Death Comes to Kurland Hall (17 page)

“I wasn't aware that I was.” Robert paused. “Why doesn't he want to come up to the hall and be introduced to the best friend of his fiancée's brother?”

“He has his reasons.”

“Dashed impolite ones, if you ask me,” Robert said. “Perhaps I should go and make his acquaintance myself.”

“There is no need, sir,” Miss Stanford said quickly. “As I said, he has nothing to do with the matter of my lost jewelry, or anything that happened at the wedding. He merely came to support me through the funeral and doesn't feel it necessary to involve himself with the local gentry.”

“But he will be at the service?” Robert asked. “Then I will certainly attempt to make myself known to him. While Andrew is away, Miss Stanford, I feel as if I should act as he would wish me to. Has he met your betrothed?”

“I believe so.” She dropped her gaze. “Our engagement happened only recently. My mother has been informed and gave her consent to the match, and that is all I require.”

“It is always a relief when one's family approves of a marriage,” Robert said diplomatically. “When do you expect the happy event to take place, Miss Stanford?”

“Within the next year. We didn't wish to intrude upon Andrew's happiness.”

“How thoughtful of you both.” Robert stood and looked down at Miss Stanford's bowed head. “I do hope you find your necklace Can you describe it so that I can give Foley an accurate description of what to look for?”

“It is nothing. Merely a piece with sentimental value and not worth making a fuss over.”

Robert accepted the dismissal in her words and walked away, none the wiser than he had been before the conversation. He wasn't sure how Miss Harrington managed to extract information from people so easily, and wished he had the skill. In truth, he wished she were by his side, asking the questions. Having deliberately avoided her for a few days, he missed her far more than he'd anticipated.

Had he been too hasty in dismissing her help? Back in the sanctuary of his own house and familiar surroundings, his desire to protect her from some unknown threat seemed somewhat ridiculous. But something was definitely going on. He couldn't decide how Miss Stanford's odd conduct related to the two deaths, but he was certain there was a connection. She was behaving quite strangely.

He also suspected that her entire reason for being in Mrs. Fairfax's bedroom had nothing to do with the loss of her mythical necklace and all to do with something she was searching for, but what? He'd known her for several years, and her conduct seemed uncharacteristic. In the past, she'd treated him almost like a brother, and now he apparently was the enemy. He couldn't forget the antipathy in her stare.

What had changed? Robert continued down the stairs to his study. It appeared that her suitor, the unknown Mr. Reading, had a lot to answer for. Mrs. Chingford's funeral was almost upon them. He would certainly make a point of seeking out Mr. Reading and seeing what kind of a man Miss Stanford had decided to marry. He had a suspicion that he wouldn't like what he found at all.

 

“But—”

Lucy carried on up the stairs, ignoring Penelope's raised voice.

“Slow
down
, Lucy. I still don't understand.”

Lucy finally turned around and put her finger to her lips. “If you must discuss this, come into my bedchamber and be
quiet
!”

With an aggrieved sigh, Penelope followed Lucy into her bedroom and shut the door behind them.

“Why do you think Mrs. Fairfax is related to Madge Summers?”

Lucy sat down to remove her half boots and set them on the hearth to dry. “I'm fairly certain that I am correct. What worries me more is, who sent that carriage the next morning? I doubt any of Madge's employers live within a stone's throw of Thaxted. She worked for the aristocracy and the gentry with houses in London and great country estates. How did someone know to come and help her?”

Penelope took the seat opposite her. “If one was of a suspicious nature, one would assume it was the person who set the fire in the first place.”

“Which means that Madge might have been taken away and killed.”

“But Polly said she went willingly.”

“She might not have known exactly who was taking her. She might have assumed it was her daughter.”

“Who is already dead.”

Lucy let out her breath. “I'm not sure what to do next. Madge has disappeared, and we have no other clues to follow. I do wish Major Kurland hadn't lost that locket.”

Penelope yawned. “At least we got away from the village for a while. I'd better go and see how Dorothea is feeling.”

“Do you think she will be well enough to attend the funeral?”

“Dr. Fletcher said she should be fine by then.” Penelope hesitated. “In truth, I hope she is. Now that I know Mr. Reading is going to be there, I would appreciate her support.”

“Don't forget to ask her about what happened the day your mother died.”

Penelope looked back over her shoulder as she opened the door. “Oh, I'll ask her, and this time I won't allow her to give me anything but the truth.”

Chapter 16

R
obert surreptitiously glanced at his pocket watch as the rector continued to speak from the pulpit, his cultured if disinterested voice echoing around the stone pillars and soaring Norman archways. Even with the presence of most of the staff from Kurland Hall and the rectory, the church was half empty. He knew Miss Chingford had invited many of her mother's supposed friends, but no one apart from the family solicitor and a couple of older ladies had come down from London to offer their support.

It made him wonder how many people would show up to
his
funeral.

