Death Comes to the Village Page 9

  “She’s your aunt. She scarcely counts as ‘society.’ ”

  “That’s true, but she likes to amuse herself, so no doubt I’ll be inundated with morning callers and invitations to all kinds of events.”

  “You don’t have to receive anyone, or accept their invitations,” Lucy reminded him.

  “My aunt can receive her own guests, and I am hardly likely to be considered an asset at anyone’s country ball.” His smile was bitter. “Unless I employ two stout footmen to carry me from place to place in this chair.”

  “It’s not beyond the realm of possibility, sir.”

  “I’d rather not bother.” He took the letter back and handed her another one with an official-looking document with a red seal on it. “This one is from my regiment.”

  Lucy carefully broke the seal and spread out the single sheet of parchment.

  “Thank goodness it is written in a far clearer hand. ‘To Major Robert Kurland of the Prince of Wales’s Own Royal Hussars. Your presence is requested at an evening reception to be held by our Right Royal Patron His Royal Highness, the Prince Regent, at Carlton House on the nineteenth of this month.’ ”

  Lucy looked up. “Oh my, it is an invitation from royalty . How disappointing for you that you cannot attend.”

  “I’m not one of the prince’s supporters. I probably wouldn’t have gone even if I was able.”

  “Not gone?” Lucy stared at him. “To Carlton House?”

  “I’ve been there before. It’s always too crowded and too hot. The Prince Regent has an aversion to opening a window.”

  “But . . .” How must it feel to be so blasé about things that she could only dream of doing? “Isn’t it an honor?”

  “It sounds like an excuse for the prince to congratulate himself again on our success in battle.”

  “He is the patron of your regiment.”

  “But he’s never fought with us.”

  “He’s the heir to the throne. No one would want him to risk his life like that. Think of the succession!”

  He grimaced. “The Prince Regent has several brothers, although I’ll take your point that the thought of any of them on the throne is equally horrifying. My only hope is that King George recovers soon and takes up the reins of government before his son ruins us.” He took the letter out of her unresisting fingers. “Perhaps you might be willing to assist me, and pen a short note back declining the invitation and explaining my present circumstances.”

  “Certainly, sir. Are you quite sure that you don’t require a secretary?” Lucy stood up and gave him her best glare. “Shall I write the letter now, or would you prefer me to take it home?”

  His smile was sweet enough to set her teeth on edge. “Whatever suits you best, Miss Harrington. I would hate to disrupt you with my petty errands.”

  A knock at the door made Lucy recollect her surroundings and place the letter in her basket. Foley entered the room with a sullen-looking Joseph Cobbins.

  “Major Kurland, Miss Harrington. Apparently you are expecting this young person.” He nudged Joseph in the ribs. “Keep your hands to yourself, Cobbins. I’ll be checking your pockets myself before you leave.”

  If it was possible, Joe scowled even more. Lucy went across to meet him.

  “Joseph, thank you for coming. Have you met Major Kurland before?”

  She put a hand on Joe’s shoulder and maneuvered him around the clutter of furniture until he faced the major’s chair.

  “Good afternoon, Joseph.”

  “What happened to you, then?” Joe stared at the seated figure.

  Before Major Kurland could take offense, Lucy intervened. “Major Kurland was wounded at the battle of Waterloo.”

  Joe’s eyes widened. “Cor, really? What regiment?”

  “The Prince of Wales’s Own Royal Hussars.” This time the major answered before Lucy could speak.

  “The tenth?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Well, blimey. I didn’t know that, sir. Me dad said all lords and ladies were lazy good-for-nothings who deserved to have their heads cut off like that lot in France.”

  “I’m a soldier, not an aristocrat. But your father does have a point.”

  “Well, I’m sure you wouldn’t get beheaded, sir.” Joe nodded. “Soldiers are great guns. Did you kill loads of Frenchies?”

