Death Comes to the Fair

by Catherine Lloyd

  “Did Miss Grace tell you who she made the charm for?”

  “Of course not. By that point she was far too cross with me. She did tell me that the ‘map’ of the priory treasure was meant as a joke to stop Mr. Thurrock bothering them with questions.”

  “A joke?” Miss Harrington shook her head. “A jest that might have gone sour when the unlucky Mr. Thurrock ended up dead.”

  “But there is no evidence to show the Turners caused Mr. Thurrock’s death. Dr. Fletcher said he could’ve died at any time from his condition.”

  “But encouraging him to scramble around a ruined priory in the dark is hardly helpful, and could even be described as malicious. I can’t believe Grace Turner did that.”

  “Mayhap they didn’t know he’d be foolish enough to go out at night.”

  “He wrote and told them what he was going to do. They knew.” She sipped her tea. “As the local magistrate, can you build a case against them?”

  “I doubt it, seeing as they also had a very good alibi as to where they were when Mr. Thurrock was stumbling around those ruins.”

  Miss Harrington sat up straight. “Where exactly were they?”

  “At the Mallards apparently. Why?”

  She met his gaze. “Because I haven’t yet told you what else I saw when we were searching for Mr. Thurrock.”

  * * *

  “But that is quite . . . fantastical.”

  Lucy nodded. “I am aware of that.”

  “Strange figures dancing around a fire at the top of a hill.” Major Kurland slowly shook his head. “Are you quite certain what you saw?”

  “I . . . think so. As I said, the smoke was rather disorientating, and at one point I think I must have gone to sleep, because when I opened my eyes the fire was out, and the dancers had all gone.”

  “I did wonder where you’d gotten to. By my guess you were gone for over an hour.”

  “And yet it felt as if I had just closed my eyes and breathed out.” Lucy shivered. “It was the strangest sensation. You do believe me?”

  “You are hardly a liar, Miss Harrington. I might not like what you are telling me but I cannot deny what you saw.”

  “Maybe it was the dancers who left the lantern with the sheep to distract people from what was really going on.”

  “That’s possible—although they did have a fire up there, which hardly means they were attempting to be invisible.”

  Lucy paused. “Or maybe the light was to distract Mr. Thurrock and keep him occupied.”

  “While he searched hopelessly for the treasure?” Major Kurland sat back. “That is also a possibility. Someone must have been aware of his presence because I couldn’t find the map he supposedly carried, on the body or at the priory.”

  “Then all we have to do is find out if the Turners were up on the hill last night,” Lucy said determinedly.

  “They claim they were at the Mallards.”

  “Which is quite easy to confirm.”

  Major Kurland nodded. “I can definitely do that. Is there anything else we need to discuss before Miss Chingford descends upon us again?”

  “I am reading through Mr. Thurrock’s sketchbook, and I have the transcribed letters written by the Kurland twins. Do you want to see them?”

  “I have the original letters. I would be interested in seeing the sketchbook when you are finished with it. How about I call at the rectory tomorrow, and you can give it to me then?”

  “Agreed.”

  Lucy hesitated. “Did my father say anything to you about our marriage?”

  The major winced. “He had plenty to say about my character and failings as a gentleman and a future husband, I can tell you that. He kept suggesting that your reputation was ruined, which I found remarkably annoying seeing as you were in my care and on Kurland land.”

  “And I am not a child but a fully functioning adult who is quite capable of taking care of myself.”

  “Exactly. In truth, if you hadn’t have been there both myself and Mr. Thurrock would’ve been stuck out in the fields all night. I told him that as well.”

  She smiled at him, and he brought her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers.

  The clock on the mantelpiece chimed the half hour, and the door opened to admit Miss Chingford. She glanced at their joined hands and looked pointedly at the time.

  “We must be going, Lucy. Thank you so much for your hospitality, Major.”

  Major Kurland rose to his feet with some difficulty and limped over to Miss Chingford’s side. “Thank you for your understanding. It is much appreciated.”

