“Which is why I suggested Mr. Clapper stay to enjoy the festivities with us.” Robert collected his cane and headed for the door. “We can keep him occupied for a day or so, until we have more time to deal with him.”
“That will certainly help. Will you ask Dermot to keep an eye on him? I’d rather he didn’t depart with our silver tucked in his saddlebags.”
“I will make sure that doesn’t happen.” Robert bowed. “Have you had any news from the Greenwells?”
“Only that Margaret is still unconscious.” Lucy sighed and rose to leave, as well. “All we can do is pray and hope for the best at this point.”
Chapter 17
The morning of Christmas Eve rolled in with black clouds and rumbling thunder, making the breakfast room gloomy even with all the curtains drawn back. Robert had disappeared to help Dermot and the farmworkers set up for the party, which was being held in the largest barn at the Kurland Hall Home Farm. Barrels of ale, cider and porter were already stacked up by the door, and the trestle tables awaited the sweeping of the floor and the removal of spiderwebs and debris.
All the housemaids were currently over at the barn, cleaning, and were due to return at any moment. Lucy was counting on them to start clearing what had once been the medieval hall of Kurland manor to create enough space for her guests to dance in. The original minstrels’ gallery still remained, and the musicians hired from London were due to set up there later in the day.
Already, the house smelled of pine boughs and the holly and rosemary garlands that Grace had already started to drape around the hall when she arrived at dawn. A large bunch of mistletoe had been tacked into place over the fireplace, and the Yule log was ready to be lit.
At two o’clock all the house servants would be released to attend the village party with their friends and families. At six the houseguests would sit down for a festive dinner, and the ball would begin at eight. The Harringtons and the Fletchers were dealing with the majority of the tasks associated with the village party, and Lucy, Sophia, and Aunt Rose were taking care of the ball arrangements.
It was only nine o’clock in the morning, and Lucy was already feeling quite frazzled. She hadn’t spoken to Robert about what had occurred between him and Mrs. Jarvis at the inn. To sustain her, she had the excuse that they were both too busy to discuss such an important issue, and she would consider her options after the ball.
She checked the list that was constantly open at her side. She’d ordered a new gown from her dressmaker in Hertford, and it had been delivered the day before. Betty, her maid, had been in raptures about it, but Lucy hadn’t even bothered to try it on. She had a horrible suspicion that she had lost weight and that the gown would only emphasize her loss of looks.
Foley came in with the morning mail and deposited it at her side.
“Good morning, my lady. It’s quite like old times here today, what with all the comings and goings.”
“Indeed it is.” Lucy manufactured a smile. “I’ll be visiting the kitchens later to see how everything is coming along.”
“Cook was busy steaming plum puddings last time I looked in there,” Foley said. “She made an extra dozen for the villagers’ tea this year.”
“Have the maids come back yet?”
“They just arrived, my lady. They said it’s getting very cold out there now, so wrap up warm when you go out to the party later, won’t you?”
“Of course. Thank you for everything you do, Foley. I hope you know how much Sir Robert and I appreciate you.”
“Thank you for making the major so happy, my lady.” Foley’s smile was warm. “At one point, I thought no one would ever want to marry him, what with his cantankerous ways and quick temper.”
“His bark is definitely worse than his bite,” Lucy agreed. “I am glad you consider me a civilizing influence.”
Foley chuckled as he turned back to the door. “Meaning no disrespect, my lady, but you certainly keep him on his toes.”
Lucy’s smile faded as she quickly sorted through the pile of correspondence. There were a couple of replies to the ball that had arrived after the actual responders. That wasn’t unusual at this time of the year, when the roads were treacherous and the ability to bring the mail was dependent on someone willing to risk carrying it.
She paused at a small folded sheet with just the word Kurland scrawled on it and slowly turned it over. It was probably meant for Robert, but even after carefully scrutinizing the surface, she couldn’t absolutely say it wasn’t addressed to them both. There was no seal, so she decided to read it, anyway. If it was for Robert, then she would simply refold it and place it in his study, along with his other correspondence.
