Death Comes to the Village Read online

  “I appreciate your efforts, Mr. Walker.”

  “That’s all right, sir. I always appreciate a challenge.” He walked forward and knelt to adjust one of the screws. “Now, you let me know how you do, and try to stay on the path. I don’t think it will ride smoothly on the rougher parts of the estate.”

  “Don’t worry, I don’t intend to go far today. This is just an experiment.” Robert saw the Harrington sisters change course and ascend the hill toward him, accompanied by Foley. His aunt and Miss Chingford stepped out of the house and he waved at them. “Aunt Rose, how do you like my mighty chariot?”

  “It is remarkable, Robert!” She turned to Mr. Walker. “Did you make this? How extraordinary.”

  Miss Chingford came over, her gaze fixed on the chair. She wore a blue pelisse edged with white fur and a bonnet to match. Her hands were thrust into a large swansdown muff. “You don’t intend to go out in that, do you?”

  “Why not? It is better than being stuck inside.”

  “But people might see you.”

  “On my own lands? I doubt it.” He looked up into her face. “Do I embarrass you?”

  She averted her gaze. “You will not be using this, this thing for long, will you? You’ll soon be back on your feet.”

  “But what if I’m not?” Robert forced himself to say the words. “What if this is the best I can manage for the rest of my life?”

  “I cannot accept that.”

  “What if you have no choice?” Of course, she did have a choice. Perhaps she would finally acknowledge that. Before she could reply, another voice intruded on the conversation.

  “Major Kurland, how lovely to see you outside!”

  Robert turned to find Miss Anna Harrington smiling at him. Her older sister had paused to speak to Mrs. Armitage, and seemed disinclined to approach him. Miss Anna looked remarkably lovely in an old printed muslin dress and gray coat that probably cost a tenth of what Miss Chingford was wearing but still made her look stylish.

  “Miss Anna, have you met my guest, Miss Chingford?”

  She curtsied. “I haven’t, but Lucy told me all about her.” She turned to smile at the other woman, who was eyeing her suspiciously. “Are you enjoying your visit, Miss Chingford?”

  The two girls moved off together, leaving Robert alone in his chair. There was a slight chill to the breeze slicing across the terrace, but it was nothing compared to the weather he’d endured on the continent as a soldier. It was good to be outside. He felt almost like his old self, his spirits lifted, his resolve renewed. He put on his gloves and ran an experimental hand along the rim of the large wheel on the side of his chair. With a wheel on each side and someone to push the chair and steer it, he reckoned he would manage rather well.

  Miss Harrington was still talking to his aunt and made no effort to come and speak to him. The rigid set of her shoulders reminded him that she was probably annoyed with his dismissal of her claims. If he got the opportunity on their walk, he would attempt to redeem himself.

  “Are you ready to go, then, sir?” Bookman inquired, and took up his position behind Robert’s chair. “I suggest we stay on the path and make our way down to the home farm and the stables. If that’s all right with you, sir.”

  “That sounds like an excellent idea.”

  The women grouped themselves around him, and followed at a discreet distance by Foley, they set off. Despite the brightness of the sun, the wind stung Robert’s exposed face. It reminded him of the snowy French Alps and marching his troops through dangerous hostile territory. Was there anything to fear on his lands? Why did he have the same sense of wariness? Perhaps old habits died harder than he’d thought.

  “Can we stop?”

  Bookman obediently paused, and Robert stared out over the barren fields to the hills and took a deep, uncomplicated breath. Home. He’d forgotten that smell. Miss Harrington came to stand beside him and he looked up at her. The bruise on her cheek was still dark purple and edged with the jagged slash of broken skin.

  “What do you think?”

  “Of what, Major?”

  “Of this chair! It was your idea.”

  “It seems to be working quite well.”

  Ah, there was no animation in her voice. She was still offended.

  “I’d like to apologize.”

  “For what?”

