Death Comes to the Fair

by Catherine Lloyd

“Major Kurland.”

  “Oh, dear. As an ex-cavalryman Major Kurland is somewhat reckless.” Even as she watched, the other gig slowed down and came to a neat stop right alongside them. “Good morning, Major, Mr. Fletcher.”

  “Miss Harrington.” Major Kurland tipped his hat to her. “I was intending to visit you at the rectory later this afternoon. Will you be there?”

  “Indeed I will. I have finished my errands for the day, and I’m returning home.”

  Major Kurland’s direct blue gaze rested briefly on Betty, and then returned to Lucy. “Were you in Kurland St. Anne?”

  “Yes, sir, we were,” Betty said firmly. “At the church seeking the Thurrock burial plot.”

  “Excellent. We’re off to see Jim Mallard.” He nodded at Betty, and then at Lucy. “Until later, then.”

  Lucy let out her breath as he moved off, and continued up the lane. It was good to see him sitting so confidently in the gig when a year ago he’d been too afraid to walk into his own stable yard. She wasn’t sure if he would ever mount a horse and ride to hounds for pleasure. Being able to get around in the gig made a huge difference to his ability to manage his estates. His fellow landowners might think him odd for not joining or leading the local hunt, but at least they wouldn’t know the depth of his fears. That would mean a lot to him.

  She clicked to the horse, and they continued on their way. Even though Betty hadn’t overheard much of the argument between the two brothers she’d revealed enough to intrigue Lucy. What had Ezekiel meant about being hated by the villagers? As far as she knew he was much liked and respected. Had he recently done something that had set Kurland St. Mary against him? The only thing she could think of was his winning the prizes at the fair, but that seemed out of proportion with the response. Surely she would have heard some gossip if he had upset anyone?

  And what secrets did Nathaniel Thurrock hold? He at least was still living and a guest at the rectory, which meant that Lucy might be able to find out more. Because if another person had deliberately caused Ezekiel’s death, surely she was honor bound to find out as much as she could, and discover his killer?

  * * *

  “Major Kurland, come in, sir.”

  Jim Mallard waited as Robert stepped down from the gig in the center of the farmyard and then whistled to a small boy sitting on the wall.

  “Oy! Jimmy! Take the horse round to the stable until the major needs it again.”

  “Yes, Dad!”

  Jim ruffled the boy’s black hair as he took control of the reins and moved off with the gig. “My eldest son, sir. He’s a good lad, and he’ll take care of your horse.”

  “I’m sure he will.” Robert nodded at the small boy. “How old is he?”

  “Ten, sir.”

  “Mayhap he’d like to attend the school I’ll be starting in Kurland St. Mary next year.”

  “School?” Jim held the door into the farmhouse open, and waited until Robert and Dermot went past him. “What would my lad need with that?”

  “A bit of education never hurt anyone, Jim. He’d be taught to read and know his numbers. All useful things in this modern age.”

  “I suppose so.” Jim didn’t sound convinced. “My father taught me all I needed to know, but times are changing.”

  “Perhaps he could try it out,” Robert suggested. “When the work here isn’t so heavy.”

  “These days there is always more work than we can manage, and with our Maisey gone to work at the rectory, we’re shorthanded in the house as well. Come into the parlor, sir, and Mrs. Mallard will fetch you a glass of her best damson wine.”

  Robert allowed himself to be seated in what was obviously a little-used room packed full of family treasures including the best china cabinet, a couple of badly executed oil paintings of farm animals, and an ancient carved oak chest. At least the fire was warm and his chair was comfortable.

  Dermot sat opposite him, his gaze moving around the room as he attempted to perch on the edge of an overstuffed embroidered couch. A charming sketch of what appeared to be four sisters sat on the dresser. A clock ticked on the mantelpiece and slowly wound itself up to chime the quarter hour.

  When the door opened again, both men rose to their feet as Mrs. Mallard came in with a large tray containing not only the promised wine, but also a plate filled with large slabs of fruitcake.

  “Major Kurland, how nice to see you up and about again.” Mrs. Mallard smiled as she placed the tray on the sideboard narrowly avoiding a battered metal candlestick. “Will you take some refreshment?”

