Death Comes to the Nursery Page 20

  “You did what you thought was best at the time with the information you had,” Lucy reminded him.

  “Don’t try and exonerate me.” He scowled at her. “I failed Flora and Marjory.”

  She reached over and took his fisted hand in hers. “You cannot change what happened, can you? Therefore, all you can do is move forward and do your best to bring their murderer to justice.”

  “How?” Robert asked.

  “I would start by writing to Viscount Gravely, and making sure that he understands the implications of aiding or abetting Bert Speers.”

  “I can certainly do that.”

  “And I will write to my uncle, and see if he can use his influence to persuade the viscount to reveal where Bert is.”

  “It’s a start,” Robert said and raised her hand to his mouth to kiss her knuckles. “Thank you, my dear. I know I can always rely on your good sense to set me right.”

  Lucy smiled. “I appreciate the compliment, but I must admit that usually I am the one who relies on your common sense, not the other way around.”

  She pushed back her chair. “I will go and write to my uncle immediately.”

  “And I will write to Viscount Gravely. He might have denied me access to his house, but he can hardly object to a letter.”

  Lucy wrote her letter and left it with Robert, who intended to send it off with his as quickly as possible. Leaving him to finish his missive, she went upstairs and paused outside the room where Polly was being cared for. Going in, she found Betty sitting beside the bed, knitting, while she watched over the patient.

  “How is she?” Lucy asked.

  “She hasn’t stirred,” Betty replied. “I managed to get a few sips of water down her throat earlier, as Dr. Evans suggested.”

  “Well done,” Lucy said. “Would you mind going up to the nursery and telling Mrs. Akers that I intend to come with her on her walk with Ned? I will watch over Polly while you are away.”

  “As you wish, my lady.”

  Betty was one of the few Kurland servants who had been trusted with Polly’s true identity.

  After Betty left, Lucy took her place beside the bed and looked at Polly’s slack, unresponsive face. The left side of her head was still badly bruised, as were her upper arms where Bert had attempted to drag her away with him. Lucy wrapped her fingers around one of Polly’s wrists and spoke slowly and clearly.

  “Polly, if you can hear me, I want you to know that you are safe and protected at Kurland Hall. There is no need to be afraid. Sir Robert and I only wish to help discover who murdered Flora Rosa and bring them to justice. Perhaps, when you wake up, you can tell us what has been going on. I promise that we will believe you.”

  Lucy felt slightly foolish speaking to an unconscious person, but she was at her wit’s end. And if her words could penetrate Polly’s torpor, then she was certainly willing to try.

  For a brief second, her hopes flared as Polly blinked and restlessly moved her head from side to side, but she subsided into nothingness again. Lucy let out a breath she had been unaware of holding, and her baby kicked hard against her stomach.

  She would repeat her plea to Polly once a day and pray that, at some point, the girl would wake up. Her only concern was that by the time Polly was able and willing to tell her tale, Viscount Gravely would have concocted a story to defend himself and Bert. No one would believe a lowly servant like Polly against a peer of the realm.

  Betty came back in, and Lucy rose to her feet. There was no point in worrying about things that she could not control. She would walk with Anna and Ned down to the stables and consult with Dr. Evans when he came to visit his patient at three.

  * * *

  Robert looked up as he finished folding and sealing his letter to Viscount Gravely, and found his land agent had come into his study.

  “Ah, there you are, Dermot. Can you arrange to have both these letters taken down to the Queen’s Head and delivered to London with all speed?”

  “Yes, Sir Robert.” Dermot took the letters but remained pinned to the spot.

  “Well, get on with it,” Robert suggested.

  “I forgot to tell you that I sent a man to fix my brother’s roof.”

  “Good.”

  Dermot still didn’t move.

  “I . . . wanted to ask you something, sir.” He swallowed hard. “The woman who came with Dr. Evans?”

  “What about her?” Robert asked.

  “Does she have something to do with the disappearance and death of Polly Carter?”

