Death Comes to Kurland Hall (16 page)

He backed up his horse before tipping his hat to her. “Good afternoon, Miss Harrington. Remember what I said.”

He cantered away before the oncoming gig reached her. Lucy picked up a handful of her sodden skirts and tried to move onto more solid ground.

“Miss Harrington!” The gig stopped, and Mr. Fairfax jumped down and ran toward her. “What happened? Did you fall?” He took her elbow in a firm grip and set her on the path. “I'll take you back to the rectory immediately.”

She allowed him to help her into the carriage and sat quietly as he urged the horse into a trot. They arrived at the rectory within minutes, and he drove through into the stable yard, calling out for aid. As soon as Bran came out to hold the horse's head, Mr. Fairfax opened the carriage door, swept Lucy up into his arms, and carried her in through the kitchen door.

“Which way is Miss Harrington's bedchamber?”

Mrs. Fielding gasped, and Betty jumped up from the table and ran to open the door into the hallway.

“This way, sir.”

Lucy suffered herself to be carried up the stairs and was tenderly deposited on her bed by Mr. Fairfax, who scarcely seemed encumbered by her weight and the wetness of her clothes.

“If you permit, I'll wait downstairs to hear if you are quite recovered, Miss Harrington.”

She managed to murmur a thank-you before Betty ushered him out of the bedchamber. Penelope came in, her eyebrows raised at Lucy's pitiful condition.

“Good Lord. Did you fall in the duck pond?”

Lucy struggled to sit up. “No, but I almost ended up in the ditch, courtesy of your Mr. Reading.”

“He certainly isn't mine.” Penelope made a face as Lucy fought to take off her soaking wet pelisse. “Thank goodness Mr. Fairfax arrived to save you.”

Lucy was too cold to muster much of a glare, but she attempted one, anyway. “I was in the process of saving myself. Mr. Fairfax arrived in time to offer me a ride home, for which I am extremely grateful.”

“Don't forget to thank your heroic rescuer, will you?” Penelope had the audacity to wink before she turned and left.

Betty helped Lucy remove her clothing down to her shift and corset and sat her in front of the fire, wrapped in a blanket, her feet in a bowl of warm water. It took quite a while for Lucy to stop shivering. She could only hope that she wouldn't get a chill after her drenching. But worrying about her health would have to wait until she'd decided what to do about Mr. Reading.

“Find me something warm to wear and pin up my hair again, Betty. I have to go down to the parlor and assure Mr. Fairfax that I am quite recovered.”

 

When she entered the parlor, a mere half an hour since she'd arrived home, Mr. Fairfax was pacing the rug in front of the fire, his expression worried.

Lucy curtsied. “Thank you so much for bringing me home, Mr. Fairfax. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come along.”

In truth, she would have struggled back by herself, but it never hurt to acknowledge an act of generosity, especially from a man.

He strode over to her and took her hand. “I'm sure you would have managed to help yourself, Miss Harrington. I'm just glad I happened along at the right time to save you an extremely unpleasant walk home.”

“As you can see, I am quite unharmed by the experience. But do not let me detain you any further.” Lucy gently eased her hand free from his grasp and took a seat by the fire, waiting until he joined her. “I'm sure you have work to do.”

“I was intending to visit you this afternoon, anyway, after speaking to Dr. Fletcher. He has made up some medicines for Miss Dorothea and asked me to bring them to you before his patient's return to the rectory.” He glanced out of the window with a frown. “If it continues to rain like this, I cannot in all conscience allow Miss Dorothea to risk a drafty carriage ride. But do not concern yourself too much, Miss Harrington. I will make sure she comes back tomorrow, when the weather clears up.”

“Miss Chingford will be very happy to have her sister back in her care.”

“I'm sure she will. One cannot rest easy when a member of one's family is unwell or away from home. I don't know quite how you bear the absence of your siblings so well, Miss Harrington. I suspect you miss them greatly.”

“I do. I miss them all, even the twins, who are quite a handful. But they will all return soon, and I am grateful for that.”

Mr. Fairfax smiled. “I must confess that I am looking forward to seeing my half brother again. He is quite an engaging little chap and bright as a button.”

Betty knocked on the door and came in with a tray. “Mrs. Fielding says you are to drink her ginger tea while it's hot, Miss Harrington, and that there's a drop of brandy in there to warm your bones.”

Lucy gazed at the steaming brown liquid. “That is . . . very kind of her. Please give her my thanks.”