  “That would be most welcome,” Robert said. “Have you met my new land agent, Mr. Dermot Fletcher?”

  “Aye.” She smoothed her hands over her apron. “We’ve met. He’s been over here to talk to Jim about the farm.”

  While she bustled around setting out glasses and plates, Jim came back in and took a seat across from Robert.

  “The horse is settled in the stables, sir.”

  “Thank you. He’d better not get too comfortable in case we need to go out and view the land while we discuss your new plans, Jim.”

  His host chuckled. “We can go in my cart if that doesn’t offend your dignity, sir. Now that you are a lord or summat.”

  “I’m merely a baronet, so there will be no lording it over anyone, I can assure you.”

  Jim slapped his thigh. “That’s a good one, sir. Isn’t that so, Alice!”

  “Indeed.” Mrs. Mallard smiled. “How do you like the wine?”

  “It’s excellent, Mrs. Mallard.”

  “Won first prize at the fair this year, didn’t it, love?” Jim’s expression darkened. “I suppose we should be glad that the verger didn’t decide to enter that particular contest as well.”

  “Jim!” Mrs. Mallard pressed a hand to her flushed cheek. “There’s no need to speak so disrespectfully of the dead now, is there?”

  Robert sipped at his wine. “You were aware that Mr. Ezekiel Thurrock died during the storm on Saturday night?”

  “Aye. And good riddance to him, and all the Thurrocks, that’s what I say,” Jim retorted.

  “You didn’t like the verger?”

  Jim’s tone grew even more pugnacious. “He was a Thurrock, wasn’t he? That family has been a thorn in the side of this village for as long as I can remember. And now we’ve got his brother nosing around and spying on us as well. You can’t get away from them, can you?”

  Robert raised his eyebrows. “Mr. Nathaniel Thurrock has been spying on you, Jim? Are you quite sure about that?”

  “I caught him snooping around my walls the other day. Had to threaten to set the dogs on him before he scarpered.”

  “That is rather unfortunate.” Robert put his glass down. “Do you want me to speak to him about the dangers of trespassing? He lives in Cambridge and might be unaware of the rules of the countryside.”

  “Not to worry, sir. He’ll be going back to Cambridge soon, won’t he? That will be the end of the Thurrocks in this village, and good riddance to them.” Jim tossed back the remains of his wine and immediately refilled his glass. “About time, too. We thought we’d got rid of them when the grandfather left, but Ezekiel came back.”

  “Why should he not want to return to Kurland St. Mary?”

  Jim leaned forward. “Because—”

  Mrs. Mallard elbowed her husband in the side. “Don’t you have plans to share with Major Kurland, Jim? You don’t want to keep him all day.” The glance she gave Robert was apologetic. “Jimmy’s already got the horse and cart out, and you don’t want to leave him or the horse standing in that cold breeze.”

  Jim gave an embarrassed laugh. “I’m sorry, Major, she’s right, that’s all ancient history. Now, what I did want to talk to you about was a scheme to drain the fields to the north of the farmhouse. . . .”

  * * *

  At the front door of the rectory, Robert got down from the gig and looked up at Dermot, who had taken the reins in his capable hands.

  “I’ll see you at dinner. I
’ll walk back to the manor house after I’ve spoken to Miss Harrington.”

  “I could leave you the gig and walk, sir. It isn’t far.”

  “There’s no need. I like the exercise.” Robert paused. “If you could write me a note about your thoughts on Jim Mallard’s scheme, we can discuss it tomorrow.”

  “I’ll do that, sir. It sounded quite feasible to me.” Dermot gathered the reins. “He didn’t like Mr. Ezekiel Thurrock very much, did he?”

  “So it seems.” Robert kept his voice neutral, and after one more searching look, his land agent nodded, clicked to the horse, and drove off down the drive. He had no intention of discussing Jim Mallard’s unfettered delight in the demise of the verger with Dermot Fletcher. He’d learned in the past to keep things to himself and trust only Miss Harrington.

