Death Comes to the Fair

by Catherine Lloyd

  “Thank you.”

  Lucy wrapped herself in a blanket and sat beside the fire waiting until the door closed before she covered her face with her hands. Of all the unfortunate circumstances! Why on earth had Maisey gone and woken her father?

  She slowly raised her head. And why was Maisey up at this hour anyway? She was also fully dressed.

  Within minutes Maisey returned with a jug of water, which she poured into the basin on Lucy’s dressing table.

  “I’d already made the rector a cuppa while we were waiting, so the water was still nice and hot.”

  “Maisey . . . why did you decide to wake the rector?”

  The maid looked down at the floor. “Um, I was looking for Mrs. Fielding, miss.”

  “Ah.” Lucy took a deep breath and studied her muddied face in the mirror. “I really do look as if I’ve been dragged through a hedge backward.”

  “Yes, you do, miss.” Maisey handed her a washcloth. “Do you want me to make a start on your hair? It looks like a bird’s nest.”

  “You might as well. Did my father ask that I join him in his study?”

  “No, miss. He said I should help you to bed. He’s talking to the major.” Maisey started removing the remaining pins from Lucy’s hair. “Well, shouting might best describe it, seeing as I could hear him in the kitchen.”

  “Dear God,” Lucy breathed. “I really should be there. It isn’t fair for Major Kurland to take all the blame.”

  “Yes, it is, miss. He’s the one who’s ruined you.”

  “I’m engaged to be married to him; I’m hardly ruined.”

  Maisey picked up the hairbrush. “Depends, doesn’t it? Is he the kind of man who runs off once he’s got what he wanted?”

  Lucy frowned. “What?”

  “You know what I mean, miss, like if he’s sampled the milk before he’s bought the cow.”

  “He did not—” Lucy looked over her shoulder at Maisey. “Major Kurland is a gentleman!”

  Maisey shrugged. “I’m only saying what everyone in the village will be saying while they glance at your belly to see if you’re breeding.”

  “If we all keep quiet about it no one will know.”

  “Good luck with that, miss. People love to gossip around here.”

  Lucy finished washing her face and started on her hands. “I must go down and speak to my father.”

  “No point doing that, is there? Better wait until he calms down. You know what men are like.” Maisey continued brushing out the tangles. “The major’s probably gone on home, and the rector’s ready for his bed.”

  “Major Kurland has already left?”

  Maisey put down the brush. “I’ll go and see, shall I?”

  Less than a minute passed before she returned.

  “I just saw him leave, miss. He looked very thoughtful.”

  Lucy subsided into her chair. It seemed that whatever had happened between her father and her betrothed she would be the last to know. She’d witnessed so many fantastical things that night that she was beginning to doubt herself, and wanted Major Kurland’s calm no-nonsense evaluation of what she had seen. And now because of stupid conventions she was unable to talk to him at all or even know how matters stood between him and her father.

  “Miss Harrington?”

  “Yes, Maisey?”

  “If you and the major weren’t off together doing that, then why were you out with him in the middle of the night?”

  Lucy yawned so hard her jaw cracked. “That is an excellent question. I only wish I had an answer for you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean, miss?” Maisey braided Lucy’s hair and tied off the ends.

  Lucy stood up and retrieved her nightgown, which was airing in front of the fire. “Thank you for your help, Maisey. Are you going back to bed, or had you just woken up?”

  Maisey glanced down at her dress and apron. “I got dressed when I had to go and find Mrs. Fielding. Didn’t want the rector seeing me in my night things. It wouldn’t be proper.”

  Lucy pulled the warm linen nightgown over her head. “And how did you know I wasn’t in my room?”

  “Because I saw you going out earlier, and I got worried when you didn’t return.”

  “I appreciate your concern for me, Maisey,” Lucy said.

  The maid shrugged and turned to the door. “Good night, Miss Harrington.”

  “Good night.”

