Death Comes to the Village Read online

  “Did you know that Mary Smith planned to leave my employment?”

  “Mary said a lot of things. I didn’t think she’d ever do any of them. She was a mite excitable, if you know what I mean.”

  “So she did mention she planned to leave?”

  Susan glanced down at her folded hands. “She wanted to go to London, I know that for sure.”

  “And did she go?”

  Susan steadfastly refused to look up. “I suppose she must have if she isn’t here.”

  “But she didn’t tell you her plans?”

  “She’s hardly been around the last few weeks.” Susan sniffed. “Taken up with someone new, no doubt. She was like that, always chasing something she couldn’t have.”

  “Would you describe her as restless, then?”

  “I suppose so. She always wanted a better life, but who could blame her?”

  “But how did she define a better life?” Lucy sat forward. “A better job, a man to marry her?”

  Susan briefly looked up. Lucy plainly saw the resentment in her gaze, but whether it was for her question, or for the position Mary’s disappearance had placed her in, Lucy couldn’t tell.

  “I’m not sure what you want me to say, Miss Harrington.”

  “Let me make myself plain. Do you think Mary might have left the village to secure another position, or to get married?”

  “Knowing Mary, it could’ve been either of those things. She wasn’t without ambition, or plenty of suitors, Miss Harrington, even if they weren’t always hers to have.”

  Lucy studied the parlor maid for a long moment. “Did you have a falling-out? You almost sound glad that she has gone.”

  Susan’s expression darkened. “I didn’t do anything to her, miss. She’s the one who liked to have everyone’s attention on her, not me.”

  “Thank you, Susan.”

  Lucy glanced across at Spencer to indicate that she had no more questions for the girl, and he opened the door to usher Susan out.

  “That will be all, Susan. If you think of anything that might help, come and see me and I’ll make sure the information gets back to Miss Harrington.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Susan curtsied and made her way through the door, which Spencer closed behind him.

  “I’m not quite sure what has got into the girl lately, Miss Harrington. She’s been rather surly.”

  “Perhaps she and Mary quarreled over something, and now she feels badly about it.”

  Spencer sat down heavily in his chair. “That might be the way of it. Female servants are much harder to deal with than men. There is always something going on, be it about tall tales or talk of marriage.”

  “I know.” Lucy joined in his sigh. “What I can’t decide is whether Susan is annoyed because she doesn’t know what Mary planned, or if she is lying for her. I got the distinct impression that the news of her friend’s disappearance came as a shock.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on her, Miss Harrington. She might be prepared to divulge more to me than to you.”

  Lucy rose and retied the ribbons on her bonnet. “Thank you, Spencer. I appreciate it. Now I must be off to the village. I have several commissions to fulfill there.”

  She walked slowly down the elm tree–lined drive, her thoughts full of the missing girl. If Mary had left to get married, why hadn’t she simply informed Lucy of her decision, been paid her outstanding wages, and been sent on her way with a smile? It didn’t make sense. The most obvious answer was that the girl had found a better position and not bothered to tell her former employer. But was it more complicated than that? If Mary had a new beau, had she wanted to leave the village with some funds behind her and been seen escaping by Major Kurland?

  Lucy considered that as she approached the village high street. It seemed the most obvious answer to both the problems. In such a small village, it was unlikely that two such significant events would be unrelated. She suspected Susan knew more than she’d said, but she could only hope the girl would confide in the butler. Had Mary stolen her young man? If Mary had such an accomplice, who was he, and wouldn’t he also be missing? That might be worth inquiring about, too.

  The door to the general store, which was housed in a low timber-framed building, was open, and Lucy decided to start there. Two spinster sisters ran the small shop, which provided basic necessities for the villagers, including foodstuffs, household goods, and linens.

  Miss Amelia Potter nodded as Lucy entered the shop. She was a plump, elderly woman with soft, faded features and gray hair braided into a coronet on top of her head. She wore an old-fashioned gown of brown muslin covered with a large linen apron.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Harrington. Back again so soon? What may I assist you with today?”