  He knocked on the door, which was opened for him by the new kitchen maid, who always looked as if she was in a hurry. Now that he was aware of the Mallard connection, he could see her likeness to her mother and brother.

  “Major Kurland!”

  “Is Miss Harrington at home?”

  “Yes, sir, she’s in the parlor, and she said that if you called to take you right through to her.”

  “Thank you.” He handed her his hat and gloves.

  She threw them in the general direction of the hall table, and set off at a gallop. He picked up one of his gloves and placed it with the other and then followed her, making no attempt to keep up.

  “Major Kurland, miss.”

  By the time he reached the door she’d flung open she was already heading toward the kitchen.

  Miss Harrington sat with Miss Penelope Chingford and both of them looked up. He bowed.

  “Good afternoon, ladies. I do hope I find you both well?”

  Miss Chingford rolled her eyes. “Lucy is in fine health. My life is in tatters, as you well know, but I won’t burden you with the details.”

  Robert breathed a sigh of relief at that pronouncement, and turned his attention to his betrothed, who was darning a stocking that she now cast aside.

  “Miss Harrington.”

  “How was your meeting with Jim Mallard?” She gestured at the seat beside her and Robert sat down. “Is he still wanting to drain those upper fields?”

  “Yes, he is, and I think the scheme has some merit. Mr. Fletcher and I intend to examine the idea in more detail tomorrow, and come up with an estimate of the initial cost versus the overall long-term financial outcome.”

  Miss Chingford put down the book she was reading. “I’ve just remembered that I must check that Dorothea is studying her lessons and not running around the village with the curate. Do excuse me.”

  Robert smiled as she exited the room with all speed. “That was kind of her.”

  “It was not. She simply can’t bear not being the center of attention. And farming talk of any kind bores her to distraction.”

  “Then she’d better go and live with her family in London, where she will be spared such discussions.”

  Miss Harrington looked pensive. “I don’t think she intends to return to London.”

  He stared at her for a long moment. “Good Lord. She doesn’t mean to make her home here at the rectory after you leave, does she? Would your father permit that?” He shook his head. “Of course he would—he can’t manage by himself, and I doubt your sister, Anna, will be returning home unwed.”

  “Penelope does not intend to stay here,” Miss Harrington said carefully.

  “Then where?”

  “Mrs. Fielding assumed I would bring both the Chingford sisters to live with me up at Kurland Hall.”

  A horrific vision flashed before Robert’s eyes.

  “No.”

  Miss Harrington blinked at him. “I beg your pardon?”

  “They are not taking up residence in my house,” Robert said flatly. The mere suggestion of it was already giving him nightmares.

  “If that is to be avoided, then—”

  “It will be. If they move in I can assure you that I will be leaving.”

  “Then perhaps you might consider offering Penelope your assistance?”

  He scowled. “I’m not marrying her, if that’s what you mean.”

  She patted his sleeve. “As if I would ask that of you.”

  Her smile was so sweet he was instantly wary. “Then what?”

  “Dr. Fletcher wants to marry her.”

  “My old friend Patrick? In God’s name why?”

  “She is very beautiful,” Miss Harrington pointed out.

  “Yes, but—” Robert struggled to find any words. “Are you sure about this? He hasn’t said anything to me.”

  “Mayhap he is reluctant to seek your approval because Penelope was once betrothed to you.”

  “Poppycock.”

  “So if he did approach you, you would help him achieve his aim?” She paused to offer him another hopeful smile. “He already has a home to offer her, and his income is rising as he takes over Dr. Baker’s practice. If you supported him he would probably be more willing to speak to my father about the matter.”

  Robert considered her carefully. “I thought you said he wanted to marry Miss Chingford.”

  “He does.”

  “Then why doesn’t he just go ahead and ask?”

  “I believe he already has asked Penelope, and she is eager to accept him.”

  “She is?”

  “Yes, it was something of a surprise for me, too. I cannot presume to know Dr. Fletcher’s feelings on the matter, but he might worry that my father would react with indifference or . . . incredulity. Dr. Fletcher is, after all, an Irish-born heathen who works for his living.”