Mr. Fairfax spoke after Betty left. “Are Mrs. Fielding's potions undrinkable?”

“I've never been offered one before. She usually leaves me to fend for myself when I'm unwell.” She took a sip. “Ah, that is most refreshing.”

Mr. Fairfax stood up. “I should leave you to recuperate. I will bring Miss Dorothea back tonight if the weather cooperates. If not, tell Miss Chingford to expect me in the morning.”

Lucy set aside her cup and rose, too. “Thank you again, Mr. Fairfax.”

He took her hand. “Thomas.” Then he hesitated. “I thought I saw another horse as I approached you earlier.”

Lucy crinkled her brow. “I believe there might have been
someone
who passed me by, but I don't think he saw me in the rain.”

Mr. Fairfax snorted. “Or he couldn't be bothered to stop.”

“I suppose that is possible.” Lucy took a breath. “Are you likely to be traveling on estate business to Thaxted in the near future, Mr. Fairfax?”

“Thaxted?” He paused. “Strangely enough, I have to go and meet with one of the Kurland manor corn merchants there tomorrow.”

“Would you mind if I came with you? Properly chaperoned, of course,” Lucy said quickly. “If you are able to take me, I will not have to bother my father to get the horses out. I have to deliver an invitation to Mrs. Chingford's funeral.”

“I would be most happy to oblige you, Miss Harrington.” He bowed. “What time would you like to set forth?”

Chapter 15

“I
'm coming with you.”

Lucy tried to ignore Penelope as she put on her bonnet. “What about Dorothea? We cannot leave her here alone.”

Despite Mr. Fairfax's dire predictions about the weather, the previous evening had brought Dorothea and Dr. Fletcher to the rectory. The younger Miss Chingford was now in bed, being watched over by one of the kitchen maids.

“She is exhausted from the journey and told me she intends to sleep all day,” Penelope said firmly. “The new maid said she would sit with Dorothea and keep her company if she awakens. Even Dr. Fletcher said she was on the mend and didn't need to be coddled.”

“There won't be much for you to do in Thaxted,” Lucy said.

Penelope's pale blue eyes narrowed. “You said you intend to deliver an invitation to my mother's funeral on Saturday. Surely I should be involved in that.”

“I was merely trying to take some of the burden from your shoulders.” Lucy forced a smile. “If you wish to accompany me, then please do so. I don't have time to argue with you. Mr. Fairfax will be here at any moment.”

Penelope smiled in triumph. “I will fetch my bonnet and cloak.”

Lucy spotted Mr. Fairfax approaching in the chaise and went down the stairs to see if Betty was ready to accompany them. In truth, having Penelope with her might distract Mr. Fairfax from inquiring too deeply into her sudden desire to visit Thaxted. It might also reassure the woman she hoped to meet that it was all right to speak freely to her.

 

Penelope raised her handkerchief to her nose as she stared at the blackened ruins of Number Eight Field Lane.

“What on earth are we doing here?”

“Attempting to locate the owner of the house.”

Lucy went up the path next door and knocked sharply. They'd managed to leave Mr. Fairfax at the inn, attending to the horses, and had promised to meet him by two o'clock for the return journey home.

The solemn-faced little girl Lucy had met on her previous visit opened the door.

“Good morning. Is your mother at home?”

With a little nod, the girl pushed the door open wide and skipped off down the narrow hallway, calling her mother's name. Lucy followed, and so did Penelope. They emerged into a small kitchen, where a woman stood stirring something on the range.

“Mrs. Collins?” Lucy inquired. “I'm Miss Harrington from the rectory at Kurland St. Mary. I do apologize for disturbing you, but we were told you might have information on the whereabouts of your neighbor, Mrs. Madge Summers.”

“Madge is very popular these days.” Mrs. Collins wiped her hands on her apron and gestured at the table for Lucy and Penelope to sit down. “Polly, watch the stew.”

Her small daughter obediently climbed onto a chair stationed close to the range and began stirring the pot.

“Apparently, some extremely officious gentleman was after her on the day of the fire, as well.”

Lucy chose not to comment on that. “We were hoping to find Mrs. Summers so that we could inform her about a funeral being held at Kurland St. Mary for an acquaintance of hers. Did she remain in Thaxted after the fire?”

“She stayed here with us the first night, after I'd taken her to see the doctor for something to calm her nerves.” Mrs. Collins shook her head. “She was right shaken by what happened.”

“Did she remember how the fire started?”

