Death Comes to Kurland Hall Page 6

  “Yes, but I’m not everyone. You also had a very good reason to dislike her. No woman likes to be replaced.”

  “You are quite wrong about that, sir. I cannot begrudge my father another chance at happiness and would never stand in the way of him acquiring a new wife.” She hesitated. “In truth, I would be delighted to relinquish his care into another woman’s hands, just not into Mrs. Chingford’s.”

  “Others might not believe that,” he said flatly.

  “You truly believe I might be implicated in Mrs. Chingford’s death?”

  “I would almost guarantee it, Miss Harrington.” He hesitated. “If you feel threatened in any way, please be assured that I will stand your friend.”

  “I appreciate that, Major, but I doubt I will have need of you.” She continued walking, and after a moment he joined her. “As far as I know, everyone considers Mrs. Chingford’s death a tragic accident rather than a murder.”

  “Then let’s hope it remains that way,” he muttered as they reached the village square. “Now, how can we keep the wedding guests here in Kurland St. Mary so we can investigate this matter properly?”

  “I had a thought about that.” Lucy was relieved that his attention had moved on from her. “I wonder if the Chingfords could be persuaded to hold the funeral at our church.”

  “That’s an excellent idea. Perhaps I should be the one to mention it to the rector. I can suggest to my guests that they are welcome to stay on at Kurland Hall for the funeral.” Major Kurland glanced down at her as they approached the carriage. “You will be careful, Miss Harrington, won’t you?”

  “Of course, sir.” She bobbed a curtsy. “I’ll walk to the rectory from here. Thank you for taking me to see Dr. Fletcher. He seems a most agreeable man.”

  “He’s certainly just the kind of man one needs in a crisis. If it hadn’t been for him, they would’ve amputated my leg to free me from under my horse.” He saluted and got up into the gig. “Good day, Miss Harrington.”

  Robert arrived back in the stable yard just as his groom sat Andrew’s son on the back of the oldest and most reliable mare in his stables. He still wanted to warn the boy to be careful—that horses were unpredictable beasts and could behave in ways no one expected. Despite the warmth of the sun, his skin was clammy, and he shivered.

  “Are you all right, sir?”

  He turned to see Thomas Fairfax and the widow, who had come down the path from the house to the stables.

  “I’m a little cold.” Robert eased a step away from the oncoming horse. Andrew’s son, Terence, was smiling and gripping the reins with great gusto.

  “Look at me, Major Kurland! Look at me!”

  Robert forced himself to acknowledge the boy and flinched when something touched his leg. Looking down, he saw Andrew’s five-year-old daughter, Charlotte, staring up at him. She tugged on his breeches again, and he bent his head to her.

  “I don’t like horses, either, sir,” she whispered. “Don’t tell Terence. He laughs at me.”

  Robert patted her head. “I won’t laugh, but you must remember that if you take care around a horse, it will never hurt you.”

  They both took several nervous steps back as the groom encouraged the horse into a trot. Reaching down, Robert picked Charlotte up, placed her on the low stone wall, and then leaned against it beside her.

  “That’s not true is it, sir?”

  “What isn’t?” Robert said.

  “That horses can’t hurt you. Papa said your horse fell on top of you and hurt you very badly.”

  Robert glanced down at his shattered leg. “That was slightly different. I was in the middle of a battlefield, and the enemy was shooting at us. It wasn’t really my horse’s fault that he panicked when he was hit.”

  Charlotte patted his knee. “But it still hurt.”

  “Yes, it did.” Robert held her gaze. “But I haven’t let it stop me from . . .” He paused as he considered his current aversion to his own horses. “I’m not going to let it make me afraid that every horse will do that to me.”

  Her smile was sweet. “Papa said you were very brave, and now I know why.” She sighed. “I wish I was brave.”

  “I have an idea.” Robert picked her up and balanced her on his good hip. “Let’s go on a visit.” As he passed Thomas, he nodded at him. “Can you keep an eye on Terence while I show Miss Charlotte something?”

  “Of course, Major.”

