oliver fell in love.”
“Such things often happen to young men of fortune who assume that their introduction to copulation by an unsuitable woman means they are in love. I dealt with it all the time in the regiment.”
“No, sir.” Smith lowered his voice. “Oliver wasn’t in love with a woman of any class. He told me it was another student, a much older boy.”
“Ah.” Robert looked warily over at Miss Harrington, but she didn’t appear terribly shocked. “I should imagine that didn’t go down very well with the Broughton family.”
“They treated him appallingly, sir—like vermin.” Smith shook his head. “I know that what he did was a sin, but they had no compassion or understanding for him at all. After that, he just gave up trying to please them. He used to tell me that as they already thought he’d gone to the devil, he might as well enjoy the ride and antagonize them as he went down.”
“Do you think Oliver might have decided to rid himself of his family before they got rid of him?”
“I doubt it, sir.”
“Then why did he steal the bottle of poison from the dowager’s stillroom?”
“What bottle?”
“The one that Lieutenant Broughton discovered hidden amongst your belongings.”
Smith opened his mouth and then closed it again. “What?”
“Do you not recall your master putting the bottle there?”
“Sir, there was no bottle. I swear it.”
“And you didn’t decide to rid Oliver Broughton of his unpleasant relatives yourself?”
Smith’s hand clenched into a fist on the table. “Even if it means your offer of employment is withdrawn, Major, I will never lie and claim to be a poisoner, or one who aided one!”
“Is it possible that Oliver might have put the bottle in amongst your possessions without telling you? He did fall ill very quickly. He might not have had time to explain what he’d done.”
“I suppose that could’ve happened, but I still don’t believe he would have poisoned his grandmother, or his brother. They are both far more knowledgeable about such matters than my master is, I mean was.”
“You have been most helpful, Smith.” Robert looked over at Miss Ha
rrington. “Do you think Mrs. Hathaway would object to Smith staying here tonight? I am anxious for him to return to Kurland St. Mary to await my homecoming.”
“Mrs. Hathaway’s staff has already prepared a room for him, sir.” She rose from her seat in a whisper of silk. “I’ll take you through to him, Silas.”
Robert waited in the gathering gloom until Miss Harrington returned and took the seat Smith had previously occupied.
“Are you hungry, Major?”
He glanced at the remains of the pigeon pie and shuddered. “No, I thank you.”
“Something to drink, then? I asked the butler to bring me some tea, but I’m sure he can find you something stronger if you wish it.”
“Tea will be fine.” He pushed the pie away from him. “This is fast becoming a horribly complex mess.”
“I have to agree with you, sir. I was beginning to believe that the dowager countess accidentally poisoned herself and Lieutenant Broughton until Lady Bentley drowned and now poor Oliver . . .” She hesitated. “Died so unnecessarily. ”
“I suppose now that everyone we suspected is dead, we should really give up all hope of ever understanding what has gone on.”
“Maybe Oliver chose to kill himself because he was guilty.”
“I almost wish I could agree with you, but the last thing he said to me was that he didn’t kill anyone and that he was afraid.” He shook his head. “I’m reluctant to mention it, but he did look quite mad. His eyes were like black holes into hell.”
“Vermin.”
Robert looked up. “What did you say, Miss Harrington?”
“Silas said that the Broughton family treated Oliver like vermin, and that’s how you kill vermin—you use poison. Why did you take that bottle of medicine from Oliver’s bedside?”
“Because the nurse said she’d just given him the medicine before he attacked her.”
“Who prescribed it?”
“One must assume it was Dr. Redmond.”
“A man who knows all about the Broughton family’s personal lives and has the knowledge to kill. But why would he want to get rid of them?”
“Perhaps he views them as a scientific experiment?”
Death Comes to London Page 17
