Death Comes to the Fair

by Catherine Lloyd

  “Or she did make it, and that person chose to use it on the verger instead of the person she thought it was intended for.”

  Major Kurland sighed. “You have an appalling habit of making things terribly complicated, Miss Harrington.”

  “I’m just making sure that we consider all possibilities, sir.” She looked ahead to the church. “Do you want to stop and see the monument to Captain William Kurland?”

  “Why not? My day can scarcely get any worse.”

  She didn’t reply to that, and waited as he directed Reg to stop at the church gate. The main door to the church wasn’t locked, as there was nothing of real value stored there. The ceremonial plate was kept in a safe room in Kurland St. Mary.

  The interior was illuminated only by a few flickering candles. Major Kurland lit a few more, and let Lucy direct him toward the right-hand corner of the church, which was more the size of a chapel, where the large and ostentatious memorial to the brave Roundhead was affixed to the wall.

  Major Kurland cleared his throat and read aloud, his voice echoing in the empty church.

  “Here lyeth the most gallant and courageous soldier of God and the Commonwealth, Captain William Reginald Kurland, born 1611, died 1653 peacefully in the arms of the Lord. Psalm 18:39 For thou hast girded me with strength unto the battle: thou hast subdued under me those that rose up against me.”

  There was a carving in the Grecian style of a warrior wielding a sword, his arm raised as he rallied his troops to defend what looked like Kurland St. Mary bell tower.

  Major Kurland leaned closer and squinted at the panel. “Is that where they’re saying he made his last stand? If you read the letters you’ll find a very different story. He wasn’t fighting anyone. He was hiding out in an old cellar to avoid meeting his twin at all, and died several years later in his bed at the manor house.”

  Lucy also studied the inscription and the carved frieze.

  “Mr. Thurrock was very eager to see the letters the twins exchanged, wasn’t he?”

  “Aye, so keen he stole my book,” Major Kurland grumbled.

  “Didn’t he say something about the land coming into the Thurrocks’ possession in the sixteen hundreds?”

  “Yes, I think he did, why?”

  “Then maybe the reason he wants to read the letters is because he hopes to discover some mention of the Thurrock family in them.” She paused. “Is it possible that Captain William had something to do with issuing the original land grant while his brother was in exile with the king?”

  “It’s possible, I suppose. It might explain why the land is between two pieces of the Kurland estate, but I cannot see why it matters.”

  “Well, for one thing, it is more evidence for Mr. Thurrock that the land truly does belong to his family.”

  “And the other?”

  “If Captain William Kurland did hide out in the priory grounds, and discovered the treasure, maybe he mentioned it to his twin in his letters?”

  Major Kurland turned to stare down at her. “Miss Harrington, sometimes your logic surprises me.”

  She smiled at him. “Thank you.”

  “Now, perhaps we should get back to the rectory and retrieve my book!”

  She placed her hand on his sleeve. “Do you think you might leave that matter to me? I can ascertain if Mr. Thurrock indeed has the book, and quietly retrieve it for you. I doubt he will have the courage to demand an explanation from me as to where it has gone, do you?”

  He stared down at her, his frustration evident. “All right. I’ll let you handle the matter as you see fit.”

  “Thank you. Mr. Thurrock will be leaving the village very shortly. I doubt he will choose to return if he is at outs with you, and the Kurland estate, until the matter is settled.”

  “I’ve set Dermot onto discovering more about the deed of transfer and how the money was paid to the Thurrocks. If we can prove that the Kurland estate followed all the proper legal requirements and the papers were duly recorded, then it will be up to Mr. Thurrock to prove us wrong.”

  Major Kurland held the door open for her and she preceded him into the churchyard. In the graveyard behind the line of elm trees two men were digging into the soil around the old Thurrock burials preparing a plot for Ezekiel’s coffin. In a few days the verger would be buried and soon forgotten. Would they ever discover who had killed him, or would the matter remain a mystery?

  “Are you coming, Miss Harrington? I’d like to get you home before this rain starts.”