  Lucy put her basket on the counter. “I need some black wool to darn the twins’ stockings, and six more buttons for their shirts.”

  Miss Amelia tittered discreetly behind her lace-mittened hand. “Those boys of yours are such a trial with their clothing.”

  “Indeed, they are.” Lucy waited while Miss Amelia found a skein of black wool. “Soon we will have to outfit them for school. I’m quite dreading that.”

  “I’m sure you are, Miss Harrington. I’ve heard it is quite a task for one child, let alone for two.”

  “My father says he will take them to his tailor in London for most of their garments, but that still leaves a lot for me to do.”

  “I’m sure it does, my dear.” Miss Amelia carefully counted out six identical buttons from the jar and put them into a twist of paper along with the skein of black darning wool.

  “And how fares your sister?” Lucy asked. “Is she still unable to sleep?”

  “Alas, Mildred is still waking at the most ungodly of hours.” Miss Amelia shook her head, making the cap atop her hair tremble. “And as she is afraid of the dark, she has a terrible tendency to wake me up and tell me what she thinks she has seen.”

  Miss Mildred sounded remarkably like Major Kurland, but Lucy didn’t share that interesting thought. She stowed the buttons and wool in her basket and handed over a coin. “What sort of things disturb her?”

  “Cats fighting, dark shapes flitting around the village, raised voices . . .” Miss Amelia deposited the coin in a drawer. “In truth, I know far more about what goes on in this village when Christian folks should be in their beds than I ever wished to.”

  “Was Miss Mildred awake the night before last?” Lucy put away her purse. “I only ask because I was up myself, and thought I heard a disturbance in the village.”

  “Mildred heard something, too. She said there were several people out and about who should not have been there at all.”

  “Oh my. Did she say who she saw?”

  Miss Amelia lowered her voice. “Some young girls who should know better, and several men.”

  Lucy tried to look disapproving. “Together?”

  “Mildred didn’t say, and I don’t like to encourage her. Sometimes she expects me to go out and reprimand the miscreants.” Miss Amelia shivered delicately. “I cannot bring myself to do that. What would people think?” She picked up the jar of buttons and answered her own question. “I know what they’d think, that my sister and I were a pair of old gossips who had nothing better to do with our time than make up stories about our neighbors.”

  Lucy nodded sympathetically. “Can you not give your sister a sleeping draught?”

  “They don’t appear to work on her delicate constitution.” Miss Amelia put the jar back on the shelf. “Dr. Baker says he has nothing else that she can try. I cannot afford to send her to London for treatment, the cost would be prohibitive.” She looked around the small shop. “We make enough to be comfortable, but not for the extravagancies of life, and since I had to let young Joseph go . . .”

  “Whatever happened?” Lucy, who had picked up her basket, put it down again. “I thought he was proving most satisfactory.”

  Another customer came into the shop, and Miss Amelia lowered her voice ev
en more. “I thought so, too, but—certain things have gone missing from the store—small things, but they all add up. When I questioned Joseph, he grew very sullen with me, and insisted I was blaming him because of his family history. But he does come from a troubled background, Miss Harrington, we both know that, don’t we?”

  There was a hint of self-righteous censure in Miss Amelia’s remark that made Lucy bite back a sharp reply. It was true that Joseph’s family were well known in the village for their casual attitude to work and generally sly natures. But she’d thought better of Joseph, which was why she had prevailed upon Miss Amelia to take him on as an errand boy and general dogsbody.

  “Has he returned home? I’ll go and speak to him as soon as I am able.” Lucy picked up her basket.

  “I won’t take him back, Miss Harrington.”

  Lucy did her best imitation of her father. “Surely everyone deserves a second chance?”

  Miss Amelia’s expression took on a stubborn turn. “Not in this shop.”

