Chapter 9
“George Culpepper doesn’t know any family in the parish who is named Clapper.”
“Neither did Dermot.” Robert speared himself a slice of ham. He and Lucy were sharing a luncheon before the Stanford family arrived to spend the afternoon with them. “I suppose the Clapper relative could be a married female.”
“He said he will check the parish records for me and write a note containing the names of all the men who attend his class in the schoolhouse for your attention.”
“How very efficient. I suspect your father would be lost without him.”
His wife looked much better today: the color had returned to her cheeks, and she was remarkably animated. Despite his continuing misgivings, he had to allow that the investigation had certainly rejuvenated her.
“Mr. Culpepper also intends to propose to Dorothea Chingford during our ball.”
“My. He has been busy. Does Mrs. Fletcher know about this?”
“She does. I told Mr. Culpepper to speak to Dr. Fletcher when Penelope is not at home.”
“A wise decision.” Robert put down his knife. “From what I can see, Dorothea will make George Culpepper a very comfortable wife.”
“I agree. I intend to ask Father to offer them the cottage in the village next to the vergers.”
“Don’t I own that?” Robert looked up from his plate.
“No. It’s part of church property and thus in the rector’s gift.” Lucy poured them both a cup of coffee.
“While you are busy matchmaking, have you made any progress with your sister and Nicholas Jenkins?”
“I have not.” Lucy sighed. “Nicholas is not the sort of man to be pushed into anything, and my influence upon him is very slight. Mrs. Jenkins wishes him to marry Anna, but she, too, is worried about driving him too hard.”
“Do you think Anna is inclined to favor his suit or not?”
“I’m not sure . . . ,” Lucy said cautiously. “She certainly considers him a good friend and an excellent example of a gentleman. Why do you ask?”
“Because someone suggested to me the other day that Dermot was rather enamored of your sister.”
“Mr. Fletcher? Who on earth suggested that?”
“Mrs. Jarvis at the Queen’s Head.”
“And you believed her?”
Robert shrugged. “She seemed fairly certain that she was right, and to her credit, since she mentioned it, I have noticed that Dermot can hardly take his eyes off your sister whenever they are in the same room together.”
“Goodness gracious.” Lucy shook her head. “Who would’ve thought that? Next time they are both present, I shall have to observe them more closely.”
“Just observe them. Don’t mention it to Anna, will you? Poor Dermot would be mortally embarrassed.”
“I am not quite that green, Robert.” She paused. “Although, my father would not look favorably upon such a match. The Fletchers are Roman Catholics.”
“That is true.”
“I found a crucifix in Miss Broomfield’s bedroom.”
Robert blinked at the sudden change of subject. “Are you suggesting she might have been a Catholic? I had many soldiers of that particular persuasion in my ranks, and they fought just as well as the next man. As long as Miss Broomfield didn’t attempt to convert the children’s parents to the Church of Rome by influencing the children I cannot see it causing harm.”
“I think we would have heard from the villagers if any such thing had happened.” Lucy used her napkin. “I was just surprised to find the crucifix there. It was the only personal item Miss Broomfield had added to her rooms.”
“No knickknacks? No ornaments or pictures?” Robert asked. “That is odd.”
A tapping on the glass drew his attention to the large windows that opened out into the garden.
“Is that Grace Turner?” Robert beckoned her to enter.
Lucy turned in her seat. “I believe it is.”
Robert rose to his feet, came around the table, and bowed. “Good afternoon, Miss Turner.”
Grace stopped and looked him over as if she were purchasing a horse at Tattersalls. “Good afternoon, Sir Robert. Is your leg bothering you today?”
He frowned at her. “Good Lord, woman. Don’t you start. As you well know, my joints are always painful during the winter months.”
She continued to examine him, her head to one side and her bonnet almost sliding off the hair hanging down her back. “It’s more than that, though, isn’t it? You are holding yourself as if you are in fear.”