  Major Kurland was already standing by the gig ready to help her up the step. Lucy took one hopeful glance at the gray skies and then hurried over to the waiting carriage.

  * * *

  The rain came just as they reached the rectory, so Lucy jumped down and waved Major Kurland on to the manor house. If he had chosen to come in with her and Mr. Thurrock was in the parlor, things might have become unpleasant between the two men, and that never helped matters.

  Penelope was coming down the stairs and stopped when she saw Lucy.

  “Where have you been?”

  “I had some business in Kurland St. Anne.” Lucy untied the ribbons of her bonnet, took it off, and attempted to shake the rain off it.

  “With Major Kurland? For goodness’ sake, Lucy, you might as well be married to the man the way you gallivant around the countryside together without a chaperone.”

  “As you do ‘helping’ Dr. Fletcher?”

  “No one cares about what I do in this village—they do, however, gossip about you, and your father isn’t very pleased about it.”

  Lucy undid her pelisse and started toward the stairs. “Are you coming down or going up? I fear I will need to change my dress after all.”

  Penelope moved to one side, flicking her skirts out of the way in a most indignant manner. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Lucy gave her a sweet, insincere smile and went on by, her thoughts entirely on the dilemma of how to deal with Mr. Thurrock. She’d been dealing with her father for years and knew exactly how to distract him from worrying about what she was getting up to.

  The door to Mr. Thurrock’s room was ajar so Lucy peered inside, noticing it was still extremely untidy. She spotted what she thought was the missing book on top of Mr. Thurrock’s sketching paper and went on to her own bedchamber, where she rang the bell for Betty.

  After Betty helped her change her gown and provided her with some hot water to wash away the chill of the rain and the mud, she asked, “Is Mr. Thurrock here?”

  “Yes, miss. He’s reading the newspaper in the rector’s study.”

  “Then I shall go down and see how he is faring. Thank you.”

  “Thank you, miss. I’ll take this down to the scullery and get that mud off.” Betty arranged the damp dress over her arm and hesitated. “Miss Harrington . . .”

  “What is it, Betty?”

  “It’s Maisey. She’s not doing her work, and when I complained to Mrs. Fielding about it, she told me to mind my own business.”

  “Mrs. Fielding did?” Lucy frowned. “She is usually the first person to tell a member of the rectory staff that their work isn’t up to standard.”

  “I know, miss, but she lets Maisey get away with anything.”

  Lucy walked toward the door. “Is it because Maisey wants to be a cook?”

  “That might be something to do with it. She certainly looks up to Mrs. Fielding something rotten.” Betty held Lucy’s gaze. “I know we will be moving up to the hall soon, but I don’t want to leave the rector with no one to take proper care of him.”

  “Then I’ll certainly speak to Mrs. Fielding.”

  “Thank you, miss.”

  Lucy went back down the stairs. She could hear Penelope talking to her sister in the back parlor and headed instead for the kitchen, where Mrs. Fielding sat at the table drinking a cup of tea. Maisey sat opposite her also having a cup, her gaze fixed on the cook as she talked.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Fielding. Maisey?”

 
“Yes, miss?”

  “Are you supposed to have cleaned Mr. Thurrock’s bedchamber? I just passed by, and I could see the mess from the corridor.”

  Maisey glanced uncertainly over at the cook. “Ain’t that Betty’s job?”

  “I’m fairly certain that it is your responsibility, Maisey,” Lucy answered her.

  Mrs. Fielding poured more tea. “She’s busy helping me in the kitchen. Betty thinks she’s too high and mighty these days to do any work in this house. You should talk to her.”

  Lucy ignored the cook, and kept her attention on the kitchen maid.

  “As I don’t see any evidence of a cooking lesson going on at the moment, and Betty is dealing with my gown, Maisey can go upstairs right now and clean Mr. Thurrock’s room.”

  “But—”

  Lucy narrowed her gaze. “Maisey, if you wish to remain at the rectory in my family’s employ I suggest you do as you have been told.”