  Aware that the major’s expression had tightened, Lucy smiled brightly at them both. “Joseph, I’m sure Major Kurland would prefer to talk about your recent contretemps with your employers than about his experiences during the war.”

  “Contre-what?” Joe scratched his head. “Do you mean that lying old biddy, Miss Amelia, who said I stole things from her store?”

  “Why do you think Miss Amelia would call you a thief if she didn’t think it was true?”

  “I dunno, sir. Things have gone missing from the shop, there’s no doubt about that. I was the one who first noticed! But she didn’t give me any credit for that, did she? Said I’d done it to distract her from my wickedness, or something.” He sniffed and wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. “The thing is, it could be anyone stealing stuff. Half the village is in there every day pawing over the goods.”

  “Is that true, Miss Harrington?”

  “It is, Major. The Potters’ store is always busy.”

  “Have you ever seen Mary Smith or Daisy Weeks in there, Joseph?”

  “Yes, Major, they sometimes come in together giggling and carrying on and whispering like girls do.”

  “They were friends?”

  “I suppose so.” Joseph scratched his head again, inspected what he’d gathered on his finger, and crushed it. “But you know girls, they’re always squabbling about something or other.”

  “Did either of them ever come into the store with a man?”

  “What sort of man? Like their dad or something?”

  “No, someone who wasn’t familiar to you.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Who else comes in the store?”

  “Just about everyone, except you and the gentry from the big houses. They send their servants to do the work, and I deliver their orders right to the kitchen door.” Gloom descended over his expression. “Well, I used to.”

  “Did your father encourage you to get a job?”

  “That was all Miss Harrington’s doing. My dad thought it was a fool’s game, especially when I wouldn’t bring home any leftovers or extras for him to sell on.”

  “He expected you to steal for him?”

  “Yes, but it doesn’t mean I did it.” Joe raised his indignant gaze to the major’s. “If I wanted to steal stuff, I didn’t need to get a job. I could’ve just stayed with my dad and learned from the best.”

  “Then why did you take the position?”

  Lucy was impressed by the calmness of the major’s tone until it occurred to her that he was probably used to dealing with young men and boys from his days in the military. She suspected that beneath his rather harsh exterior, he was a good judge of character.

  Joe’s skin flushed. “It’s like this, sir. I wanted to help out my mum, and save a bit for myself so that I could run away and join the army. My dad never gives me a penny when I work for him.”

  Lucy met the major’s gaze over Joe’s head, and he nodded at her ever so slightly.

  “How old are you?”

  “Thirteen, sir.”

  “A little young to join up.”

  “I’m fourteen in a few months.”

  Robert sat back and studied the boy, who drew himself up to his full height. “I have a proposition for you, Joseph.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “A proposal. If you accept a job in my stables and keep your nose clean for a year, I will use my influence to have you accepted into a good regiment, and will outfit you at my expense.”

  Joe’s mouth fell open. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because I am willing to give you a chance to prove yourself. Everyone deserves a cha
nce, and I suspect the military will be the making of you.” He pointed at the boy. “But understand this. If you steal as much as a head of corn from one of my horses’ nosebags, you’ll be turned off without a character, and I will wash my hands of you.”

  “What about my mum? Who’s going to keep an eye or her and all the little ones?”

  “Like all my staff, you will receive time off, and are welcome to spend it with your mother and siblings. I do not, however, expect to see your father visiting you at work or anywhere on my grounds. I will make that clear to him myself.”

  Joe studied Robert’s face. “I don’t want to see him, sir. I swear it, but I have to make sure that my mum is all right.”

  “That sentiment does you proud, Joseph. Between my efforts, and those of Miss Harrington, I think we can ensure that your mother is provided for. If you wish, I can even ensure that a proportion of your wages is paid directly to her. Do you accept my offer?” He held out his hand.

  “Yes, sir. I do, sir. Thank you, sir.” Joe grabbed Robert’s hand and shook it vigorously. “When can I start?”

