Death Comes to the Nursery Read online

  “But how did she carry everything?” Lucy wondered.

  “I suspect she must have had help, which goes to show that she’d found a new man.”

  “That would make perfect sense,” Lucy agreed. “I do hope Viscount Gravely didn’t blame you for anything?”

  “He’s not been here since she left, my lady, so I haven’t seen him. But he’s kept me on to keep the place nice while he decides what to do with it.”

  “He is lucky that you chose to stay on and do your job so competently,” Lucy said admiringly.

  “It’s much easier to look after a house than its occupants.” Mrs. Pell shrugged. “I’m the only one who lives here full-time now.”

  “How many staff did you have before Flora left?”

  “Marjory, the kitchen maid, and the boot boy.” Mrs. Pell ticked them off on her fingers. “And Mr. Biggins, the man who took care of the horses, but he lives at the livery at the end of the street. I’d send Paul down when she needed the carriage.”

  “Did you hire your own staff, Mrs. Pell?”

  “No, they all came from Viscount Gravely’s various establishments.”

  “And that’s where they have probably returned,” Lucy guessed. “At least they weren’t all out of a job when this unfortunate event happened.”

  The kitchen door opened, and Robert came in. Mrs. Pell immediately stiffened as Lucy offered him a warm smile.

  “Ah, there you are, my dear. You will be pleased to hear that Mrs. Pell remembers Polly Carter but hasn’t seen her for a while.” She held her husband’s gaze. “I told her that we’d originally been seeking Polly to deliver a letter to her from Agnes and only learned about Flora Rosa because of that.”

  Robert placed two calling cards on the table. “I am glad that you have seen Polly, Mrs. Pell. If she turns up here again, will you please let us know? We would like to speak to her before we leave London.”

  Chapter 12

  They exited the house together, and Lucy waited until Mrs. Pell had shut the door before turning to Robert.

  “I didn’t mention that Flora Rosa was dead.”

  “So I gathered.” He paused by the carriage. “What do you want to do now?”

  “I suggest we go and speak to the parlor maid next door, and then to Mr. Biggins at the mews.”

  “You have been busy.” Robert smiled at her. “What if I go and find Mr. Biggins, and you concentrate on the maid?”

  “You had better take me up in the carriage first in case Mrs. Pell is watching us through the curtains,” Lucy suggested. “You can drop me off at the alley between the mews and the livery stables. I can walk back to the house next door.”

  “As you wish.” He opened the door for her with a flourish. “And then we will return to the Harringtons, and you will rest until dinnertime.”

  “I’m not going to argue with you,” Lucy said as he handed her up the steps. “I am quite fatigued.”

  “Then perhaps we should postpone our visits until tomorrow?”

  She turned and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’d much rather we didn’t. I want to go home. The longer we stay in London, the more I miss my dearest Ned.”

  He met her gaze and nodded. “Although your aunt and uncle have been most hospitable, I am more than happy to leave this place myself.”

  He walked around the carriage, had a word with the driver, and got in the other side.

  “What exactly am I supposed to be asking Mr. Biggins?”

  “Ask him about Flora Rosa and whether he remembers Polly, and try to confirm that he is employed by the Gravely family.”

  Robert snapped a salute. “Yes, my lady.”

  They moved off and stopped again after the carriage had executed the turn onto the next street

  “Everything is arranged, my dear,” Robert said. “Shall I wait for you at the livery stables?”

  “Yes, please.” She offered him an encouraging smile, straightened her bonnet, and descended from the vehicle without waiting for his assistance. He watched her walk off down the cobbled alley, her head high and her step firm. Despite his steady belief in her abilities, he still worried when she set off anywhere by herself. She did have a tendency to end up in trouble, and as she was currently with child, his concerns were higher than usual.

  At the livery stables, he asked for Mr. Biggins and was directed into the office at the rear of the building. A wiry, dark-haired man who had the look of a jockey stood up as Robert approached.

  “What can I do for you, sir?”

  “Are you Mr. Biggins?” Robert asked.