  “Then who will do your deliveries for you?”

  “I’ll do them myself until I can find someone satisfactory.”

  “Would you like me to help?”

  “No, thank you, Miss Harrington. I think you’ve done enough.”

  Lucy forced a smile. “Then I’ll be off. Thank you for your assistance, and my good wishes to your sister.”

  She shut the door with rather more force than necessary, aware that Miss Amelia’s attitude toward the unfortunate Joseph was unlikely to change, and that she was probably correct that the boy had been stealing things. She doubted Major Kurland had any knowledge of young Joe, who had been born while he was away, but maybe he knew of his father, Ben? He was a large, powerfully built man who had been a boxer in his youth. If there had been any kind of disturbance in the village, it was highly likely that Ben Cobbins had been part of it.

  Lucy continued along the street. Despite her disappointment about Joseph, she had found out some information about who had been out that night that might interest the major. There had definitely been some unusual activity. Perhaps Mary had been one of the girls out and about in the village.

  A waft of cinnamon-flavored warm air flowed around her, and she found herself being waved down by an agitated-looking Mrs. Weeks from the open door of the bakery.

  “Miss Harrington!”

  “What is it, Mrs. Weeks?”

  Mrs. Weeks clasped one large floury hand to her bosom. “It’s my Daisy.”

  “Has she found a new situation?”

  “No, Miss Harrington—she’s up and run away to London!”

  Chapter 5

  Lucy thrust her cloak and gloves at Foley, picked up her skirts, and hurried up the shallow stairs toward Major Kurland’s bedroom. She knocked on the door and barely waited for his peremptory command to enter. The major was sitting up in bed reading a newspaper, a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles perched on his aristocratic nose.

  “Are those my spectacles?” Lucy asked, her attention momentarily diverted.

  “I don’t know, are they?” Major Kurland studied her over the top of the frames. “I found them by my bed the other morning, and assumed that Bookman or Foley had acquired them for me.” He whipped them off his nose. “Do you want them back?”

  “Not if they are helping you. I have another pair at home because I am constantly misplacing the dratted things.”

  “I don’t wish to inconvenience you. I’ll ask Bookman to arrange for a pair to be made for me.”

  Lucy walked over to the side of the bed and observed the major more carefully. He looked rested, the dark shadows under his eyes less visible. “Please keep them until your own pair is ready for you.”

  “Thank you, Miss Harrington. I will, although I still find reading a strain on my eyes.”

  “Would you like me to read to you, sir?” She drew up a chair and sat beside the bed. She indicated the pile of letters on the nightstand. “You appear to have some outstanding correspondence.”

  “I’m aware of that. I haven’t even attempted to open most of it yet.” He grimaced. “It’s even harder to read handwriting than print.”

  “Don’t you have a secretary to attend to such matters for you?”

  “I’ve never needed one before.”

  “Perhaps you should advertise for one.”

  “Indeed.” He stared down at her, one eyebrow raised until she felt herself blush.

  “I apologize. My brother often describes me as a ‘managing’ female. Your lack of a secretary is obviously no concern of mine.”

  “Obviously.” He put the newspaper down. “How are your brothers? I don’t suppose either of them needs a job, do they?”

  Lucy focused her gaze on the major’s capable-looking hands. “Anthony is studying for Cambridge, and Tom . . .” She swallowed hard. “Tom died at Waterloo.”

  Silence greeted her stark words, and she looked up to see a stricken expression cross Major Kurland’s face. His hand slowly clenched into a fist.

  “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

  “You were so ill when you returned that my father ordered us not to mention it.”

  “And now I have blundered and made you remember him.”

  She lifted her gaze to meet his. “I always remember him. I pray for his soul every day.”

  “I am sorry for your loss. Tom was my friend.” He exhaled. “And from all accounts, he was an excellent officer.”

  “Thank you. My father was very cast down by Tom’s death. Now all his hopes are focused on Anthony, who doesn’t find such attention easy to deal with.”

