Death Comes to Kurland Hall (23 page)

“No. Apparently, she went quite willingly. The family thought she might have been offered a home by one of her previous employers.”

“Who somehow heard about the fire and immediately came to rescue her?” Robert snorted. “That seems rather far-fetched to me. One might assume that the person who attempted to burn her house down decided to make sure he finished the job.”

“That was my thought, too. But why?”

“Because Madge Summers was a nurse and the mother of Mrs. Fairfax. If anyone knew the truth about Robin Fairfax's parentage, it would be her.”

“But Mrs. Fairfax died.”

“Perhaps the person who went after Madge Summers didn't know that until he'd already taken her.”

“That's possible, I suppose.”

They had reached the end of the terrace and slowly turned back. Flickering candlelight spilled out from the drawing room and created squares of brightness in the gathering darkness. Beside him, Miss Harrington shivered, and he drew her shawl closer around her shoulders.

“Do you intend to tell Thomas of your suspicions about his half brother?”

“I'm not sure. I'm reluctant to act on evidence obtained solely from my thieving, lying cousin.” Robert paused beside the doors into the drawing room. “I was hoping we might be able to find some additional proof amongst Mrs. Fairfax's papers or from the staff.”

“I can tell you that Mrs. Fairfax wasn't well liked. She was unaccustomed to dealing with a large staff, and I fear she was taken advantage of. I had intended to make a thorough search of the yellow parlor, where she kept her writing desk, but Mr. Fairfax said she rarely wrote letters, being somewhat ashamed of her penmanship.”

A shadow moved closer, and Robert took a step back. “Have you read the Bible verses I gave to you yet?”

“Not yet, Major, but I intend to do that before I retire.”

“Be careful.”

“Of what?” She hesitated. “Actually, there is one thing . . .”

“Major Kurland?”

Robert looked over Miss Harrington's head. “Yes, Mrs. Green?”

“Do you have a forwarding address for Mr. Reading? My niece was asking me. Not that I wish her to communicate with that scoundrel.”

“You can tell her that I do not yet know where Paul intends to settle, but she is welcome to inquire later in the year, when he writes to give me his direction.”

By the time he'd spoken to Mrs. Green and declined an offer from Miss Chingford to play cards, Miss Harrington had left the room. He had the strangest feeling that what she had been about to share with him was important, but he couldn't think of a way to follow her up the stairs and into her bedchamber and demand answers without causing a stir.

She was definitely up to something.... He recalled her determination to read through the Bible verses he'd given her, and suspected she would come down later, when the coast was clear, to investigate Mrs. Fairfax's desk.

Bowing to the ladies and pleading fatigue, Robert went out into the hall and found the butler.

“Simmons, which way is the yellow parlor? Miss Harrington said I would find some writing implements in there.”

“That salon is used mainly by the ladies of the house, Major. You will also find pen and ink in the library, which is on the same corridor.”

“I certainly don't wish to disturb the ladies. Perhaps you might show me where the library is. I want to make an early start on my correspondence in the morning.”

 

Much later, when the house was quiet and the clock in her bedchamber had struck twice, Lucy eased her way out of the door and took the back stairs down to the yellow parlor. There were still a few glowing coals in the fireplace, so she was able to light a candle and place it on Mrs. Fairfax's desk. The drawers weren't locked, so she sat down, put on her spectacles, and took out what appeared to be Mrs. Fairfax's daybook.

Lucy had one at the rectory for noting down the menus for the week and the tasks that needed to be accomplished on a regular basis for the household to function efficiently. She also used hers to jot down new recipes and comments about the quality of the meat from the butchers or whether they needed to look into finding a new supplier for their dairy needs.

Mrs. Fairfax's book was a testament to disorder and the lack of an organized mind. Her handwriting was almost impossible to read; and her grasp of how to manage a house the size of Fairfax Park, hazy at best. Lucy looked in her pocket to retrieve the paper Major Kurland had given her, and could immediately see that the handwriting was the same.