  “For doubting you.” Robert glanced back at Bookman, but his valet appeared to be looking the other way. “I checked with Foley this morning. That porcelain box I mentioned has gone missing from my mother’s rooms.”

  “Oh.”

  “I wonder how it got to the graveyard? Perhaps the thief is storing his stolen goods in one of the tombs.”

  “I thought of that possibility, too.” She sighed. “It might be why I was hit on the head.”

  “You have decided the thefts are not connected to the disappearance of the two girls?”

  “I suspect the thefts are connected with someone much closer to home.”

  The chair jerked forward and Robert jumped as Bookman started pushing him again. Miss Harrington marched alongside him. It was harder to hear her over the reverberations of the chair.

  “Do you know who it is?”

  “Not yet, but I have my suspicions.”

  “Which you cannot share with me?”

  She gave him a pointed look. “You said you didn’t believe anything was wrong and that we were just imagining things.”

  “And I’ve thought better of that.” Robert held up his hand. “Bookman, will you please stop again? I want to look at the maze and the rose garden.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Will you also go and check that my aunt and Miss Chingford are warm enough? Miss Harrington can keep an eye on me while you are gone.”

  “Certainly.”

  Robert waited until Bookman was out of earshot. He didn’t want his valet thinking he was imagining things again. “Have you heard from Mary’s admirer?”

  “He visited me last night. Mary isn’t with him after all. He wanted to marry her and she seemed quite keen, but she was also worried about an old suitor who hadn’t taken his dismissal lightly.”

  “Devil take it.” Robert stared out over the tranquil pastoral scene. “Do we need to find another man?”

  “The carpenter did tell me that Mary had agreed to meet him the other night, but she didn’t turn up. He heard later that she’d gone to London.”

  “Then that’s that.” Robert sighed. “Perhaps we should focus our attention on the petty thefts instead. I suspect Ben Cobbins is involved right up to his thick neck.”

  “But what if Mary didn’t go? What if her old lover stopped her?”

  Robert angled his head so that he could look up into his companion’s face. “Miss Harrington, I am prepared to go along with most of your interesting lines of thinking, but this one veers off into the scandal sheets. Why can’t you simply admit that Mary went off with Daisy?”

  Bookman’s shadow fell over him, and Miss Harrington walked away without bothering to reply. Had he offended her again? It seemed likely. His patience, never his strong point, had been stretched to the breaking point over the last hellish months. He needed to mind his tongue.

  “The garden needs some work, Robert.”

  He smiled at his aunt, who had come up beside him. At least she was a fount of normality and practical good sense.

  “I believe it does. I intend to speak to my head gardener this week. My mother would be most unhappy if she could see her rose garden now.”

  “Aye, she would be.” His aunt nodded. “Now, let’s get on before you take a chill. Are we going down as far as the stables?”

  “I think we should. Do you think the chair will make it?” He glanced back at Bookman, who was staring into space. “Bookman?”

  “Oh yes, sir.”

  Bookman turned the chair around and started off down the slight slope that led to the gray slate roofs of the home farm and the stables. The smell of warm hay and manure rose t
o greet them, and Robert filled his lungs with it. As a cavalry officer, he’d spent more time with his horse than any other being in the king’s army. Despite his frequent absences from home, he’d devoted a considerable sum to updating the stables from their Tudor origins to the well-managed, well-drained stone-and-brick structures of today.

  As they came nearer, a shrill whinny split the air and Robert grinned.

  “Is that Rogue?”

  “Yes, sir. After we’d got you home, I went back to France and brought him and the rest of your kit back to Kurland Hall.”

  “Was Rogue difficult on the voyage?”

  “Why do you ask, sir?”

  “Because you are scowling.”

  Bookman’s expression went blank. “Do you want me to get the horse out for you, sir?”

  “If you can find Sutton or young Joe, I’m sure they can do it.” He pointed at a nearby mounting block. “Leave the chair here and go and find out.”

