Death Comes to the Nursery

by Catherine Lloyd

  * * *

  “I’m going down to the rectory,” Robert announced as he went into his wife’s sitting room. He’d spoken to his staff, moved Polly to the priest’s room, and made certain that she was well guarded

  “For what purpose?” Lucy swiveled around in her chair to look at him.

  “To have a few words with Neville Gravely. He and his brother seem keen to take their father home as soon as possible, and I intend to encourage them.”

  “I thought we had decided to let matters take their course and see if the viscount dared come after Polly himself.” Lucy said with a frown.

  “I’d rather not risk Polly’s life. If we can keep her hidden, get the Gravely family to leave, and receive her evidence when she finally wakes up, I’m happy to wait.”

  “But what if she has no recollection of anything before she was injured? Dr. Fletcher said that is often the case.” Lucy objected.

  Robert scowled. “You are being rather difficult this morning, my dear.”

  “I’m merely wondering at your logic. There is nothing wrong with that. And I cannot agree that Neville is innocent in this affair. His whole demeanor seems guilty to me.”

  “I suspect he is simply embarrassed by his father.”

  “You forget that several people, including his own brother, have told us Flora was planning to return to Neville.” Lucy paused. “Or what if that is what she told him and she changed her mind again? He would have reason to be angry enough to murder her himself.”

  “He doesn’t have the gumption,” Robert said dismissively.

  “Yet he has the look of a guilt-ridden, desperate man. Maybe his horror at seeing Polly was more on his own behalf than on his father’s.”

  Robert glared at her. “Why do you have to bring all this up when we have already agreed that Viscount Gravely and Bert Speers conspired to murder Flora?”

  “Because that is what you usually do, my dear,” Lucy said firmly. “You always temper my emotional instincts with your more rational thoughts. Why do you object to me doing the same to you?”

  “Because—” Robert glared helplessly at her and then let out a frustrated breath. “I just want the Gravelys to leave Kurland St. Mary as quickly as possible.”

  “I understand your desire completely, but I’m still worried about Neville.”

  Robert hesitated. “Trevor did suggest that his brother was somewhat obsessed with Flora, and that he was more worried about him than his father.”

  “Then maybe we should be worried about him, too.” Lucy suggested. “Perhaps Viscount Gravely came down here to keep an eye on Neville rather than the other way around.”

  “I told our staff to alert me to the presence of any of the Gravely family or Bert Speers in our house, so even it if is Neville, he will not get to Polly.”

  “Of course, you did.” Lucy smiled at him approvingly, and Robert had the familiar sense that his sometimes too clever wife was masterfully managing him. “I would expect nothing less of you.”

  “I’ll just speak to Trevor, then.” Robert found himself capitulating.

  “What an excellent idea.” She paused. “Or you could leave well alone, and wait for one of the Gravelys to expose themselves as the murderer.”

  Robert cast her one last scathing look and headed for the hall, where his gig awaited him. He was willing to be pushed so far and no more.

  As he proceeded down the drive, his ire faded, and he found himself smiling. It was unlike him to be the more passionate one about a murder suspect, but this case felt very personal because it came far too close to his beloved son. He’d never particularly wanted to be a father, but watching Ned grow up was proving remarkably interesting. After almost losing his life at Waterloo and facing the prospect of being an invalid for the rest of his days, his hopes of having a family had evaporated. And when Lucy had struggled to conceive, he’d realized that having her was far more important than a mythical heir.

  But the moment Grace Turner had placed Ned in his arms he’d been totally smitten. The boy’s unguarded affection and lack of fear made Robert proud to be his father and unexpectedly willing to involve himself in his son’s life.

  As Robert approached the rectory, he noticed a lone horseman departing from the Harrington stables. It wasn’t the rector, who was usually accompanied by several of his dogs, and it definitely wasn’t Viscount Gravely. The rider turned at the last moment, giving Robert a perfect view of his face.

  “Where are you off to, Neville Gravely?” Robert murmured.