  “I know the feeling, Miss Harrington.”

  “But you were always the oldest son and heir.”

  “But after Matthew’s death, my parents only had me. I felt that responsibility quite heavily.”

  Lucy allowed the silence to fall between them again as they both considered their lost siblings. The major was the first to speak.

  “Did you bring me news?”

  Lucy was quite willing to be distracted. “According to Miss Amelia and her sister, there have been some nocturnal activities in the village.”

  “What exactly does that mean?”

  “I’ll have to speak directly to Miss Mildred to find out. Her sister was rather vague.”

  “Spinsters are the devil. What did she say?”

  “That various young men and women, who ought not to be out at all, are running amok through the village streets.”

  “And what does that have to do with potential thievery?”

  “According to Miss Mildred, there was just such a disturbance on the night you heard something, too. It does indicate that there is more going on in this place than I ever realized.”

  “What else?” the major demanded.

  “Miss Amelia did say there had been some petty thefts from her store, but she is quite convinced her errand boy, Joseph Cobbins, is responsible for those.”

  “I know the Cobbins family. She’s probably right.”

  Lucy raised her chin. “I’m not sure I agree. Joe is not like the rest of his family at all. In fact, I—”

  The major cut across her again. “The person I saw was an adult, not a scrawny child like Joseph.”

  “You saw someone? Doing what?”

  “Carrying some kind of load past the church.”

  “You didn’t mention that before.”

  He rubbed a hand over his scalp where his black hair was just starting to curl again at the nape of his neck. “I didn’t want to appear unhinged. Bookman and Foley are already worried about me. Insisting I saw strangers traipsing across my property in the dead of night would certainly not aid my claims to sanity and reason. They’d think I’d been at the laudanum again.”

  Remembering his staff’s concerns on the previous day, Lucy privately agreed. “I wonder if you saw Joe’s father, Ben?”

  “It’s possible. The Cobbins family has always been shiftless. It wouldn’t surprise me if Ben was encouraging his son to
steal from his employers.”

  “Poor Joe is no longer employed. I intend to speak to him as soon as I can.”

  He frowned. “Be careful. I don’t want you tangling with Ben Cobbins.”

  “I don’t think he’d hurt me.”

  “You have no idea what he might do if he felt you threatened his livelihood. Keep away from him.”

  “Now who is being managing? I am quite capable of looking after myself.”

  His skeptical expression signified his disbelief, but to her relief he didn’t say anything more. “What else has happened in the village?”

  “After I spoke to Miss Amelia, I was hailed by Mrs. Weeks from the bakery.”

  “And?”

  “Her daughter, Daisy, has run off!”

  “How old is she?”

  “Eighteen, I believe.”

  “Let me guess, she’s run off to London to seek her fortune on the stage. Is she pretty?”

  “Not particularly. I gather her ambitions are more practical. She dreams of becoming a lady’s maid.”

  He snorted. “She’s more likely to end up on her back.”

  “It’s highly likely, Major, but according to her mother, she is both a resourceful and a stubborn girl. I’ve no doubt she’ll contrive to steer clear of the brothel keepers.”

  He stared at her for so long that she began to fidget. “What’s wrong?”

  “In some ways, you are quite remarkable, Miss Harrington.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He gave her one of his rare smiles, and she was amazed at how it changed his face. “I should be apologizing for my crudeness.”

  “You only spoke the truth. Most girls who venture into the city do end up on their backs.”

  “But most young ladies of your standing do not know about it.”

  “You forget I’m the daughter of a clergyman. We see far more than most women of our class.”

  “So it seems.”

  “Is it possible you saw Daisy leaving the village? The quickest route from the village to the main road where the mail coaches run is past the church.”

  “No, it wasn’t a girl.”

  Lucy sat back. “Could it possibly have been more than one person?”

  “Why do you say that?”