He glowered at her. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
She raised her eyebrows and turned to Lucy. “Do you think he is in pain?”
“Well, he certainly has been very short tempered recently,” Lucy agreed.
“If my temper is short, madam, it is because you constantly shred it.” He bowed. “If you have both finished dissecting me, I shall leave you in peace to discuss me further at your leisure.”
Grace smiled at him. “My, you are magnificently snooty today, sir. I am quite overawed.”
“That was my intention.”
She sketched a curtsy. “I humbly beg your pardon.” “Indeed.” Robert raised an eyebrow. “Why are you here, anyway?”
She produced something out of her pocket. “I thought you should see this.”
Robert took the scrap of folded paper, opened it, and read the contents out loud. “Everyone knows you are a witch and a betrayer of your family. One day you will burn in hell.”
Grace shrugged. “It was stuck under my door the other night.” She raised her gaze to Robert’s, and he registered the hurt in her eyes. “It’s the truth, but it still hurts.”
“It is a highly distorted version of the truth,” Robert replied. “You know that.”
Lucy came to put a tentative hand on Grace’s shoulder. “When exactly did you find it?”
“About five days ago, just after we spoke about the other letter. Why?”
Lucy exchanged a glance with Robert, who replied to Grace. “Because four nights ago Miss Broomfield was killed.”
“I heard about that.” Grace nodded. “She wasn’t well liked by the villagers or their children. She carried much darkness in her heart.” She paused. “What does she have to do with this unpleasant letter?”
“We are wondering if she was the author of the notes,” Robert said. “What most people don’t know is that Miss Broomfield died at her desk, stabbed in the eye with her own quill pen.”
“That hardly sounds enough to kill her.” Grace didn’t sound particularly impressed.
“That was just the finishing touch. She was stabbed in the back with a hat pin. There was no sign of a struggle.”
“So it was probably done by someone who had a personal grievance against her, rather than by a random passerby or a robber?”
“That’s what we believe. Your note is very similar in tone to the ones Mrs. Jenkins and my wife received. Can I keep this so that we can compare the handwriting?”
“Of course you can. I don’t want the foul thing in my house.” Grace glanced curiously at Lucy, who had gone still. “You didn’t mention that you had received a note, as well.”
“I was going to tell you,” Lucy said hesitantly as Robert belatedly remembered everything her letter had implied about Grace’s dislike of her. “I just wasn’t sure—”
“My wife’s letter suggested that you hated her and were out for revenge,” Robert said. In his opinion, there was no point in avoiding the issue.
Grace grabbed Lucy’s hand. “You do know that is a lie, don’t you?”
“Of course.” Lucy squeezed Grace’s fingers. “I must confess that, initially, it was something of a shock, but I soon realized you were not capable of keeping such hatred from anyone, let alone me.”
“What a horrible thing to say to you!” Grace exclaimed. “If Miss Broomfield was the author of these notes, it is a good thing she is deceased, or I might be proving that I am indeed a witch.”
“There’s no need for that, Miss Turner,” Robert hastily interjected. “We’ve had enough problems with witchcraft in this village without you starting it all up again.”
The look she gave him was not reassuring. But he owed a debt to Grace Turner, and he was ever mindful of it in his dealings with her. Their relationship was certainly unorthodox, but he suspected they both enjoyed the sparring. She owned her cottage, earned her own living, and had little interest in the ways of the gentry, so he had no say over anything she did. And Lucy liked and trusted her, which was even more important.
“I will leave you two ladies to talk.” Robert bowed. “Don’t forget that the Stanfords will be here at one, will you, my dear?”
“I’m not intending to stay, Sir Robert.” Grace smiled at him. “I have to go into the village and see your doctor friend. Sometimes we discuss our patients and squabble over how best to treat them.”
“Well, for heaven’s sake, please don’t mention my name,” Robert said as she winked at him. “The last thing I need is for you all to gang up on me.” He left the room, but her voice carried out into the hall.