  “Indeed I am.”

  “Did you work for the lady who lived at number seventeen Gloucester Street?”

  “I did, sir. A pretty lass and a rising star of the theater.” He grimaced. “She’s gone now, though. Took my sunshine away with her, didn’t she?”

  “When did you last see her?” Robert asked.

  Mr. Biggins gave him the eye. “Who’s asking, and why?”

  “I’m Sir Robert Kurland. I’ve been trying to trace the cousin of our nursery maid, who was supposed to come and work for us, but she seems to have disappeared. She apparently worked with Flora Rosa. I was hoping that the lady might help me discover Polly’s whereabouts.”

  “Polly Carter?”

  “Yes.” Robert looked searchingly at Mr. Biggins. “Do you know her?”

  “I sometimes took her up with Miss Flora to the theater. She was a nice girl. Not a beauty like Miss Flo, but a pleasant and respectable young woman.” Mr. Biggins got out his pipe. “I can’t say I’ve seen her recently. Viscount Gravely closed the account with the livery about a month ago, after Miss Flora left.”

  “Did he come here personally to deal with you?”

  “No, his son summoned me to his big house on Grosvenor Square and paid me off. He did offer me my old job back in the stables, but I told him I’d decided to stay here and manage this place.”

  “Why was that? Were you unhappy at the Gravelys’?” Robert asked.

  “The pay is better here, and I can arrange my own time, which I appreciate after getting up at the crack of dawn every day just in case one of the Gravelys wanted to ride or needed a carriage.” Mr. Biggins got out his tobacco pouch and filled the bowl of his pipe. “And there’s no chance of being promoted there because the bloke who held this job before me went back to work for the Gravelys, and he’s been with them since he was a lad.”

  “Why did he leave this position?” Robert asked.

  “Miss Flora didn’t like him. I thought the viscount would kick him out on his ear, but apparently he took him back.”

  “Why didn’t Miss Flora like him?”

  “She resented him ‘spying’ on her.” Mr. Biggins lit his clay pipe and sucked on the stem to draw the air through. “Now, I was asked to keep an eye on her myself, but I did it a lot more discreetly than Bert, and she never complained or realized I was reporting back to the Gravelys.”

  “And Bert went back to work for the Gravelys?” Robert asked slowly.

  Mr. Biggins shrugged. “As I said, he was a good worker and never caused any trouble before he met Miss Flora.”

  “Did you help Miss Flora move her baggage to a new residence?” Robert decided he had nothing to lose in simply asking the question.

  Mr. Biggins looked around and then lowered his voice. “I might have helped her out with that, sir, but that’s only between you and me.”

  “Where did you take her belongings?”

  Mr. Biggins looked Robert up and down expectantly, and with a sigh, Robert produced a gold crown. “Will this help jog your memory?”

  “Well, thank you, sir.” Mr. Biggins pocketed the coin. “If you’ll give me a moment, I’ll write the address down for you.”

  * * *

  After knocking on the kitchen door of the house next to Flora Rosa’s, Lucy was let into the kitchen by the very woman she’d wanted to see. Marjory Wallis was a chatty girl who explained that she was alone in the house because her mistr
ess was shopping in town and Cook had taken the day off.

  “She’ll return to cook dinner in the evening, if it’s wanted, but knowing Miss Eileen, she won’t be coming home until the small hours, anyway.” Marjory winked at Lucy and patted the bench seat of the kitchen table. “She’s an actress, and she goes to grand parties, and all kinds of dinners, and balls . . .”

  Marjory paused to breathe. “Now would you like a cuppa? I bet that Mrs. Pell didn’t offer you one. She’s a mean old biddy. I don’t miss working there at all—except for the extra pay, and that Miss Flora was so kind and sweet to everyone.”

  She filled the kettle and set it on the stove. Lucy resigned herself to drinking more tea, which in her current condition was somewhat burdensome.

  “I want to be an actress one day,” Marjorie confessed. “Although I’m not beautiful like Miss Flora and Miss Eileen, I do have a good singing voice, and I can dance.”