  “If you will ring the bell, I’ll speak to Foley right now. You can wait downstairs until he’s made the necessary arrangements.”

  Foley came in and Robert nodded at Joe.

  “Please take young Joseph down to the kitchens and make sure he is given something to eat. When he’s settled, come back to me and bring Sutton with you.”

  “Sutton from the stables, sir?”

  “Yes, Foley.”

  “Why do you want to see him, Major? He’ll bring all that muck in with him.”

  “Are you trying to tell me who should be allowed in my own house?”

  Foley dropped his gaze. “Of course not, sir. I’ll find him right now.”

  Robert waited until the door closed behind his butler and Joe before he allowed himself to relax.

  “That’s the trouble with old family retainers, isn’t it? They become rather proprietorial,” Miss Harrington commented. “But that stare you gave him was positively glacial. I’m sure he won’t forget himself in front of visitors again.”

  Robert turned to face Miss Harrington, who had remained seated opposite him. She’d taken off her bonnet to reveal her neatly braided mousey hair and clear complexion. Her dress appeared to be the same muddy brown as her eyes. Accustomed as he’d become to the dashing beauties of Europe and the ladies of the London Ton, she reminded him of a dusty sparrow.

  “Since I came back from the continent, Foley and Bookman have been treating me like a child.”

  “I’m not surprised. There is something about being confined to bed that brings out the worst instincts in everyone. The person in the bed reverts to being an infant, and the provider becomes their mother. Sometimes one wishes to be comforted and cosseted, but not forever.”

  “Are you suggesting I enjoyed such treatment, Miss Harrington?”

  “Not at all, Major. You were hardly a compliant patient. Your desire to be up and about was patently evident from the start.”

  “I hated being in bed.”

  “As a man of action, one would assume that would be the case.” She smiled. “Do you wish to discuss Joe Cobbins, or are you too tired?”

  “He wasn’t much help about the thefts, was he?” Robert rubbed his jaw. “Almost the entire village visits that dratted place.”

  “But he did confirm that Mary and Daisy were friends and that they came into the shop together, but not with an unknown man. He also managed to convince you he hadn’t stolen anything. If he isn’t the thief, we need to consider who is.”

  “Foley said we have had some small thefts here, too.”

  “Here at the manor?” Miss Harrington shook her head. “Then we should definitely be looking beyond the village shop.”

  “As I suspected, Miss Harrington. I fear we are dealing with a more organized gang of criminals.”

  She raised her chin an obstinate inch. “I still think the two girls stole things to finance their trip.”

  “Well, we shall see what happens in the village now that the girls have fled to London. If the thefts stop, your theory will likely be proved correct, but if they do not, we will be searching for a more locally based band.”

  She smiled at him. “You were very kind to the boy. Thank you.”

  He waved away her gratitude. “He needs a new start in life, and the quicker we get him away from his disreputable parent, the better. Will you help Mrs. Cobbins? I apologize for enlisting your aid without consulting with you.”

  “Of course, I will. Will you be able to send someone to assess the state of the cottage and whether it is fit for her to live in?”

  “That bad, is it?” Robert stared at her.

  “Yes.” Her brown eyes were unflinching,

  “I will ask Foley to send for Mr. Scarsdale immediately.”

  Miss Harrington picked up her basket and reclaimed her bonnet and gloves. “You’re looking a little tired, Major. I’m sure that can wait until tomorrow. Do you intend to keep Joe here, or should I stay and walk him home?”

  “He’ll probably need to go home to break the news to his mother, but I’ll send Bookman with him. You need not trouble yourself.”

  She tied the ribbons of her plain bonnet under her chin. “I must confess to being a little concerned about what Ben Cobbins will do when he finds out his son has escaped him again.”

  “Leave him to me, Miss Harrington. I’ll make sure he understands his position.”

  Her doubtful gaze drifted over his useless body and he stiffened. “I might not be able to beat the man in a fair fight, but I’m still the local magistrate. There are other ways to ensure obedience than brute force, Miss Harrington.”