  She sniffed. “I do owe you my thanks for helping Patrick, but do not expect my tolerance to extend too far.”

  “I would never be guilty of doing that.” Major Kurland bowed. “Good afternoon, Miss Chingford, Miss Harrington.”

  Chapter 16

  “So I think we should postpone Mr. Ezekiel’s funeral for a few days while we dig another grave for his brother.” Lucy’s father looked up from his breakfast plate. “Lucy, can you write to the Thurrock solicitor, and anyone else who was expected to attend the funeral on Friday, and advise them of the delay?”

  “Yes, Father. I have also written to Aunt Jane and Anna, so I can post all the necessary letters today—if you are agreeable to me walking down to the Queen’s Head to engage a messenger boy.”

  He frowned. “As long as you are adequately chaperoned, my dear, I am happy for you to be out and about.”

  “I also heard there are three Romany families camping down by the stream. I intend to visit them as well.”

  “Our usual visitors?” For once her father looked interested. “If old Horatio is with them, send him up to see Harris at my stables. That man is a genius with horseflesh. I’d value his opinion on my new hunter.”

  “I’ll certainly ask him if he is there, Father.”

  “Thank you.”

  Lucy finished her breakfast and supervised Maisey as she cleared the table. She’d already anticipated her father’s request, and had spent most of the previous evening writing letters to the Thurrock connections. She doubted Nathaniel would wish to be buried in Kurland St. Anne, but unless she heard otherwise it seemed the most sensible thing to do. She followed Maisey into the kitchen, where Betty was washing up and Mrs. Fielding was cutting up a newly killed chicken.

  “Betty? I will need you to accompany me to the Queen’s Head, and then on to the Romany camp. Can you make sure my basket is full of the usual supplies?”

  “Yes, miss. I’ve just got this washing up to finish, and I’ll be ready.”

  Mrs. Fielding looked up, the butcher’s knife poised in her hand. “I’ll need her back to help with dinner, Miss Harrington.”

  “Of course.” Lucy wasn’t prepared to waste any more words than were necessary on the cook.

  “Ooh, can I come, miss?” Maisey asked. “I used to go and see the Romany families with my mother, and—”

  “That’s enough, Maisey,” Mrs. Fielding intervened sharply. “You are needed in the kitchen.”

  Lucy ignored her and focused instead on Maisey. “Your mother associated with the Romany families? Most of the people around here call them thieves and beggars, and insist they move on.”

  “Not my family, miss. They are great healers, and my mother loved to talk to them, share recipes, and herbal cures, and—”

  “Maisey, get on with your work!” Mrs. Fielding rounded on her kitchen maid. “You are delaying Miss Harrington with your chatter.”

  Maisey’s face fell. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Fielding.”

  Lucy left the kitchen, wondering why the cook, who was normally so reluctant to scold her new kitchen maid, had reprimanded Maisey and inadvertently stood up for Lucy. It made no sense. Unless Mrs. Fielding had attempted to persuade the rector to support Maisey against Lucy and had come up against his obstinate disinclination for his peace to be disturbed.

  She put on her bonnet, found her gloves and pelisse, and went back down to the parlor to wait for Betty. T
he book of letters written by the Kurland twins sat on top of her mending basket, so she whiled away the minutes reading about the increasingly chaotic events described in the letters.

  Crops were ruined, livestock was taken away and never paid for, and both armies removed the best of the Kurland stables. In short, the estate was in disarray, as was most of the country. Lucy’s eyes were just about crossing when she came across an all too familiar name, and read the sentence out loud.

  “ ‘Ezekiel Thurrock and his new wife appeared at the manor house today asking if they might purchase the piece of land on which the old priory stands. I know not where they might find the funds, but our coffers would certainly benefit from their financial contribution. I know you do not like to sell off Kurland land, but please think about it, my dearest brother.’ ”

  Lucy marked the place in the book and sat back. Her intuition as to a connection between the Thurrocks and the Kurlands had been correct. She couldn’t wait to read more about the matter. Had Major Kurland also seen the account in the original letters? She must ask him.