  Lucy rubbed at her eyes. There were too many unanswered questions swirling around in her head, but she was far too tired to deal with any of them. She could only hope that a few hours’ sleep would restore her equilibrium and make her capable of sorting the truth from the lies.

  Chapter 15

  “I think his heart failed.”

  “And?” Robert motioned for the doctor to continue talking. They were sitting in the kitchen of Patrick’s pleasant house sharing a cup of coffee and some of the excellent bread from the village bakery. Robert had slept for only four hours before heading out to see his friend before he commenced his rounds.

  “And what?”

  “There must be more to it than that.”

  “Why? He was overweight, of a choleric disposition, and clearly unwell. Traipsing around the countryside at night over such rough terrain was a foolish thing for a man of his age to attempt.”

  “But he looked . . . terrified when I found him.”

  “Wouldn’t you feel terrified if you were suddenly in agony?” Patrick finished his coffee. “Do you assume every death is now a murder, Major?”

  “No, I just assumed—”

  “Then don’t. You aren’t a medical man. He died of natural causes in an odd situation.”

  “Have you examined him thoroughly?”

  “I see that you are in one of your more dictatorial moods today.” Patrick rose and put his coat on. “Why don’t you come and see for yourself?”

  Robert swallowed the rest of his coffee and followed Patrick into the back of the house, where the corpse lay covered on a large marble slab the doctor had purchased from an old butcher’s shop. He drew down the sheet to expose the motionless body.

  “There are no marks on him—apart from the odd bruise, which I assume he gained after stumbling around in the dark.”

  “No signs that anyone grabbed hold of him?” Robert peered at Mr. Thurrock’s plump wrists and upper arms. “No cuts to his neck or face?”

  “None at all.”

  Robert stepped back. “Mayhap you are right. He was out there for hours; he probably lost his way and panicked, bringing on the heart failure.”

  “Probably.” Patrick re-covered the body. “His personal effects are over there. I haven’t looked through them yet.”

  Robert crossed to the chair and picked up Mr. Thurrock’s crumpled cravat, moving it to one side so he could check the pockets of his muddied breeches. After refolding them he turned his attention to the linen shirt, and the dark brown coat with brass embellished buttons.

  He frowned as he drew out a pocket watch, a small knife, and a handkerchief.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” He had no intention of discussing the implications of what he wasn’t finding with the good doctor.

  He dug his hand into the second pocket, felt more fabric and a twist of string, and took it out, weighing the bundle in his hand as his stomach tensed.

  “Good Lord.” Patrick came closer. “Where did you find that?”

  “In his coat pocket.”

  “It looks just like the one we found on his brother.”

  Robert looked down at the innocuous piss-smelling bundle. “Yes, it does. One has to assume that the Thurrocks must be the unluckiest family in England.”

  * * *

  Deep in thought, Robert climbed into his gig, and told Reg to drive him to the Pethridges. He hoped Mr. Pethridge would be home so that he could ensure Martin kept quiet about his night’s work. His ankle was painful, but compared to the agony he’d gone through with his hip and thigh, it was m
ore than bearable. As they drove out of the village past the rectory he looked up at Miss Harrington’s bedroom window and hoped she had the sense to stay at home for the day and recuperate.

  If the rector had anything to do with it, seeing her alone was going to be quite impossible for the next three weeks. Had he told his daughter that she was going to be married in Kurland St. Mary? And if so, how had she responded?

  His own pleasure at the thought of finally being married dissipated as he imagined Miss Harrington’s reaction. Surely she would be pleased not to have to go to London? She had intimated as much to him, but you never knew with women. They did have an infuriating ability to change their minds.

  The gig drew up in the farmyard beside the Pethridge house, and Robert got down, wincing as his booted left heel hit the cobblestones. Hens wandered around picking at the odd piece of scattered grain, and in the garden a line of white sheets flapped in the breeze. Smoke rose from the chimney of the main house, reminding him of the fire Miss Harrington had gone to investigate that they had not had time to discuss.

  He had to see her. . . .

  “Major Kurland! Come in, sir.” Mr. Pethridge emerged from the barn and came toward him, his expression troubled. “I was just about to come up to the house and see you.”