Her fingers trembled as she undid the folds and spread out the paper.
Ask your husband about his child, and consider why his sins mean you will remain barren.
The paper blurred as her eyes filled with tears. With an immense effort, Lucy put the paper down and spent a moment wiping her eyes. The coldness of the room invaded her bones and settled around her heart.
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.
Mrs. Jarvis’s words echoed around Lucy’s head like a chant, as clearly as if she were standing there saying them again.
Bobby for Robert. Of course. He was fifteen or so years of age and had black hair and blue eyes....
After picking up the note, she folded it very carefully into a precise square and put it in her pocket. Without thinking, she headed into the hall and started up the stairs, amazed at some level that she could still function, while inside she wailed and wept and tore at her hair.
Luckily, her bedchamber was empty. She crossed over to the window and curled up on the window seat that overlooked the formal gardens to the rear of the house.
What to do?
She took a deep shuddering breath. She was a practical woman, well known for her good sense and management skills. Firstly, she had to survive the party, the ball, and Christmas Day itself....
But how?
She reminded herself that she had survived her mother’s death, had been shot, and had been near death herself. If she feigned illness and spent the next two days in bed, no one would disbelieve her, but their concern and love might be too much to bear. Tears threatened again, and she wrapped her arms around her stomach.
The thought that Robert already had a child bore down on her, making her own efforts to provide him with an heir seem somewhat laughable. Had he always known that Mrs. Jarvis had delivered his child? Had he secretly supported her ever since, or had the recent arrival of the boy been a surprise?
Many of her friends would tell her that whatever happened in the past bore no reflection on either Robert’s character or his love for her. In a gentleman’s world, there were different classes of females: ladies they married, women who worked for them in their houses or factories, and mistresses who took care of their more basic needs.
Once, long ago, in an exasperated attempt to justify his own conduct, her father had explained that world to her and had expected her simply to accept it.
Even if Robert acknowledged the boy, he could never inherit Kurland Hall or the title. Paul would inherit those. But Bobby still existed....
After lifting her head, Lucy looked out of the diamond-paned window. Marriage was for life. There was no getting around that. She loved Robert, and she was certain that he held her in high regard and would never expose her to the humiliation of accepting his illegitimate child into her home.
Which left her where exactly?
That remained to be seen, but in the meantime, she would simply have to carry on as if her heart wasn’t breaking. At least she was busy, and if she really tried, she could probably persuade herself not to think about the matter at all.
* * *
“What a wonderful party, Lady Kurland!”
Lucy paused to speak to Rebecca Hall, who was directing o
ne of her younger brothers around the barn in a country-dance. The noise level was high, and it was difficult to hear much beyond the wailing of the pipes and the steady beat of the drums. Everyone appeared to be having a magnificent time. Food was piled high on the trestle tables, there was plenty to drink, and the children were currently being entertained by a Punch-and-Judy show.
“I am glad that you are enjoying yourself, Rebecca.”
“I went to Greenwell Manor and asked Mr. Greenwell if Josephine could come to the party, and he gave his permission. She’s sitting over there with my mum. She’s going to stay the night with me.”
“How kind of you.” Lucy’s cheeks were starting to hurt from all her smiling. At least she didn’t have to worry about meeting Mrs. Jarvis. Bobby was there, but the innkeeper’s wife had apparently stayed home to care for her Christmas guests. “Did Mr. Greenwell mention how Miss Margaret was faring?”
“He said she was starting to stir, and that Dr. Fletcher is very hopeful she will recover very soon.”
“How wonderful.” Lucy’s voice quavered, and she quickly cleared her throat. “Perhaps you and Josephine might enjoy a glimpse of the guests arriving at the ball tonight. I can arrange with my housekeeper for you to stay at the hall, if your mother agrees.”