  Robert walked on into the stables, inhaling the familiar scent of horse manure, straw, and leather, which had once been his entire military existence. Now he came here only if he had to. Charlotte had made him think about his aversion to the place and question it anew.

  There was a young boy stationed outside the closed door of the stall at the end of the row, and he stood up when Robert approached.

  “Morning, sir.”

  “Good morning, Arthur. Will you open the top door please so that Miss Charlotte and I can look inside, please?”

  Charlotte’s fingers tightened painfully around his neck, and he smiled at her. “Don’t worry. There is nothing to be afraid of.” He said the words as much for himself as for her.

  Arthur opened the door, and they both peered in.

  “Oh . . . ,” Charlotte breathed. “It’s a mother and her baby.”

  “A foal that was born last night,” Robert said softly. “Isn’t he beautiful?”

  “Can I pet him?” She almost wiggled out of his arms in her efforts to get closer.

  “Not yet. We can come back tomorrow if you like.”

  She grabbed his ears and kissed his forehead. “Yes, please!” She touched her nose to his and stared deeply into his eyes. “You aren’t scared of him, are you?”

  “No, I am not.”

  “Neither am I.”

  They smiled at each other, in complete accord. She slid down his body, put her hand in his, and skipped back out into the paddock. While he walked, Robert took a moment to wonder how Miss Harrington was faring at the rectory and if she had had any success in identifying the owner of the locket. He had spent a surreptitious and uncomfortable few moments at the breakfast table, scanning his female guests’ décolletages for signs of redness, and had seen nothing.

  He’d also spoken to Mrs. Green, who had been very forthright in her opinion that Mrs. Chingford was better off dead and hadn’t cared who heard her say it. She hadn’t gone quite so far as to say she wished she’d done the deed herself, but she had come quite close. Either she was a master manipulator or she hadn’t been anywhere near Mrs. Chingford when the event happened.

  “Major Kurland?”

  He looked up to find Mrs. Fairfax standing beside the carriage that had just been brought back into the stable yard with fresh horses.

  “Good morning, ma’am. Are you taking the air? Splendid.”

  Thomas bowed. “I’m taking Mrs. Fairfax down to the rectory to express her condolences to the Chingfords. I promise I won’t be long.”

  Robert patted his pocket. “Take your time. I wish to go over our plans for the stable expansion. I’ll have my thoughts ready when you return.”

  Lucy continued walking through the village, mentally cataloguing the wedding guests and their interactions with Mrs. Chingford. She would have to speak to Miss Stanford, Mrs. Green, and Dorothea. She almost hoped one of them would break down and confess all but considered it unlikely. In truth, if everyone assumed Mrs. Chingford had died from a tragic fall, there was no need to say anything. Perhaps it was a case of letting sleeping dogs lie....

  But what if the person who owned the locket realized it was missing?

  She entered the rectory and dealt with a couple of unimportant domestic issues in the kitchen before climbing up the stairs to Mrs. Chingford’s bedchamber. After ascertaining that neither of the Chingford sisters was up and about, she opened the door and closed it quietly behind her. A waft of stale perfume rose to greet her as she tiptoed across the carpet.

  The room had been untouched since the morning of the
wedding and was a veritable mess of abandoned clothing, beauty aids, and the other feminine jumble. Lucy stripped the sheets from the bed and bundled them up by the door for washing. She picked up and carefully folded all Mrs. Chingford’s discarded clothing, searching the pockets before putting each garment in a pile on the bed.

  The large trunk was open, its contents spilling out onto the floor. Lucy knelt and checked what else was in there before replacing the assortment of footwear at the bottom and adding the folded clothes. She finally turned her attention to the dressing table, gathering the powders, creams, and lip tints into a large enameled box. Mrs. Chingford’s jewelry case was nowhere in sight. Lucy could only assume Penelope had taken charge of it.

  All was still quiet, so Lucy moved across to her mother’s old desk, where a large leather writing case lay open. An inkpot and a pen were balanced precariously on top of a pile of letters. It appeared as if Mrs. Chingford had been an avid correspondent. Lucy closed the inkpot and laid the pen down on the blotter, her gaze caught by a half-finished letter in what she assumed was Mrs. Chingford’s hand. The names Miss Stanford and Mrs. Fairfax were quite legible. Holding her breath, Lucy leaned closer and put on her reading glasses.