She squinted at the badly written Bible verses, which seemed to follow a theme of sin and vengeance. The only one she could make sense of was Exodus 4: 22–23.

And thou shalt say unto Pharaoh, Thus saith the LORD, Israel is my son, even my firstborn: And I say unto thee, Let my son go, that he may serve me: and if thou refuse to let him go, behold, I will slay thy son, even thy firstborn..'
Which didn't make much sense . . . Lucy tried to read the verse below, which seemed to be a reference of some kind. “Deuteronomy twenty-one, fifteen and sixteen,” Lucy whispered. “I will have to look that one up.”

She startled as she heard a crash outside in the hallway. Immediately, she blew out the candle and went to the door, opening it an inch.

“That bloody woman threw the soup at me again!” someone muttered as he went down to the lower level of the kitchen basement. “She don't deserve to be fed.”

“That's not your concern, young Frederick, my lad. You just keep your mouth shut until this funeral is over and our guests depart. Then all will be as it should be, you mark my words.”

Lucy recognized Simmons's voice, but whom was he talking about? Who was the mysterious captive? And she was fairly certain now that the woman wasn't there on her own free will.

“Take another tray up.”

“Do I have to, Mr. Simmons? She's already spoiled my shirt.”

“Then it won't matter if you get it spoiled again. Get on with you.”

The kitchen door shut, muffling the sound of voices, and Lucy considered what to do. If the footman returned alone, could she follow him up the stairs and discover where he was taking the tray? It might be the only way to satisfy her curiosity on the matter. She hesitated in the darkness at the bottom of the stairs. But what if she was seen? Was there any excuse she could give for being in this particular part of the house in the middle of the night?

The sound of the kitchen door opening below galvanized her into action. She ran lightly up the next flight of stairs and crouched down beside a large Oriental chest on the landing. Within seconds, she heard the rattle of china and the pant of Frederick's breath as he came up the stairs.

He was still grumbling to himself as he carried on up to the next level, which housed the nursery floor and the schoolroom. Lucy listened to the hollow sound of his footsteps, holding her breath as he turned again and continued up toward the attics. She didn't dare follow him, but at least she could attempt to investigate in the morning.

She turned and picking up her skirts, tiptoed carefully back down to the ground floor, letting out her breath as she peered at the outline of the door into the yellow parlor. Her view was abruptly cut off as she collided with an extremely large shape. Before she could even consider screeching, a hand covered her mouth and she was maneuvered out of the doorway and into the parlor.

She broke free of her captor, and he held his finger to his lips.

Lucy remained still, her gaze fixed on Major Kurland as he listened for any sounds of pursuit. After a long moment, his shoulders relaxed.

“You frightened me!” Lucy hissed at him, one hand still planted over her rapidly beating heart.

“Not half as much as you frightened me. What in the devil's name is going on?”

“I think someone is being held captive upstairs.”

“That's ridiculous.”

“I
know
!”

He beckoned her toward the two seats by the fire, and she reluctantly followed him over. There was very little light in the room, but she didn't want to waste time relighting a candle when she intended to be leaving very shortly.

“Were you spying on me, Major Kurland?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.” He hesitated. “I wanted to continue our conversation, and I remembered you saying you might come to the yellow parlor to investigate Mrs. Fairfax's desk. As the funeral is tomorrow, I assumed that when your curiosity got the better of you, you would accomplish your goal tonight.” He gave a ferocious glare. “I
didn't
expect to find you chasing after footmen.”

“I simply wanted to see where he was taking the tray. I had no intention of either chasing him or following him for long.” She rubbed her cold hands together. “Did you hear what Simmons said about things being better after the guests leave?”

He nodded. “I assume they have some decrepit and disorderly family relict locked up until after the funeral. I don't condone such behavior, but I can understand why Mr. Fairfax might have ordered it.”

“I suppose that is possible.”