  “And the best damned doctor I’ve ever met,” Robert countered.

  “Indeed.” Miss Harrington bit her lip in a pensive manner. “And, if you don’t wish the Chingford sisters to accompany me to Kurland Hall when I marry . . .”

  “I will speak to Dr. Fletcher. If he wishes for my support I will go with him to speak to your father.”

  Miss Harrington leapt to her feet and kissed his cheek. “Oh, Major Kurland. You are too good.”

  He accepted the compliment, and the unexpected kiss, but was fully aware that his beloved had somehow maneuvered him into an indefensible position with the skill of a seasoned general.

  “Would you like some tea, sir?” Miss Harrington was still smiling sweetly at him, which was rather unnerving in itself.

  “I’d prefer a brandy.”

  “Then I will fetch you one.” She went to the sideboard and poured him a drink from the cut-glass carafe. “Did you manage to ask Jim Mallard about Ezekiel Thurrock?”

  He accepted the glass with thanks. “I didn’t need to do much asking. Jim was quite happy to tell me how much he disliked the Thurrocks, and how the verger’s death was a good thing.”

  “Is that so?” Miss Harrington frowned. “I had no idea he disliked our verger so much. Did he say why?”

  “He mentioned the village fair, but he also suggested the Thurrocks had been persona non grata in the villages for years.”

  “How strange.” She hesitated. “You know Jim best. Do you think he is the kind of man who would’ve waited for the verger in the church and killed him?”

  “It’s hard to say,” Robert mused. “He is rather hotheaded—all the Mallard men are. I would think he’d be more likely to stop the verger in the street and fight it out with him in public.”

  “That does sound more probable.”

  Robert continued speculating. “Or maybe he followed the verger into the church in a temper, picked up the nearest object, and bludgeoned him to death with it.”

  Miss Harrington shivered. “Would he kill someone in a church?”

  “If he was in a rage I doubt he’d notice where he was.”

  “Then we cannot discount him.”

  “No.” Robert sipped at his brandy. “But don’t forget, as far as we know, the gargoyle didn’t originate in our church. Jim would’ve had to have broug
ht it with him.” He hesitated. “In fact, whoever killed Ezekiel must have brought the stone with them. Did you find any evidence of where it might have come from?”

  “I didn’t see any missing in Kurland St. Anne church or anything that looked similar.” Miss Harrington sat back in her seat. “I did discover that the symbol carved into the wax candle in the charm was similar to the one in our church.”

  “And what about the rest of the contents?”

  “Well, they aren’t for good luck and prosperity, I can tell you that.” She fidgeted with the fringe of her shawl. “I spoke to the Turner sisters in Kurland St. Anne, and—”

  “The Turner sisters?” Robert frowned. “Who exactly are they?”

  She shrugged in an offhand way that immediately made him suspicious. “They are healers and wise women, and often attend local births.”

  “Wise women?”

  She shook her head. “I knew you would focus on that. They make charms and cast love spells. They always have.”

  “Why don’t I know of this? Do they rent their property from me?”

  “No, they own it outright. They do no harm, Major Kurland. In truth, they do a lot of good, so please do not get angry.”

  “We have already discussed my opinion on spell casters and charlatans—it has not changed.” He gave her a fulminating glance. “I should’ve known the moment my back was turned you would be consorting with ne’er-do-wells.”

  “They are hardly charlatans, and I did have Betty with me. The Turner family has lived here almost as long as yours. Ask Foley. He knows even more than Mr. Nathaniel Thurrock about our village history.”

  “I would like to visit these Turner women myself.”

  “For what purpose?” She held his gaze. “They said they had never seen the charm before.”

  “As if they would have admitted they’d made something like that to your face.”

  “I suppose you have a point. Miss Abigail didn’t tell me exactly what the herbs she identified were for either.” She grimaced. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have gone there after all.”

  “Because now they know we have discovered the ill-wish, and it is associated with a dead body?”

  “I didn’t tell them where we found the charm.”

  “And you don’t think they will work that out for themselves? Apparently, the whole village knows that the verger is dead, and gossip as to the reason is already rife. I should go and question your Turners.”