  “Can I help you with something, Miss Harrington?”

  Concealing her start of surprise, Lucy picked up the inkpot and turned toward Miss Chingford. Her old nemesis didn’t look very well, her skin pale and her eyes shadowed. She was dressed in a black dress she had borrowed from Anna.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Chingford. I do hope you slept well.” Lucy slipped the letter into her pocket and placed the inkpot and the pen in one of the desk’s pigeonholes. “I came to strip the bed.”

  “And pry?”

  Lucy raised her eyebrows. “Into what, exactly?”

  “Intimate details of my mother’s life to share with your village friends?”

  “I would never to do that,” Lucy replied as gently as she could.

  “Then did your father ask you to come up here?” Miss Chingford sank down into the nearest chair, her expression hard. “He and my mother were arguing at the wedding.”

  Lucy took the seat opposite her. “What were they arguing about?”

  “My mother didn’t appreciate him sharing the news of their supposed betrothal to the masses.”

  “I did wonder about the wisdom of that,” Lucy admitted.

  Miss Chingford dabbed at her eyes with one of Lucy’s handkerchiefs. “I don’t think she had any intention of marrying him. She just wanted to return to London with that news to use as a threat to ensnare the man she really wanted.”

  “I assume she didn’t tell my father that.”

  Miss Chingford snorted. “Who knows? Perhaps she did. She had a sharp tongue. She called it being honest. I often suspected her ‘honesty’ came with a healthy dose of malice. Your father was very angry with her.”

  “He hates being embarrassed.” Lucy collected her thoughts. “When did they fight?”

  “I told you, at the wedding, just before she—” Miss Chingford pressed the handkerchief to her lips. “I disliked her intensely, Miss Harrington, but I can’t seem to stop crying.”

  “She was your mother. It is quite understandable.” Lucy handed over her last clean handkerchief. “How is Dorothea bearing up?”

  “I can’t get a word of sense out of her. She didn’t like our mother, either, and was arguing with her about the intended marriage at the wedding.” Miss Chingford sighed. “Everyone was arguing with her about something, and she seemed to be enjoying it. She loved being at the center of things. After my father’s death she lost her social position and would try anything to reclaim it.”

  She paused and shot Lucy a suspicious look. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  “Because you and your sister have just suffered a grievous loss,” Lucy said. “I lost my own mother eight years ago. I know how hard it was.”

  “By all accounts, your mother was a saint.” Miss Chingford blew her nose with great force. “My mother was immensely disliked, and for very good reason.”

  Lucy rose. “I made a start at packing up your mother’s things, but you might wish to finish the task yourself. I do hope you have your mother’s jewelry case?”

  “Yes. I took in into my room last night to put the rubies back in their box.”

  “Did she own a locket?” Lucy asked. “I found one at the wedding, and I’ve been searching for the owner.”

  “Not to my knowledge. She preferred gemstones to simple trinkets.”

  “Do you or Dorothea remember losing one?”

  “I certainly did not. You will have to ask Dorothea herself. I do believe she has a locket that contains a lock of our father’s hair. I have no idea why she idolized him so when he couldn’t even tell us apart.”

  Lucy placed another box of lotions and perfume in the trunk, keeping her back to her companion. “I hesitate to ask you such a personal question, Miss Chingford—Penelope, if I may—but do you have family to help you manage this unfortunate situation?”

  “My mother managed to alienate almost everyone. And, as she didn’t produce a male heir, even our house will revert to one of our Stanford cousins.”

  “Then where do you think you will live?”

  Penelope shrugged. “You know how it is, Miss Harrington. Someone in the family will take pity on us, will give us a home, and then will expect us to be grateful for the rest of our lives.”

  There was a bitter sound to her words, but Lucy couldn’t blame her. Unwanted or unwed female relatives had very few options if their menfolk died. She had always known that if she didn’t marry, Anthony or her younger siblings would give her a home where she would be valued. But many women weren’t so lucky and became unpaid drudges to their richer relatives.