“Really, my lady?” Rebecca’s face glowed, and she grabbed Lucy’s hand. “I can show Josephine the library! She will be so excited! Come and ask my mum!”
Lucy allowed herself to be dragged across the barn to where the Hall family was sitting. Mrs. Hall was tapping her feet to the music and enjoying a large slice of Cook’s plum pudding.
“Good afternoon, Lady Kurland.” She nodded at Josephine, who was looking quite animated for once. “Did Becky tell you we have another guest tonight?”
“Indeed she did,” Lucy said. “And I have a favor to ask you. . . .”
* * *
After assuring Mrs. Hall that she would take good care of the girls, Lucy threaded her way back through the crowds, stopping at every turn to hear the well wishes of the villagers and their thanks for the party. She bumped into Bertha, the maid from the inn. She was wearing a pink dress that clashed slightly with her red hair, which was already falling out of its haphazard bun from her too-vigorous dancing.
After exchanging pleasantries, Lucy asked, “Do you remember when I asked you about Mr. Clapper?”
“Yes, indeed, my lady.”
“Had the rumors that Miss Broomfield was dead reached the Queen’s Head before Mr. Clapper left for London that morning?”
“Oh, yes, my lady. Everyone was talking about it at breakfast time.”
“So Mr. Clapper probably heard the news?”
“Unless he was sitting there with his fingers in his ears, which he wasn’t, my lady, then he must have heard.”
“Thank you.” Lucy went to turn away, but Bertha was still speaking.
“Come to think of it, he went a bit green around the gills just before he left. I thought one of the eggs he’d eaten must’ve been rotten, but you never know. Maybe he didn’t care for hearing talk of murder over his breakfast.”
“Quite possibly.”
Lucy moved on, her gaze occasionally straying to the high table where Robert was entertaining the more upper-class guests who had also joined the party. His normally harsh face looked relaxed, and he was smiling slightly at something her father had just said to him. He would never be the most handsome man in a room, but he certainly had a commanding presence. She quickly looked away, surprised at the visceral throb of pain in her very bosom.
It had been quite easy to avoid him so far. She planned on getting dressed for the ball early and vacating their shared chamber before he came to change. She at least had the excuse of needing to be downstairs to make sure everything was in order for the dinner and the ball.
At some point, she would have to talk to him again, but for some reason, she couldn’t even begin to imagine what to say. . . .
“Afternoon, Lady Kurland.”
She looked up to see Mathias beaming down at her.
“Good afternoon. I meant to thank you for all your work in delivering the children to the church to sing their Christmas carols.”
“It was nothing, my lady.” He shrugged. “I knew where most of the little ones lived, because I took a few of them home after the last practice at the school.” He chuckled. “I remember young Josephine almost got left behind that day. She had to run and catch us up in the village.”
“And she has the farthest journey,” Lucy added. “It was kind of you to wait for her.”
“Not the first time I’ve taken her home, and not the first time she’s forgotten something.” Mathias winked at her. “But she’s a polite young thing and always apologizes for keeping me waiting. Sometimes she talked to me about that teacher of yours—not that I needed telling. I take reading and writing lessons with Mr. Culpepper once in a while in the schoolroom. That Miss Broomfield made our lives very difficult if we just breathed too loudly for her liking.” He crossed himself. “God rest her soul.”
“Indeed. Are you enjoying learning to read?”
“Aye.” He hesitated. “When you can open a book and read what’s there, you can escape into another world for a while.” He looked almost embarrassed. “Not that I ain’t happy with my place in life, my lady. I mean no disrespect.”
“I am glad that you enjoy reading, Mathias,” Lucy said firmly. “What is your favorite book?”
“We’re reading The Pilgrim’s Progress by Mr. John Bunyan. A fine and worthy tale of suffering and godly deliverance.”
“Indeed it is.”
