Death Comes to the Fair

by Catherine Lloyd

  Mr. Thurrock frowned. “With all due respect, Sir Robert, I have no desire to speak to Mr. Pethridge. His family and mine fell out many years ago.”

  “I wasn’t aware of that.”

  Miss Harrington looked up. “I would’ve thought your passion for old buildings would have taken you to their farmhouse, Mr. Thurrock. It is extremely old.” She paused. “Some say that both it and the Mallard farmhouse are remnants of the old priory.”

  “I believe you might be correct, Miss Harrington, but I doubt I would be welcome at either house.” He turned back to Robert. “Mr. Mallard threatened to set his dogs on me while I was busy sketching the surrounding countryside.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Robert said courteously. “Perhaps you should have asked his permission to be on his land.”

  “His land?” Mr. Thurrock’s mouth snapped shut on whatever else he had been about to say. He reached for his wineglass and drained it in one.

  Robert allowed a long pause before he resumed the conversation.

  “Mr. Thurrock, I forgot to ask you whether you discovered what you were looking for in the Kurland archives?”

  Miss Harrington gave him a severe look—probably because he’d been too direct, but he’d never been a man capable of uttering a flowery phrase or charming his way into something. He left such trickery to his cousin Paul. Miss Harrington of all people should know that.

  “Mr. Fletcher was most helpful, Sir Robert.”

  Robert waited, but Mr. Thurrock was too busy slurping soup to continue speaking. He turned to Dermot and caught his eye.

  “I’m glad to hear you were able to help our guest.”

  Dermot quickly dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. “I fear our time together wasn’t long enough to discover all the information Mr. Thurrock requested, but I have continued to search for the relevant documents, and I do have more to share with him.”

  “Excellent. Perhaps we might all convene in my study after dinner for our port and examine what you have found.” Robert inclined his head to Miss Harrington. “If you have no objection, my dear Miss Harrington?”

  “None at all, sir. I’m certain we ladies can amuse ourselves without you.” She sipped delicately at her soup. “Mr. Thurrock was very interested in the portraits of the Kurland twins in the portrait gallery.”

  “Indeed?” Robert turned back to his guest. “And which side do you favor, sir? The Cavalier or the Roundhead?”

  “The side of righteousness, of course.”

  “And which would that be in your humble opinion?”

  Mr. Thurrock raised his chin. “The man of faith and character who supported Parliament against a corrupt Catholic king.”

  Dr. Fletcher shared a wry glance with his brother.

  “You don’t hold with popery, Mr. Thurrock?”

  “Not in any form, Sir Robert. My brother and I, and all the Thurrocks before us, have always stood firmly at God’s side.”

  “Whereas the Kurlands have always done what was necessary to survive. The twins chose to support different causes to ensure the continuity of the estate.”

  Mr. Thurrock put down his spoon. “You are suggesting it was a matter of pragmatism rather than religious conviction?”

  “I know it was. We have letters from that time period where the twins discuss their decision.” Robert paused. “I don’t think it was easy for them to be torn apart in such a way, always wondering if one day they would be called upon to fight their own kin. But they were hardly alone in such sentiments. A civil war divides every family.”

  “But . . . Captain William Kurland is honored in St. Anne church as a man who fought for his beliefs, and died for them.”

  Robert shrugged. “I know there was a memorial erected for him. I must confess I have never troubled to read it.”

  Mr. Thurrock was staring at him as if he’d committed a terrible sin. He shook his head, and took a hasty gulp of wine.

  Miss Harrington cleared her throat. “Perhaps we might pause in the church after you attend Mr. Ezekiel Thurrock’s grave, sir, and view the memorial? It is remarkably fine.”

  “That is an excellent thought, Miss Harrington.”

  Mr. Thurrock sat back as his soup bowl was removed, and the second course placed on the table.

  “Did you say you had family letters from that time, Sir Robert?”

  “I believe so.” Robert looked at Dermot. “Did you find anything like that while you were looking?”

