Death Comes to the Nursery

by Catherine Lloyd

  “I bloody well did not!” Bert shot to his feet. “That’s just stupid!”

  “It makes a lot of sense to me,” Robert replied. “Which is why I am going to have you sent to the local assizes to await trial for the murder of Flora Rosa.” He waited for a moment before adding. “Unless you have any further information you wish to share with me?”

  “I’ve told you the truth.”

  “Your truth, perhaps, but with no evidence to back it up, how am I supposed to believe you?”

  “Did you speak directly to Viscount Gravely?”

  “Yes. He confirmed that he had employed you.”

  “That’s all?” Bert turned away and slammed his fist against his open palm. “Maybe you didn’t ask him the right questions.”

  “What would you have liked me to have asked him?” Robert paused, half-turned toward the door, his curiosity aroused.

  “Why I bothered to rush up to London to tell him what was going on? Why he chose to ignore my advice?” Bert shook his head. “The stupid besotted, old fool. He never wanted to see what was right in front of his bloody nose.”

  “Are you suggesting that Viscount Gravely committed this murder?”

  Bert went back to his bed and sat down, his hands linked together in front of his spread knees. “He’s bloody well responsible, all right.”

  The absurdity of the claim almost made Robert smile. “Good luck proving that at your trial, Bert. I suggest you think up a more plausible defense before you are laughed out of court for accusing a peer of the realm of murder.”

  “You’re wrong about all of this, Sir Robert. This is all Viscount Gravely’s fault.”

  “If I’m wrong, give me the evidence to prove it,” Robert snapped. “So far, nothing you have said is worth attending to.” He inclined his head a stiff inch. “Once the body has been identified—”

  “I could do that for you,” Bert interrupted.

  “There is no need. Someone from London will be coming down to do that fairly soon.”

  “Polly?”

  “I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting the real Polly Carter. Apparently, our arrival in the capital made her go into hiding.”

  “Clever girl.” Bert almost smiled. “You’ll be accusing her of murdering her friend next.”

  “Polly could help clear this matter up in seconds,” Robert reminded him. “All she has to do is talk to us.”

  “And risk what happened to Flora?” Bert asked. “Viscount Gravely doesn’t like loose ends. If he finds Polly, she’ll be in big trouble for making things worse.”

  “Viscount Gravely is an invalid who rarely leaves his home.”

  “He has enough money and power to get whatever he wants,” Bert argued. “And if he wants Polly dead, like her friend Flora, he will find a way to make it happen.”

  Robert considered Bert anew. “Is that what you did?”

  “I’m not sure I follow you, sir.”

  “Did you murder Flora for Viscount Gravely?”

  Bert had the temerity to laugh. “Now who’s making things up out of thin air, Sir Robert? Do you think I’d be sitting in here if I’d killed her? If I’d been responsible, I damn well wouldn’t have come back to Kurland St. Mary.”

  “Then why did you come back?” Robert asked, intrigued despite himself.

  “Because I’m a fool, that’s why.” Bert sighed. “If Viscount Gravely comes down here to identify the body, let me have a word with him, eh? He’ll clear my name. I’m certain of it.”

  “By implicating himself? Somehow I doubt that.” Robert banged on the door. “Rest easy, Bert. Viscount Gravely is too ill to bother to save you.”

  “If it’s not Polly coming, then who is going to identify the body?” Bert shouted the question at Robert’s back. “Tell me!”

  Robert ignored Bert and pulled the door closed behind him.

  “Tell me!” Bert carried on yelling, his voice now muffled by the thick oak door.

  Mr. Jarvis relocked the door and pocketed the key.

  “I do apologize for the inconvenience of having a man locked in your cellar for two weeks,” Robert said as they went back up the stairs. “I will soon have him removed to Hatfield for trial.”

  “It’s been no trouble, Sir Robert. We make sure he’s fed and watered just like the other guests and the horses at the inn,” Mr. Jarvis replied. “He’s calmed down a lot in the last few days.”

