Death Comes to the School

by Catherine Lloyd

  “Mr. Stanton agreed to help with that matter. He has set his clerk in London searching for Mr. Clapper’s office in Cheapside.”

  “Then perhaps we will finally learn something useful.” He went back to reading his newspaper as Lucy finished her eggs and toast.

  “Don’t forget that the Christmastide concert is tonight in the church.”

  Robert groaned. “Ah yes, the yearly torturing of my ears.”

  “You are being extremely unenthusiastic this morning, sir.” Lucy gave her husband a disapproving look. “It is always wonderful to see the church decorated for the Christmas season and filled to bursting with the villagers.”

  “Only if you grew up in a rectory,” Robert muttered.

  “Many of the villagers would disagree with you. They are especially looking forward to hearing the children from the school sing.”

  “Ah, yes. I’d forgotten about that.”

  “I intend to go down to the school today and listen to their last practice,” Lucy said and held her breath.

  Robert’s newspaper came down. “You know perfectly well that I do not want you anywhere near that schoolhouse.”

  “But Rebecca will need help,” Lucy remonstrated. “What with everything going on at the Greenwell residence, I doubt Josephine will be present. I will take one of the footmen, and he can stay the whole time and escort me home afterward. It will be the last time I need to be there.”

  Robert sighed. “If you must.”

  “Thank you.” She rewarded him with her sweetest smile. “I’ve asked some of our friends and the villagers to join us after the church service for hot spiced cider and mince pies.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “Robert . . .” Lucy mock frowned at him and consulted her list. “I’ve also arranged for Grace to bring some greenery and mistletoe on Christmas Eve, while Mr. Pugh from the home farm will deliver a Yule log of a sufficient size to fit in the large fireplace in the hall.”

  “You are a marvel of organizational skill, my dear.” He smiled at her as he folded his paper.

  “I assume the mummers will also call at some point between the villagers’ party and the ball.”

  “I can ask down at the stables about that if you want.”

  “There’s no need,” Lucy said quickly. The last thing she wanted was Robert poking around the stables and discovering the two puppies Mr. Hopewell had secreted there for her the previous evening. “I have complete confidence that George Culpepper has the matter well in hand.”

  “George is involved in that, is he?”

  “Only because he has tutored some of the men this year and knows their plans.” Lucy looked down at her notes. “I do have one more thing to ask you, but with the mood you are in, I am not sure whether I should bother.”

  He bowed elaborately in his seat. “Ask away, my dear. I can always say no.”

  “What do you think about installing a Christmas tree in the house?”

  “I thought we’d already discussed that. You said Mr. Pugh is dealing with it.”

  “Mr. Pugh is bringing the Yule log. A Christmas tree is something quite different. It involves bringing a whole tree into the house.” Lucy carried on, even though Robert hardly looked impressed. “I read about it in one of the London society columns. Apparently, Queen Charlotte brought the tradition with her from her native land.”

  “A whole tree? Roots and all in a tub?” Robert frowned. “It will die. Why would you want to do that?”

  “Because the tree can be decorated with ribbons and baubles. It would look very festive. I saw an illustration of the one Queen Charlotte had in her house, and it was very pretty indeed.”

  “Why not leave the poor tree outside, where it can continue to grow, and decorate it out there?” Robert asked. “I cannot see such an idea ever becoming popular, can you?”

  “Maybe not.” Lucy set her notebook aside. “I will not mention it again.”

  After a short silence, during which Lucy drank more tea and Robert kept reading, he asked in a more conciliatory tone, “I assume we are hosting the Stanfords, the Fletchers, and everyone currently at the rectory on Christmas Day?”

  “Yes, and Grace Turner and anyone who cannot get home after the ball.”

  Robert glanced out of the window at the leaden skies and grimaced. “It does look like it is going to snow. We might end up with a houseful. I am glad Grace is willing to join us.”

  “So am I. She will not attend the ball or the party but has agreed to spend the day with us—as long as she doesn’t have to go to church.”

