Death Comes to the Nursery Page 10

  “Did he ever mention that his mother was sick before?”

  “He never mentioned he had a family. Said he grew up in an orphanage and was sent to work in the stables of some London toff before he took up boxing.”

  “He boxed?”

  “He used to, sir. When he applied for the position, he said he’d lost his taste for fighting and wanted a more secure job.”

  Recalling Bert’s broken nose, broad frame, and pugnacious expression, Robert could absolutely imagine him in the ring. If he still followed the sport, the piece of paper Lucy had found in his belongings might be a list of betting odds for fights.

  “And he started here about a month ago? Henry Haines said he arrived on the same coach as Polly Carter.”

  “That’s right!” Mrs. Jarvis entered the discussion. “I’d forgotten about that. Bert helped her off the roof of the coach and brought her bags down.”

  Robert drank his ale and declined Mrs. Jarvis’s offer of more food. When the innkeeper finished eating and set his plate to one side, both men descended into the cellar again. This time, Robert halted outside the door.

  “I need to speak to Bert alone. Can you wait out here and only come in if I shout for you?”

  Mr. Jarvis frowned. “Are you sure about this, sir? He’s not afraid of a fight.”

  “Obviously.” Robert took out his pistol. “I do have some protection, Mr. Jarvis. I won’t allow him to overcome me.”

  “As you wish,” Mr. Jarvis didn’t look happy as he unlocked the door. “But don’t hesitate to call out if you need me. There’s no shame in needing reinforcements, sir.”

  Having been in the military, Robert was fully cognizant of that fact. He went into the room to discover Bert sitting against the opposite wall, his cloak around his shoulders and his dark gaze fixed on the door. Robert set his pistol on the top of the nearest beer barrel, within easy reach of his hand.

  “Good morning, Bert.”

  His companion didn’t reply.

  “How did you know Polly Carter was dead if you were in London when her body was discovered?”

  “I didn’t know she was dead until you told me.”

  “Yet you didn’t seem shocked by my disclosure.”

  Bert shrugged. “Some might say she had it coming.”

  “So you weren’t surprised that she had been murdered?”

  “I didn’t say that, sir.” Bert met his gaze. “I told her to be careful. She wouldn’t listen, and she ended up dead.”

  “For a man who professed to be in love with her, you seem remarkably pleased that she died.”

  “It’s not my fault if she wouldn’t bloody listen, now, is it? I did my best to warn her.”

  “To warn her not to talk to any other man but you?”

  Bert opened his mouth as if to reply and then closed it again.

  “After you accosted Polly on the street, where did she go?” Robert asked after a lengthy silence.

  “I didn’t notice, sir. I had to get back to work.”

  “She didn’t follow you to the inn?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  “And you didn’t drag her off with you?”

  Bert scowled. “I wish I had. Maybe she’d still be alive if I’d locked her in my room for a few days.”

  “You were seen by more than one person arguing with Polly and then forcing her to accompany you away from public view. Where did you take her, and what did you do with her?”

  “I didn’t do anything that she didn’t deserve, sir,” Bert responded. “You can ask me as many questions as you like, and you’ll still get the same answer!”

  “Did she deserve to be killed?” Despite his growing frustration, Robert pressed on. “Did she, perhaps, refuse to accept your ultimatums and you accidentally killed her in a fit of rage?”

  “I didn’t bloody kill her!” Bert snarled.

  Robert reached inside his pocket and drew out the blue purse Lucy had found.

  “Then how did Polly’s purse end up hidden in the toe of your boot?”

  Bert shot to his feet, his gaze on Robert’s palm. “Where the bloody hell did you get that from? I—” He stopped and breathed out hard through his nose. “That just proves it wasn’t me.”

  “How so?” Robert asked.

  “Because if I’d murdered the silly cow, I wouldn’t have been stupid enough to steal her purse and leave it in my possession!”

  It was Robert’s turn to shrug. “Most murderers make mistakes. Isn’t that why you returned to Kurland St. Mary? To rectify your error?”