  Knowing how easy it was to be seen in the flat, barren countryside, he took off his hat, buttoned his coat, wrapped his scarf over his lower face, and hunkered down in the driving seat in an attempt to look more like one of the local farmers. He also kept well away from Neville, his knowledge of the area standing him in good stead.

  He knew immediately where Neville was heading when he took one of the rutted farm tracks to the left. Robert increased his speed, remained on the county road, and looped around to the back of the deserted farm buildings where the Mallard family had once lived. He left the gig secured on the side of the road, scrambled awkwardly through the ancient hedgerow, and continued on foot toward the back of the barn.

  It was so quiet that he easily heard Neville call out to someone inside the barn. Staying well concealed behind a bramble bush, Robert saw a familiar man emerge from the barn.

  “Bert Speers,” Robert murmured to himself. “Now what the devil is Neville doing with him?”

  Chapter 20

  Hard as it was to swallow, it was possible that his wife might have been right about Neville Gravely all along . . .

  Robert retreated back to the road and got into the gig. There was no point in attempting to apprehend Bert because he would simply flee again, and Robert didn’t have the ability to chase him over the fields. He reckoned his best chance to find out exactly what was going on was to go back to the rectory and wait for Neville to return.

  He drove back as fast as he could, left the gig in the stables, and went through into the main house, where he discovered his father-in-law in his study, writing at his desk. The rector set down his pen and looked at Robert over the top of his spectacles.

  “Good morning, Robert. What a pleasant surprise! Did you bring young Ned with you?”

  “I did not.” Robert closed the door behind him. “Is Viscount Gravely here?”

  “I don’t believe he’s come downstairs, yet. Do you wish to speak to him?”

  “I do,” Robert said. “And his sons.”

  “Trevor is in the garden with Rose, enjoying a stroll, and Neville has gone out for a ride.” The rector paused. “Is something the matter?”

  “Nothing that need concern you, sir.” Robert bowed. “But there is a matter I need to clear up with them before they leave.”

  “You don’t seem very enamored of my guests, sir.”

  “In truth, I wish them gone from our village, and I hope never to meet any of them again.”

  “Strong words.” The rector eyed him curiously. “I pray you don’t intend to come to blows in my house over this ‘matter’ of yours.”

  “Not if I can help it.” Robert bowed again. “I just wanted you to be aware that I was here, and not to worry if you hear shouting.”

  “I assume you don’t wish me to mediate between the parties?”

  “No, thank you. What I have to say should remain confidential. I appreciate your offer, though.”

  Robert went out again and stopped the parlor maid who was walking through to the kitchen.

  “Fiona, can you go upstairs and ascertain if Viscount Gravely is dressed?”

  “I’ll go and ask his valet if you like, sir.”

  “Don’t ask. Just look for me, will you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Fiona went up the stairs and came down again quickly. “He is dressed, sir, and sitting by the fire eating his breakfast.”

  “Thank you.” Robert smiled at the girl. “If either of the Mr.
Gravelys comes in, will you ask them to meet me in the drawing room?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Robert went up the stairs and straight into Viscount Gravely’s room. There was no sign of the valet, which meant there was no one to prevent Robert from marching up to his prey.

  “Good Lord, not you again. Can’t a man eat his breakfast in peace?” Viscount Gravely murmured.

  Robert sat opposite him and waited until the viscount met his gaze.

  “Even though I am unlikely to ever achieve a prosecution in this matter, I think I deserve to hear the truth from you.”

  “The truth about what?”

  “Flora Rosa’s murder.” Robert sat forward. “If you didn’t kill her yourself, did you order Bert Speers to do so?”

  “Why would you think I would answer that question now?” The viscount’s smile was all teeth. “What possible benefit would that be to me?”

  Robert shrugged. “Well, it might prevent me from arresting one of your sons.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “Meeting with a known fugitive. If Neville has been helping a wanted criminal from avoiding arrest, he is complicit.” Robert shrugged. “If I can’t get Bert, a Gravely will do just as well.”