  A tap on the door made her set the book aside as Betty popped her head around the door.

  “I’m ready to accompany you, Miss Harrington.”

  They completed their business at the Queen’s Head and carried on walking out of the village and down the hill toward the stream that ran along the edge of the fields. It was a tributary of the river that connected with the series of drainage ditches Major Kurland was currently improving, or digging, on his land.

  In the shade of a copse of oak trees stood three Romany caravans. A fire burned in front of one of them and several figures sat around the blaze. The horses grazed contentedly near the bank of the stream. Dogs barked a warning as Lucy and Betty came down the path and ran toward them accompanied by several children aged from just walking to the almost grown.

  “Miss Harrington!” one of the little girls shouted out, her smile brilliant. “You’re here!”

  “Yes, it’s me, Zenna. Is your mother here?”

  “Yes, miss.” Zenna took her hand, shoving at the milling dogs to get them to move out of the way. “She’s feeding the new baby. It’s a boy.”

  “How lovely.” Lucy allowed herself to be towed along, hoping there was nothing more interesting than a boiled sweet and a handkerchief in her pockets, which were probably already being investigated by the other children. Behind her she could hear Betty slapping inquisitive hands away with some very sharp words.

  “Miss Harrington!”

  She reached the fire and smiled at Hetty Driskin.

  “Good morning, Hetty. Zenna says she has a new baby brother.”

  “Aye, miss, she do. We’ve called him Horatio, after his grandfather, but he’s known as Little Horry at the moment.”

  Hetty patted the seat beside her. Lucy had met her when they’d both been children, and the rector had asked her grandfather up to the house to look at a sick horse. They had seen each other almost every year since. Hetty had married at sixteen, had several children, and grown comfortably plump.

  “How have you all been up there in the rectory? Hale and hearty, I hope.”

  Lucy related all the latest news about her family and the village, concluding with her engagement to Major Kurland, which was greeted with a chorus of surprise and good wishes from the women gathered around the campfire. Most of the men were already out foraging, fishing, or hawking their goods in the local villages.

  One of the older women patted Lucy’s arm. “It’s a good thing you found a man for yourself, Miss Harrington. You’re getting a bit old in the tooth to be having babies.”

  Lucy smiled. “I suppose I am.”

  “Then you’d better get started right away!” The old lady winked and poked her in the ribs. “I’ve got the perfect charm to place under your pillow to make your man as randy as a stallion and you breed as fast as lightning. Only cost you a sixpence.”

  “Thank you.” The very thought of charms made Lucy shudder, but it did also give her an idea. Once she’d shared the contents of her basket—fresh milk, butter, and eggs from the Kurland Hall Home Farm, and some knitting wool from the village shop—she was ready to ask Hetty a few questions of her own.

  The baby fell asleep on Lucy’s lap, and Betty was busy braiding two of the girls’ hair and lecturing them about cleanliness being next to godliness. Some of the women were cooking food over the fire, while others watched the children. Lucy turned to Hetty and spoke softly so she didn’t wake the baby.

  “Do you remember Mr. Ezekiel Thurrock, the verger?”

  “Aye, a nice enough man considering his profession. What about him?”

  “He was hit on the head by a piece of falling stone during a recent storm and died.”

  “That is sad.”

  “The thing is,” Lucy said quickly, “he was discovered with an ill-wish on him.”

  “What kind?”

  “It was wrapped in black cloth and contained a rusting nail, a candle stub with writing on it, and some herbs.”

  “Do you know which herbs exactly?”

  Lucy tried to remember. “Birch wood, sage, blackberry leaves, and hemlock, I believe.”

  Hetty shuddered. “Nasty. Sort of a banishment spell tied up with revenge, and justice. I wonder what the poor old verger did to deserve that?”

  “I don’t know.” Lucy shook her head. “Have you ever heard any rumors about the Thurrock family while you were here?”