  Maisey sighed, pushed back her chair with a horrible scraping sound, and clumped out of the kitchen muttering something as she went.

  Having dealt satisfactorily with the minor problem, Lucy turned to confront the cook.

  “It is not like you to encourage the staff to linger in your kitchen, Mrs. Fielding.”

  “She’s a good girl.” Mrs. Fielding shrugged.

  “She won’t be successful here if she thinks she can disregard the terms of her employment.”

  “You can’t get rid of her.”

  Lucy raised her eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

  Mrs. Fielding leaned her head back so that she could stare right into Lucy’s face. “Maisey stays here with me. You’re the one who’s leaving, Miss Harrington.”

  “Until the time that I leave I still have the authority to hire and fire my own servants.”

  The cook laughed. “No you don’t, miss. You’ve never been able to get rid of me. Rector likes his comforts close to home now, doesn’t he?”

  “My father’s choices in regard to you have always disappointed and puzzled me, Mrs. Fielding. One can only hope that at some point he will reconsider them.” Lucy took a step closer. “But don’t think he will intervene to save a mere kitchen maid. Surely if you know him as well as you claim to do, you also know that he cannot bear to be troubled by every little domestic crisis. If you go running to him about Maisey, I can guarantee he will refer the matter to me, so think carefully before you risk annoying him.”

  Mrs. Fielding stood up, her blue eyes blazing. “I cannot wait until you leave this place, Miss Harrington.”

  “Then rest assured, the feeling is entirely mutual.” Lucy inclined her head a sharp inch. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Fielding.” She swept out of the kitchen, her hands fisted at her sides, and headed straight for her father’s study, where she hoped to find Mr. Thurrock.

  In truth, there was nothing she could do about the cook except hope that her father would remarry and that his new wife would get rid of his old bedmate. It was a situation that had frustrated her for years, and she had never discovered a solution to it. She was glad to be leaving the rectory, but rather surprised at the more open animosity Mrs. Fielding had expressed. Did she feel safer because Lucy was leaving? Was she anticipating taking over the role of wife?

  Lucy shuddered at the thought. One thing she did know was that her father was a terrible snob and would never marry his low-born mistress. That was the only thing she was certain of.

  She took a deep breath and went into the study, paused to take in the sight of Mr. Thurrock seated at her father’s desk writing a note.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Thurrock.”

  “Good afternoon, Miss Harrington. I wonder if I might ask you to have one of the grooms deliver this letter for me?”

  “Of course, sir. Is it for one of your friends in Cambridge?”

  “No, this is a more local matter.” He blotted the paper and folded it in three. “For a Miss Turner in Kurland St. Anne.”

  Lucy hoped she concealed her start of surprise. “I wasn’t aware that you knew the Miss Turners.”

  “I met them when I was out walking in Kurland St. Anne. They were most helpful in my research, and most hospitable.”

  “Indeed.” Lucy walked closer to the desk. “Do you need sealing wax, sir? I believe my father keeps it in the right-hand drawer of the desk.”

  He opened the drawer and frowned. “It appears to be empty.”

  “Then I’ll seal the letter for you before I send it on. I have some wax in the parlor.” She held out her hand, and he placed the folded letter in it. She didn’t want him to have time to look in the left-hand drawer, where the wax was actually kept. “I won’t be a moment. Would you like some more tea?”

  “A brandy would be appreciated.”

  “Then I will fetch you one on my return.” Striving to keep her voice calm, she exited the study, and bolted back up the stairs to her room, where she shut and locked the door. She unfolded the note with great care.

  My dear, Miss Turner,

  Thank you for your advice as to the whereabouts of the original map of the old priory with all its tantalizing probabilities. I will attempt to persuade Major Kurland to release it to me forthwith, although he is not the most amiable of men at the best of times, and is proving rather obstinate about the return of my family land. I will, however, use the map you drew for me as a guide to the location of the hidden vault.

  I did hope to visit you later tonight when the residents of the rectory are asleep, but I understand that your duties call you elsewhere.

  I remain your obedient servant.

  Nathaniel Thurrock, Esq.