  Lucy swallowed back her desire to advise Marjory to stay in her current position and merely smiled.

  “Were you surprised when Miss Flora left so suddenly?”

  “Well, yes, seeing as she’d only just settled in with Viscount Gravely, and she seemed so happy and grateful to be under his protection.” Marjory paused to place a jug of milk on the table. “She told me once that she felt safe for the first time in ages.”

  “And then she just left?” Lucy waited as Marjory half-filled the teapot that sat next to the kettle and brought it over. “Did she seem upset before that?”

  Marjory sat opposite, her expression worried. “She was certainly upset about something. I found her crying in the parlor one day.” She grimaced. “I couldn’t help but hear there had been an argument going on earlier.”

  “Between her and Viscount Gravely?”

  “It was hard to tell from the kitchen, but it did sound like him.” Marjory poured the tea. “He was telling her she was stupid, and that she was imagining things. Mr. Gravely came around to see her later, and she said he was very kind to her indeed.” Marjory laughed. “In truth, I think she saw more of the Gravely brothers than she did their father.”

  “Oh dear.” Lucy added lots of milk to her tea and sipped politely. “Perhaps things had soured between her and the viscount, and she was thinking of moving on.”

  “That’s what everyone thinks, but . . .” Marjory gripped her hands together on the table. “Where is she? If she had a new man to flaunt, why isn’t she back at work in the theater?”

  “Perhaps she feels it is too soon to show she has changed . . . allegiances?” Lucy suggested.

  “But for an actress, such notoriety would bring the public to see her in droves,” Marjory replied. “She’d be even more in demand and more famous than ever.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Lucy admitted.

  “I’m worried about her, ma’am.” Marjory met Lucy’s gaze straight on. “She always said that if she ever did leave Viscount Gravely, she would take me with her, and I haven’t heard a word.” She paused. “I did wonder whether she’d gone back to Mr. Gravely, and that’s why she’d gone to ground, but I doubt the viscount would’ve put up with that!”

  Lucy considered what to say next. Should she tell Marjory the truth or leave things as they were? As the maid obviously liked to chat, telling her that Flora was dead might spread the news back to Mrs. Pell and complicate matters even further.

  “Did you ever meet a woman called Polly Carter at Miss Flora’s?” Lucy asked.

  Marjory sipped her tea, her gaze sliding past Lucy’s toward the kitchen door as if she was imagining someone entering. “Yes, she sometimes came back with Miss Flora from the theater to fit her costumes. Do you know her?”

  “In truth, I am looking for her. I have a letter from her cousin Agnes that I am attempting to deliver. I had hoped that Polly was staying with Miss Flora, as she has not been home to see her mother recently.” Lucy paused. “I don’t suppose you know where Polly might be staying?”

  “I don’t, ma’am, but if I see her, I’ll be sure to tell her that someone is looking for her.”

  “I would appreciate that.” Lucy offered Marjorie her card. “I will be returning home in a day or so and would hate to miss her.”

  Lucy took her leave of Marjory and walked back down the quiet alleyway in deep thought. Flora had been arguing with someone just before she’d left and had confessed to being worried about something. Apparently, Viscount Gravely had just gone along with the general impression that she’d left him for another man.

  Had he really not known that his mistress had disappeared completely? Robert had met the viscount and his family and hadn’t been convinced that they were ignorant of Flora’s death. But how would they have known about a murder in Kurland St. Mary unless someone from their household had been present when it occurred?

  “Ah, there you are, my dear.” Robert hailed her from the entrance to the livery. “Are you ready to leave? I have a lot to tell you.”

  He helped her up into the carriage and shut the door, leaving them in relative privacy. Lucy sank back into the seat, aware that her feet were hurting and that she really did need to sleep . . .

  The next thing she knew, a burly footman was carrying her up to her room while Betty drew the curtains and pulled back the bedclothes. Robert appeared briefly at her side.

  “I’ll see you at dinner, my love.”

  She grabbed his hand. “But I have so much to share with you!”