  “I did, sir. I have them ready to show Mr. Thurrock after dinner.”

  “Do any of them mention the legendary treasure from the priory?” Miss Harrington asked.

  Robert groaned. “Don’t tell me that tall tale is still being spread about.”

  “Mr. Thurrock mentioned it to me while we were enjoying the portrait gallery. Isn’t it true that William Kurland hid in the ruins to avoid a party of Cavaliers bent on his destruction?”

  “He hid because he’d heard a rumor that it was Thomas’s regiment who were coming through and he preferred not to see his twin.” Robert nodded at Mr. Thurrock. “As I said, he was a pragmatist and definitely not heroic in the slightest.”

  “I would not agree,” Mr. Thurrock stated. “He governed the Kurland estates throughout the upheaval, spared many lives, and prevented the spread of evil.”

  Robert didn’t need the kick under the table from Miss Harrington to remind him of his manners. Mr. Thurrock was still a guest at his table, and Robert was nothing if not polite. But why was Mr. Thurrock so interested in his long-dead Kurland ancestor? Surely he didn’t believe the rumors of the hidden priory treasure?

  If he did, it might explain why he had really been quarreling with his brother after the fair. Had Ezekiel protested at Nathaniel’s plans to confront him about the stolen Thurrock land? The ruins of the old priory lay within the disputed territory . . .

  Robert continued to eat and make conversation as necessary while his thoughts circled around the new information. Miss Harrington did a sterling job encouraging Dermot and the younger Miss Chingford to speak up, and soon they were chatting like old friends. He considered his land agent’s smiling face. If Miss Harrington wasn’t careful with her matchmaking schemes he’d end up surrounded by the Chingford family.

  At the end of the meal, Mrs. Bloomfield appeared at the door. Foley announced that the tea tray was in the drawing room for the ladies, and that the gentlemen could partake of brandy or port in Robert’s study.

  Robert elected to escort his betrothed and the other ladies to the drawing room first. Miss Harrington had barely taken his arm before she started speaking in an urgent undertone.

  “What if Mr. Thurrock thinks there is treasure at the priory? Would that explain why he was arguing with his brother?”

  His betrothed was up to the mark as usual.

  “He also thinks the land the priory stands on belongs to the Thurrock family and was extorted from them by my father.”

  “What?” She stopped moving to stare up into his face. “That is quite ridiculous.”

  “It did belong to them once,” Robert admitted. “But I am fairly certain my father bought it legally.”

  “So am I. But if Mr. Thurrock believes in the legends of Captain William Kurland perhaps he has a reason to want it back.”

  “And maybe a reason to kill his brother?” He held her suddenly arrested gaze. “What if the gargoyle we found in the church also belonged to Nathaniel? What if he only needed one blow to kill?”

  “He was missing when the verger’s body was found,” Lucy whispered. “No one knew where he’d been. When I saw him come into the rectory he appeared to be quite dry for a man who had been out in a rainstorm. Perhaps he was hiding in the church all along.” She drew an unsteady breath. “Good gracious. Whatever are we going to do?”

  Robert patted her cheek. “You are going to entertain the ladies in the drawing room, and I am going to see what Mr. Thurrock has to say about this supposedly stolen land.”

  “I wi
sh I could come with you.”

  “And scandalize our guest? He would never speak frankly in front of a lady.”

  “That is unfortunately true.” Miss Harrington scowled. “He considers me too delicate to form an opinion of my own.”

  “Ah, is that why you were looking as cross as crabs when you came into dinner?” He took her gloved hand and kissed her fingers. “Don’t worry. I promise I’ll tell you everything later.”

  Chapter 11

  When Robert reached his study, Foley had already set out the drinks tray, banked the fire, and left a pot of coffee for Dr. Fletcher, who apparently had to leave shortly and attend a birth. Dermot had gone to the estate office to find the relevant papers for Mr. Thurrock. After helping himself to a glass of port, Robert went over to speak to his friend.

  “You are leaving?”