  “I haven’t. The person you need to talk to is my grandfather. He’s the keeper of all the memories. You know how he loves to tell all those old stories.”

  “My father wants him to visit the stables to see his new horse. Mayhap you could pass on the message, and I can speak to him when he comes up to the house as well.”

  “A good idea, miss, and I’ll ask him beforehand about the Thurrocks so he’s prepared for your questions, and has had time to think on the matter.” Hetty smiled. “Now pass back that baby so I can feed him again. Maybe next year when I see you you’ll have quickened with your own little ’un.”

  After ascertaining that the little group had everything they needed, Lucy bade them all good-bye, and she and Betty started back up the hill to the village. Major Kurland permitted the Romany to stay over the winter on his lands. With his protection, and that of the rectory family, the visitors were relatively safe and unlikely to be moved on.

  Revenge, banishment, and justice . . . Lucy pondered the words as she marched along. What exactly had the Thurrock family done to incur such hatred? And how long had that hatred endured?

  * * *

  “I’ve had a reply from your solicitor in Bishop’s Stortford, Sir Robert.” Dermot placed the opened letter on Robert’s desk.

  “What does he have to say for himself?”

  “That he will check through the records, and have an answer for you within a week. He apologizes for the delay, but says the old records are stored in the attics so he’ll have to find someone young and brave enough to go up the steep stairs and find the correct documents.”

  Robert read through the letter. “If we don’t hear from him soon I’m going to send you to climb those stairs, and search for me. At least then I know you’d find what I wanted.”

  “I’m more than happy to do that, sir.”

  “And what about the County Records Office?”

  “They insist we have to visit them on the premises.”

  “Then we’ll do that as well if nothing happens fairly soon—although I suppose with Mr. Thurrock dead the urgency to prove our case has diminished if not disappeared completely.”

  “Well, there is this.” Dermot looked apologetic as he produced another letter. “It appears that Mr. Thurrock had already contacted his solicitor about the matter before he died.”

  “I should have known he would. He was like a terrier with a bone.” Robert tossed the letter to one side. “I assume the solicitor fellow will be coming down from Cambridge for the joint funeral? Write to him, and
tell him I’ll see him after the event here at the manor.”

  “Yes, Sir Robert.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I did find something interesting in the records when I was searching for the lost deed.”

  Robert looked up. “What was that?”

  “A record of some kind of invitation to a ceremony involving Captain William Kurland, and a Mr. Ezekiel Thurrock.”

  “Not our Ezekiel, I assume.”

  “Hardly, sir, unless he was over two hundred years old.” Dermot grinned. “This Ezekiel was responsible for starting the fund to honor Captain Kurland’s exploits in the war with a memorial in the church at St. Anne.”

  “And?”

  “Captain Kurland didn’t seem terribly happy about the whole idea. In fact, he refuses to have anything to do with it, calling Ezekiel Thurrock ‘a liar, traitor, and betrayer of the people of Kurland St. Mary’s.’ I wonder what that was all about?”

  Robert sat up straight. “It is very interesting. It gives us a far earlier date for the beginning of the enmity between the Thurrocks and the rest of the villagers. Do you remember the date the land was supposedly sold to the Thurrock family?”

  “That was around the same time, wasn’t it?” Dermot scratched his head. “I think it was Ezekiel who bought the land during the war. The estate was probably grateful to be taking in any money at all at that point.”

  “So the land was bought from the Kurland estate sometime in the 1640s and then leased back in 1723. Which is how things remained until the disputed purchase in my father’s time.”

  “I believe that is correct, sir.”

  Robert frowned. “If William and Thomas agreed to sell the land to the Thurrocks why did William then fall out with them so quickly and refuse to participate in the memorial?”

  “The Thurrocks certainly do have a talent for setting people against them, don’t they?”

  “Indeed. I suppose William might have been so desperate for money that he would have sold the land to anyone, but being a Kurland myself, and having read his letters to his twin, I doubt he would do anything he didn’t want to.” Robert sat back. “So what happened?”