Death Comes to the Fair

by Catherine Lloyd

  She clenched her hands together in her lap so hard her nails bit into her palms. “Most people don’t matter. You know Major Kurland better than that. You know me.”

  “You have put me in a very difficult position, Lucy. I am the rector! I am supposed to be the spiritual leader of this community, and my behavior, and that of my family, is supposed to be above reproach!”

  She raised her chin. “Then as I have done nothing wrong, you have nothing to hide, and nothing to worry about.”

  “I am writing to your aunt. She will expect an explanation as to why I am canceling your London wedding. What do you think I should say to her?”

  “That I have changed my mind, and wish to be married at Kurland St. Mary church after all? It is the truth. I have been meaning to discuss the matter with you for weeks.”

  He sighed. “It will do as an excuse, I suppose. You must write to her yourself. She is most unhappy with your recent silence.”

  “I will certainly do so.” She hesitated. “Will you marry us here?”

  He looked at her over his spectacles. “You assume Major Kurland still wishes to marry you after your appalling behavior?”

  She took a deep, steadying breath. “I would hope so seeing as he is partly responsible for getting me into all this trouble in the first place.”

  “You should not have been out at night, Lucy. You were completely at fault. It is lucky that Major Kurland is prepared to overlook your forward and improper behavior, and still wishes to marry you.”

  Wisely, Lucy bit back all the things she wanted to say to that particular remark, and even managed to smile through her teeth. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “I will be posting the banns on Sunday. You and Major Kurland will be present at the service.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “You will also not step foot outside this house unless you are accompanied by me, Miss Chingford, or your maid. There will be no more impropriety. Do you understand me?”

  She curtsied. “Yes, Father.”

  “And you will not disgrace me in any way in the next three weeks until you are safely off my hands and become Major Kurland’s responsibility.”

  “I will certainly try to behave myself. May I go now?”

  He waved her away. “Yes, go and find something useful to do within the house, and without the assistance of Major Kurland.”

  “I will make a start on the laundry. That will keep me occupied all day.”

  She escaped the study smiling as she shut the door. Despite her father’s annoyance, and the apparent “slur” on her good reputation, she had actually achieved her aim of avoiding a London marriage. She almost skipped along to the back parlor to write her dutiful letter of apology to her aunt. She could only hope her father had delivered the news of the rapidly approaching nuptials to Major Kurland. As he had been agitating for a quick wedding for weeks she assumed he would be pleased—unless he took umbrage at her father dictating his life for him?

  Pushing that thought aside, she sat down and drew out a piece of paper. She’d write to Aunt Jane and Anna, and then decide how on earth she was going to persuade Penelope to accompany her to Kurland Hall. Despite everything her father had said she still needed to talk to Major Kurland as soon as possible.

  * * *

  As usual, the Turner cottage looked deserted. Robert told Reg to wait, climbed down, and made his slow way around the side of the house to the back door. Washing flapped in the chill breeze, but there was little sunlight to dry the heavy linens. Did the Turner sisters even have a maid of work? He didn’t think he’d ever seen one. He rapped on the door with the head of his cane and waited for what seemed like a very long time for someone to answer his summons.

  It was Miss Grace Turner who finally opened the door. She looked as if she had just woken up from a long slumber, and yawned behind her hand as she surveyed her visitor.

  “Major Kurland. Whatever do you want at this hour? My sister is still asleep.”

  “I wish to have a word with you about the death of Mr. Thurrock.”

  She patted her hair. “We told you everything we could. Unless you are here to force us to testify in court, there is nothing we need to talk about.”

  Robert held his ground. “I’m not speaking about Mr. Ezekiel Thurrock. I’m here about his brother.”

  “What about him?” She seemed genuinely puzzled.

  “He is dead.”

  Her hand crept over her mouth and her eyes grew wide. “Dead?” she whispered. “When?”

  “May I come inside and discuss this? It is remarkably chilly out here.”

  She glanced behind her, then stood back. “Yes, please . . . come in.”