  Robert set down his pen. After attempting to write a letter to Viscount Gravely that wouldn’t immediately be thrown on the fire, his patience was already wearing thin. Perhaps this was a good moment to revisit his concerns about Dermot’s interactions with Flora. He’d be damned if he would find the truth out otherwise.

  “Why would you think that?” Robert asked.

  Dermot shrugged. “I just overheard something when I was in the kitchen, and I began to wonder . . .”

  “I’m still not certain why you are wondering anything when your own relationship with Polly Carter could be viewed in a very unfavorable light.”

  “What?” Dermot blinked at him. “I mean, I beg your pardon, sir?”

  “You were angry with Polly for not returning your affection,” Robert pointed out. “Shortly afterward, she was murdered on a farm that you and I had visited that very week.”

  “I did not murder her, Sir Robert.” Despite his pallor, Dermot met Robert’s gaze straight on, the outrage in his eyes quite visible. “I would never do anything so underhanded. How could you even think such a thing of me?”

  “Then why do you continue to lie to me about why you didn’t go after her when you allegedly saw Bert Speers dragging her off down the high street?” Robert demanded. He was tired of all the deception, particularly from members of his own damned staff, who should know better. Dermot was supposed to be his most trusted employee. “If you truly cared for her, you would’ve intervened, and perhaps she would be alive today!”

  The last part wasn’t particularly fair, but Robert was beyond that. If he was ever to work out what had happened to Flora Rosa, he had to get to the bottom of all the deceptions and lies that had piled up around her.

  “I didn’t go after her, because—” Dermot stopped speaking and gazed helplessly at Robert.

  “Because what?”

  “I . . . became distracted,” Dermot said carefully. “I am not proud of what happened, but I at least attempted to do the right thing and make sure he was placed somewhere safe.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake. That’s it, isn’t it?” Robert stood up, startling Dermot, and marched over to the door. He opened it and bellowed.

  “James! Come into my study immediately!”

  Robert waited by the door until James appeared, looking remarkably apprehensive. He guided him into his study, where his footman took one look at Dermot and almost bolted. Robert shut the door before either of them decided to make a run for it.

  He returned to stand behind his desk. “Now, let’s have it. Who hit who first?”

  James raised his hand. “I cast the first blow, sir.” His cheeks reddened. “He told me to leave Polly alone, and I came back and thumped him.”

  “Is this true?” Robert looked at Dermot.

  “Yes, sir.” Dermot admitted. “And then I hit him back, and he went down like a stone.”

  “I tripped over a branch!” James protested. “You hardly touched me.”

  “That’s not correct, you—”

  “Be quiet! Both of you.” Robert held up a hand. “I am not interested in your claims to boxing greatness. I am merely concerned with finding out what happened next.”

  “I tried to rouse James, but without success,” Dermot said. “I didn’t want to leave him lying by the church, so I decided that the best thing to do was to take him to his parents’ farm, which was where he had been heading anyway.”

  “Then why didn’t you take him right up to the
front door?” Robert asked.

  “Because I didn’t want them to know what I’d done,” Dermot explained. “As your land agent, I am in a position of authority on this estate. I didn’t want James’s parents to think badly of me.”

  “It’s a shame you didn’t think about that before you acted like a jealous fool over a woman who would never have consented to be your wife,” Robert said acidly.

  “I agree I acted impulsively,” Dermot said. “I am ashamed of that.”

  Robert looked from James to Dermot. “What I still don’t understand is why neither of you owned up to this beforehand.”

  James cleared his throat. “You thought I’d murdered Polly, sir.”

  “So why not tell me the truth?” Robert snapped.

  “Well, it was like this, sir. I thought that, being as I was knocked out and at my parents’ house, that would be enough for you to realize that I couldn’t possibly have killed Polly, without me muddying the waters by telling you about a stupid fight and getting Mr. Fletcher into trouble as well.”