Miss Harrington sat in the front pew, with the Chingford sisters on either side of her. She wore a veil, so he hadn't seen her face in the brief moment when she'd walked past him to take her seat. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to speak to her. What would he say? He was aware that
something
needed to be said, but feared once he embarked on an explanation of his reasons for denying her his company, he would inadvertently reveal too much or make matters worse.

His gaze moved away from the front of the church to Miss Stanford, who sat with Mrs. Green. There was no sign of Mr. Reading. Had Miss Stanford warned him off after Robert had declared his intention of confronting the man? It didn't matter. If Mr. Reading was too cowardly to meet him at the funeral, he would have great pleasure in attending him at the one and only inn Kurland St. Mary possessed.

There was a fluttering of movement amongst the congregation as the rector stepped down and concluded the brief service. There was no music, and the sounds of the pallbearers lifting and taking up the strain of the coffin were loud in the hollowness of the church nave. Robert had offered to help but had been assured that his assistance wasn't necessary.

The rector led the sad procession out of the door and took the path behind the church to the graveyard. After Miss Harrington's unpleasant adventures in the churchyard, Robert wondered if she would be relieved that ladies were not expected to attend the graveside. He had offered Kurland Hall as a suitable venue to hold the funeral breakfast but had been politely turned down by Miss Chingford, who preferred to use the rectory.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the black-clad women cross the road to walk up the drive to the rectory. Apart from him, Thomas, and the solicitor from the Chingford estate, there were only the pallbearers and some of Robert's staff left to pay their respects. The grave had already been dug and awaited them at the end of a long row shaded by an ancient elm tree. Within the high stone walls of the cemetery, there was the same sense of peace Robert had noticed in every graveyard he had ever visited, even the ones in war-torn France. It was as if the dead held their collective breath and time stood still.

He buttoned his coat to his throat as the breeze picked up. Having seen many a man die in mid-sentence, with a look of surprise on his face, in the midst of a bloody battle, he understood that sense of timelessness. Despite everything they knew to the contrary, no one ever expected to die, even in warfare.

Rousing himself from his melancholy thoughts and aware that he'd be drowning in nightmares later that night, he lifted his head to study the rest of the graveyard. A movement caught his attention. Half hidden beyond the mourners and the rector, who was intoning another prayer as the coffin was slowly lowered into the grave, there was a man.

Aware that there was nothing he could do about the intruder until the service was finished, Robert listened impatiently to the rector's final words. Would he even want such a ritual at his death? He'd always assumed he would die in battle on foreign soil and be left for the scavengers and crows. After the horrors of war, he wasn't quite sure if he believed in God, but as the local magistrate and the largest landowner in the district, he could hardly avoid a good Christian burial. One had to keep up appearances....

The rector turned away, leaving the grave diggers to continue replacing the soil over the coffin. He glanced up at Robert.

“You will come to the rectory, Major Kurland? Mrs. Fielding has laid on quite a spread.”

“Of course, Mr. Harrington.” Robert inclined his head. “I appreciate your hospitality on this sad occasion and would be delighted to join you.”

To his relief, the rector said no more and went off, accompanied by the Chingford solicitor, toward the house. Robert took a more circuitous route that brought him around the back of the church and up behind the path where he'd spied the unknown gentleman. Who was, of course, no longer there.

“Devil take it,” Robert swore quietly. There was still the hint of smoke in the air, and a glance down revealed the remains of a cigarillo stamped into the ground by a booted heel.

The church bell tolled the quarter hour, and Robert headed across the street to the rectory. He needed to pay his respects and offer his condolences to the Miss Chingfords and attempt to speak to Miss Harrington. His thoughts during the funeral had reminded him that life was short, and that he was much happier when he and Miss Harrington were on good terms. Perhaps if he offered her a sincere apology, she would forgive him without wishing to delve into the various reasons that had driven him to become angry with her in the first place.

As he walked up the drive, he couldn't help but utter a short laugh at his own expense. No woman of his acquaintance had ever accepted an apology without the need to discuss the matter, and Miss Harrington was no exception. The front door of the rectory was adorned with a black bow on the knocker and unlatched, so Robert went through into the hall and left his hat and gloves on the stand.

There was a low murmur of conversation coming from the drawing room and the smell of baking and warm punch, which would be most welcome. As Robert entered the room, Thomas caught his eye and came to stand beside him.

“Would you like me to fetch you some mulled wine, sir? I was just going to get a cup for myself.”

“Yes, please,” Robert said. “I'll go and pay my respects to Miss Chingford.”

He located the two fair-haired sisters on a couch beside the fire and made his halting way over to them.

“Major Kurland.” Miss Chingford looked up at him. Her eyes were dry, and she appeared her usual composed self. “How kind of you to come.”

Robert bowed. “I am sorry for your loss, Miss Chingford, Miss Dorothea. I am even more sorry that it happened in my house. If there is anything I can do to help—”

“Apart from marrying me, you mean?” Miss Chingford interrupted him. “It's all right. I have quite given up on that foolish notion.”

Robert held her gaze. “I'm glad to hear it, but if there is anything else you need, please do not hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you.”