“If you insist on ignoring our advice, what else do you expect?”
“Some respect in my own community?” Robert muttered as he made his way to his study, encountering Foley by the main staircase.
“Ah, Foley. Have you made sure Mr. Coleman is ready for our guests at the stables?”
“I have indeed, sir.” Foley bowed. “He is expecting the children and greatly looking forward to it. I suppose there is not much opportunity for the Stanfords to ride much in London.”
“Which is why they will enjoy a good romp around the countryside with their father while Mrs. Stanford visits with my lady.”
“Do you intend to ride out with them, sir?”
Robert’s smile faded. “Not today. My leg is not in a cooperative mood.”
Sometimes he grew tired of all the interest in his shortcomings. He nodded and kept going until he reached the sanctuary of his study, where the only person who would bother him before their dinner engagement with the Greenwells would be Dermot. And thank goodness for that.
* * *
Lucy gathered the folds of her fur-lined evening cloak more tightly around her shoulders as an icy draught circled through the carriage. Foley had insisted on putting foot warmers on the floor, and for once she was grateful for his consideration.
Robert settled beside her, one hand braced on the back of the seat, and Andrew Stanford took his place beside Sophia. They had decided to go to the Greenwells’ house together to save the horses. Lucy also hoped it might take Robert’s mind off the necessity of traveling in a closed space, which never sat well with him, since he’d almost been crushed by his own horse at Waterloo.
Having to make polite conversation with their guests should ease his disquiet, and the journey would be over in no time. She had no idea who else the Greenwells had asked to dine, but she hoped it wasn’t too large a gathering. It had already been a long day, and she would rather not have to exert herself too much.
Robert had a tendency to become a little impatient with some of the local gentry, those who cared more about their horses than the current state of their country, and she wasn’t in the mood to apologize for him. But at least he appeared to have found an ally in Mr. Greenwell. If that was the case, then Lucy would willingly put up with the female members of the family.
The carriage arrived at the Greenwell residence, and they descended and entered the house. It was surprisingly warm, and Lucy was almost willing to relinquish her cloak. To her relief, there was a not too large group of people gathered in the drawing room. She recognized Mrs. Jenkins and Nicholas, and after greeting her hostess, she went over to speak to her elderly neighbor.
“What a pleasure to see you here, ma’am.” Lucy smiled down at the diminutive old lady, who wore a purple satin gown with a matching turban. “Did Mr. Greenwell ask you to dine because you are also a member of our school board?”
“I assume so.” Mrs. Jenkins jerked her head in Nicholas’s direction. “Although I suspect Mrs. Greenwell had some motivation of her own.”
The two Greenwell sisters were on either side of Nicholas and were chattering away like magpies. Margaret, the oldest of the pair, actually had her hand on his sleeve in a very overfamiliar way.
“Is your sister, Anna, attending this evening?” Mrs. Jenkins asked. “I know the rector is coming.”
“My father is bringing Mrs. Armitage. They should be here very shortly.”
“How kind of him.”
“We could not fit everyone in the same carriage, so he came to our rescue and offered to bring her instead.”
Just as she spoke, her father and Rose came in through the door, and Mrs. Jenkins went over to speak to them.
The dinner bell rang, and Mrs. Greenwell took Robert’s arm as Mr. Greenwell came toward Lucy.
“Good evening, Lady Kurland. May I escort you in to dinner?”
“Thank you.”
Lucy placed her hand on his sleeve, and they proceeded through the double doors into the dining room, which easily seated a dozen. Mr. Greenwell drew out her chair for her and waited until Lucy settled into her seat. There was an older man opposite her whom she did not recognize.
“May I introduce you to my wife’s uncle Frederick Halston, Lady Kurland? He is a justice of the peace in London and is spending the festive season with us.”
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir.”
