Miss Harrington returned and took a seat close to Robert’s, leaning over to speak to him in a low voice.
“All is settled, sir. Our stable boy has gone in search of Mr. Nathaniel Thurrock, and I’ve dispatched James and Matthew to the church.”
“Thank you, Miss Harrington. I saw them before I left.” Dr. Fletcher spoke up before Robert could open his mouth. “I gave them the key to the rear of my house, and directions as to where to place the body. I assume Mr. Nathaniel Thurrock will be making the arrangements for his brother’s funeral, and future interment?”
“I would imagine so.” Miss Harrington said. “The poor man. He was so enjoying his visit to our village, and now this happens.”
“I am not sure how much he was enjoying himself this morning, Lucy,” Miss Dorothea piped up. “He was having a terrible argument with his brother.”
“They were arguing?” Robert shared a quick glance with Miss Harrington. “About what?”
“I’m not sure. There was something about upsetting the village, which probably refers to Mr. Ezekiel Thurrock winning all those prizes at the fair.” Miss Dorothea gave a theatrical sigh. “Everyone has been talking about that.”
Robert shifted in his seat. “Well, as to the distribution of the prizes—”
“Major Kurland? Dr. Fletcher? Would you be so good as to come through to my library?”
The rector had appeared in the doorway. For the first time in his life, Robert was pleased to see his future father-in-law and more than willing to oblige him. He grabbed his cane and slowly levered himself to his feet.
“Of course, sir. We have much to discuss.”
* * *
“Mrs. Fielding, we will have two more persons for dinner.” Lucy delivered the news to the cook, who didn’t bother to turn around from her position at the stove.
“Bit late to tell me that, miss.”
“I do apologize, but my father kept the gentlemen in his library for rather longer than anticipated, and, as it is still raining, he decided they should both stay, and enjoy the delights of your cooking.”
Mrs. Fielding finally turned to look at Lucy. “The rector said that, did he?”
She was a tall, bulky woman with black hair, excellent skin, and blue eyes. She’d come to work at the rectory the year before Lucy’s mother died, and had been quick to comfort the rector afterward, finding her way into his bed within months, according to local gossip. Despite Lucy’s strong objections, the occasional excellence of her cooking, coupled with the convenience of her favors, made the rector reluctant to dispense with her services.
“Yes, Mrs. Fielding.”
“Then it shall be as he has ordered.” The cook returned to stirring whatever was in the pot. “Is it true Mr. Thurrock is dead?”
“Yes. He was hit by a piece of falling stone in the church tower.”
“A godly place for a man of his beliefs to die, then.”
“I suppose it was.”
“Although one might think that being as he was in the Lord’s service he might’ve been saved.”
“You’d have to ask my father about that,” Lucy said firmly. “His grasp of the tenets of our faith is far more profound than mine will ever be.”
“True, he is a very clever man. Will you be taking the Chingford ladies up to Kurland Hall with you when you get married, miss?”
Lucy paused at the door. “I wasn’t intending to do so.”
“Then they will continue to live here?”
“That is up to my father and hardly any of your concern, Mrs. Fielding, is it?”
She was just about to open the door when it was flung inward, and Maisey Mallard, the new kitchen maid, burst into the room backward.
“Ooh, I am sorry, Miss Harrington, I didn’t know you were standing right there!” She dumped the tea tray on the kitchen table, making the delicate porcelain rattle, setting Lucy’s teeth on edge. “I’ll get on with those potatoes right now, Mrs. Fielding.”
“Not until you’ve washed up those cups, and cleaned my table again.”
Maisey sighed and rolled her eyes. She was sixteen years of age and had a pretty face surrounded with naturally curling black hair that Lucy coveted immensely. She was also rather loud, and as yet unused to working within the strict confines of the rectory. If Lucy had not been in London when her father offered Maisey employment, things might have gone differently. But Betty said she was strong and willing, and would settle down if Mrs. Fielding would just let her be.