  Lucy let out her breath and read the letter again. Mr. Thurrock knew the Turner sisters. Was it possible that he’d obtained the charm from them, and left it on his brother’s body after all? She could easily guess what he wanted a map of the priory for.

  She sealed the letter, and went down to the stables behind the house.

  “Can I help you, Miss Harrington?” Harris called out to her from the tack room as she approached the main building.

  “Yes, is young Bran available to take a message to Kurland St. Anne?”

  “I’ll find him for you.”

  Within a minute Bran appeared. Lucy waited until Harris went back to his duties before lowering her voice.

  “I need you to take this note to the Turner cottage.”

  He wrinkled his nose. “All right, miss, although I don’t want to be magicked away, or something.”

  “You won’t be. Just give them the note, and ask if there is any reply. If there is, bring it directly back to me, not Mr. Thurrock.” Lucy hesitated. “There is one more thing. Can you find out whether the Turners intend to go out later this evening and where they are going?”

  Bran scratched his ear. “What for?”

  “There’s no need to ask questions or rouse any suspicions. Just notice what’s going on and report back to me.”

  “Like a spy?” His eyes widened.

  “Exactly,” Lucy said firmly. “And if you carry out your task properly, I will reward you on your return.” She tapped her nose. “But you cannot tell anyone about this. Come to the kitchen door, and ask Betty to find me.”

  “I understand, miss.” He bowed. “I won’t be long.”

  She waited as he expertly mounted one of the horses, settled his cap on his head, and set out.

  Picking up her skirts, she returned to the house and went into her father’s study.

  “The note is on its way to the Turners, Mr. Thurrock.” She poured him a brandy from her father’s supply, and brought it over to the desk.

  “Thank you, my dear.” He took a sip and then another. “Please let me know if there is a reply.”

  “Naturally.” She curtsied. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “There is one thing, Miss Harrington. I borrowed a book from Sir Robert. As he is unlikely to want to entertain me at his house at present, I wonder if you might take it back for me?”


  “Of course I will.” Lucy paused. “Do you have it with you?”

  “It is in my bedchamber. I will return it to you after dinner.”

  “Was it . . . helpful for your family research?”

  “Indeed it was.” Mr. Thurrock’s smile was smug. “As you are betrothed to Sir Robert, I will not speak of the division between myself and the Kurland estate, but let me just say, Sir Robert will not be allowed to get his way in this matter.”

  “You believe you have found further evidence to support your claim, sir?”

  He wagged his finger at her. “With all due respect, Miss Harrington, women are terrible gossips, and I wouldn’t want anything I say to reach Sir Robert’s ears.”

  Lucy tried to maintain her pleasant smile. “I am quite capable of keeping a confidence, sir, believe me.”

  “I’m sure you are, my dear girl, but I wouldn’t want to risk it.” He rose to his feet. “And don’t you worry your little head about the fortunes of the family you are marrying into. From all accounts the loss of a parcel of land will hardly affect the Kurland fortune—coming as it does from industry.”

  He made the word sound like an insult.

  “I am not worried about Sir Robert and the Kurland fortune at all, Mr. Thurrock. Would you prefer to fetch the book for me now, or shall we wait until after dinner?”

  “Actually, I’m not sure if I’ll be present for dinner, Miss Harrington. I thought a nice, quiet ramble in the countryside might set my mind at rest before the exigencies of my brother’s funeral.”

  “A stroll in the dark? Please remember, sir that in the countryside there are no street lamps to guide your way. Only the moon and stars.”

  “And it will be a full moon tonight—Miss Turner mentioned that to me.”

  Lucy moved out of his way and went to the door. “Pray excuse me, Mr. Thurrock. I have duties to attend to before my father returns.”

  She went into the back parlor, sat at her desk, and started writing a note to Major Kurland. She paused, holding her pen up as she considered exactly how to convey her meaning without sending him into one of his protective frenzies. She was fairly certain that whatever occurred regarding Mr. Thurrock, and his nocturnal wanderings, she would not be following him alone.