  “Thank you.” He entered through the stone vaulted front door, taking off his hat and gloves, appreciating the warmth.

  Mr. Pethridge took him through to the parlor and crouched in front of the fire to kindle the wood. “Won’t take but a moment to warm up in here, sir. The walls are so thick they keep the heat all night.”

  Robert sat down and rested his cane by his side, then gingerly raised his booted left foot to rest on the hearth.

  “Would you like some tea, sir?”

  “That would be much appreciated.”

  “I’ll go and find Mrs. Pethridge and make sure Reg keeps warm in the kitchen as well.”

  When Mr. Pethridge returned, he took the seat opposite Robert and placed his hands on his widespread knees.

  “I am sorry I was not here last night to aid you, sir.”

  “Martin was very helpful.” Robert hesitated. “Did he tell you about Mr. Thurrock?”

  “That he was dead? Aye.” Mr. Pethridge shook his head. “I can’t say I liked the man—what with all his interfering questions, and him being a Thurrock—but dying out there in the dark? Not the way I’d like to end my life.”

  “Did Mr. Nathaniel Thurrock come here and ask you about his old family land at any time?”

  “Once. Upset my wife, so I sent him on his way with a flea in his ear, begging your pardon, sir, seeing as he’s dead, but he was up to no good that I could see, stirring up the past.”

  Robert attempted to disentangle the rambling sentence. “I know that he bothered Jim Mallard as well.”

  “Of course he did, sir. The Thurrocks have never lived happily with their neighbors. Jim was right furious with him when—” He looked up as the door opened. “Here’s Mrs. Pethridge with the tea.”

  “Good morning, Major Kurland.” She gestured at his foot. “Don’t get up, sir, I can see that you are injured.”

  “It’s just my ankle.” He forced a smile. “That will teach me to stumble around in the dark looking for our lost guest.”

  “Is that what you and Miss Harrington were doing out there?” she asked as she passed him a cup of tea. “Martin said Miss Harrington looked quite distressed when she arrived at the farm at some ungodly hour this morning.”

  Robert held her gaze. “I would appreciate it if you could help me keep Miss Harrington’s name out of all this. She was only trying to help find Mr. Thurrock and ended up having to rescue me, and find a way to transport a corpse out of a rocky field.”

  Mrs. Pethridge pressed her lips together. “As you wish, Major.”

  He had a sense that she was dying to ask a hundred more questions and could only hope she would keep them to herself. He sipped at his tea.

  “Do you want to speak to Martin, Major?” Mr. Pethridge asked.

  “No, I thanked him for his help last night, and asked him to keep the matter to himself. I only wanted to repeat my thanks to you both and ask that you attempt to be discreet. Not for my benefit but for Mr. Thurrock and Miss Harrington.”

  Mr. Pethridge frowned. “Martin’s only a young lad, and he can be both forgetful and boastful when he’s been down to the Queen’s Head for a tankard of ale. He won’t be missing a Thurrock. But I’ll remind him that his loyalty is to you and the estate.”

  “I’d appreciate that.” Robert finished his tea. “Thank you for your hospitality, and unless there is anything else we need to discuss, I’d better be on my way.” He rose slowly using his cane to distribute his weight.

  Mrs. Pethridge touched his sleeve. “I have a lovely soothing salve to put on your ankle, Major Kurland. Let me just fetch you some.”

  She left and Mr. Pethridge smiled at Robert. “She’s a wonder with all her herbs and such. It’s not surprising really, being as she comes from a family of healers.”

  “And very useful for a mother and a farmer’s wife, I’ll wager.” Robert made his way back to the front door. “Thank you again.”

  As he approached the gig, Reg emerged from the kitchen clutching a clay pot. “Mrs. Pethridge says smooth it on your ankle before you bandage it up.”

  Robert took the small pot and put it in his capacious coat pocket. Reg helped him mount the step into the gig, and then Reg settled himself in the driver’s seat.