He turned away, aware of someone waiting behind him, and found Thomas, who was holding two glasses in his hands.

“Here you are, Major.”

Robert took the hot drink and savored the pungent scent of herbs and spices, which reminded him of the exotic woods used in the chest in his bedroom. “That is very welcome.”

His gaze traveled around the room and fixed on Miss Harrington, who was conversing with the two old ladies who had arrived from London. Her face was in profile, giving him a moment to admire not only the slight dimple in her left cheek she tried to hide but also the intelligence in her fine hazel eyes. As if realizing she was being observed, she looked across the room and then continued her conversation, as if she'd not seen him. Her dimple disappeared, and her chin was now raised at a challenging angle.

Things were obviously not mended between them, and that was his fault. Perhaps it would be better if he wrote her a letter and apologized. There was less opportunity for him to say the wrong thing....

Good Lord, he was such a coward.

“Major Kurland.”

He turned with relief to his land agent. “Yes, Thomas?”

“I was thinking of leaving for Fairfax Park in three or four days.”

“Ah, yes. I'd forgotten you were returning home. Will the house still be staffed? If you need to borrow a groom or a couple of the maids from Kurland Hall, I am more than willing to lend them to you.”

“That's very kind of you, sir. I believe the house is fully staffed. I haven't been there for quite a while, but I did write and tell them to expect me.” He frowned. “I don't think Mrs. Fairfax employed a housekeeper, and I know little about how to manage a house.”

“You should ask Miss Harrington for her advice. She is certainly very capable of running a household.”

“She is indeed. What an excellent suggestion.”

There was a warmth in Thomas's reply, which made Robert look closely at his land agent, whose gaze was currently fixed on Miss Harrington. To Robert's surprise, when she noted Thomas's regard, she smiled at him and blushed. Robert thrust his empty glass into Thomas's hand and went over, trapping her in the corner of the room.

“Major Kurland.”

He bowed. “Miss Harrington. I wish to apologize.”

She raised her eyebrows, her gaze cool. “Whatever for?”

“For my rudeness at our last meeting. I spoke without proper regard to your feelings.” He swallowed hard. “I was . . . worried about you.”

She started to say something and then stopped.
“Worried?”

“Yes. That I would prove incapable of protecting you if the need arose.”

She studied him for a long moment. “I appreciate your concern for my well-being, sir, but I am quite capable of taking care of myself.”

“I know that, but—”

“You think all women need a strong man with a strong hand to guide them.”

“Yes, that's it
exactly
. I—”

“And what if I don't agree with you?” She held his gaze. “You treated me like a misbehaving child, Major Kurland, or a dog that should obey your every command. No woman wishes to be treated like that.”

“I didn't intend—”

“I'm sure you didn't, but that is your way, is it not? You are too used to being in command and expect everyone to immediately stand to attention and obey you.”

He realized he was glaring at her again. “You are deliberately misunderstanding me. Why do women make the simplest things so complicated?”

“Pray tell me how I am doing that, Major Kurland.”

“By refusing to understand that I worry about you because, devil take it, I
care
about you.”

Shock flashed in her hazel eyes, and she opened her mouth to reply.

“Major Kurland?” The rector's loud voice right behind Robert's left ear made him wince. “Mr. Fairfax says he is leaving for his deceased father's estates later this week. How are you going to manage without him?”

Reluctantly, Robert turned and faced the rector. “I have no idea. He will be much missed.” When he managed to extricate himself from the conversation, he discovered that Miss Harrington was nowhere in sight.

 

Lucy ran up the stairs, her hand pressed tightly to her heated cheek. She still wasn't certain if she wished to scream at her father for his interruption or thank him profoundly. And why was she so flummoxed, after all? Major Kurland had only intimated that he cared about her. . . .

She slowed to a stop on the landing, aware that her heart was thudding in her chest and that she had a strange desire to go back down the stairs and slap Major Kurland's handsome face. Perhaps he did care for her—in the way he cared for Mr. Stanford's children and his horses. What else could he possibly have meant?

“Miss Harrington, are you all right?”

She half turned to see Dorothea coming toward her. “I am sorry. I stopped to remember something and didn't realize I was blocking your path.” She forced herself to calm down and took a closer look at Dorothea. She wore unrelieved black, and her face was the color of parchment. “You look rather pale. Are you feeling quite the thing?”

“I just want all of this to be over.” Dorothea burst out. “I want to go home, but where will that be now we have been dispossessed?”

“Please don't worry.” Lucy took the girl's trembling hand. “You and your sister can stay here for as long as you wish. Perhaps the Chingford family solicitor, who came for the funeral today, will be able to set matters straight for you.”

“Penelope has already told me that we will be penniless and at the mercy of our relatives.” Tears shone in Dorothea's eyes. “I never thought this would happen to us. I didn't
think
.”

“About what?” Lucy asked. “The consequences of your mother's death? Are you
quite
certain that you don't wish to tell me what happened on that day?”