  “I always enjoy watching her spar with your father.” Robert finished the last of his coffee, wiped his mouth, and dropped his napkin by his plate. “I must be off, my dear. With this bad weather closing in, I have to make sure the cattle and sheep are secure and have access to both food and shelter.”

  Lucy closed her notebook. “And I must go and speak to Cook.”

  * * *

  Lucy clapped as loudly as she could and smiled broadly at the children clustered around her. “That was delightful! I cannot wait to hear you all perform tonight in the church.”

  “Thank you, Lady Kurland.” Rebecca flushed with pride as she surveyed her small choir. “Now, don’t forget. You all need to be at the church by six o’clock.”

  “How will we know when that is?” one of the boys asked.

  “Listen for the church bells,” Rebecca said. “When you hear them chime five times, that means you’ve got to start to get ready and then walk to the church.”

  “It will be dark,” one of the little girls whispered. “I’m not allowed out on my own at that time of night.”

  “If your parents aren’t attending the service, we will arrange for you to be picked up,” Lucy said firmly. “Rebecca, if I send Mathias down to you at the smithy, you can give him the names and addresses of anyone who needs a ride to the church.”

  “Thank you, my lady.” Rebecca curtsied. “I’ll do that.”

  Lucy spent a little while longer speaking to Rebecca, who had already heard about the hunting accident and assured her that Josephine would almost certainly be attending the church service. She was just about to lock the school door when a cart pulled up outside and one of the home farmworkers came to greet her.

  “Morning, Lady Kurland.”

  “Good morning, Reg. And what brings you here on this cold grey day?”

  “Just before she died, I came by to fix that blocked chimney for Miss Broomfield, and she told me she was otherwise engaged, and to come back another day.” Reg scratched under his chin. “I must confess that I forgot about it. We’ve been that busy up at the farm. Do you still want me to attend to it, my lady?”

  “Come in, Reg.” Lucy opened the door again and gestured for Reg and James, the footman who had accompanied her that morning, to come back into the school. “It certainly needs to be done before we get a new teacher, or we’ll smoke her out on her first day.”

  Reg cackled with laughter as he carefully wiped his muddy feet on the mat. His equipment seemed to consist of a bucket, a long stick, and a couple of grain sacks. “Aye, it won’t take a minute, my lady. Probably a bird’s nest or summat stuck in the narrow part of the flue. Happens all the time up at the hall, with those old-fashioned brick chimneys of yours.”

  “I know all about that,” Lucy murmured. In her opinion, Tudor chimneys might look very decorative, but they were terribly inefficient.

  She stayed down in the schoolroom, listening to the occasional thump or muttered curse word that emanated from above. Within a quarter of an hour, Reg clumped down the stairs, a smile on his face.

  “I found what was blocking the chimney, my lady.”

  “Excellent. What was it?” Lucy tried not to look in the bucket Reg was brandishing in her face.

  “This.” He handed her a small box. “Someone wedged it up there, and it either shifted from its perch or fell down in the wind, and it got caught up with an old bird’s nest that blocked the flow
.”

  “Thank you, Reg.”

  Reg handed her one of the sacks, and she used it to carefully dust off the sooty metal box, her heart beating rapidly with excitement. Had she finally discovered the box that belonged to the key Miss Broomfield had hidden behind her crucifix?

  * * *

  “It’s very good of you both to call.” Mr. Greenwell’s smile was somewhat distracted. “Please sit down. Would you care for some refreshment? I am sorry that Mrs. Greenwell is unavailable to receive you. She is maintaining a vigil at Margaret’s bedside and refuses to leave her.”

  “Has there been any change in Miss Margaret’s condition?” Robert lowered himself onto the nearest seat and propped his cane beside him. “I have a note from my wife, offering any assistance you need. My aunt and I would like to offer you the same support.”

  “And it is much appreciated.” Mr. Greenwell sighed. “I cannot understand how Margaret came off at that bank. She is an accomplished rider, and familiar with the terrain.”

  “Perhaps her horse was startled by something?” Robert asked. “They aren’t the most reliable of creatures at the best of times.”