“The learning to write is much harder.” He grimaced and flexed his fingers. “But I’ll keep at it. Now I’d better let you go, my lady. I reckon that everyone wants to speak to you and Sir Robert today.”
“It seems like it.” Lucy nodded. “Merry Christmas, Mathias.”
“And to you, my lady.”
Perhaps she should reread The Pilgrim’s Progress herself. She certainly felt like she was mired in the slough of despond . . .
“Are you all right, Lucy?”
She turned to find Anna, flushed and happy, with Dermot at her side.
“Yes. Are you both enjoying yourselves?”
“Indeed we are.” Anna looked up at Dermot. “Father is scowling fit to burst, but we’re hardly behaving inappropriately by enjoying a dance or two together. This isn’t Almack’s.” She glanced back at the top table and tossed her blond head. “Mrs. Armitage is keeping him company now, and he seems happier. What time are we supposed to be giving out the gifts?”
“Fairly soon, I should think,” Dermot said, checking his pocket watch. “It is almost four o’clock, and dinner will be served at six, before the ball. I’ll go and consult with Sir Robert.”
“Thank you.” Lucy said.
Lucy waited until Robert actually called for quiet before making her way slowly toward the front of the barn.
“Thank you all for coming,” Robert said. It was interesting to watch him from afar and see how much progress he’d made since returning wounded and bloodied from the battle of Waterloo. “We have had a very successful year at Kurland Hall, and we wanted to share that prosperity with you.”
There was a loud cheer, and a few caps were waved in the air.
“I’d like to thank Mr. Dermot Fletcher, Dr. and Mrs. Fletcher, the rector and Miss Harrington for their invaluable support in organizing this party. I’d also like to thank all the Kurland Hall staff, especially Cook, for producing a veritable mountain of food.”
People raised their tankards to toast their landlord.
Suddenly, Robert looked straight at her and held out his hand. “I’d particularly like to thank Lady Kurland. Firstly, for her remarkable energy and organizational ability, and secondly, for agreeing to marry an old curmudgeon like me.”
Lucy’s breath caught in her throat as he beckoned for her to join him. Could she do it? Did she have a choice?
A s
torm of clapping broke out around her, and a path was cleared leading straight to Robert’s side. He was a good man, and he was her husband. She was valued in her community, and that had to count for something. Could she run away from every expectation that had been heaped upon her from birth, as Miss Broomfield had done? She didn’t have that kind of strength. She took the first uncertain step and kept going.
* * *
Robert swallowed in one go a glass of the brandy he’d asked Foley to bring up to his bedchamber. After three hours of standing around entertaining his tenants and the local villagers, his leg hurt like the devil, and he still had to endure the inanities of the ball. He glanced impatiently around the room, noticing the absence of clutter and the hint of lavender perfume, which indicated that his wife had been there before him.
He limped over to ring the bell for his valet. Lucy had asked him to wear his old dress uniform for the ball, and he’d been more than willing to oblige her. He was far more at home in his blue coat and silver facings than in the ridiculous fashions of his contemporaries. He had no intention of dancing—couldn’t perform even if he wanted to—and didn’t miss it at all. Although it would be nice to open the ball with his wife, who did love to dance and got very few opportunities to do so.
Something was very wrong with her.
He helped himself to more brandy. Was she ill and not telling him, or was it something more fundamental? Getting her to speak to him was proving almost impossible on today of all days, but there was a look in her eyes that tore at his heart....
As if he had conjured her with his concern, the little-used door set in the dividing wall opened and Lucy emerged from it, his aunt Rose at her side. His wife wore a striking crimson gown of soft velvet and gold lace that suited her to perfection. She would never be as beautiful as her sister, Anna, but she was a handsome woman with a dignity and charm that had won his eternal devotion.
Rose smiled at him. “I do apologize, my dear! I didn’t realize you were already upstairs. Lucy and I were just considering the logistics of restoring the dressing room and second bedchamber connected to this one.”
Death Comes to the School Page 23