  “I appreciate all your efforts.” Robert shook the landlord’s hand. “Now I must get back to Kurland Hall. I have a week’s worth of farm business to catch up on.”

  Robert climbed into the gig but made no effort to hurry home. He idled along the county road, his thoughts occupying him until he reached the stables of Kurland Hall and relinquished the reins into the hands of one of his grooms. He had a sense that something was eluding him, that if he could just shake the pieces together again, they would somehow form a more cohesive and understandable picture.

  As usual, when he felt undecided, his steps turned toward his wife’s favorite sitting room at the back of the house, where the light was better for her needlework. She was sitting in a chair by the window, sewing, her head bent over some minuscule garment he assumed was for their future child. She looked well and happy. Seeing her like that brought him an unexpected sense of peace.

  She looked up and smiled at him.

  “Did you speak to Bert?”

  “I did. I told him I would be sending him for trial.”

  “And how did he react to that?”

  Robert grimaced and sat in the chair opposite hers. “He declared his innocence, suggested that Viscount Gravely was the culprit, and said that Polly would be next.”

  She set her sewing aside. “Did you believe him?”

  “I asked him to produce evidence to support his claims, and he offered me nothing.”

  “Which indicates that he is still lying to you,” Lucy said. “Then why are you hesitating?”

  He offered her a sharp glance. “What makes you think I am?”

  “I know you, Robert Kurland.” She met his gaze. “You are one of the most decisive men I have ever met, and yet I can still hear the uncertainty in your voice.”

  He sighed. “Perhaps it is because I am trying to overcomplicate things and will not believe the evidence of my own eyes.”

  “Or maybe something Bert said made you think that things aren’t so clear-cut?” Lucy suggested.

  “Why the devil won’t he just admit what he’s done?” Robert burst out. “Why continue to deny everything, and even implicate a peer of the realm rather than accept responsibility for his crime?”

  “It certainly was a strange thing for Bert to say.” Lucy frowned. “From what you have told me about Viscount Gravely, he would barely have the strength to strangle anyone.”

  “I suggested to Bert that maybe he had been paid by Viscount Gravely, his past employer, to do his work for him, and he laughed in my face.”

  “Your idea has merit.” Lucy stared out of the window and worried her lower lip before turning back to Robert. “I could quite see that happening—Viscount Gravely sent Bert down to Kurland St. Mary with Flora and told him to kill her if she refused to return.”

  “Versus Viscount Gravely descending on our small village, finding our nursemaid, and strangling her himself in a remote field?”

  “If the viscount did insist on coming to Kurland St. Mary, maybe Bert took Flora to him,” Lucy said. “Bert was seen with Flora in the village by both Mr. Fletcher and James, and we know he went off with her.”

  “You believe Bert marched Flora an unspecified distance to where the viscount awaited them, killed her, and then dumped her dead body in the field?”

  “It’s possible.” Lucy paused. “If Viscount Gravely did come in his carriage, it might also explain how James was hit on the head.”

  “How so?”

  “Maybe the viscount’s coachman knocked James out and then took his body to his parents’ farm for discovery.”
<
br />   “How would he know where James lived?” Robert demanded. “The more complicated we make this, the worse things get!”

  A sharp knock on the door made them both start as Robert bade the person enter.

  Foley came in and bowed low. “Sir Robert, Mr. Jarvis sent a message for you, He said that it is very urgent.”

  “Thank you.” Robert took the note, put on his spectacles, and read it before turning to Lucy.

  “Mr. Jarvis is sorry to report that while Bert was being given his midday meal, he overpowered the maid who brought it to him, and escaped from the cellar.” Robert screwed up the note and threw it onto the fire.

  “Now we really are in the basket.”

  Chapter 16

  “Where do you think Bert will go?” Lucy asked Robert as she followed him up the stairs to their bedchamber. It had begun to rain, and he had decided to change his coat before he returned to the Queen’s Head.

  “Back to London?” Robert looked absolutely furious.

  “The mail coach won’t arrive until tomorrow morning,” Lucy reminded him. “And I doubt Mr. Jarvis will let him get on it.”

