Pushing aside such unproductive and lowering thoughts, Lucy went into her bedchamber and rang the bell for Betty. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day. If she was lucky, she would have no time to worry about anything other than the decent and Christian task of organizing the final affairs of the much-disliked but unfortunately deceased Miss Broomfield.
After sitting down at her dressing table, Lucy removed the pins from her hair. She paused to examine the ones collected in her palm. They were much shorter than the pins used for keeping a hat in place, but were still a useful weapon, if needed. Had Miss Broomfield worn a bonnet? Lucy didn’t think she had ever seen the teacher at church or in her outdoor garb, but it was fairly safe to assume she had owned at least one hat and a long pin.
Who had killed Miss Broomfield? Despite what Robert had said, Lucy believed there was information to be gathered about the unusual circumstances of her death . . . circumspectly, of course, seeing as her husband did not want her to involve herself in such matters.
The coincidence of the quill pen and the malicious letters could not be ignored, either—although Robert was right to suggest she should not jump to conclusions. If there were other unfinished letters in Miss Broomfield’s possession or any evidence of wrongdoing, then Lucy would find them tomorrow.
“Good evening, my lady,” Betty called out cheerfully as she entered the room. “Isn’t it lovely that Mrs. Armitage is here to stay?”
“It is, indeed.” Lucy turned to smile at her maid.
Betty picked up Lucy’s hairbrush. “Now let’s get you ready for bed.”
Chapter 5
“Welcome, my dear Mrs. Armitage!”
Lucy’s father rose from behind his desk and came to greet the new arrivals. He was in his study, dealing with his usual pile of morning correspondence. As something of a renowned amateur antiquarian, who regularly published articles on obscure topics, he was often sought out for his opinion.
“You did not tell me that Sir Robert’s aunt would be favoring you with a visit, Lucy.”
“It was something of a surprise to me, as well, sir.” Lucy smiled at her father and then at Rose. “But a delightful one.”
“Indeed. Mayhap Mrs. Armitage will help put some color back in your cheeks and stop you from turning into one of those ladies who lie around complaining of ill health.”
Lucy’s smile faltered. “I have no intention of becoming like that, Father, I can assure you.”
He patted her cheek. “Of course you don’t, my dear. I was merely jesting. You know your duty is to provide Sir Robert with an heir. I am confident that if you persevere, you will achieve your aim in due course, and with God’s blessing.”
Robert cleared his throat. “Her duty is to be well and happy, and to continue to brighten my existence. That is all I require of her.”
The rector frowned. “But your family have resided at Kurland Hall for almost five hundred years! You cannot wish for such continuity to be extinguished.”
“I do have a cousin, sir.”
“A scoundrel who has been discredited and forced to leave the country.” The rector shook his head. “Hardly the sort of man that any family would wish to see ensconced in Kurland Hall.”
Before Robert could answer him, Aunt Rose smiled at the rector and placed her hand on his arm, then guided him gently toward the door and the parlor beyond. “And how have you been, Mr. Harrington? You look very well.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I do try to keep myself in good health.”
Her father almost preened at the compliment, reminding Lucy of how adept Rose was at dealing with difficult men. It was a skill Lucy lacked, particularly at the moment. She slowly let out her breath, aware that Robert was still holding the door open for her.
She gathered up her skirts and her courage and went to go past him.
His fingers closed gently on her upper arm, stopping her progress. “I meant what I said, you know.”
She looked up into his blue eyes and couldn’t look away. A thousand questions threatened to overwhelm her, but she swallowed them all down. “Thank you.”
He dropped a kiss on her nose and released her. “You are welcome. Let’s give them a moment to chat, and then we can share the real reason for our visit.”
With some difficulty, Lucy found her voice. “I’ll pop into the kitchen and speak to the new housemaid. I fear she will be responsible for dealing with the disorder and clutter the twins bring with them when they arrive home.”
“Poor woman.” Robert shuddered.
“Indeed. I might suggest to Anna that she consider employing another housemaid over the holidays.” Lucy frowned. “But it is hard to find anyone at such short notice and for a brief period of time.”
“Then why don’t we lend her one of our maids?” Robert suggested. “I’m always tripping over them at the hall.”
“That is an excellent idea.” She smiled at him. “Betty will know just who to ask.”
* * *
Robert waited until Lucy was safely in the kitchen, and then turned back to the parlor, his smile dying. Damn Mr. Harrington for bringing up the subject of children. He really should know better, seeing as his own wife, Lucy’s mother, had died in childbirth. The rector was remarkably blind to the distress he caused his oldest daughter. Mayhap it was time for Robert to have a quiet word with him.
He went into the parlor and bowed to Anna Harrington, who was dispensing tea to her father and his aunt. Her sunny nature was always a balm after the rector’s blundering heartiness. She was a beautiful woman, and he knew Lucy worried excessively about her future prospects.
“Good morning, Miss Anna.” He accepted a cup of tea from her and sat down on the couch.
“Is it true that the school is closed?” Anna asked. “Is Miss Broomfield unwell?”
Robert put down his tea. He might as well get it over with. “That’s actually why I came to speak to you both today.”