“She said not, but she was getting on in years and might have left something on the range or not cleaned out her chimneys since last winter. Anyways, once I'd persuaded her to swallow a dose of the good doctor's sleeping potion, she slept like an angel.”

“And where is she now?”

Mrs. Collins leaned forward. “Well, that's the thing. The next morning she was gone.”

“You mean she disappeared?”

“Oh no, miss. She packed up her things and left like a good Christian, but I'm not quite sure where she went. Madge used to be a nurse for a lot of upper-class families. Mr. Collins and I wondered if one of those families had come to help her out.”

“But she didn't tell you which one it was?”

“I didn't see her leave, miss. I was out working in the garden. By the time I came back in, she was gone.”

Lucy frowned. “Did she not leave you a note?”

“She told Polly to say good-bye and sent her thanks for our kindness.” Mrs. Collins shook her head. “We also found a gold sovereign on the table, which was a mite generous of her, but maybe the people who came for her left it instead.”

“She wasn't a wealthy woman?”

Mrs. Collins considered. “She owned her cottage outright and had several small pensions from her former employers, so I'd say she was comfortable. She had a daughter, as well. I doubt she would ever starve.”

“Are you quite sure it wasn't her daughter or another member of her family who came for her? Do they live locally?”

“She's never mentioned any family, apart from her daughter. That one married above her station, if you know what I mean, miss, and didn't visit her mother as often as she should've done.”

“So it is possible that Madge's daughter did come for her.”

“It's possible but unlikely. They'd fallen out the year before. The only thing Madge was sad about was not seeing her grandchild as often. He was a bonny lad, by all accounts.” Mrs. Collins stood up to check the stew, and Polly was set to making a pot of tea.

Penelope tugged at Lucy's sleeve and whispered, “Aren't you going to ask her about my mother or whether she knows Miss Stanford?”

Lucy sent her a quelling look as Mrs. Collins sat down again. “Did Madge's daughter ever live here with her mother?”

“On and off. She married very young, to a soldier from the local barracks, who went off to war and never came back. The next thing I knew, she'd married again and gone away. Madge wasn't very happy about that. She thought Emmy had behaved very badly indeed.”

“Madge's daughter's name was Emily?”

“Something like that. The higher she married, the less she liked her mother to call her Emmy.” Mrs. Collins made a face. “And the less she visited.”

“It certainly is a puzzle,” Lucy sighed. “If we can't locate Madge, our journey has been in vain.” She accepted a cup of tea and sipped at it slowly. “I wonder if she will come back and rebuild her cottage.”

“Who knows, miss? Perhaps she'd rather settle down in one of those big houses and be waited on hand and foot for the rest of her life. I can't say I'd mind that myself.” Mrs. Collins lifted Polly off the chair and sat her down at the table while she inspected the stew.

Lucy slid the plate of biscuits across to the girl, who took one and mumbled a thank-you.

“Do you remember the day Mrs. Summers left, Polly?”

Polly nodded. “She went in a big black carriage.”

“Who came to the door to fetch her?”

“Someone dressed all fancy.” Polly wrinkled her nose. “Like a soldier, but not quite that.”

“Like a servant in livery?” Lucy suggested.

“Maybe, miss.”

“And Mrs. Summers seemed happy to be leaving?”

“She was crying, but I think she was happy.” Polly shook her head. “She hardly bothered to say good-bye.”

“You will probably miss her,” Lucy said sympathetically.

“She made gingerbread, and I helped her in the garden. Sometimes she gave me a penny.”

“Well, I'm sure you will see her again.”

Polly looked glum and slid off the chair. “I have to go and see if the washing is dry.”

Lucy turned to Mrs. Collins. “Thank you so much for your help. If Madge does return, would you let her know that Miss Harrington from the rectory at Kurland St. Mary was inquiring after her?”

“I certainly will, and God bless you for trying to find her to share such sad news.” Mrs. Collins wiped her hands and went to open the door. “Should I tell her whose funeral it was, miss?”

“A Mrs. Maria Chingford.”

“I've heard Madge mention that lady. She was one of her employers.” Mrs. Collins glanced at Penelope, who was dressed in unrelieved black. “Was she a relation of yours, miss?”

“She was my mother.”

“Then I'm sorry for your loss, Miss Chingford.” Mrs. Collins bobbed a curtsy.

“Thank you.”

Lucy led the way out of the house and down the front path, latching the gate carefully behind her as Mrs. Collins waved them off.

