Death Comes to the Nursery

by Catherine Lloyd

  “He ran at Janie when she went through the door and then clobbered me with his tray before I could shut him in.” Mr. Jarvis turned to Lucy. “I went down like a sack of grain. The next thing I knew, Mrs. Jarvis was sitting on my chest crying and screeching like a barn owl.”

  “Did he say anything before he escaped?” Lucy asked as Robert gave the reins of the gig over to one of the stable boys.

  “He was muttering a lot when Janie went in, and pacing back and forth. I think he was disturbed by Sir Robert’s visit. Maybe he knew he was about to be incarcerated and decided to make a break for it before that happened.”

  “Quite possibly,” Lucy agreed. “But did Bert say anything specific?”

  “Only that Sir Robert was completely wrong, and that the last thing any of us would want was the Gravely family, whoever they are, descending on this village.”

  Lucy didn’t enlighten him as Robert came to join them.

  “I’ll be off then,” Lucy smiled up at her husband. “Do you plan to stay here for a while?”

  “I’m not sure.” Robert frowned. “Do you want me to send the carriage to pick you up from the Fletchers’ later, or shall I come and collect you?”

  “If you are finished with your business here in an hour or so, please do come. Otherwise, I will wait for the carriage.”

  “As you wish.” Robert nodded. “I think I’ll take a moment to look in the cellar and see if Bert left behind anything of interest before his escape.”

  * * *

  Robert waited until Lucy had left the inn and went down into the cellar with Mr. Jarvis. There was nothing to indicate that Bert had been incarcerated there for so long.

  “Did he take a horse?” Robert asked Mr. Jarvis, who was still apologizing to him.

  “I didn’t think to ask, what with me being knocked out and all that.” Mr. Jarvis groaned. “Good Lord, I have let you down, sir, haven’t I?”

  “As you say yourself, you could hardly chase after him when you were unconscious, Mr. Jarvis.” Robert turned to the door. “May I go and ask your stable hands if Bert stole a mount?”

  “Of course, sir. I’ll come with you and make sure that you get to speak to every single one of them.”

  They progressed out to the stables, and Mr. Jarvis called out to his head ostler.

  “Did Bert take a horse yesterday?”

  Fred scratched his nose. “He took his own horse, yes. He strolled in here as if he owned the place, taking us all by surprise, and off he went before anyone thought to lay a hand on him.”

  “Did he have any baggage?” Robert asked.

  “No, and Douglas says that Bert stole his hat and coat.” He nodded at the innkeeper. “I meant to tell you about that this morning, sir, but it slipped my mind.”

  “Better late than never, I suppose,” Robert intervened, as Mr. Jarvis’s face grew alarmingly red. “Thank you for your assistance.”

  “I wonder if he had any money.” Robert stared out across the yard as the head ostler walked away from them.

  “Not on him in the cellar,” Mr. Jarvis said. “I took his purse away.”

  “Do you still have it?”

  “I locked it up in my strongbox. Would you like to see it, Sir Robert?”

  “I’d like to make sure it’s still there,” Robert replied and retraced his steps into the house.

  He was rapidly coming to the conclusion that unless something extraordinary happened, he would never prosecute Bert Speers for murdering Flora Rosa and disrupting the peace, not only of the village but also of Kurland Hall and his wife.

  Bert’s purse was still in the strongbox, and contained rather more money than Robert had anticipated. There were at least three folded five-pound notes and lots of sovereigns.

  “I didn’t realize you paid your ostlers so well, Mr. Jarvis,” Robert commented as he weighed the coins in his hand.

  “I don’t, sir.” Mr. Jarvis studied the money, his eyes wide. “He either stole it or brought it down with him from London.”

  “I wonder who else was paying him,” Robert mused. “I suspect I know, but I wish to God I could confirm it.”

  Three sharp blasts of a horn penetrated the silence. Mr. Jarvis relocked the strongbox and looked at his pocket watch. “Mail coach is late today.”

  “I’d like to watch and see who gets on, Mr. Jarvis.” Robert followed his host out of the door. “I’ll stay out of the way.”

  “Don’t you worry, sir. We’ll all be watching,” Mr. Jarvis said.