  “I came back because—” Bert closed his mouth and sat down again, his arms crossed over his chest.

  “Because what, Bert?”

  “Someone is trying to make me look guilty, sir. Someone wants me to be blamed for this. That’s the man you should be looking for, not me.”

  “Does this man have a name?” Robert asked mildly. “Because from what I can see, all the evidence of this crime points to you. You were seen arguing with Polly, you even admit to doing so. You were seen dragging her off, and you have her stolen purse in your possession.”

  “You’re wrong, sir. Polly herself told me that she’d seen the man, which was why we were arguing in the first place! If you’d just let me out of here, I could prove it in an instant!”

  “Of course, you could.” Robert put the purse back in his pocket. “I’m afraid you’ll have to stay right where you are for now. If you suddenly remember the name of the man you say we should be looking for, then please let me know.”

  Bert made a frustrated sound. “If you let me out, I can find him for you.”

  “If you tell me his name or give me a description, I can find him myself.” Robert reclaimed his pistol. “If there is such a man in Kurland St. Mary, he should be easily recovered.”

  “He’s probably gone back to London by now.”

  “And you foolishly imagine I’ll let you go to London to find him?” Robert turned to the door. “You must think I’m a complete flat. Good day, Bert.”

  “You can’t keep me here forever!”

  Robert knocked on the door and looked over his shoulder at Bert. “I am aware of that, but as the local magistrate, I can send you to the county town to await trial for murder whenever it suits me.”

  Bert glowered at him. “If you do that, you’ll be condemning an innocent man to death.”

  “Then you’d better come up with the name of the man you insist is the real murderer before I do so, hadn’t you?”

  Robert waited until Mr. Jarvis secured the door behind him before heading for the stairs.

  “Did he admit it yet, sir?”

  “No. He’s insisting that someone else is responsible.”

  Mr. Jarvis’s disbelieving snort echoed Robert’s thoughts.

  “If he doesn’t change his tune soon, I will be sending him off to await trial at the county assizes,” Robert said as he emerged into the hallway of the inn.

  “Aye, sir. But don’t you worry in the meantime. I’ll keep him safe for you here.”

  “I appreciate that.” Robert shook the landlord’s hand. “Are there any letters to take up to the hall?”

  “No, sir, are you expecting something in particular?”

  “Just a letter from London.” In fact, Robert was fairly certain they would never hear from Polly’s mother, but he refused to give up hope.

  “I’ll send one of the boys up if we get anything later, sir.” Mr. Jarvis walked through to the yard with him, his keen gaze settling on his ostlers, who were standing around with very little to do.

  “Get Sir Robert’s gig out, Fred!” Mr. Jarvis bellowed.

  As Dermot had walked into the village to speak to some of the tenants, Robert climbed up, took possession of the reins, and left the inn, his mind full of the complicated conversations he’d had that morning. James and Dermot were not being honest, and Bert Speers was intent on denying what would seem to be a clear case against him.

  Robert heaved a sigh. The
re was no way around it. If he wanted to find out exactly what had happened to the real Polly Carter and why his nursemaid had been murdered, he would have to go to London. Probably with his wife, because unless he incarcerated her in the cellar alongside Bert Speers, she would never allow him to leave without her.

  * * *

  Lucy smiled as her son ran ahead of them, his gaze fixed on the distant stables. He had all his father’s determination, and she had no doubt that if left to his own devices, he would prefer to spend his days with the grooms and horses. She glanced over at her husband, who was walking alongside her, his expression thoughtful, his blue gaze turned inward.

  “Did you manage to convince Bert to confess his crime?”

  “No.” He grimaced. “He tried to persuade me that there is another man involved in the matter—a man he conveniently refused to name.”

  “Yet you still seem troubled.”

  “You know me too well.” His slight smile warmed her. “As I told Bert, he is the one who was seen threatening Flora—something he admits—and he was seen dragging her off somewhere. He then ran off to London to see a ‘sick mother’ when Mr. Jarvis told me he was raised in an orphanage.”