  The sound of a carriage stopping outside the rectory brought Penelope to her feet. “I suppose I’d better go and finish dressing before the vultures descend to offer their condolences.”

  “Will Dorothea be well enough to come down?” Lucy moved toward the door and picked up the bundle of dirty bedclothes.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Then I will go and greet our callers.” Lucy hesitated. “If you don’t wish to speak to anyone, Penelope, no one will fault you for it.”

  “Yes they will. They will think I am too ashamed of my own mother to face them, but I have done nothing wrong, and I refuse to be cowed.”

  She swept past Lucy and went into her bedchamber, closing the door behind her with a definite bang.

  On the landing Lucy almost ran into Betty, who had been coming to fetch her down to the parlor. She thrust the washing into the maid’s arms and patted her own hair before descending the stairs. She suspected the rectory would soon be awash with villagers and wedding guests eager to see the Chingfords and relive the tragedy over tea and cake. Luckily, Mrs. Fielding had baked enough for a hundred such visitors.

  Would her father emerge to accept the condolences of his parishioners, or would he continue to hide himself away in his study? And was his nonappearance due to grief, anger, or regret? She hated to consider her father amongst those who had argued with Mrs. Chingford on that fateful day, but she couldn’t allow her prejudices to cloud her judgment.

  Opening the door into the parlor, she surveyed the early visitors, who were mainly the elderly village busybodies who prided themselves on finding out all the juicy gossip first. Also present was the new curate, George, who was handing round cake and chatting with his parishioners Mr. Thomas Fairfax and Mrs. Fairfax.

  She went over to Mr. Fairfax, and he bowed. “Good afternoon, Miss Harrington. Mrs. Fairfax wished to visit to offer her condolences to you and the Chingford family.”

  Lucy waited for the widow to draw back her veil and was surprised to see real tears on her cheeks.

  “I am so sorry,” she choked out in a small whisper. “Your poor, dear papa. I had to come. . . .” She gripped Lucy’s hand very tightly between her own. “The Chingford ladies must
be devastated.”

  “Is Miss Chingford coming down today?” Mr. Fairfax made a slight movement forward and gently disengaged the widow’s gloved fingers from Lucy’s wrist. “If she isn’t, I’ll take Mrs. Fairfax back to the manor house, and we can call another day.”

  His worried gaze met Lucy’s over his ex-employer’s head, as if he was trying to apologize to her. He lowered his voice. “Being so recently bereaved herself, Mrs. Fairfax takes these matters to heart.”

  “Which is very considerate of her.” Lucy guided the weeping widow to a chair. “If you will just rest for a moment, ma’am, I’ll go and see if Miss Chingford is available.”

  She turned toward the door, only to see that Miss Chingford had entered the room, her head held high, her gaze challenging anyone to feel sorry for her. Her black garb did nothing to distract from her frozen blond beauty. The curate almost dropped the plate of scones he was handing around, and Mr. Fairfax went still, his gaze fixed on Miss Chingford’s pale face. For a moment, Lucy found herself admiring her former foe, whose future was now so precarious.

  “Ah, Miss Chingford.” Lucy met her gaze. “Have you made the acquaintance of Mrs. Fairfax and Mr. Thomas Fairfax? They called to offer their condolences for your loss.”

  Miss Chingford’s arrival caused a second wave of weeping from the widow, which made Lucy cravenly withdraw from her side and circulate amongst the other guests. As the gossips left, Miss Stanford arrived, and Lucy hastened to greet her and offer some refreshment. After a while, Lucy managed to find a seat beside Miss Stanford as she handed her a cup of tea.

  “Thank you, Miss Harrington.” The teacup rattled on the saucer as Miss Stanford placed it on the table beside her.

  “Are you quite well, Miss Stanford?” Lucy asked quietly.

  “As well as can be expected, seeing as my brother got married yesterday and the woman who threatened to destroy that marriage and his reputation died.”

  Her forthright manner reminded Lucy of Major Kurland and made her feel rather more hopeful that some direct questions might yield answers.

  “I doubt Mrs. Chingford could have done much damage to your brother or your family, Miss Stanford.”