“Yes, Mrs. Fielding. Unless there’s anything I can do for you, Miss Harrington?”
“I need nothing further, Maisey. But thank you for asking.” She lingered a moment longer, aware that in the past the cook had bullied two of the new servants into leaving. “Are you settling in here well?”
“Yes, miss, I am. I like watching Mrs. Fielding cook all the fancy food. I want to be in charge of a kitchen myself one day.”
“An excellent ambition, Maisey,” Lucy said approvingly. “I’m certain Mrs. Fielding would be more than willing to share her expertise with you.”
“Her what, miss?”
“Her knowledge of cooking.”
Maisey started clearing the tray, stacking the delicate cups in unstable towers. “Yes, miss.”
As one of the cups leaned precariously to the side, Lucy reached out and set it on the table. “Please be careful with this set. It belonged to my mother.”
“Yes, miss.”
“Perhaps Betty might show Maisey how to wash and care for such delicate tableware at some point, Mrs. Fielding?”
“If that’s what you want, miss. I’ll tell Betty.”
“Thank you.”
Lucy climbed the stairs deep in thought. It hadn’t occurred to her that the Chingford sisters would be expected to move up to Kurland Hall with her. It was also extremely unlikely that Major Kurland would agree.... Was Mrs. Fielding simply intent on keeping the rector to herself, or was it the generally accepted opinion of the village that she should take the Chingfords with her? It was her father who had offered them a temporary home. Lucy resolved to ask Sophia’s opinion on the matter before she and Mr. Stanford returned to London.
Just as she reached the top of the main staircase the front door opened, and Mr. Nathaniel Thurrock came in. For a man who had recently been caught in a thunderstorm he looked remarkably dry. He carried something wrapped in a shawl, which he carefully placed on the chest of drawers before he removed his hat and gloves.
Lucy craned forward, and he looked up and visibly started.
“Good Lord, Miss Harrington! I thought you were a ghost!”
“I do beg your pardon, Mr. Thurrock. Did the stable boy find you?” She retraced her steps and came down the stairs.
“No, have I missed dinner? Were you worried about me? I do apologize, my dear. I was out visiting the old graveyard at Kurland St. Anne, and quite forgot the time while I was sketching the family gravestones.”
Lucy couldn’t see any evidence of his artwork, but that wasn’t her primary concern as her companion looked around the hall.
“Is Ezekiel about? He will be so interested in the information I’ve unearthed about the connection to the De Lacey family we discussed yesterday evening.”
Lucy drew in a breath and touched his arm. “Mr. Thurrock, there has been a terrible accident. I think you should go and speak to my father.”
“Your father?”
She managed to get him moving in the right direction, knock on the door of her father’s study, and go in before she heard his reply.
“Father, Mr. Thurrock has returned. I told him you had some sad news for him.”
“Ah, yes.” Her father stood up and gestured at the chair in front of his desk. “Please sit down, Mr. Thurrock. Perhaps Lucy might be persuaded to make us all a nice cup of tea.”
Chapter 4
“Good morning, Miss Harrington.” Robert bowed to his intended bride, stepped aside, and opened the door that led into Dr. Fletcher’s surgery. �
��I called at the rectory to see if you wished to accompany me, and I was told you were out and about in the village.”
Miss Harrington used the boot scraper outside the door and stepped inside the shadowed hallway. “Mr. Nathaniel Thurrock had letters of some urgency to send to Cambridge, so I arranged for a post boy from the Queen’s Head to deliver them for him.”
“How is he taking the news of his brother’s death?”
She hesitated. “He seems quite bemused, almost insulted—as if he cannot quite believe what has happened.”
Robert nodded. “That is often the case with an unexpected death. I’ve seen—” He thought better of finishing his sentence when he recollected the delicate nature of his audience. “Let me just say that even men who go into battle supposedly prepared to die for their country still seem surprised when it actually happens.”