  “I was right behind her when she took the jump.” Mr. Greenwell shook his head. “She took it perfectly and then just seemed to slide to one side, and she was off. It was one of the worst moments of my life,” he said quietly. “Mrs. Greenwell thinks I was negligent in some way, but I have racked my brains, and I cannot think of a single thing that I would’ve changed as we approached that obstacle.”

  Rose leaned forward and patted his hand. “Pray do not distress yourself, Mr. Greenwell. Despite the best of intentions, things can go wrong in an instant. All we can do now is pray for a swift return to consciousness and a speedy recovery.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Armitage. I appreciate your kindness.” Mr. Greenwell looked over at Robert. “I must not take up too much of your time, sir. You must be busy with preparations for the ball and the party.” He hesitated. “I don’t believe any of our family will be able to attend either event. I’m sure you will forgive us for that, considering the circumstances.”

  Robert cleared his throat. “As to that, my wife was wondering whether to cancel everything due to the current events. I—”

  “Oh, no.” Mr. Greenwell looked shocked. “We would never deprive the whole community of an event that has been looked forward to for weeks just because of what happened to Margaret.”

  “Are you quite certain about that, sir?” Robert pressed. “We would not wish to be insensitive.”

  “And we would not wish our personal tragedy to spoil everyone’s Christmastide.” Mr. Greenwell met Robert’s gaze. “Please rest easy on that score.”

  “Thank you.” Robert stood and helped Rose out of her chair. “I appreciate your candor on the matter, which will relieve my wife’s anxiety tremendously.”

  Deep in thought, Robert allowed Mr. Greenwell to escort them into the hall and out to the carriage. He waited until his host had retreated into the house, and then tapped on the ceiling.

  “Mr. Coleman? Will you drive around to the stables before we leave?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  After they completed their half circuit of the house, Robert got out, leaving his aunt comfortably situated in the warmth of the interior. He walked into the stable yard and searched until he found the groom he’d met the previous day.

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  Robert nodded. “I hope so. Were you the man who took the sidesaddle off Miss Margaret’s horse yesterday?”

  “Aye, I was.”

  “Did you notice anything odd about it?”

  “I was hoping you’d come by, sir, seeing as you’re the local magistrate and all.” The man hesitated and dropped his gaze. “I don’t want to make no trouble for the family, or lose my place for speaking out or something, but it didn’t look right to me.”

  “What didn’t?”

  “The girth.” The groom grimaced. “Looked to me like someone had deliberately cut through it to try to weaken it.”

  * * *

  “Lady Kurland!”

  Lucy looked to her right and discovered Mrs. Jarvis waving enthusiastically at her. They were halfway up the High Street, so she ordered the footman to pull the gig over to the side of the road. Seeing as her journey was the shortest, she’d urged Robert to take the closed carriage to Lower Kurland to visit the Greenwells.

  “Mrs. Jarvis. How are you?”

  “I’m very well, your ladyship.” She dragged a tall young boy closer to the gig. “I wanted to introduce you to my son. Do you remember I told you he was coming to live with us and to help out with the inn?”

  “I do indeed.” Lucy smiled at the sullen youth, who had black hair and a stocky build that bore no relation to his mother’s plump fairness. “Welcome to Kurland St. Mary.”

  He muttered something unintelligible and received a sharp poke in the ribs from his mother.

  “Now, you speak up and be respectful to Lady Kurland, who’s married to the gentleman you were named after, our Bobby, or you’ll be getting a slap.”

  “Morning, my lady.”

  “Good morning, Bobby,” Lucy replied. “Do you intend to accompany your mother to our village party on Christmas Eve?”

  He mumbled what Lucy guessed was an affirmation, and was given a slap on the head from his mother, who had to stand on tiptoes to administer it.

  “Speak up! How are you ever going to run an inn if you’re too chickenhearted to talk to your betters?” Mrs. Jarvis curtsied to Lucy. “I’m sorry, my lady. He’s been brought up better than this, not that you’d know it.”