  He smiled and kissed her fingers. “It will keep. I have a lot to tell you, too.”

  * * *

  Dinner at the Harringtons proceeded in its usual fashion, with excellent food and clever conversation—something Robert enjoyed participating in but didn’t miss in his own home on a daily basis. He planned to visit the address Mr. Biggins had given to him on the following morning, speak to the Gravelys again, and leave for Kurland St. Mary the day after. Like Lucy, he was missing his son and his home too much to stay away for much longer. He also had a sense that the mystery behind Flora’s death was rapidly becoming clearer.

  He pictured her beautiful face as he sipped his port. From all appearances, she had done little to deserve her fate, and the person who had ended her life ought to suffer for it. Jealousy was rarely becoming in anyone, and killing the object of your supposed love? Something he could never fathom at all . . .

  He looked down the long table toward his wife, who was conversing amiably with her dinner partner. She did look well, and his fears about her current condition receded somewhat. He might admit to being slightly overprotective of Lucy, but she did have a remarkable ability to find herself in dangerous situations.

  Penelope Fletcher appeared to be enjoying herself immensely at the dinner party. She had gathered a small circle of respectful admirers around her since renewing her acquaintance with the ton, something his friend Patrick appeared to find amusing rather than worrying. Like Flora, she was a beautiful woman. Robert was glad she’d decided he wasn’t good enough to marry her, but he was still rather perplexed as to why Patrick seemed so happy with her.

  In fairness, Penelope had chosen to give up her dreams of London society and live in a small village with an Irish doctor who was unlikely to ever make more than a comfortable living. Idly, Robert wondered what would’ve happened if Flora and Penelope’s lives had been reversed. Would Flora have succeeded in marrying a duke, and would Penelope have allowed herself to become a man’s mistress or striven to be the best actress in London? He suspected they would both have found a way to succeed on their own terms, as did most resourceful women.

  He reminded himself that Flora had reached high and was now dead. Perhaps Penelope’s decision to embrace love instead of status had been a wiser choice after all . . .

  Robert sipped his wine and helped himself to more fish. The earl of Harrington had approached him earlier in the evening about a potential opening for a seat he controlled in parliament. He’d offered it to Robert with the assurance that he would not dictate matters of po
licy on most matters, as he believed their interests were already well aligned. Lucy could have told her uncle that was not the case, as Robert truly wished to address the inequalities in the current voting system and would, if given the chance, probably vote to abolish his own seat.

  But it was something to think about and discuss with Lucy when they returned home. At the moment, all he wanted was for Flora’s murderer to be brought to justice. And in his opinion, returning to Kurland St. Mary would help greatly with that matter.

  At a signal from the countess, the ladies rose from their seats and left the dining room, leaving the men to their port and conversation. Robert extracted a cigarillo from his case and prepared to sit back and listen to the latest political scandal while his wife enjoyed her tea. If he did intend to take up a seat in the House of Commons, he should, perhaps, pay better attention to current affairs.

  He got up to find a light for his cigarillo. A commotion in the entrance hall caught his attention, and he walked over to the door to observe what was going on. There was an older man dressed in an ill-fitting coat, tricorn hat, and white stock tie waving a book in the face of the usually unflappable Harrington butler.

  “I demand to see that woman now!”

  “Lady Kurland is not at home to the likes of you, sir!” the butler raised his voice to match his opponents. “Now, if you won’t leave, I will call the Watch.”

  Robert quietly closed the door into the dining room behind him and advanced into the hall.

  “Is something the matter?”

  The butler turned to him. “Not at all, sir. This . . . gentleman is just leaving.”

  Robert regarded the red-faced man. “What do you want with Lady Kurland?”

  “She’s here, isn’t she?” The man shoved a card under Robert’s nose. “She gave this to my wife.”

  Robert raised his gaze to the man’s angry face. “Who are you, exactly, sir?”

  “I’m Mr. Carter. Polly’s father.”

  “Ah.” Robert turned to the butler. “Would you find somewhere for me to speak to Mr. Carter, and ask my wife to join us?”