  “Neville?” The viscount’s knife clattered down onto his plate.

  “Yes, the man who first met Flora Rosa, and who was supposedly willing to take her back, even though she had been bought by his father.”

  “Who told you that piece of nonsense?”

  The viscount’s indolence had disappeared, replaced with obvious annoyance.

  “Did Neville bring Bert here to finish off the last remaining witness to his crimes?” Robert asked.

  “I don’t know what you are trying to suggest,” the viscount said. “Didn’t you tell me yourself that Flora is dead?”

  “And what about Marjory?”

  The viscount frowned. “I have no idea who you are talking about.”

  “Then help me understand this tangle! If you didn’t kill Flora, did Neville? Or did you pay your loyal employee Bert Speers to do the job for you?” Robert waited, but the viscount merely stared at him. “And what about Polly Carter?”

  “The woman Flora Rosa impersonated?”

  “Ah, you remember her?” Robert asked.

  “Of course, I do. She and Flora were very good friends.” The viscount nodded.

  “Did you set Bert to watch the mail coach for her arrival here? If I hadn’t been in the inn yard that morning, watching for Bert, I would never have known that she had arrived, or seen Bert try and abscond with her.”

  Viscount Gravely slowly put a hand to his throat as if he was choking. “Polly Carter is here?”

  Robert stared at him in consternation. “Of course, she is! Why else are you here?”

  “I should have known . . .” Viscount Gravely grabbed for the bell and rang it vigorously until his valet appeared. His color was worsening by the second. “Send my sons up to me immediately.”

  Robert rose to his feet. “Please don’t pretend that Neville didn’t tell you he saw Polly Carter at our house yesterday.”

  “Oh, dear God . . .” The viscount raised his face to the heavens and started to gasp for breath. “This is a nightmare. Where are my sons?”

  The door opened, and Trevor came in.

  “What the devil is going on?” He rushed to his father’s side. “Father, please.”

  “Where is Neville?” The viscount wheezed. “I told him not to leave your side!”

  Trevor turned to Robert. “Have you seen him? He said he was going for a ride.”

  “I saw him briefly. I am surprised he has not returned yet,” Robert replied, his worried gaze on the viscount, who was growing more agitated and breathless by the second. “Your father does not look well. I will ask the rector to send for my physician immediately.”

  He turned to the door.

  “Wait!” the viscount wheezed, his hand outstretched toward Robert. “Don’t let him get to her, please.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Robert said and went down the stairs, stopping only briefly to report to his father-in-law and ask for his assistance.

  He had to assume that the lack of Neville’s appearance meant that he was already headed up to Kurland Hall. He needed to return home with all speed.

  “Sir Robert!” He turned as he reached the stables and saw Trevor running after him. “Let me come with you. If anyone knows how to stop Neville, it is me.”

  “Come, then, but if your brother is attempting to hurt anyone in my house, be aware that he will first answer to me,” Robert said grimly.

  * * *

  Lucy was in the nursery, rearranging her cupboards, when something crashed to the ground in the room next door, followed by a female scream.

  “Where is she?”

  Lucy stifled a gasp, crept toward the half-open door, and peered through the gap.

  Bert Speers stood in the center of her nursery, brandishing a wicked-looking knife at Agnes.

  “What on earth are you playing at, Bert?” Agnes demanded. “If Sir Robert catches you here—”

  “Where’s your cousin?”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about.” Agnes raised her chin. “And keep your voice down, or you’ll wake the young master from his nap.”

  “Where is Polly? I know she’s here. Just take me to her, and I won’t hurt a hair on your head.”

  “I don’t—” Agnes gasped as Bert grabbed hold of her arm. “Let go of me!”

  “Take me to Polly—or else, you stupid cow!”

  “I’ll take you to her room, Bert, but it won’t do you no good. She’s guarded night and day.”

  “Let me worry about that.”