Penelope started speaking almost immediately. “So it appears that Mrs. Summers
did
know my mother. I can't say I recall her mentioning anyone called Madge in our household, apart from her dresser, but then she rarely discussed the servants with me.”

“I doubt she wished to bother you with such mundane details.”

“But what does this prove?”

“Nothing in itself, but Madge also knew Mrs. Fairfax rather well, didn't she?”

Penelope frowned. “How on earth did you come to that conclusion?”

“You yourself said that Mrs. Fairfax appeared uncomfortable in society. If she married outside her class, she probably was.”

“You think Mrs. Fairfax is Madge Summers's
daughter
?” Penelope stopped walking to face Lucy.

“Of
course
I do. She married up, she had a son, and her name is Emily, or Emmy, which is Mrs. Fairfax's name.”

Penelope slowly closed her mouth and shook her head while Lucy continued. “Madge knew your mother
and
Mrs. Fairfax.”

“And both of them are dead.”

“And Madge has disappeared, which means that someone doesn't wish us to make those connections.”

“But who?”

“Mr. Reading also had knowledge of both your mother and Mrs. Fairfax.” Lucy frowned. “But what could Madge possibly know that made it imperative to burn her out of her home?”

“She was a nurse to both families. Perhaps she knows some scandal that Mr. Reading cannot allow to come to light.”

Lucy sighed. “I don't know what to think. But I am worried about Madge Summers, although she didn't seem reluctant to leave with the servant who came to collect her.”

“But she might have thought the carriage came from her daughter.”

“Who we know has already been dead for several days.” Lucy started walking again. “I need to think about this. Please don't tell Mr. Fairfax anything other than we delivered the invitation.”

“You want me to lie to our gallant companion?”

“I don't want him worrying about his stepmother, or going back and telling tales to Major Kurland.”

Penelope gave an inelegant snort. “You're right. He's so proper, he probably would go and reveal all. I doubt Major Kurland would be pleased to hear that you and I have been asking questions about murder.”

“And we still don't have any answers.” Lucy picked up her pace as the inn came into view. “I'm sure there is something I am missing, but I cannot yet see what it is. Perhaps a period of calm reflection over luncheon will help me refine my thoughts.”

 

Robert spotted Miss Stanford sitting in the drawing room and went over to her. She was staring out of the window, her embroidery lying forgotten on her knee.

“Good morning, Miss Stanford, and how are you today?” Robert said cheerfully. “The weather is decidedly unpleasant. I do hope Andrew and his new bride are having better luck in Cornwall.”

She glanced up at him and then looked away. “I'm sure they are.”

Robert took the seat opposite her and stretched out his legs. “I hope it doesn't rain at the funeral. It makes an already somber occasion even worse somehow.” She didn't reply, so he pressed on, wishing Miss Harrington were with him to conduct the conversation in her own inestimable fashion. “It is kind of you and Mrs. Green to stay for the funeral.”

“I think Andrew would expect it of me.” Miss Stanford directed her attention back to her embroidery.

“It is still good of you to attend the funeral of a woman you probably didn't even know.” Robert paused. “Or did you know her? I seem to remember seeing you ladies chatting on more than one occasion.”

“I knew
of
her. Everyone in London society did. She was considered something of a malicious gossip.”

“I must say that from my own experience, Mrs. Chingford was difficult to like.”

“She was impossible! She—” Miss Stanford stopped speaking and pressed her handkerchief to her lips. “I do beg your pardon. I am rather overwrought this morning.”

“Ah, is this because you lost your necklace? Mrs. Bloomfield told me you were in some distress. She also mentioned that you wondered if it had ended up amongst Mrs. Fairfax's belongings.”

Miss Stanford swallowed convulsively. “I . . . I helped Mrs. Bloomfield lay out the body. I wondered if my necklace had fallen off then.”

Robert looked idly out of the window. “I will speak to Foley about this, if Mrs. Bloomfield hasn't already done so. The piece of jewelry he found recently was an old locket. That wasn't yours, as well, was it?”

“No!” Miss Stanford's voice was shaking now and growing louder. “I have no idea whom that locket belongs to at all.”

Robert turned to face her. “Are you quite sure?”

“Why are you asking me these questions, Major Kurland?”

He held her stare. “Why haven't you introduced me to your fiancée, who, I understand, is staying in my village?”

“He has nothing to do with any of this. He wasn't even present during the wedding, so you cannot blame him for anything.”