“What else could it be?”

“I'm not sure.” Lucy spied the letters spread out on the desk and went to retrieve them. “It's just that I've been shown every nook and cranny of this estate, and no one has mentioned any relatives living here. In truth, the only relative of Mrs. Fairfax who has ever lived here is Madge Summers, and that ended badly. I wonder why? Did Madge threaten to expose her daughter's deception?”

“That we will probably never know. Did you find anything in Mrs. Fairfax's desk?”

“Only more evidence that she was barely literate and struggled to run her household. The Bible verses were almost certainly written by her. They all seem to be concerned with sin, particularly the sins of the father, and the downfall of firstborn sons.”

“Sons?” Major Kurland asked softly. “Perhaps Mrs. Fairfax really was feeling guilty.”

“Maybe that's why she came to see Mr. Fairfax at Kurland Hall.” Lucy paused. “And died there after bequeathing her son into his care. Perhaps she knew her secret had been discovered by Mrs. Chingford, and thought that by killing her, the danger was past, only to discover that Mr. Reading intended to blackmail her, anyway.”

“That is rather a romantical and tragic view of the matter, Miss Harrington. She changed her will
before
she came to Kurland Hall. She could scarcely have known she would encounter Mrs. Chingford.”

“Then she was obviously feeling guilty before she arrived. Didn't Mr. Fairfax tell you that he had no idea she had altered her will until the solicitor arrived after her death?”

“And I told
him
that as Mrs. Fairfax was hardly expecting to die, she probably didn't think to mention it or didn't even assume it would ever come to pass.”

“So it is highly likely that Mrs. Fairfax killed Mrs. Chingford to keep her secrets and then killed herself when she realized Mr. Reading intended to use the information against her. I wonder if it was Mr. Reading who took Madge Summers from her house? He was staying in Saffron Walden before he came to Kurland St. Mary, and could have found her address amongst Mrs. Chingford's correspondence.”

“He didn't mention her to me, but then I didn't bring her up.” Major Kurland sighed. “I will make sure to speak to him about the matter when he contacts me. It's possible he left the poor woman in an inn somewhere, and she will eventually realize she's been duped and will return home.”

“I certainly hope so.” Lucy hesitated. “Perhaps you should tell Thomas about all of this, Major. If Robin is not the legitimate heir to the estate, perhaps he is.”

“I have read through the will, and there is no hereditary title with the estate, and it is not entailed to the oldest male heir. If he'd wanted to, the older Mr. Fairfax could've left the whole lot to Thomas. He did have other property and revenue that would have to go to his legitimate heir, but there is no shortage of money, Miss Harrington. Thomas confided to me that he had expected to inherit Fairfax Park and that Mrs. Fairfax had persuaded his father to cut him out of the will entirely.”

Major Kurland sighed. “I think we should wait until after the funeral to suggest anything to Thomas, don't you? Despite everything, Mrs. Fairfax deserves to be buried in peace.”

“I agree.” Lucy headed for the door. “We should go to bed. The funeral is at midday.”

She opened the door and peered into the darkness. All was quiet. Even the noise from the kitchen below had diminished. She tiptoed out, and Major Kurland followed, his cane tapping on the parquet floor behind her.

Lucy had already realized the servants' stairs would be too steep for the major to manage and was resigned to walking up the main staircase with him. In his present mood he was unlikely to accept her disappearing off by herself again. She walked quietly by his side, slowing her step to match his.

There was a faint light under the study door, indicating that Mr. Fairfax might still be working. They started up the wide staircase, which could easily hold six abreast. Lucy was aware of the major's breath hitching with every step. Impulsively, she offered him her arm.

“I don't need help. I'm—”

Even as he snapped at her, his booted heel caught in her skirts, pulling them both off balance. She flung out an arm to grab for the bannister and missed as his considerable weight crashed into her from the side, bringing them both down to their knees on the half landing. A large vase teetered on its stand and fell to the floor.