  Robert digested that meandering statement and slowly breathed out through his nose. He’d dealt with a fair number of young soldiers in his military career, and their absurd logic never ceased to amaze him.

  “I felt the same way, Sir Robert,” Dermot piped up. “I knew that James was in trouble when you had him locked in his room. I thought that bringing up our fight might only make things worse for him.”

  “Did it not occur to either of you halfwits that telling me everything might have helped me catch Polly’s murderer faster?”

  Dermot and James exchanged an embarrassed look, and then replied in unison.

  “Not really, sir.”

  James continued. “What could our disagreement have to do with Bert Speers grabbing hold of Polly?”

  “For one thing, if the two of you hadn’t been so busy fighting each other, one of you might have been able to follow Bert and make him unhand Polly. Did you think of that?”

  Silence fell, and Robert made no effort to break it as both men suddenly looked wretched.

  “Your stupid, cock-of-the-north behavior wasn’t exactly that of men who were truly in love with Polly, was it?”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Dermot muttered. “I let you and Polly down.”

  “Aye,” James added. “I acted the fool, and she paid the price.”

  Robert made no effort to console them. He’d observed that for a lesson to hit home, sometimes it needed to settle in and burn a little.

  “Now, before I send you both on your way, is there anything either of you would like to tell me about what else happened on that day?” Robert asked.

  “I can’t think of anything, sir,” Dermot said, and James nodded.

  “Then you may go about your business, and be grateful that I am not in the humor to give both of you your marching orders,” Robert said.

  “Thank you, sir.” Dermot checked his pocket for the letters. “I promise I will never allow anything like this to happen again.”

  Robert nodded and watched his land agent depart in something of a hurry. James lingered, a thoughtful look on his face.

  “There was one thing, Sir Robert.”

  “What is that, James?”

  “I did speak to Polly that day. She told me she couldn’t walk out with me because she was meeting Bert. I insisted she could do better for herself. She laughed and said that I’d got it all wrong, and that she and Bert had grown up together, and that he was her best friend and worst enemy.”

  James sighed. “She patted my cheek, told me to be a good boy, and that she would be going back to London shortly, and I was not to worry about her.”

  He met Robert’s gaze. “I still can’t quite believe it was Bert who strangled her.”

  “If she truly said that Bert was her best friend and her worst enemy, perhaps his worst side won out,” Robert suggested quietly.

  “I suppose that might be it, sir.” James didn’t sound convinced. “All I know is that she didn’t look like a woman who was afraid of him at all.”

  “Which might be why he found it so easy to walk away with her and murder her.”

  James’s face crumpled. He rubbed furiously at his cheeks as tears started to fall.

  “I let her down, Sir Robert. I loved her, and I let her go without a whimper.”

  “You did what she asked you to do,” Robert reminded him. “Don’t blame yourself for that.” He paused. “In truth, we all let her down, didn’t we?”

  Chapter 18

  “I cannot believe that Mr. Fletcher and James were so busy fighting each other that they let Bert walk away with Polly right under their noses!” Lucy stared at Robert aghast. “And why didn’t James tell you this in the first place?”

  Robert, who was pacing the length of her sitting room, turned toward her again. “Because he thought admitting to fighting with Dermot would lead me to disbelieve he was at his parents when Polly was killed, and to assume he was the murderer.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, and he cut across her.

  “I know. His reasoning is completely illogical. I barely stopped myself from leaping across my desk and knocking him out cold again.”

  Lucy considered what he had told her anew and sighed. “This doesn’t really help much, though, does it?”

  “Well, it eliminates those two fools from my list of suspects—not that I had come to believe either one of them was capable of murder—and it does clear up some loose ends.”

  “It certainly does.” Lucy frowned. “I wonder what Flora meant about her and Bert being friends for a long time? Do you think she made it up to reassure James that everything was fine, or do you think she meant it?”

  “James seems to believe she was telling the truth, but we can’t forget that Flora was, by all accounts, a very skillful actress.”

  “Perhaps she was trying to prevent James from interfering because she knew her meeting with Bert was going to be difficult,” Lucy suggested.