  He followed her into the kitchen, and when she sank down into one of the chairs at the table, he followed suit. A large black cat jumped off the stove and came toward him, rubbed its head against his leg and purred.

  “It is strange that Angus seems to like you,” Miss Grace commented. “You would think he would have better taste.”

  Robert reached a hand down to pet the cat. “I like all animals, Miss Grace. And I can assure you I mean you no harm.”

  She sniffed. “I don’t believe that for a second. You wouldn’t have come here unless you had questions about Mr. Nathaniel Thurrock’s ‘supposed’ demise.”

  “I can assure you that he is very dead. His body lies at Dr. Fletcher’s house in Kurland St. Mary.”

  “I suppose you think I should feel sorry for him, but I don’t.”

  “Seeing as you were supposedly helping him find the lost treasure of Kurland St. Anne Priory I would have imagined you to be more upset than you are.”

  “What lost treasure?” Miss Grace asked, her attention fixed on the cat.

  “Come now, Miss Grace. I am not a fool and neither are you. Mr. Thurrock was determined to prove ownership of the strip of land between my Home Farm and Mr. Mallard’s property where the ruins of the priory stand. You and your sister gave him a map of the place.”

  “Oh, that.” Miss Grace bit her lip. “He was so convinced there was treasure out there that I drew him a map of the original buildings, pointing out several places where such a treasure might have been concealed.”

  “Are you saying the map wasn’t real?”

  “It was real in the sense that it showed where the buildings had been, but as there is no treasure, how could I possibly mark it for him?” She looked up from petting the cat. “It was a joke, Major Kurland, mayhap a cruel one. Like all the Thurrocks, he refused to listen to our advice, and insisted he was right, so what harm could it do to let him search?”

  Robert considered how to answer her, noting her pallor, stiff posture, and general air of unease. She was lying about something, but he wasn’t quite sure what it was—yet.

  “I see. There is one more thing you can perhaps help me with, Miss Turner.” He reached into his pocket, took out his handkerchief, and unknotted it to reveal the black pouch of the still sealed charm.

  Miss Turner gasped. “Where did you get that?”

  “Where do you think?”

  She didn’t say anything, but leaned closer to examine the foul-smelling bundle he placed on the table.

  “You haven’t opened it?”

  “No, it wasn’t my right to do so. I wanted to see what you and your sister would make of it.”

  She slid the handkerchief closer toward herself and untied the twine, her fingers trembling. As she slowly revealed the contents, Robert felt that coldness gather at the back of his neck again like a warning.

  “A rusted nail, a stub of black candle, and various dried herbs,” Robert said. “Identical to the contents of the other pouch.”

  “I would have to agree—except for one thing.”

  “What is it?”

  She took a deep breath. “I recognize this one.”

  “You do?” Robert asked softly. “Why?”

  “Because I made it.”

  Robert held her gaze. “And ill-wished Mr. Nathaniel Thurro
ck to death?”

  “No!” She pushed the pouch away. “I didn’t make it for him.”

  “You made it for someone who wanted to see him dead.”

  “I did not!”

  “Then who?”

  She sighed. “Whatever I say you aren’t going to believe me, are you? I suppose you’ll suggest I killed him next.”

  “Did you? I understand that both you and your sister were out last night.”

  She shot to her feet. “Who told you that?”

  “It hardly matters, does it?”

  “It does if you have been spying on us!”

  “Whatever is going on in here? Grace, why are you shouting?”

  The kitchen door opened and Miss Abigail Turner came in. She wore a pretty lace cap on her head and a soft yellow gown that looked well washed.

  Robert stood and bowed. “I do apologize for the disturbance, Miss Turner.”

  Miss Grace spun around to face her sister. “He’s accusing me of murdering Mr. Nathaniel Thurrock!”

  “Nathaniel?” Miss Abigail sank into the nearest seat, her hand clasped to her bosom. “What happened?”

  “He died last night, Miss Abigail.” Robert pointed at the table. “This ill-wish was found amongst his clothing.”