  His aunt was busy pointing out the features of the new stable block to Miss Chingford and Miss Anna. Miss Harrington stood to one side with Foley, both of them apparently occupied with their own thoughts. He waited for Miss Harrington to look up and then beckoned her closer. For a moment, he thought she was going to ignore him, but eventually she came over.

  “How can I help you, Major?”

  “You can stop treating me like a pariah. I said that I was wrong. Why isn’t that ever enough for a woman?”

  “Because we don’t get over things as quickly as a man? If my conversation is so inadequate, why don’t you speak to your betrothed instead? I’m sure she has to agree with every word you say.”

  He eyed her narrowly. “Miss Chingford is none of your concern.”

  “Obviously not, but she doesn’t seem very at ease here. What did you do?”

  “What did I do? Perhaps the fault lies with her.”

  She sniffed. “Spoken like a true man.”

  He opened his mouth to reply when the sound of horseshoes ringing on the cobblestones brought his attention back to the galley between the stalls. Joe Cobbins was leading Rogue by a halter. The boy looked tiny compared to the horse and Robert swallowed hard.

  As the horse drew nearer, he couldn’t take his eyes off the huge hooves that he’d seen crush fallen soldiers’ skulls with the ease of a sledgehammer. Distantly, he became aware that his whole body was shaking and that he was sweating as if he had a fever. The closer the horse came, the more trapped he felt, the more desperate to get away, to breathe, to—

  “Major?”

  The horse stopped and reared up on his hind legs. He was too big, too damned big. Robert flung himself out of the chair onto the ground covering his head with his arms and curled up into a ball.

  The ring of hooves striking back onto the cobbles made him grit his teeth and close his eyes. He was vaguely aware of shocked sounds, of someone shouting, of the horse being taken away.

  “Major Kurland.” A woman’s calm voice, the touch of her bare fingers at his throat on his thundering pulse. “There is nothing to fear. The horse has gone now. You are not in any danger.”

  He couldn’t move as a blinding hot rush of shame and humiliation washed over him. He forced himself to open his eyes. Miss Harrington knelt beside him, her slight figure shutting out his view of everything, blocking anyone else from seeing his terror. . . .

  She stroked his cheek. “It’s all right.”

  He wrapped his shaking fingers around her wrist and held on tight.

  “Mr. Bookman, can you and Sutton help the major back into his chair? I believe he lost consciousness, but I don’t think he harmed himself.”

  She gently pried his fingers from her wrist, holding his gaze, as if silently trying to tell him that everything would be all right. Bookman and Sutton picked him up and placed him in the chair.

  “Did you hurt yourself anywhere when you fell, Major?” He shook his head, words as yet still beyond him. “Are you quite sure?” She turned to Bookman, who was standing right beside her. “Perhaps you should take the major home.”

  “Yes, Miss Harrington.”

  Bookman fell in behind the chair and turned Robert away from the stables and back toward the house. As they rotated, Robert caught a glimpse of Miss Chingford’s expression. Her horrified disgust and revulsion were plain to see. What had he looked like on the ground curled up and whimpering like a scared child? Fear had engulfed him out of nowhere and thrown him back into those nightmarish moments when his horse had fallen on him during the battle. Moments he hadn’t even realized he remembered . . .

  Aunt Rose blew him a kiss but he couldn’t respond. Nausea clawed at his stomach, and for the first time in his life he understood what made a man turn tail in a battle and run for his life. He was no better than any other coward. And the threat he’d run from didn’t even exist anymore. Rogue wasn’t the horse responsible for his injuries. So why had he panicked so badly?

  “Here we are, sir.”

  He was surprised at how quickly they reached the house. Bookman and James lifted him out of the chair and carried him up to his bed. He managed to thank James, but even that was an effort. Bookman took his time undressing Robert down to his shirt and breeches and then drew the covers up over him.

  “Close your eyes for a little while, sir.”

  “Thank you, Bookman.”

  “You don’t need to thank me. I’m just doing my job.” He hesitated. “Perhaps you tried to do too much. Maybe you’re not ready to go out yet.”