Miss Harrington gave a faint shudder as she took off her gloves and placed them inside her large wicker basket. “Shall we see if the good doctor is at home?”
Robert eased past her and opened the door at the end of the narrow corridor. “In his note, he told me to go ahead and observe the body even if he wasn’t around.”
“What else did he say in this note?”
Miss Harrington held her lavender-scented handkerchief to her nose as the noxious scents of death washed over them. The shrouded corpse lay on a marble slab in the center of the small room.
“That there were no other injuries apart from the blow to the head, and that he’d placed all the items he’d retrieved from the body in a box on the counter by the window.” Robert edged around the plinth and focused his attention on the box of objects. “Ah, I see what he meant.”
“What?” Miss Harrington appeared at his elbow.
“This.” He held up a small pouch tied with blackened hemp string. “As far as we know, Ezekiel Thurrock was a man of great faith.”
“Agreed.”
“Then why did he have some kind of charm or magical potion in his possession?”
He fingered the knotted twine.
“Don’t open it!” Miss Harrington snapped.
Robert frowned. “If I don’t open it how will I know what it contains? Mayhap it is a holy relic of some kind, or a childhood memento.”
“But what if it isn’t?” She rushed over and gripped his arm.
“Miss Harrington, what on earth has gotten into you? Surely you don’t believe a bundle of sticks and herbs has any real power?”
“I . . . don’t know.”
He put the pouch down and turned to study her. “I can’t believe you are giving credence to old wives’ tales.”
“Neither can I, but—” She sighed. “If it is a charm, I have seen the power of these . . . spells, and the effect of them on some of our parishioners. I cannot in all conscience say that they do not have some strange influence.”
“Nonsense.”
“I wish I could agree with you.”
“This is all female claptrap because you have nothing better to fill your minds with.”
Her head came up. “I beg your pardon?”
“These spells are for the credulous, the fools, and simpletons who don’t have the intelligence to understand the world of science and ideas.”
“Like me, you mean?”
“Of course not—which is why I am surprised that we are even having this discussion.”
“But what if the person believes the curse will work? Can such a belief make an event happen?”
Robert frowned. “Miss Harrington, are you feeling quite well? It is not like you to be so gullible.”
“I am only attempting to make you understand that some people do believe such nonsense. Maybe beneath his apparent devotion Mr. Thurrock had . . . doubts.”
“I find that most unlikely.”
“As do I, but what other explanation is there?”
“If we open the bundle perhaps we will find out?”
She worried her lower lip. “Are you sure you wish to do that?”
“Yes. You can go and stand over there if you think some magical demon is going to jump out and put a spell on you.”
To his surprise, she did actually move back. “I am not that naïve, Major, but I do urge caution.”
He found his pocketknife, laid the cloth bundle on the table, and slowly cut through the blackened hemp cord, spreading the dark material out with the blade to expose the contents.
He wrinkled his nose. “It smells like piss.”
“And?”
He gently moved the contents around using the tip of his knife. “There is a rusty nail, a selection of dried herbs, and a black candle stub with something etched into the wax.” He leaned in closer. “I have no idea what it is supposed to depict.”
Straightening up, he looked over at Miss Harrington. “One has to conclude that this doesn’t look like something our mild-mannered verger would carry on his person.”
“Perhaps we could ask Mr. Nathaniel Thurrock if it was his brother’s custom to carry such a charm?”
“I suppose we could do that,” Robert said cautiously. “I intended to hand over Ezekiel’s possessions to the man after I had concluded my investigation as the local magistrate.”
“Mayhap you could show him the articles, and see if he comments on the charm?”
“And if he asks what the devil it is, what do we do then?”
“Find out how it ended up on the body.”
“How do you think we could do that?”
Miss Harrington pulled on her gloves. “There are ways.”