  “True.” Robert strode into their shared dressing room and threw his coat onto a chair. “Which is why I intend to drive up the London Road and see if I can discover our fugitive before he gets too far.”

  He opened up his cupboard and took out his heavy caped driving coat. “Don’t worry. I’ll take one of Mr. Jarvis’s grooms with me to manage the horses.”

  “You don’t wish me to come with you?”

  “It’s not necessary.” He grimaced as she helped him put on the coat. “I’m afraid that he is going to find Polly and kill her.”

  “I am worried about the same thing,” Lucy agreed. “Is it worth sending a message to Polly’s parents or Mrs. Pell, to tell them to watch out for Bert’s appearance?”

  “We’d do better asking Viscount Gravely, but I suspect he wouldn’t be very helpful.”

  “What about the sons?”

  Robert paused as he wrapped a scarf around his throat. “That’s a good idea. Both men seem worried by their father’s behavior and eager to let the matter of Flora Rosa drop. They might well be willing to intervene if Bert turns up at their place and make sure he is stopped.”

  “The poor girl,” Lucy murmured as she tucked the ends of Robert’s scarf securely in place. “If you like, I’ll write to them immediately.”

  “There’s no need. “I’ll do it when I’m closer to London and can pay someone to deliver the letter faster.” He kissed her briskly on the forehead. “I’ll try to be back before it gets dark, but it depends on what I find.”

  “Be careful,” Lucy said.

  He winked at her. “Always.”

  After he left, she picked up his discarded coat and held it against her cheek. She felt rather unnecessary, and she wasn’t sure if she liked it. Normally, in such cases, she tended to be the one rushing around while her husband sat back and waited for her to slow down and agree with his conclusions. Now she was left behind to worry while he ventured into danger.

  She replaced the coat in the cupboard and closed the door. As the worrier, she appreciated his prior concerns for her rather more acutely now.

  * * *

  Lucy and Anna were just finishing their dinner when Robert came into the dining room and asked Foley to fetch him up a bottle of red wine from the cellar. He didn’t have the look of a man who had achieved his purpose and was limping badly. Lucy wasn’t surprised when he sat down at the table, drank a whole glass of the wine Foley provided, and let out a frustrated breath.

  “We couldn’t find him anywhere. I went damned near halfway to London, asking every driver on the road if they’d seen him. We also went into every inn, and there was no sign of him.”

  “Did you manage to send a note to the Gravelys?” Lucy asked.

  “Yes. They should’ve received it by now. I paid for a fast delivery at the last inn we inquired at.”

  “Oh, dear,” Lucy sympathized. “I asked Foley to speak to our staff and tell them to keep an eye out for Bert on Kurland property.”

  “I doubt he’d come here, but I appreciate the thought.” Robert attacked his beefsteak with the savagery of a starving wolf. “I’ll wager he’ll go straight back to Viscount Gravely, and that’s the last we’ll ever hear of him.”

  “Can’t the courts in London do anything?” Anna asked.

  “Not unless someone files information about the murder with a magistrate, and as it didn’t happen in London, that probably won’t occur. No magistrate is going to take on a peer of the realm over such a matter as the death of his young mistress.” Robert grimaced. “He could’ve strangled her in plain view, and he’d still probably be exonerated.”

  “How terrible,” Anna said. She wiped her mouth with her napkin and rose to her feet. “Will you both excuse me? I have to write a letter to Harry.”

  Robert stood and bowed. “Good night, Anna. I do apologize for my bad temper.”

  “On this occasion, your temper is completely justified.” She sighed. “There is a vast amount of inequality in our world, that’s for certain. Poor Flora Rosa.”

  Robert sat back down and continued to eat his dinner, while Lucy finished her dessert.

  “If Bert has gone to Viscount Gravely for assistance, there is very little we can do about it, is that right?” Lucy finally asked.

  “That is unfortunately true. As a magistrate, I can alert the courts as to Bert’s disappearance, but as he wasn’t formerly charged, there isn’t much else I can do.” Robert helped himself to more wine. “Perhaps this is the one occasion when our attempt to find justice for a murdered soul will bear no fruit.”