  “Major Kurland assumes I must have been involved in killing him seeing as I admitted to making that charm.”

  Her sister peered at the contents of the pouch. “It does look like your work, dear.”

  “I haven’t denied that it is mine.”

  “And yet you wonder why I think you might have been involved,” Robert murmured.

  She met his gaze head-on. “You do realize what is happening here, Major, don’t you? Someone is trying to incriminate us.”

  “Who would do that, and why?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time a Thurrock has threatened a Turner.”

  “I doubt Mr. Thurrock would have gone quite that far to make a point, do you?” He sat back. “If you can vouch for your whereabouts last night that would be a start.”

  She smiled. “I can do that quite easily, Major Kurland. Abigail and I were at the Mallards celebrating Jim’s birthday. Please go ahead and ask them if you don’t believe me.”

  * * *

  “I am quite aware of what you want me to do, Lucy. I’m just not sure if I wish to enrage the rector and do it.” Penelope folded her hands in her lap in a saintly manner that was quite infuriating. “And I cannot afford to annoy the rector in case he withdraws his support for my marriage.”

  “All I need you to do is accompany me to Kurland Hall,” Lucy said. “Surely there is no harm in that?”

  “You want to see Major Kurland, and you have been expressly forbidden to do so by your father. He even announced it at breakfast!”

  “I have not been forbidden to see him. If I have a chaperone I am perfectly fine.”

  “But I know what will happen when we get there. You’ll wander off with Major Kurland and I’ll be left alone. And if I’m called to account by the rector, I cannot lie.”

  “Penelope, if you won’t help me, think about how supportive Major Kurland is being to Dr. Fletcher and do it for him.”

  “Major Kurland might not wish to speak to you, Lucy. He might have decided to heed your father’s warnings and behave himself. Have you thought of that?”

  Lucy glared at Penelope. “What can I do to convince you to support me?”

  “There is something. . . .”

  “What? Name your price.”

  “Your best gown. The ice-blue satin one.”

  “What about it?”

  “I want to use it for my wedding dress.”

  Lucy pretended to think it over. “You know that is my favorite gown, and the one Major Kurland most admires?”

  “But, you have to admit it would look so much more fetching on me.”

  That was unfortunately true.

  Lucy heaved a sigh. “All right. If you will accompany me to Kurland Hall this afternoon, I will let you have it for your wedding day.”

  Penelope stood up. “I am so glad you came around to my way of thinking.”

  “You are most welcome.”

  “I’ll be ready to leave at two o’clock.”

  Penelope left, positively glowing with her victory, and Lucy contemplated the rapidly depleting contents of her wardrobe. She hadn’t even considered what she would be wearing for her own approaching wedding. Perhaps she might ask Anna to bring something with her from London. It was possible that her aunt had already started receiving her bride clothes, and she might as well get the best use out of them even if they wouldn’t be worn in high society.

  It was almost an hour before the midday meal and Lucy intended to use her time wisely. She set off for Mr. Thurrock’s bedchamber and went inside, locking the door behind her. Since Maisey’s last attempt at cleaning, the room was not in a bad state; the bed was made and there was nothing on the floor.

  Lucy started with the wardrobe, taking out Mr. Thurrock’s clothing and placing it neatly on the counterpane. She also turned out the drawers of the tallboy and the chest. There was nothing of interest in his pockets or hidden anywhere, which was slightly disappointing. But it already seemed clear from the letter she had read the previous day that Mr. Thurrock had gone out treasure seeking at the priory using a map given to him by the Turner sisters. What had happened after that, no one knew.

  After completing her task, she then turned her attention to the dressing table and gathered up Mr. Thurrock’s hairbrush, cuff links, cravat pins, and the pungent oil he used for his hair. There was a leather purse in the drawer containing a few banknotes and various coins.

  That just left the desk, where Maisey had carefully stacked his sketching book, pens, and other historical texts relating to the area that Mr. Thurrock had borrowed from her father’s extensive library. She sorted out the books that needed to be returned to the study and kept the sketchbook for further examination. It seemed clear now that Nathaniel’s drawings might confirm where his interests had lain. They might also hold clues to exactly whose lands he had been on, and who might have seen him there.