  He walked out into the yard, his expression grim, and waited until the coachman brought the team of four horses to a complete standstill before he approached the box.

  “Morning, Mr. Haines.”

  “Morning, Mr. Jarvis. Sorry we’re late. There was a herd of sheep all over the road a mile or so back. I had to slow down or kill the lot of them.”

  Robert, who had positioned himself near the door with a good view of the coach, paused to wonder whether the sheep were his, and how the devil they had got out. A trickle of passengers came from the inn, ready to board the coach. Robert knew all of them, and at least two of them stopped to pass the time of day with him. There was no sign of Bert, unless he’d managed to disguise himself completely.

  Robert transferred his attention to the coach, where the passengers who wished to get down to stretch their legs or who were leaving the coach were emerging from the interior or climbing down from the roof.

  A young woman alighted and looked around nervously, one hand to her throat, the other clutching a large bag. Something about her hesitation caught Robert’s attention, and he started toward her, only to have his passage blocked by the arrival of a farm cart pulled by a dray horse the size of a small barn.

  “There he is!” Mr. Jarvis bellowed so loudly that the dray horse took exception to his tone and tried to buck out of his traces, which set off the team of coach horses.

  For a moment, Robert’s world took on a nightmarish quality as the huge horse reared up on his hind legs, almost upsetting the empty cart. The hooves, which were the size of dinner plates, whistled past Robert’s ear as he ran for the safety of the inn wall.

  He fought to breathe normally as the entire yard seethed and bubbled like a witches’ cauldron.

  “I’ve got him, Simon!” Mr. Jarvis finally managed to bring the dray horse under control. “Get the leader, Fred!”

  By the time everything settled down and Robert forced his way through to the mail coach, Mr. Jarvis was holding forth.

  “I saw Bert, Sir Robert! He came in off the street and went straight for the coach!”

  “What happened to the woman who got off?” Robert asked urgently.

  “Which one?” Mr. Jarvis asked.

  “The dark-haired one.”

  “She screamed when she saw, Bert, I can tell you that,” Mr. Jarvis said. “But I don’t know what became of either of them because I had to attend to the horses. Did you check inside the inn?”

  “I doubt Bert went in there,” Robert countered.

  “Sir Robert?” the coachman shouted down to him. “He took her. Bert took her by the arm and dragged her out onto the street.”

  Mr. Jarvis looked at Robert. “Your gig is still outside. Shall we see if we can find them? He hasn’t had much of a start.”

  Robert was already in motion, pausing only to check inside the coach before he climbed up onto the box seat and let Mr. Jarvis take the reins.

  “Which way?” Mr. Jarvis asked as they exited the yard.

  “Not into the village.”

  Mr. Jarvis clicked to the horse, and they set off at some pace, Robert shading his eyes to look ahead, and for once thanking God that the landscape was so flat.

  “Up there, on the side of the road. I think I see them.” Robert pointed. “By that open gate.”

  As they neared the two figures, it became apparent that they were engaged in a struggle.

  “Oi!” Mr. Jarvis shouted. “You leave that young woman alone, Bert Speers, and com
e back here to face justice!”

  Robert got one glimpse of Bert’s face before he shoved the woman to the ground and made off over the grassy field. He wondered whether Bert had deliberately slowed the mail coach by releasing the sheep so that he had a chance to look inside and see who was arriving at the inn.

  “Do you want me to go after him, sir?” Mr. Jarvis asked as he pulled up the gig.

  “No, I think he will outrun us both, and he’s probably left his horse hereabouts.” Robert carefully got down from the gig and went to the woman’s side. Her bonnet had been knocked askew in the fight and hid her face. He knelt down by her side and rolled her gently onto her back.

  Wide brown eyes stared up at him in terror.

  “Are you, by any chance, Polly Carter?” Robert asked politely.

  “Bloody hell,” she breathed. “Not you again.”

  She closed her eyes and went as limp as a newborn.

  * * *

  “Yes, Penelope. I will be sure to mention it to Robert when I return home,” Lucy said patiently.