  Patrick shrugged. “I’m a country doctor. My life is never my own.”

  “Which must make the prospect of matrimony quite daunting.”

  “You’ve heard about that?” Patrick smiled ruefully. “Then it must be blatantly obvious. You aren’t exactly the most observant man in the world, Major.”

  “I must admit that Miss Harrington helped to open my eyes.” Robert hesitated. “Do you wish to marry Miss Chingford?”

  “Yes.”

  There was not a hint of uncertainty in the doctor’s reply.

  “Then do you need my assistance to achieve your aim? I could speak to the rector about your sterling character and glowing prospects if that would help.”

  “You’d do that for me?”

  Robert raised an eyebrow. “Why would I not?”

  “Because . . . Miss Chingford—”

  “Patrick, you saved my life. I am forever in your debt.”

  “And would even advocate for the man who wishes to marry your ex-betrothed?”

  Robert grinned. “Rather you than me, old man.”

  “I didn’t expect you to be so amenable about it.” Patrick fiddled with the clasp of his doctor’s bag. “Penelope is worried that her family and the rector won’t want her to marry an Irishman. I wondered if you, too, might feel there was too much of a disparity in our stations in life.”

  “You should know me better than that, my friend. With all due respect to your intended, I suspect her family and the rector would be delighted to find a solution to the vexing question of who should support her and her sister. You can at least do that.”

  “I am making a living. It hardly allows for the luxuries Miss Chingford has enjoyed her entire life, but we won’t starve, and she will be warm and well housed.”

  “Then tell me when you wish to approach the rector, and I will stand your friend.”

  Foley appeared at the door.

  “Dr. Fletcher? Your gig awaits you at the front door.”

  “Thank you.” Patrick shook Robert’s hand. “Thank you for everything.”

  Robert watched him leave and then turned back to observe Mr. Thurrock, who was seated some distance away in front of the fire. He appeared to be dozing, his multiple chins sunk into the folds of his cravat.

  Dermot came in carrying a box filled with rolled parchments and old-fashioned ribboned seals and letters.

  “Has Patrick gone?”

  “Yes.” Robert made a space on the table for Dermot to place the box. “A birth was imminent.”

  Dermot made a face. “Rather him than me, sir.”

  “Agreed.” The discussion reminded him of the Turner sisters, who apparently helped out at local births as well. He still intended to go and visit them at the earliest opportunity. Even if Nathaniel was involved in his brother’s death the matter of the concealed ill-wish still bothered him.

  He couldn’t imagine the staid Nathaniel leaving such a thing on his brother’s body—unless he’d done it to direct blame elsewhere . . . Miss Harrington had said something about women such as the Turners being vulnerable to accusations. Was that what she had meant?

  Dermot began laying out the items from the box, and Robert brought more candles over so that the table was brightly illuminated. His land agent cleared his throat.

  “There is one matter you might wish to discuss privately with me, Sir Robert, before you allow Mr. Thurrock to see these articles.”

  “There is no need to hide anything.”

  “But—”

  “Mr. Thurrock?” Impatient to get the matter resolved Robert called out to his guest. “Would you like some more port or would you care to see what Mr. Fletcher found in the Kurland archives?”

  “Thank you, Sir Robert.”

  Mr. Thurrock stirred and heaved himself out of his chair with some effort. He came slowly across the room, his color high and his breathing beleaguered from traversing the short distance. Robert studied him critically. Would he have the strength to drop a stone gargoyle on his brother’s head? Would he even have managed to get up the narrow stairs of the tower?

  He pulled out a chair and gestured for Mr. Thurrock to take a seat. Even if he had been able to do those things would he have allowed his disagreement with his brother to escalate to such a violent level?

  “Do you have the letters written by the Kurland twins?” Robert inquired of Dermot.

  “I do, sir. They are rather old so are quite hard to read, but some enterprising member of your family did make an attempt to decipher them at some point, so we have some more readable copies.” Dermot showed the dozen or so original letters, then opened a book to reveal pages of transcribed script. “They make for interesting reading.”