Robert walked over to the deep clay sink and washed his hands. He had no intention of mentioning it to his betrothed, but being close to the innocuous bundle of objects had been quite . . . disconcerting. The hairs on the back of his neck had bristled as though someone had breathed cold air over him. It was a sensation he had experienced only once before on the eve of the battle of Waterloo when he’d ended up trapped and dying under his horse.
But he refused to let Miss Harrington’s ridiculous fancies infect his superior understanding. Ezekiel Thurrock wouldn’t be the first man to have worshipped more than one god. During the war, superstition among the lower ranks of the king’s army had been rife. Many of his men had possessed lucky objects from the mundane to the macabre that they were convinced would save their lives. He’d learned not to interfere because anything that helped a man fight with confidence was better than nothing.
Miss Harrington picked up the box, which contained the rest of Ezekiel’s possessions. “If you rewrap the charm in your handkerchief, I’ll put everything in my basket, and we can go back to the rectory and speak to Mr. Thurrock right now.”
Robert took his watch out of his pocket and consulted it. “Yes, I have time to accompany you home.”
“Thank you.” Her smile was more natural now. “How is Dr. Fletcher’s brother settling in as your land agent?”
“He is remarkably quick-witted and a pleasure to work with.” Robert held open the door and waited for Miss Harrington to go past him. “I am confident that next year—weather permitting—we will bring my lands here back into profit.”
“That’s excellent news for you, and your tenants, sir.”
He shut the door and followed her into the hallway and then outside, where the sun had just made a belated appearance. Dr. Fletcher didn’t have any live-in servants, only a daily woman who came to cook and clean for him.
“And for you, ma’am. As my wife I expect you will cause me some extra expense.”
“Luckily for you I am an excellent and frugal housewife who has no desire to either gamble away your fortune, or set up in state in London.”
“I’m glad to hear it, although I suspect I might have to travel to London more frequently than I would wish.”
“Why is that?”
She took his arm, her basket lodged in the crook of her other elbow, and matched his slow pace.
“This damned government.”
“You intend to get invo
lved in politics?” Miss Harrington stopped walking to stare up at him.
“How can I not? The soldiers returning to our shores are being treated like lepers, and left to die in the streets, and the industrial communities in the north are vastly underrepresented in the governance of this land.”
Her eyebrows rose. “It seems I am betrothed to a radical.”
He held her gaze. “Do you object?”
“Not at all. I’m the daughter of a man of the church.”
“A church that preaches that every man has his station in life and should be grateful for it.”
“Which is why I am on your side.” They resumed walking. “Do you intend to stand for Parliament?”
“I’m considering it,” Robert admitted.
She patted his sleeve. “Good for you. I will appear by your side in my best bonnet and nod in agreement at all your wise utterances.”
Robert chuckled.
“You find that amusing, sir?”
“The thought of you agreeing with me? Naturally. We are not known for the harmony of our views.”
“But if you allow me to write all your speeches, we will be united as one.”
He glanced down at her as they began the slight uphill climb to the church and rectory. “I seem to remember you getting me into all kinds of trouble when you were my temporary secretary.”
She snorted. “I inadvertently gained you a baronetcy from the prince regent. One might assume you would be grateful.”
“Oh, I am. It will stand me in excellent stead as a candidate for Parliament, although I doubt the prince will enjoy my choice of political allies.”
“Then perhaps you might consider allowing me to write your speeches after all.”
Robert was still smiling as they entered the back door of the rectory. Mrs. Fielding was nowhere to be seen, but Betty and the new kitchen maid were sitting at the table peeling vegetables.
“Afternoon, Miss Harrington, Major.” Betty stood and curtsied, wiping her hands on her apron. “Would you like some tea?”
Robert nodded a greeting. The younger girl, whose name escaped him, gawped at his face as if he were a member of the royal family. She seemed rather young, with unruly dark hair that spilled from the confines of her cap.
Death Comes to the Fair Page 4