  She was currently drinking tea in Penelope’s front parlor while her hostess repeated a list of grievances about the state of the house, which was owned by the Kurland estate. Apparently, in Penelope’s absence, some of the slate tiles had come loose, and there was water coming in through the roof.

  “I know that such a matter means little to you, Lucy, but waking up with water dripping onto one’s face is not pleasant at all.” Penelope offered her a sliver of cake and another cup of weak tea.

  “I’m sure it isn’t.” Lucy accepted the second slice of seed cake and waited for Penelope to remark unfavorably on her appetite, but for once, Penelope’s attention appeared to be elsewhere.

  “And when my dear Dr. Fletcher is away from home, all these decisions fall on me.”

  “Did you ask Dr. Evans to look up on the roof for you?” Lucy mentioned Dr. Fletcher’s new assistant, who currently lived in the attics. “If there is water coming into the house, one might think that he would be aware of it.”

  “I will ask him to look tomorrow when the light is better, but I doubt he will be able to do anything. He is a quiet, scholarly man who rarely ventures outside.”

  “Is he settling in well?” Lucy asked. She’d hardly had a chance to become acquainted with the shy young Welshman since his arrival in the winter. “Do Dr. Fletcher’s patients accept his ministrations?”

  “They obviously prefer my husband’s attention, but he appears to be quite satisfactory.” Penelope glanced toward the window at the sound of an approaching vehicle. “Someone is driving rather fast. It usually means they are coming to see my husband.”

  She rose to peer out of the window. “It appears to be Sir Robert and Mr. Jarvis from the Queen’s Head.”

  Lucy went to join her. “What on earth?”

  She picked up her skirts and ran to open the front door as Robert and Mr. Jarvis carried a woman up the garden path.

  “Is Dr. Evans here?” Robert called out. “We need his assistance.”

  Penelope turned back. “I’ll go and see if he is upstairs. Bring the patient through to the back, please! I don’t want blood on my best carpet.”

  Lucy held the door open as Robert and Mr. Jarvis came through. The woman they carried between them was unfamiliar. Her face was bruised and bloodied, and she appeared to be unconscious.

  “I think this is Polly Carter,” Robert murmured to Lucy as he went past. “Bert Speers attacked her.”

  “Bert Speers?” Lucy followed them down the hall into the doctor’s study and examination room, where they carefully laid Polly on the bed. “He didn’t leave?”

  Robert drew Lucy to one side as Mr. Jarvis went back to make sure the gig was secured at the side of the house. “One has to wonder whether this is why he came back to Kurland St. Mary. Mayhap he realized that at some point, Polly would have nowhere else to turn except her cousin Agnes, and he decided to murder her here.”

  He briefly told Lucy what had occurred at the inn, and then left with Mr. Jarvis when Dr. Evans came in to examine his patient. Lucy remained in the room, as Penelope preferred not to have to deal with her husband’s patients.

  After a short while, Dr. Evans looked over at Lucy. “Well, she’s been hit in the head at least twice and manhandled quite badly, but she’s still alive.”

  “Thank goodness for that!” Lucy exclaimed. “Will it be all right to move her up to Kurland Hall?”

  She had no intention of leaving Polly Carter anywhere Bert Speers might gain easy access to.

  “I’d prefer it if she could stay here at least for one night, so I can keep an eye on her. Head injuries can be quite deceptive sometimes. A patient might insist that they are well enough to get up and later suddenly drop dead like a stone.”

  “Well, we certainly don’t want that to happen,” Lucy replied.

  Dr. Evans folded Polly Carter’s hands together on her chest. “She should regain consciousness fairly soon.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Lucy smiled at the young man. “I will ask Mrs. Fletcher if she has a spare nightgown for our patient to make her rest more comfortably.”

  Lucy would also have to speak to Robert about guarding the doctor’s house until Polly was well enough to be moved up to the hall. Dr. Evans had a very soothing way with him that contrasted strongly with the rather bluntly spoken Dr. Fletcher.

  Lucy left the doctor with Polly and went back into the parlor, where Robert was being accosted by Penelope about the state of her roof, while poor Mr. Jarvis looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but there. Lucy had nothing but sympathy for his plight and hastened to intervene in the somewhat heated discussion.