  Mr. Thurrock reached for the book. “May I borrow this, Sir Robert? I promise I will take the greatest care of it.”

  Robert placed his hand firmly on top of the leather cover. “What exactly are you hoping to discover in the letters, Mr. Thurrock?”

  His guest made an airy gesture. “References to my family, any indication as to when the Thurrocks became landowners, or what they farmed, and where. It is all of interest to me.”

  “Mr. Fletcher was telling me the lands your family used to own border my Home Farm, and the Mallard place at Kurland St. Anne.”

  “That is correct, Sir Robert. Those lands have been in my family since the sixteen hundreds. I have the original deed in my possession.”

  Dermot slid a roll of parchment over toward Robert. “And, I found a copy of that original deed in our records, sir.”

  “Impressive.”

  “I am glad to hear that you have a record of this.” Mr. Thurrock nodded. “It is surprising how often these things . . . disappear.”

  “Luckily for us, the Kurland archives are quite extensive and very complete, because the same family has been in residence since the eleventh century.” Dermot unrolled another scroll. “I also found the agreement your ancestor made to lease the land to the Kurland estate in 1723.”

  “That explains why I didn’t know it wasn’t always Kurland land,” Robert said. “It has been leased to us for almost a hundred years.”

  “Leased, Sir Robert, but not owned.”

  Dermot cleared his throat. “As to that—”

  But Robert spoke over him. “What exactly is your point, Mr. Thurrock? At some time in the last fifty years or so, the lease was ended, and an agreement to purchase was reached. Isn’t that so, Mr. Fletcher?”

  “Ah—”

  Mr. Thurrock stood. “There is no such agreement! I can assure you that I have checked most thoroughly, and there is no evidence that the land was sold to your father.”

  Robert glared down at him. “Are you suggesting my father was a liar?”

  “I am suggesting that the land was never bought outright. Maybe your father offered to buy it, and his agent never completed the transaction before my father’s demise.”

  Robert glanced over at Dermot. “Do you have the deed of purchase?”

  Dermot took a deep breath. “That’s just it, Sir Robert. I was trying to tell you earlier. I can’t find it.”

  It took him a long moment to control his desire to
start barking orders and making demands he was fairly certain could not be met.

  “What exactly does that mean?”

  “It means that I am right,” Mr. Thurrock interjected.

  Robert ignored him, his gaze fixed on his hapless land agent, who held out a series of letters.

  “I have correspondence between the Thurrock family and Mr. Kurland discussing the sale of the land, including an agreement on the purchase price and the date the documents would be transferred to Cambridge by the Kurland solicitors.”

  “Well, then, that definitely sounds like your father sold the land, Mr. Thurrock—”

  “But there is no record of the actual transaction,” Mr. Thurrock interrupted him. “The Kurland estate just assumed it had gone through, and acted as if they owned the land.”

  Robert frowned as he read through the correspondence. “The deed of transfer must be somewhere.”

  “It might have been misfiled, Sir Robert. I am continuing the search for it,” Dermot said. “There is also the question of the money paid to the Thurrock family for the land.”

  “Is there a record of the transaction?” Robert failed to erase the hint of sarcasm from his voice.

  “Yes, sir, there is. In both the general Kurland Hall account books, and the land agent records.”

  Robert looked down at Mr. Thurrock. “Then someone took that money, and one might assume it was your father. Do you have a record of that?”

  An angry flush mottled Mr. Thurrock’s cheeks. “My father made no mention of having received the money.”

  “Then it appears as if we are at an impasse.” Robert paused. “My land agent will continue to search for the deed of sale, and information as to who actually received the money from the transaction.”

  “So you admit the land is still owned by the Thurrock family?”

  “I admit no such thing,” Robert snapped.

  “Then we have nothing left to say to each other.” Mr. Thurrock bowed stiffly. “In the interests of preserving some dignity I shall wait until my brother’s funeral is over, and then I will be speaking to my family solicitor in Cambridge!”