Lucy smiled through the candlelight, but the man merely grunted something unintelligible back. Used to dealing with curmudgeons from her days shepherding her father’s flock in the rectory, she turned her attention to her host and began a very agreeable discussion about the state of the Kurland St. Mary school and their quest for a new teacher.
* * *
“Yes, Sir Robert and I both agree that the ability to read and write is the key to improvement in any individual.” Lucy set aside her dessert plate and waited as the footman refilled her glass of Madeira.
“What a very dangerous statement to make, Lady Kurland.”
“I beg your pardon?” Lucy looked up into the eyes of Frederick Halston who sat opposite her. It was the first time he had directly addressed her all evening.
“I suggested that your naive remarks about the value of an education are dangerous.”
“Dangerous? How so?”
“The only reason the poor should be taught how to read is so that they can examine the Scriptures and understand their place in a godly society.” He regarded her over the top of his spectacles. “As to the subjects of writing and arithmetic, such knowledge might produce in them a distaste for the more laborious occupations in life.”
“And why would that be an issue, sir?” Lucy asked, aware that the rest of the diners had stopped talking and were listening to their conversation. “Surely, it is for the betterment of society if all its members are well informed.”
“My dear Lady Kurland, your sentiments, of course, do you credit, but perhaps the logic of the situation is beyond your feminine comprehension.” His smile was kindly. “With all due respect, ladies are not known for the power of their reasoning, which is as it should be.”
“Oh, good Lord. Now he’s in for it.” Lucy was fairly certain that was Robert muttering as she smiled back at the older man.
“What exactly do you fear from an educated population, sir?” she asked.
“Because such a thing would be prejudicial to the morals and happiness of the working class. If we educate them, Lady Kurland, we would teach them to despise their lot in life, and then who would do their work? How would they survive?”
“By doing more educated work? There is always work for the desperate, so I suspect those lower jobs would readily be filled.”
“I agree there is already plenty of employment for the lower orders,” Mr. Halston said firmly. “Instead of teaching them to be subordinate to their betters, such skills will
make them more difficult to control, and then where will we be?”
“Forced to listen to them? Forced to acknowledge the inequality of our current political system?” Robert’s abrupt questions fell into the silence. “There are schools in the factories in the north. I helped found the ones in my own business enterprises. Why shouldn’t there be schools in the more rural areas of the country?”
“And what have those northern schools unleashed, Sir Robert? Men who are reading seditious pamphlets, vicious books, and publications against Christianity. Is that what you want? A working class that is insolent to its superiors and likely to overthrow its betters? That is treason, sir. I cannot think you mean what you say.”
Robert leaned forward, his gaze locked on the older man. “I certainly want a more equal system of government, and if educating a country’s citizens helps that occur, then I, for one, am all for it.”
“It is not right,” Mr. Halston blustered. “Rector, I appeal to you. Does not the Bible state very clearly that every man has his place?”
“The rich man in his castle, the poor man at his gate?” Mr. Harrington smiled. “Indeed, but I have to admit that like Sir Robert, I do not believe that teaching children to read and write means the end of civilization as we know it.”
“I suppose you’ll both be suggesting we should educate women next,” Mr. Halston said gloomily. “Or how about a vote for every man?” He looked over at his nephew. “You have surprisingly radical friends, Edward.”
“Apparently so.” Mr. Greenwell bowed to Lucy, his eyes twinkling. “Revolutionary indeed.”
Mrs. Greenwell abruptly rose to her feet, her gaze on Lucy. “Perhaps the ladies should withdraw and leave the gentlemen to their politics.”
With a resigned sigh, Lucy stood and headed for the door. As she passed Robert’s chair, he caught hold of her hand and kissed her gloved fingers.
“Well done, my dear. I do apologize for interrupting, but I wanted the poor man to save some face before you eviscerated him.”
She didn’t stop to chat, but his approval of her outspokenness warmed her heart and steeled her against the disapproval she suspected she would garner from the Greenwell ladies.
Death Comes to the School Page 13