  Within moments they were moving down the lane toward the main road that led to Kurland St. Anne. As they neared the church, Robert tapped Reg on the shoulder.

  “Pull over beside the gate to the field.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Robert got down and contemplated the barren field in front of him. He didn’t particularly want to walk half a mile out to the site of the old priory, but he had the sense that if he didn’t survey the area before it rained, things might be lost.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He unlatched the gate, making sure to close it carefully behind him.

  “All right, sir.” Reg chewed a piece of straw and settled himself comfortably in his seat.

  Anyone else would have been telling Robert to sit down and mind his strength. As he walked he fought a smile as he wondered how many hours would have to pass before Reg would stir himself enough to worry that his employer might have gotten lost.

  It was easier in the daylight to plan his route in a straighter line. Eventually, he reached the ruins where he had located Mr. Thurrock the previous night. He spent a short while walking around the space looking to see what he could find. The area was surprisingly clean. Robert frowned. Had Mr. Thurrock been the one to bring a lantern out with him? And if so, how had it ended up attached to a sheep?

  He wasn’t even aware that his sheep were supposed to be grazing on this disputed parcel of land, but it certainly was ideal for them. There hadn’t been a tinderbox in Mr. Thurrock’s pockets or even a stub of candle. Had the city-born man not anticipated how dark a night in the countryside was? But if he’d brought no means to light a lantern he couldn’t have been responsible for the light. Robert walked another slow circle looking for evidence of candle wax or any disturbance in the rock or soil, and found nothing.

  A cold wind ripped through the remaining walls, whistling derisively at his efforts, and he turned to leave, his glance fixing on the actual spot where Mr. Thurrock had been sitting. He stopped and, with some difficulty, crouched down on the uneven stone floor.

  There.

  Scratched into the wall were some symbols, one of which was definitely the same weighing scales Miss Harrington had suggested had something to do with justice. Robert considered the crude signs. If anyone wanted the Thurrocks dead because of the disputed land surely it would be him. Was that what people might think if he had to go to court to deal with the Thurrock solicitors over the missing deed of sale?

  But after his experienc
es during the war he had no desire to kill another human being ever again, and he truly believed once his land agent sorted out the legalities his father would be vindicated by law. But did someone want everyone to think he had done away with the Thurrocks?

  He slowly straightened and looked out over the fields to the Mallard place. Jim didn’t like the Thurrocks, and neither did the Pethridge family, but would they kill over such an ancient feud?

  “I am starting to imagine things,” Robert muttered to himself as he walked back toward the gig. “I have spent too much time with Miss Harrington. As Patrick said, both the Thurrocks died because of unfortunate accidents. Ezekiel because a stone dislodged during a storm and fell on him, and Nathaniel because he had heart failure after becoming lost and disorientated.”

  He stomped down the hill, and into the ploughed fallow field, the ache in his ankle intensifying with every step.

  Devil take the logical explanation.

  For once he was on Miss Harrington’s side.

  None of this made sense, and that made him angry.

  * * *

  “Ah, Lucy. Come in.”

  Lucy advanced into her father’s study and sat down in front of his desk.

  “I suppose you wish me to explain what I was doing out at night, Father?”

  He regarded her impassively. “I assume you were searching for Mr. Thurrock, who hadn’t returned home.”

  She let out her breath. “That was exactly what I was doing. I’m so glad you understand. I was worried that—”

  He spoke over her. “That is the story that I shall tell anyone who dares to ask me about it. I am very disappointed in you, Lucy. Very disappointed indeed.”

  “I never meant to displease you, sir.”

  “I warned you about gallivanting around unchaperoned with Major Kurland and you chose to ignore me. If you were concerned about the whereabouts of Mr. Thurrock, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You are right, I should have done that, sir.”

  “Instead I am woken up by the kitchen maid and forced out of bed to await my oldest daughter’s return with her paramour.”

  “Paramour? Don’t you mean my betrothed?”

  He glowered at her. “Most people will consider you despoiled by this.”