  For once, Lucy remained silent as Robert continued to talk.

  “And then we have the mystery of what James was up to, and Dermot telling me that he saw Bert with Flora and did nothing to stop him because he didn’t wish to disobey my orders.”

  “That sounds highly unlikely,” Lucy conceded.

  “I don’t like all these loose ends, Lucy. As the local magistrate, I should assess the evidence and immediately send Bert to the assizes, but my instinct tells me I’m missing something important.”

  “I’m not sure what,” Lucy pointed out. “It seems quite clear to me. Bert was obsessed with Flora, disliked her enjoying the company of other men, and strangled her in a fit of jealous rage.”

  Robert stopped walking and flung his arms wide. “Then why in God’s name did he come back to Kurland St. Mary?”

  Lucy frowned. “Perhaps he felt guilty and wanted to be found out?”

  “Then why not confess everything instead of stubbornly insisting that he didn’t kill her, and that someone else is making it look like he did it? None of this makes sense.”

  “And I haven’t heard from Polly’s mother, either,” Lucy reminded him.

  Robert resumed walking again. “There’s no escaping it, my love. We’re going to have to go to London, speak to Polly’s mother, and try to find out what happened to the real Polly Carter.”

  Chapter 9

  Confident that, in her absence, Ned would be well looked after by Anna and a very repentant Agnes, Lucy was looking forward to her visit to London. She hadn’t been there since her marriage and was eager to explore the shops, visit the theaters, and enjoy the new fashions. Robert gave her a substantial amount of pin money that she rarely spent in the village. She had funds at her disposal and a long list of requests from Anna and Rose to satisfy.

  Her only concern about the whole journey was currently sitting opposite her in the carriage . . .

  “I am so looking forward to staying with your uncle, the earl of Harrington, Lucy! I’m certain that your family move in the very best circles, and that, as we both know, is where I belong.”

  Lucy caught Dr. Fletcher’s attempt to stifle a grin as his wife expounded on her own family connections and her conviction that she would’ve been greatly missed by the ton.

  When Robert had informed her that he intended to bring Dr. Fletcher with him, Lucy had accepted the need for a strong man to accompany her husband into the somewhat dangerous area around Whitechapel, where Polly’s mother lived. She had not anticipated that Penelope would insist on joining them, leaving her own son in Lucy’s nursery “to keep Ned company.”

  It was, however, quite like Penelope to blatantly ignore Lucy’s sensibilities in order to further her own plans. It was also why Penelope had ended up spending six weeks in Bath at the Kurland town house and had given birth to her son there.

  Sometimes one just had to accept one’s fate, but Lucy was getting somewhat tired of it.

  “Where exactly is the Harrington residence, Lucy?” Penelope inquired.

  “Portland Square.”

  Penelope sighed blissfully. “How lovely! And are all your cousins still living at home?”

  “Both of them are still there. I believe Julia is engaged now and will be marrying next year. Max is unlikely to be allowed to move out until my uncle decides he is mature enough to do so.”

  “Do they entertain much?”

  “I have no idea.” Lucy faked a yawn and settled into her seat. “I do hope you will excuse me, Penelope, but I am rather tired.”

  Robert, who could sleep anywhere, was already dozing, lulled by the motion of the carriage. It would take them at least two long days and four changes of horses to get to London in a timely manner, with stops at inns along the way. Lucy could only hope that Penelope did not intend to question her about her family for the entire journey.

  * * *

  Eventually, they drew up outside her uncle David’s imposing mansion in Portland Square, and Lucy allowed Robert to help her out of the carriage. The front door of the house opened, and a stream of liveried servants came down the steps and immediately started unloading the baggage. Robert surreptitiously stretched out his injured left leg, which never did well on long carriage rides, and started haltingly up the stairs.

  He waited for Lucy and the Fletchers to join him in the grand black and white tiled hall where an imposing butler greeted them.

  “Sir Robert, would you care to follow me? Lord and Lady Harrington are awaiting you in the drawing room.”