“Does she need help?” Anna sat forward, as if ready to fly instantly to Miss Broomfield’s aid. “I have some restorative chicken broth and plenty of barley water to offer her if she is feeling unwell.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t think that will help.” Robert turned his gaze toward the rector. “I regret to inform you that Miss Broomfield is dead.”
“Good Lord,” the rector said.
“Oh, my goodness!” Anna gasped. “But how?”
“I went to the schoolhouse late yesterday afternoon with the intention of speaking to her about her references and discovered she had been killed,” Robert answered her.
“Killed?” The rector’s face turned red. “As opposed to dying of regrettable but natural causes? Are you quite certain?”
“Yes. At my request, Dr. Fletcher attended the body and pronounced her dead.”
“But she was a young woman. Whatever happened?” Anna whispered.
“She was stabbed with a long hat pin. Dr. Fletcher believes that was enough to kill her.” Robert didn’t mention what else had occurred. There was no need to further distress the Harringtons. “He has the body in his keeping, if you wish to see her, Mr. Harrington.”
The rector shuddered and patted his face with his handkerchief. “I’ll certainly send my curate to speak a word of prayer over her departed soul.”
Robert looked up as Lucy came into the room and took the seat beside him. “I was just telling your father the sad news about Miss Broomfield.”
“It is indeed distressing,” Lucy replied. “Do you know much about her family, Father?”
“Why should I?” The rector frowned. “She isn’t one of my regular village parishioners.”
“But you recommended her for the position at the school,” Robert reminded him.
“Did I? I seem to remember that when the previous teacher left so abruptly, there was an urgent need for a replacement. At your urging, Lucy, I wrote to some of my university acquaintances in Cambridge for recommendations and advice.”
“That’s correct, sir.” Robert looked
encouragingly at the rector. “Would it be possible for you to share the name of the person who recommended Miss Broomfield?”
The rector looked perturbed. “I can certainly look through my correspondence from earlier this year, but pray, do not expect a speedy answer.”
Anna spoke up. “I will help you look, Father. I have cataloged all your correspondence, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to ascertain exactly who answered your plea for help.” She nodded to Robert. “I will get the information to you as swiftly as possible, sir.”
“Thank you,” Robert said. “In the meantime, Lucy will ensure that all Miss Broomfield’s possessions are gathered up and accounted for, in case someone steps forward to claim them.”
“But what about the fact that she was killed?” Anna looked around at them all. “Should we be worried about that? Has our village suddenly become unsafe?”
“I will make certain that our village is protected. I also intend to find out if anyone has seen any loiterers or had anything stolen recently,” Robert said firmly. “You can depend on my complete attention to this matter.”
While Lucy dealt with the school, he intended to talk to every household in the village and the surrounding area by the end of the day. It was a small community, and the presence of a stranger would be noted and commented on. But like Lucy, he had a sense that whoever had killed Miss Broomfield had done so for more than simple financial gain. If his instinct was correct, finding out who it was might take quite a while....
* * *
“Shall I drop you and Aunt Rose at the schoolhouse, Lucy?”
“Yes, please.”
Lucy tied the ribbons of her bonnet and allowed her husband to help her into her thick winter coat. The earlier rain had turned to sleet, and the sky was an unforgiving black. She was glad they had finally changed over to the closed carriage, but she felt sorry for Coleman, who had to sit on the box.
As they approached the carriage Robert was still talking. “I’ll go back to the house, find Dermot, and start asking whether anyone else saw a man loitering around outside the schoolhouse yesterday.”
Lucy blinked at him. “You saw someone?”
“I can’t say that I did. Josephine told me that she had seen someone lurking there when she returned for her scarf.”
Lucy paused on the step of the carriage, her hand in Robert’s. “Josephine Blake?”
“Yes. She was at the schoolhouse when we arrived, and had already discovered Miss Broomfield’s body.”
“The poor girl! Why didn’t you mention this before?” Lucy asked.
“Why should I have?” Robert asked. “She was unharmed. Dermot and I escorted her home to the Greenwells’ and told her guardians what had occurred.”
“Then I will certainly pay them a visit this afternoon and make sure that she has recovered from the shock.” Lucy entered the carriage and took the seat next to Aunt Rose. “It must have been a terrible sight for such a young girl.”
“How old is she exactly?” he asked.
“Almost sixteen.”
“I would’ve thought her younger. She is quite petite.”
Robert got into the carriage, making it creak and sway. He settled opposite Lucy, his damaged leg sticking out and catching her skirts. With a groan, he rubbed his knee and eased his booted foot back. “I do apologize. This weather is hard on my old bones.”
Lucy made a mental note to ensure there were plenty of hot cloths and heat sources available at the manor house that evening to ease Robert’s pain.
Within a few minutes the carriage stopped outside the schoolhouse. Lucy leaned across to release the door before her husband could do so.
“Don’t get out, Robert. Aunt Rose and I can manage perfectly well. We can easily walk back to the house from here.”
“As you wish.”
The mere fact that he didn’t contradict her told Lucy that he was in considerable pain. She considered suggesting he leave the questioning of the villagers to Dermot but suspected he would make short work of that idea. No one doubted Robert’s dedication to his tenants and those he considered in his care.