  “That’s certainly possible,” Robert agreed as he finally stopped pacing and took the seat opposite her. “What if she did know him well, though?”

  “Bert? I suppose she might have known him from the orphanage. I wonder if it is possible to find out such a thing?”

  “Mr. Biggins mentioned that Bert was an orphan. He might know which orphanage he came from.”

  “Would he tell you if he did?”

  “I don’t see why not.” Robert shrugged. “He isn’t employed by the Gravely family any longer, so they have no leverage over him.” He sighed. “I suppose you want me to write to him as well?”

  “It might help,” Lucy said.

  “I don’t see why,” Robert grumbled as he moved to sit at her small writing desk and helped himself to her best pen and a sheet of paper. “My expenses this month are triple what they usually are after all these postal fees.”

  “It’s still cheaper and less ruinous to your health than riding all the way to London,” Lucy reminded him as he wrote his letter, sanded it, and sealed the outside with her crest.

  He swung around to look at her, his face still set in a frown. “I’d still rather hear from Viscount Gravely myself than rely on the post.”

  “But he won’t allow you in his house,” Lucy said.

  “There’s always a way in.” Robert propped up the letter against the lamp.

  “I’d rather you left that part of the puzzle to my uncle David. He is very good at getting what he wants.”

  “So I should imagine.” Robert rose to his feet. “How is Polly?”

  “Much the same.” Lucy grimaced. “Dr. Evans doesn’t know why she hasn’t regained consciousness yet.”

  “Dr. Fletcher will be back soon. Maybe he’ll take a look at her and see if his partner missed anything.”

  “I did wonder if she is pretending,” Lucy confessed.

  “Why would she do that?”

  “Perhaps she still believes she is in danger.”

  “From us?” Robert
looked impatient. “If I’d wanted her gone, I would’ve left her with Bert.” He picked up the letter. “I’ll take this down to the Queen’s Head.”

  * * *

  Lucy had just finished her letter to Anthony when Anna came to find her, a note in her hand. Despite the unavoidable absence of her new husband, Lucy had never seen her sister look quite so serenely beautiful.

  “Aunt Rose wants us to have dinner at the rectory tonight to celebrate Father’s birthday. She also asks if you could bring Ned.”

  “I have no objection to dining at the rectory,” Lucy replied. “But if Ned is to accompany us, I don’t wish to stay late.”

  “Rose has anticipated your concerns and suggests we arrive at five and dine well before six.” Anna checked the note.

  “Then as long as Robert is in agreement, I am happy to attend.”

  “He is. I just spoke to him in the entrance hall, and he said to ask you.” Anna confirmed.

  Lucy opened her desk drawer and took out a slim volume with a marbled leather cover. “On the recommendation of Uncle David, I purchased a book for Father when I was in London.”

  “What is it about?” Anna asked.

  “Some obscure history of Greece that our father has apparently always wanted.”

  “In Greek, I assume?” Anna sighed. “And I just knitted him a new scarf.”

  “Which he will appreciate when he is out hunting in all weathers.” Lucy smiled at her sister. “I do believe Ned has drawn him a picture of a horse, which will please him more than anything either of us could offer.”

  Anna’s laughter rang through the room, and Lucy suddenly felt much better. If they were unable to capture Bert Speers, life would still go on, and moments like these with her sister made her remember that.

  “I’ll go and write a reply to Aunt Rose, then,” Anna said. “And if you wish to come and walk with me and Ned, we will be leaving in an hour.”

  * * *

  The rectory was ablaze with lights when Lucy and her family arrived in the carriage after deciding that the walk there and back might be too much for Ned to manage at such a late hour.

  “Come on, my boy.” Robert lifted Ned down from the carriage and kept a firm grip on his collar as his son attempted to run past him. “No, we don’t have time to go to the stables to see your grandfather’s horse. If you behave yourself, I’m sure someone will take you to see him after we have eaten.”