  The butler turned to ascend yet another flight of stairs, and Robert grimaced. Lucy went to his side and offered him her arm, and they made their laborious way up the steps. Robert shared his muttered opinion that town houses were the very devil, necessitating endless stair climbing, sometimes over seven floors.

  “Lady Kurland, Sir Robert Kurland, Dr. Fletcher, and Mrs. Fletcher.” The butler announced them and stood aside to allow Lucy to enter the room.

  “Lucy, my dear!” Lucy’s uncle David came forward and drew her into an embrace. “You are looking very well, my girl, very well indeed.”

  “As are you,” Lucy smiled up at him. He looked quite like her father, but was far more forthright and always full of energy. “Thank you for allowing us to stay with you for a few days.”

  “It’s our pleasure.” He turned to Robert and shook his hand. “How are you, sir?”

  “Very well, thank you, my lord.” Robert turned and gestured toward the Fletchers. “May I introduce you to the earl of Harrington, Mrs. Fletcher, Dr. Fletcher?”

  Penelope curtsied low. “A pleasure, my lord.”

  “Dr. Fletcher and I served together in the Hussars, and he was single-handedly responsible for saving my life,” Robert said.

  The earl exchanged bows with Dr. Fletcher and offered Penelope an appreciative smile. “You are both most welcome.” He looked over at his wife, who was speaking to Lucy. “I believe we have arranged a dinner party for the night after this to celebrate your arrival. Is that not correct, Jane?”

  “Indeed we have.” Lucy’s aunt Jane, who was a formidable society hostess, smiled at them all. “You will have the opportunity to meet Julia’s intended, and Max has promised me that he will attend.”

  “Has he?” The earl raised an eyebrow. “Good, because I’ve been meaning to speak to him about overspending his allowance.”

  Aunt Jane slid her hand through Lucy’s elbow and turned toward the door. “I am sure that you are all quite exhausted by your journey. I will show you to your rooms and will expect to see you at dinner at promptly six o’clock.”

  * * *

  After a sumptuous dinner and some animated conversation, Robert retired with Lucy to their bedchamber. With the help of his valet, Silas, he set about changing his best coat for an older one and p
ut on a sturdy pair of boots.

  “There is no need to tell your uncle where Dr. Fletcher and I are going, my dear.” Robert slid his pistol into his pocket, along with a small sharp knife. “Let them think that all of us are having an early night after our travels.”

  “You forget that in a house this size there are always servants on call. My aunt and uncle will be perfectly aware that you went out, but I doubt they will ask me about it.”

  He flashed her a conspiratorial smile. “They’ll probably think we’re off to a gambling hell or a brothel.”

  “Which is exactly why they will not inquire!” Lucy sat forward. “Please be careful, Robert.”

  “We are only going to visit the two theaters that Flora had playbills for and inquire about her there.” Robert stood up. “If we’re lucky, we might find Polly Carter as well.”

  “Somehow I doubt that. Tomorrow I intend to call on Polly’s mother.”

  “I will come with you.”

  “You are more than welcome to accompany me, but if you find out something important at the theater tonight, you might wish to make the best use of our time here and investigate that.”

  Robert paused as he buttoned his coat. “If I do have to go elsewhere, you will take Silas with you.”

  “Of course, I will. I’m not unintelligent.”

  He went over to kiss her cheek. “I know. Now, don’t stay up until I return. You need your rest.”

  “I fear you are right.” She sighed and placed a hand over her stomach. “I have no notion why sitting in a carriage is so tiring.”

  “Perhaps Mrs. Fletcher is the cause of your symptoms rather than the carriage ride.”

  “And yet you allowed her to come on this journey with us.”

  “I didn’t have a choice.” He kissed her cheek again. “I do apologize.”

  She waved an irritable hand at him, and he retreated to the door. As Silas left, Robert asked him to make sure that Dr. Fletcher was ready to leave, and to send up Betty, Lucy’s maid, to help Lucy get ready for bed.

  He went down the main staircase into the grand entrance hall and immediately encountered the butler, who had more gravitas than the earl himself.