Lucy started up the steps to the schoolhouse, the key Robert had given her in one gloved hand. The door opened with a loud creak, and she quickly stepped inside. Her eyes adjusted to the dimness of the light. Apart from a couple of dropped woolen mittens on the muddy flagstone floor and what appeared to be a hat, the cloakroom was deserted.
The inner door that led into the large classroom was ajar, and Lucy pushed it open and went in. Coldness struck at her, and she hastened to set a fire in the large hearth and lit a couple of the lamps. The room was immaculately tidy and smelled of damp wool, children, and a hint of burned wood ash from the stove.
Aunt Rose, who had followed her in, walked around the perimeter, where Miss Broomfield had placed a number of embroidered biblical texts promising hellfire and damnation. “It is a fine building, Lucy. You and Robert did well.”
“I would agree with you if we could have better luck with our teachers.” Lucy straightened, brushed her hands over her coat, and then took off her gloves. “It is bitterly cold in here.”
Rose opened the door at the back of the room. “I assume Miss Broomfield’s quarters are through here?”
“There is a teacher’s study and a kitchen then a staircase to the second level,” Lucy called out, her attention caught by the desk where, apparently, Miss Broomfield had been slain. On one corner sat a stack of slates next to four well-thumbed copies of the Bible. On another a large inkwell held down several pieces of paper. The inkwell was missing a quill pen.
Holding one of the lamps, Lucy approached the desk and methodically opened the drawers and removed all the contents. She took the pile of items through into the kitchen at the rear of the property.
“Your Miss Broomfield was certainly a very tidy person,” Aunt Rose commented as she investigated the kitchen cupboards and pantry. “I shudder to imagine what anyone would think, should I die unexpectedly. I would leave a horrible mess behind me. Should I remove the perishable food or leave it for later?”
“I’ll send someone down to clean the rooms more thoroughly,” Lucy replied as she set the contents of the desk on the kitchen table. “At the moment I think we should concentrate on assembling Miss Broomfield’s personal effects and bringing them up to the hall.”
“As you wish.” Aunt Rose wandered through into the other room and studied the bookshelves. “It is rather hard to see anything in here on this gloomy day. The light is much better at Kurland Hall.”
The fire in the closed stove in the kitchen was also out, but Lucy made no effort to rekindle it. The thought of carefully going through every single book in the study and ascertaining whether it belonged to the teacher or the school was daunting, especially in the cold. Perhaps that could wait for another day, or she could ask Rebecca or Josephine to complete the task for her.
“You are right. It is impossible to see anything in here,” Lucy agreed with a sigh. “Mayhap we should concentrate on the apartment upstairs.”
She went up the narrow staircase and paused on the landing. There were three doors off the small space, and they led to a bedroom, a sitting room, and a large storage cupboard with a tin bath hanging on the wall. There was an outhouse attached to an exterior wall of the building and a separate one for the children.
“Where do you wish to start?” Aunt Rose had come up behind her.
“The sitting room?” Lucy moved forward. “There are more books in here, which I assume must belong to Miss Broomfield.”
“And a very nice sewing box.” Aunt Rose paused to admire the walnut-veneered box that sat beside the fireplace and the single chair. “It looks quite old. Perhaps she inherited it from her mother.”
Lucy squinted at the etched brass plate on the lid of the box. “I can’t read the name, can you?” She scratched at the corner. “That might be an H.”
Rose laughed. “If you cannot see it, I don’t stand a chance.”
Lucy opened the box, pulled out a piece of almost finished embroidery, and read the text. “And I will judge him with pestilence, and with blood, and with violent rain, and vast hailstones: I will rain fire and brimstone upon him, and upon his army, and upon the many nations that are with him. Ezekiel thirty-eight, twenty-two.”
Rose shuddered. “I’d hardly want to look at that over my mantelpiece every day.” She continued her inspection of the room, pausing at the fireplace mantelpiece to check the clock.
“Have you noticed something odd, Aunt Rose?” Lucy asked slowly. “There are no family portraits, pictures, or even any ornaments.”
“You’re right.” Rose spun around. “How odd. Perhaps we’ll find some in her bedroom. That is a more private space.”
They walked through to the next room, which was even darker than the sitting room.
“I don’t see anything personal in here, either,” Rose commented.
“Maybe she was estranged from her family.” Lucy eyed the immaculately made bed. There was a washstand with a bowl and a jug standing beside it, a chest of drawers, and a cupboard built into the wall next to the chimney breast. She opened the cupboard door and studied the clothes folded neatly on the shelves inside. The prevailing color was black. The remaining space was filled with a small dressing table and chair. “Let’s strip the sheets and place all her other possessions on the mattress.”
Rose took off her pelisse and rolled up her sleeves. Despite her immense wealth, she was never averse to helping out with the most mundane of tasks.
As Lucy sorted through Miss Broomfield’s possessions, it became apparent that the schoolteacher had lived without much joy in her life. Her choice of reading material was mainly sermons and other edifying works, and even her needlework had a biblical bent, drawn mainly from the Old Testament.
Death Comes to the School Page 7