  Lucy let out a very shaky breath as Bert forced Agnes to walk in front of him and out the door. She ran and checked that Ned was indeed still sleeping and slipped down the back stairs as fast as she could.

  “Foley! Bert Speers is here, and he has Agnes.” Lucy gasped, her hand pressed to her bosom as she entered the kitchen. “Where is Sir Robert?”

  “He hasn’t returned from the rectory yet, my lady. Mr. Neville Gravely just presented himself at the front door, and per Sir Robert’s orders, I turned him away.”

  That might explain how Bert had managed to get into the house undetected while Foley was occupied. It also led to Lucy wondering whether Neville and Bert were working together.

  “Did he leave?”

  “I’m not sure, my lady.” Foley paused and, for the first time, looked every one of his years. “What do you wish me to attend to first? Ensuring Agnes’s safety, or finding out what has happened to Mr. Neville?”

  “Is Isaac here?”

  “He’s guarding the priest’s room, my lady.”

  “Then where is his brother Isaiah?” Lucy asked.

  “Inside the hidden room.”

  “And James?”

  “I’m right here, my lady.” James had just come into the kitchen. “What may I assist you with?”

  “Bert Speers has Agnes and is demanding to see Polly.”

  “The blaggard!” James slapped his fist against his thigh. “In broad daylight, too!” He turned toward the door. “I’ll make sure he understands he is not welcome here.”

  Lucy grabbed his sleeve. “Don’t fight him if he still has Agnes in his clutches. Just hold him at bay until Sir Robert comes back.”

  James didn’t look particularly happy at her request, but he nodded. “As you wish, my lady.”

  Michael appeared from the garden, carrying a basket of herbs and followed by Anna.

  “What on earth is going on?” she asked and came to Lucy’s side. “You look as if you are about to swoon!”

  Lucy had noticed that herself and had a firm grip on the edge of the table. “Anna, can you go up to the nursery and stay with Ned?”

  “Yes, of course!” Her sister didn’t ask any further questions and disappeared up the stairs.

  “And Michael? Can you find Sir Robe
rt and make sure he comes home immediately? I believe he went to the rectory in the gig. Tell him that Bert Speers is in the house and that he has a knife.”

  Lucy paused to breathe as spots appeared in front of her eyes. Cook patted her sleeve.

  “You should sit down before you fall down, my lady.”

  “I . . . can’t do that.” Lucy forced herself to stay upright. “Bert Speers is in my house, and I cannot allow him to hurt another member of my staff!”

  Despite Foley’s best efforts to dissuade her, she left the kitchen and returned to the upper floor, straining her ears to hear Bert’s rough voice or Agnes’s tart replies. Did Agnes know that Polly had been moved to a different room? She had been occupied with Ned all day and hadn’t been able to sit with Polly.

  Acting on instinct, Lucy headed toward the room where Polly had previously been held. The door was now flung wide open, and within the room, Bert was getting angry.

  “Where the bloody hell is she, Agnes?”

  “I . . . don’t know. She was here last night, I swear it,” Agnes replied.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Lucy winced at the sound of a slap, and Agnes screeched.

  “You bloody bastard!”

  Lucy gripped the handle of a cooking pot she’d taken from the kitchen and deliberated her next move. Should she go in and confront Bert, or wait until she gathered reinforcements?

  Even as she took one uncertain step forward, a hand curved around her neck and gently pulled her back. Her weapon slid to the floor with a clang.

  “I do apologize, Lady Kurland,” Neville said in her ear as he pressed the blade of a knife against her skin. “But it is absolutely imperative that you take me to Polly Carter, or your life will be in danger.”

  Bert came out of the room with Agnes and stopped short at the sight of Lucy and her captor.

  “About bloody time you showed up, Nev,” Bert growled. “Take us to Polly, Lady Kurland. Now.”

  * * *

  Robert abandoned the gig at the front of the hall and went in through the front door, Trevor at his heels. James was just coming down the stairs and rushed toward him.