  “I don’t doubt that, sir. Power and privilege are often abused in such a fashion.” She nodded and headed for the door. “Good afternoon.”

  She shut the door behind her with a definite snap that did nothing to aid Robert’s budding headache. He realized he was clenching his jaw and gripping the armrest of his chair with all his strength.

  “Meddling woman!”

  While Robert waited for Foley to reappear, he focused on the view again. Miss Harrington had some nerve. Not only had she dared to suggest that he had enjoyed being stuck in bed, but then had gone on to imply that he was some kind of aristocratic bully. She had no idea how much he longed to take on Ben Cobbins in a bare-knuckle fight, to mark the man’s face as he had dared to mark his own child’s. . . .

  And as for him wanting to languish in bed and be treated like an infant. He stared hard at the scurrying white clouds. Had she guessed that some deep cowardly part of him had dreamed of that—of staying in bed forever, of relinquishing control over his pain, his status in life, his military career? Being forced to sit up and literally take notice of his surroundings had made him reconnect with his world. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for that at all.

  A knock on the door distracted him from his thoughts. He waited until Foley and the head of his stable yard, Jack Sutton, who had also been to war with him, entered the room and then set out his plans for Joe Cobbins’s future.

  Chapter 7

  Lucy sat at her father’s desk and ran her finger down the neat column of figures in his accounts book. She oversaw most of the household finances, and could easily decipher the cryptic scrawls he made in the margins regarding each entry. Thankfully, the amounts spent on building the new house and grounds had tailed off in the last year, and their debts were minimal. He tried to live within his means, but his passion for horseflesh sometimes overcame his good sense, and left Lucy scrabbling to make up his excesses with household economies of her own.

  She turned back a few pages and rested her finger under an entry for a payment for the interior and exterior woodwork of the new stable block. The recipient of the payment was a carpenter called Isaiah Bridges who resided in Lower Kurland. Had the man Mary been interested in worked for the Bridges family? When she accompanied Edward to the outlying parishes, she wou
ld make sure to stop at their residence and ask after him.

  “Lucy?”

  She heard Anthony shouting her name and shut the accounts book.

  “I’m in the study.”

  He came through the door, buttoning his waistcoat. “Have you seen my blue coat?”

  “When did you last wear it?”

  “A week or so ago. There was a button loose. You said you’d fix it for me.”

  Lucy rose to her feet. “I was so busy I asked one of the servants to do it.” She saw Betty passing through the hall. “Do you know what happened to Master Anthony’s blue coat?”

  “The one with the big shiny buttons?”

  “Yes, that one. Have you seen it?”

  “I remember Mary sitting with it on her lap sewing on a button a few days ago, but what happened to it after that, I have no notion.”

  Lucy had already started up the stairs. “Edward said that Mary accidentally put several of your garments in his room. I’ll go and see if that included your coat.”

  She continued up the second flight of stairs and headed along the narrow hallway toward Edward’s door. She assumed he had already left the house for the church, but she knocked anyway. To her surprise, the door was flung open and Edward appeared. When he saw her, his expression took on a hunted quality. He stepped outside and shut the door behind him.

  “Miss Harrington.”

  “Good morning, Edward. Are you all right?”

  “I woke up rather late.” He made as if to duck past her. “If you will excuse me, I’m rather behind in my tasks.”

  “Before you dash off, could you look in your cupboard and see if Anthony’s best blue coat is there?”

  “Anthony’s coat?” He looked at her blankly. “Of course! Let me just check for you.”

  He disappeared inside the room, shutting the door firmly in Lucy’s face. Within moments, he was back, the coat draped over his arm.

  “Is this the one? I’m surprised I didn’t notice it before. It is rather too showy for my tastes and my profession.”

  “It is rather too showy for a clergyman’s son, as well, but Anthony was determined to have it.” She laid the coat over her arm. “Thank you, Edward. Anthony will be very relieved.”