  “My dear, Dr. Evans says we should leave the woman here overnight until she regains consciousness. Perhaps you could take Mr. Jarvis home and then bring our carriage back with Betty and my night things.”

  Robert frowned. “I don’t want you staying up all night in your condition. I will certainly bring Betty back, but she will stay up, and you will return home with me.”

  Lucy met his gaze and reluctantly gave in. At least she’d distracted him from his argument with Penelope. “As you wish.” She turned to her hostess. “If that is acceptable to you?”

  Her companion tossed her head, making her blond ringlets bounce. “It seems that as this house belongs to the Kurland family, and I am beholden to them for everything, that I can hardly say no.”

  “I’ll be on my way, then.” Robert gave Penelope another glare before heading to the door with Mr. Jarvis. “Thank you for your hospitality, ma’am.”

  Penelope shook her head and tutted as the front door was slammed shut. “Sometimes, Lucy, I am amazed that I almost married Sir Robert. Thank goodness I changed my mind and allowed you the opportunity to deal with his temper.”

  “Was he not helpful about the roof?” Lucy inquired.

  “He suggested it was not at all important at this time, and that as the wife of a doctor, I should perhaps reassess my priorities!”

  “He is rather concerned about the young woman,” Lucy offered.

  “And why is he so concerned about her, Lucy?” Penelope turned on her, blue eyes sparking fire. “What is she to him? I warned you about this, didn’t I?”

  Unwilling to embark on an explanation of the tangled lives of Polly Carter and Flora Rosa, Lucy was forced to hold her tongue, which was proving harder by the second.

  “If you’ll excuse me, Penelope. I’ll go and speak to Dr. Evans about our patient and make sure she is comfortable.”

  Chapter 17

  After two days with no sign of Bert Speers, Dr. Evans allowed Lucy to take Polly up to Kurland Hall. He was somewhat perplexed by her still being unconscious, but he reassured Lucy that Polly occasionally drifted back into some semblance of awareness, and said that she should encourage this when it occurred.

  Lucy did wonder whether Polly was deliberately choosing not to remain conscious because she was still convinced that they wished ill on her.
But why had she come to Kurland St. Mary if that was still the case? If she’d spoken to Marjory and accepted that the Kurlands were trying to help solve Flora’s murder, Lucy had to assume Polly had come to find them.

  Lucy ate her breakfast slowly as Robert read the daily newspaper. She considered whether it was worth attempting to speak to Polly even though she appeared to be insensible. Perhaps if she just talked about what had happened, Polly would instantly recover. Agnes had identified her cousin, and Lucy could see the likeness between them. She’d also volunteered to sit with her whenever Ned was napping, which had proved very helpful.

  “The post, my lady.” Foley deposited a silver tray beside her piled high with correspondence. Lucy set about sorting it, pausing when she noticed a letter marked urgent from Dr. Fletcher.

  “Robert?”

  As usual, her husband didn’t immediately respond from behind the barrier of his newspaper, and Lucy raised her voice.

  “Robert! There is a letter here from Dr. Fletcher. May I open it, or do you want to do so?”

  “You do it.” He didn’t even bother to lower his paper.

  She broke the wax seal, which bore her uncle’s crest. He had also franked the letter.

  “Robert.” Lucy’s voice trembled.

  He lowered his paper. “What?”

  “Marjory is dead.”

  “Who is Marjory?”

  “The parlor maid who used to work for Flora, and who also knew Polly.” Lucy passed the letter over to Robert. “Mrs. Pell came to find us at the Harringtons’ and luckily met Dr. Fletcher instead. She said Marjory was found in the kitchen next door. She’d been strangled.”

  “Good Lord, the poor woman.” Robert read the letter. “Is it possible that Bert returned to London and killed her?”

  “It’s certainly possible if he left the day Polly arrived,” Lucy confirmed and sighed. “Poor Marjory, she had aspirations to go on the stage, and was a good and loyal friend to Polly and Flora.”

  “For which she paid with her life.” Robert remarked. “The more I think about Bert Speers getting away with all this, the worse I feel about my decision to keep him in Kurland St. Mary and not the county gaol.”