  Lucy smiled. “I had better be going, Mrs. Jarvis. I have a lot to accomplish today.”

  “Well, if you need any extra help, just let me know, and I’ll send this young man to work for you. The devil finds work for idle hands, eh?”

  “Indeed he does. That’s very kind of you.” She nodded at the sullen-faced boy, who briefly looked up and then away. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

  Fearful that his mother would give him another clout, Lucy didn’t wait to see if Bobby replied to her or not, and nodded for James to move on.

  Bobby was supposedly the same age as Josephine and Rebecca but had neither their air of competence or their command of language. Robert had always said that boys were little savages until their twenties, and from the evidence of her own brothers, she tended to agree with him.

  She hoped that Robert and Rose were on their way back from Greenwell Manor. She couldn’t wait to open the box and find out what she assumed might be Miss Broomfield’s most precious secrets....

  * * *

  “Has Lady Kurland returned from the school yet, Foley?”

  Robert came down the main staircase and waited for his butler to join him in the center of the hall.

  “Yes, indeed, sir. Her ladyship is ensconced in her sitting room. I just took her a fresh pot of tea. Shall I procure a cup for you so that you may join her?”

  “Yes, please.” Robert watched his old butler’s snaillike pace toward the kitchens and paused. “Foley.”

  “Yes, Sir Robert?”

  “Are you ready to retire yet? I can find you a nice cottage in the village or on the estate, and a generous pension.”

  Foley drew himself up to his full height. “Are you ordering me to retire, sir?”

  “I wouldn’t dare.” Robert hesitated. “I just wonder whether there are other things you might wish to fill your days with rather than ordering me around.”

  “I enjoy working at the hall, sir. If I ever feel that I am becoming a liability rather than an asset, I will be the first to offer my resignation.”

  “Then let’s leave it at that.” Robert nodded. “It certainly wouldn’t be the same without you.”

  “Indeed, sir. I suspect the place would quickly fall to rack and ruin.” Foley bowed low. “Now, may I get on, sir? I have a lot to accomplish today. The silver needs to be polished, and I’m expecting the mu
sicians for the ball to arrive at any moment.”

  “My apologies.”

  Robert continued on his way down the corridor that led to his wife’s favored room in the house. He had no wish to force Foley into retirement, but he still made the offer occasionally. He suspected his butler was determined to hang on until he saw an heir to the baronetcy and the estate safely born. Foley had no love or respect for Robert’s cousin Paul, who would inherit if Robert died without an heir.

  Whether that would occur was somewhat in question.... His wife had not responded to his somewhat impulsive offer of a marriage based on companionship rather than physical congress. The fact that he’d made it at all still surprised him, seeing as it was the last thing he really wanted. He had been feeling remarkably useless that day and had found it hard to imagine any woman choosing to put up with his physical frailties. The fact that Lucy hadn’t immediately repudiated the idea worried him even more....

  He knocked on the door and went in. Lucy was sitting by the fire, wearing a dark reddish dress the color of a horse chestnut that made her eyes look very brown.

  “Good afternoon, my dear. I spoke to one of the grooms at the Greenwells’. He reckoned someone had cut into the girth of Miss Margaret’s sidesaddle.”

  She put down her book and gaped at him. “What?” Robert took the seat opposite her. “The trouble is, half the county was there yesterday. Anyone could’ve done it.”

  “But this makes no sense.”

  “It suggests to me that either Miss Margaret didn’t write those letters or she did, and that the same person who wanted Miss Broomfield to die wanted Miss Margaret dead, as well.” He blew out an exasperated breath. “Mayhap Miss Margaret was right. Miss Broomfield did have an accomplice, but it wasn’t Anna. It was Margaret all along.”

  “But I don’t think Miss Broomfield wrote those letters,” Lucy said.

  “What?” It was his turn to blink. “Why not?”

  She handed him a piece of paper. “Read this.”

  He put on his spectacles, held the scrap of paper closer to the light, and read it out loud. “You are a liar and a cheat, and your false God has forsaken you.”