  Lucy sat at the desk, the sketchbook on her knee, and took her time flipping slowly through the pages.

  By the time Betty rang the bell for luncheon, she had a fairly good notion of all the places Nathaniel had visited, and some sense of what he’d been trying to record in his sketches. But there was nothing to help her decide whether anyone else had influenced his decision to search for treasure in the dead of night except for the Turners.

  She didn’t want them to be held responsible for luring Mr. Thurrock to his death, but what other conclusion could she arrive at? With a heavy heart, she closed the book, placed it back on the desk, and went down the stairs.

  * * *

  “Miss Harrington and Miss Penelope Chingford to see you, sir,” Foley said. “Shall I bring them to your study, or do you wish me to take a tray of tea to the drawing room?”

  “Miss Harrington is here?”

  “I know, sir. I must confess, I was quite surprised to see her out and about myself, but she has no reason to fear coming here, does she? No one will gossip about her at the manor seeing as she’s going to be the first Lady Kurland.”

  Robert took off his spectacles. “What gossip?”

  Foley paused somewhat dramatically. “It’s all over the village, sir, that she was out late at night, begging your pardon, with you, sir.”

  “Damnation. That didn’t take long,” Robert muttered. “I’ll come to the drawing room.”

  “Are you sure, sir? Dr. Fletcher was most insistent that you stay off that ankle.”

  “Dr. Fletcher can go hang himself.” Foley looked reproachful as Robert limped past him. “Bring the tea and something stronger for me, will you?”

  “If I must, sir.”

  He was in pain, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him seeing Miss Harrington. They had much to discuss.

  She was standing look
ing out of the window with Miss Chingford, who wore a dashing hat with a feather in it and a green patterned dress that looked somewhat familiar. He turned his gaze to his betrothed, who wore brown and had braided her hair up into a severe coronet on top of her head. She looked rather fraught, which was hardly surprising.

  “Miss Harrington, Miss Chingford.” He bowed. “I did not expect to have visitors today, but you are both more than welcome.”

  Miss Chingford nodded. “You are limping quite badly. Did you injure your leg again, Major Kurland?”

  “I slightly damaged my ankle, yes.” He gestured at the chairs closest to the fire. “Please sit down and make yourselves comfortable.”

  Foley bustled in with the tea tray followed by the housekeeper, Mrs. Bloomfield, bringing a variety of cakes and buns. Robert came to sit opposite the ladies, and downed the large glass of brandy Foley offered him in one long swallow.

  As soon as Foley and Mrs. Bloomfield departed, Miss Chingford put down her cup and saucer and stood up.

  “I am going to look at the picture gallery. I shall return in half an hour.”

  Miss Harrington looked up at her. “Thank you.”

  Robert waited until the door shut behind her and shifted seats until he was next to Miss Harrington. He took her hand in his.

  “You should not have come. I intended to visit you at the rectory.”

  “Where my father would be listening to every word you uttered? This is much better—even if it does mean I had to give away my best gown.”

  “To Miss Chingford?”

  “That was her price to act as my chaperone.”

  He squeezed her hand. “I’ll make it up to you when we are married. Your dress allowance will make her swoon with envy.”

  A reluctant chuckle came from his betrothed, which made him smile and feel much better.

  “We will have to speak quickly. Did you find out how Mr. Thurrock died?”

  “Dr. Fletcher says it was chronic heart failure,” Robert said.

  “So, another perfectly reasonable way to die.”

  “Yes—apart from the fact that I found an ill-wish in his pocket.”

  She gasped. “The same kind as you discovered on his brother?”

  “For all intents and purposes, yes, but when I confronted the Turner sisters about the charm, Miss Grace Turner claimed she made it, but that it wasn’t intended for Mr. Thurrock. I can’t say I believe her.” He sighed. “I was angry, Miss Harrington. I went and demanded answers. I should have waited until I had spoken to you.”