  Robert let out his breath. “Maybe I’m not.”

  “Especially with all those women coddling you, sir. It’s enough to make any man bilious when he ain’t.” He poured Robert a glass of water from the jug and set it beside his bed. “Between Miss Chingford and her sulking, and Miss Harrington with her overactive imagination, it’s a miracle you didn’t pass out days ago.”

  Robert knew he should reprimand Bookman for his comments about his betters but he couldn’t find the strength. In fact, the man’s loyalty was reassuring.

  “You keep away from those two, sir, and you’ll feel a lot stronger. Miss Harrington should know better than to keep agitating you.”

  “She didn’t. I asked her—”

  “And more fool you, sir, if you’ll excuse me for saying so. I heard what she said.” He produced a black bottle from his pocket and a spoon. “Women lie and meddle. You can’t trust a word they say. Now open your mouth, sir.”

  “I don’t want any laudanum. I thought we’d agreed—”

  He stopped speaking as Bookman tipped a spoonful of the noxious draught into his mouth and then another.

  “This is an emergency, sir. You need your rest. Stay in bed and stop worrying about other people’s problems.”

  Robert blinked as the opiate hit his stomach. His eyes started to close. “But I’m the lord of the manor. I should be involved, shouldn’t I?”

  “Not with this, sir. Trust me. Leave it alone, and let Miss Harrington work it out for herself. She doesn’t need your help.”

  “But I forgot to tell her about the curate and Ben Cobbins. . . .”

  “Don’t you worry about that. I’ll tell her myself.”

  Bookman’s tone was implacable, and Robert allowed himself to fall asleep.

  “Poor Major Kurland!” Anna exclaimed as they followed Mrs. Armitage into the parlor. “How horrible for him.”

  “Indeed,” said Mrs. Armitage. “And he was so looking forward to getting out in that ingenious contraption you suggested, Miss Harrington. What a pity the strain was too much for him. I’ll ring for some tea so that we can all get warm again.”

  Lucy took a seat next to her sister and briefly squeezed her hand. “I’m sure Major Kurland will be fine.”

  It seemed that she’d managed to conceal the major’s moment of terror from the other members of the party. She knew he’d be mortified if everyone knew he’d panicked at the sight of his horse. What had he seen when the horse came toward him? For a horrible moment,
he’d looked like a woodcut of a Christian martyr being burned at the stake.

  Miss Chingford hadn’t taken a seat and was pacing in front of the window. After a moment, Lucy went to join her.

  “Are you all right, Miss Chingford? It was something of a shock to us all.”

  She shuddered. “He looked so dreadful lying there, so deformed and unnatural. I told him not to expose himself to ridicule by sitting in that ridiculous chair you recommended.”

  “And what did he say to that?”

  “He dared to suggest I might have to get used to it!”

  Lucy regarded her companion. “He does have a point. After such terrible injuries, there is no guarantee he will ever walk again.”

  That was the worst possible outcome, but Lucy realized she had a burning desire not to see Major Kurland married to the sort of woman who cared more about what people thought than about the health and happiness of her intended bridegroom.

  Lucy studied Miss Chingford’s discontented face. “Would you object to marrying a man who was confined to a chair?”

  She walked away from Lucy, her hands twisted in front of her. “As you are unlikely ever to get married and would probably grasp at any offer, you wouldn’t understand. I don’t have much choice in the matter.”

  “You could break off the engagement.”

  “And waste all this time? Major Kurland is an excellent catch, as I’m sure you are aware.”

  “I suppose he is, in his way.”

  “He’s rich!”

  “So I’ve heard. I’ve known the major all my life, and I’m quite immune to any claims as to his wealth, prospects, or attractiveness. He will always be the annoying boy who threw me in the fish pond fully clothed one summer, and got me into terrible trouble with my nurse.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I can’t make you believe me. All I can say is that because he is my friend, it would make me sad if you married him and weren’t prepared to accept that he might never walk again.”

  “My family insists I marry him.”