  “That seems wrong.”

  Robert raised an irate eyebrow. “What else would you have me do, my dear? Go back to London, storm into Viscount Gravely’s house, and demand to see Bert? The viscount already said he would have me thrown out if I dared to step foot over his threshold again.”

  It was Lucy’s turn to frown. “I didn’t say you had to do anything. I merely remarked that it seems unfair that no one will be held accountable for Flora Rosa’s death.”

  Robert slapped the table hard enough to make the porcelain plates tremble and chime. “But you’re right! I should be doing something. Flora was in my employ when she died, and she is my responsibility.”

  “Perhaps Polly will come to her senses and contact us,” Lucy said hopefully.

  “If Polly has any sense, she will already have left London, and she should never return.” Robert finished his second glass of wine and pushed his plate away. “Bert himself intimated that if Viscount Gravely gets his hands on her, she won’t survive the experience.”

  “Why is he so vindictive?” Lucy wondered.

  “Because he can be? He is old, wealthy, and dying, and he no longer cares about such social niceties as not murdering his own mistress.”

  “And if Marjorie is right and Flora Rosa was about to leave him for his son again, he might well have taken such a matter very personally indeed,” Lucy mused. “We have learned to our cost that jealousy is a very powerful motivator.”

  “Yes, perhaps looking old and foolish didn’t sit well with him.” Robert reached over to take her hand. “Are you ready for bed, my dear? I own to being quite exhausted after the day’s unexpected activities.”

  “I think I will sit up for a while. I have a letter to finish to Anthony.”

  “Give him my best, won’t you?” Robert stood and came around to pull out her chair. “I doubt there are many of my old cavalry friends left in the regiment, but be sure to ask him to remember me to them.”

  “I always do.” She smiled up at him. “He seems very settled in India and gives no indication that he intends to return home.”

  “It’s a very long way. He’ll probably come back when he’s looking for a wife, or if he inadvertently makes his fortune and can sell his commission.” He kissed her gently on the lips. “Don’t stay up too long
, will you, my dear?”

  “I won’t.” She searched his face, saw the lines of tiredness etched there. “Sleep well, my love.”

  When Robert had gone, Lucy retraced her steps to her sitting room, where one of the maids had banked up the fire and set a branch of lit candles beside her desk. Her desire to write to Anthony had disappeared. She picked up the baby gown she had been smocking and carried on sewing. She found the rhythm soothing, and it allowed her mind to wander at will.

  Poor Flora Rosa still hadn’t been given a proper burial. If Robert truly believed Bert would be protected by Viscount Gravely and that the viscount was above the reach of the law, then perhaps, for the first time ever, they would have to admit defeat.

  It was a lowering thought, and not one she was comfortable with. All she could do was pray about the matter and hope that, for once, her husband’s instincts were proven wrong.

  * * *

  Over breakfast the next morning, Lucy was pleased to see that Robert looked much more the thing. She’d spent a restless night, unsettled by dreams of her nursemaid, and was more than willing to hope that this new day would prove uneventful.

  “I know that it is early, but do you wish to accompany me to the Queen’s Head?” Robert asked. “I want to speak to Mr. Jarvis and watch the mail coach come in.”

  “I intended to go into the village to visit Penelope this morning. Perhaps you could take me as far as the inn, and I could walk through the village to the Fletchers’ house.”

  “If you wish.” Robert finished his coffee. “Are you ready to leave?”

  Used to her husband’s somewhat peremptory ways, Lucy finished her tea with all speed and nodded. “Yes, of course.”

  Less than a quarter of an hour later, she was sitting in the gig as Robert guided the horse into the coach yard. Mr. Jarvis came out to greet them, his battered face a picture of misery.

  “Morning, Sir Robert. Lady Kurland. There’s no sign of the blighter, if that’s what you’ve come down to ask me about.” He sighed heavily. “I can’t believe I let my guard down like that.”

  “It’s not your fault, Mr. Jarvis,” Robert said. “I should have formally charged him and removed him to a proper prison.”