Death Comes to the Fair

by Catherine Lloyd

  “I’ll keep looking at the estate correspondence for that time period and report back if I find anything else, sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I also forgot to mention that there is a small Romany encampment down by the river.” Dermot paused. “Are you familiar with these families, or should I move them on?”

  “They’ve been coming here for the winter for generations,” Robert said. “In fact, they might even know what happened back in the sixteen hundreds.”

  “Perhaps you should ask them, sir.”

  “I will. Did you speak to anyone there?”

  “No, I thought it best to ask you before I did anything.”

  “Good man. Make sure they are given firewood and any foodstuffs we have a surplus of, and tell Mrs. Bloomfield and the rest of the staff they have arrived so they can go and buy their trinkets, ribbons, and spices.”

  Just as Dermot reached the door it was flung open, and Foley appeared.

  “Sorry to disturb you, sir, but Mr. Coleman needs to see you urgently.”

  Robert stood up as his head coachman strode into the room, his expression grim.

  “Good morning, Mr. Coleman. What’s wrong?”

  “Someone’s been at the horses, sir. They’re all sick.”

  * * *

  “Maisey.”

  “Yes, Miss Harrington?”

  “Yesterday was your day off, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, miss.” Maisey smoothed out the sheet, and then shook the pillow before placing it back on the bed.

  “Did you go home?”

  “Yes, miss. It was my dad’s birthday, so everyone came along. Mrs. Fielding even baked a cake.”

  “That was kind of her.” Lucy straightened the covers. “Was it a good party?”

  “Oh yes, the best kind.” She grinned. “I didn’t want to leave, but Mrs. Fielding said I had to be back by six. It went on much later than that.”

  “Who else was there?”

  “The usual crowd: my aunties, my mum and dad, my brothers and sisters, the farmworkers . . . We danced and ate and sang all afternoon.”

  “How lovely. I thought I heard Miss Turner say she would be attending, is that right?”

  “Of course, miss.” Maisey raised her eyebrows. “They always come.”

  Lucy headed for the door. “Do you think you can finish in here on your own? I see my father has returned, and I need to give him a message from Horatio Driskin.”

  “Yes, miss. I’m almost done, and then I’ll make a start on your room.”

  “Thank you.”

  Lucy went out frowning as she descended the stairs. Maisey had no reason to lie about her father’s birthday, or about who had attended his party, so it seemed the Turner sisters’ alibi was real. She paused on the last step. But surely the party must have finished before midnight? Could the Turners and the others have ended their official celebration with a more unusual event on the top of the hill?

  There was no way of determining exactly when Mr. Thurrock had died or who had known about it. Everyone who had attended the party could have been out near the priory. The Mallards hated the Thurrocks. She shouldn’t forget that. She had a sense that she was missing something—that the vegetable competition, the argument over the land, and the treasure were just parts of the long-running feud between all the local families. But when had it started? When had the foundations for all that had happened since been laid?

  Lucy went into her father’s study, where he was just settling down to read the newspaper.

  “I left a message with Hetty for Horatio, Father.”

  He looked up. “I know. I just saw Horatio on the road. He apologized that he’d been called up to Kurland Hall, and would wait on me when his business there was done. He said it was urgent.”

  “I wonder what’s happened?” Lucy said. “Do you want me to—?”

  “No, we’ll find out soon enough when Horatio returns.” He returned his attention to his newspaper.

  Having run out of things to darn, Lucy busied herself reading the Kurland letters and was deep into the new and surprising revelation that Captain William had not only known, but also disliked the Thurrocks intensely. She read on, accepting the cup of tea Betty brought her, and the information that dinner would now be delayed as her father was out in the stables with Horatio Driskin the horseman.

  Lucy took off her spectacles and put them in her pocket before going out to the stables behind the house. She waited patiently as her father talked to Horatio about various horse-related issues. When they came out of the stalls she walked toward them.

  “Mr. Driskin. It is so nice to see you again.”

  He doffed his hat to her.

  “Miss Lucy. How are you, girl?”

  His hair was white and his skin was aged like the surface of a walnut. He was missing at least half his teeth.

  “I am very well.” She glanced over at her father. “Does Mr. Driskin have time for a cup of tea in the kitchen, or have you more business to conclude?”

  “Horatio has been very helpful indeed, but thanks be to God there are no problems with any of my horses, so we have completed our work out here.”

  “I would love to share a cuppa with you, my dear Miss Lucy.” Mr. Driskin winked at her. “I hear you are to be wed?”

  They all walked back to the house together, and Lucy settled Mr. Driskin at the kitchen table and put the kettle on to boil. There was no sign of Mrs. Fielding or Betty, but Maisey found a piece of fruitcake in the larder for their guest, and set the teapot and cups out on a tray. Lucy sent her to complete a task upstairs and shut the door behind her.

  “Thanks, Miss Lucy.”

  Lucy cradled her cup of tea and waited until Mr. Driskin finished his first piece of cake and second cup of tea.

  “Was there something wrong up at Kurland Hall?”

  “Aye. Someone had been messing with the major’s horses.” Mr. Driskin shook his head. “It was lucky I was around to give them all a corrective remedy.”

  “A remedy to what?”

  “Poison.”

  “Someone attempted to poison all of Major Kurland’s horses?” Lucy pressed a hand to her cheek. “Why?”

  “That’s a good question, miss. Although I’m not sure this particular poison would have killed them all, maybe the old, the nursing mares, and any foals.”

  “That’s still terrible. Who would do such a thing?”

  “I asked Major Kurland that myself and he was as bewildered as you are.” Mr. Driskin poured himself another cup of tea. “Either he got a bad batch of feed or it seemed like some kind of warning to me.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because if the dose had been stronger that kind of poison could’ve killed them all. So whoever did it was making a point, see?”

  “I suppose I do,” Lucy said slowly. “Was Major Kurland angry?”

  “Furious. No man likes to see a horse treated like that, let alone a cavalryman like the major. He told me he was going to set a guard on the stables to stop anyone getting in again.”

  “Did his staff notice anything unusual?”

  “Like someone creeping in and poisoning the feed? No one saw a thing, but stables are busy places with people in and out of them all the time.” Mr. Driskin sighed. “Considering the major is the local magistrate, whoever did it must be mightily confident of not getting caught.”

  “Or thinks that because a band of Romany have just arrived in the village suspicion will fall on them,” Lucy said slowly.

  “That thought had crossed my mind, miss. And even though I was the one to offer the cure there are some who will say I brought the poison as well.”

  “Not in this house, Mr. Driskin, or at Kurland Hall.”

  He smiled at her. “Thank you, Miss Lucy. I’ll keep an eye on my lads and make sure they keep well away from the Kurland stables until the real culprit is caught.”

  “An excellent plan.” Lucy smiled back at the old man.

  “H
etty said you were asking about old tales of the Thurrock family.”

  “Yes, I did wonder if you had any stories about them.”

  He sipped his tea. “I do know that they turn up like bad pennies every generation or so.”

  “Indeed, I found a reference to them back in the days of the civil war today in some Kurland family letters.”

  “They were staunch supporters of Cromwell and his ilk. Not much liked in the village even then because of Thomas Kurland, the heir being for the king. And they did like to interfere in everyone’s business. I hear it was a Thurrock who wrote to John Stearne in Manningtree.”

  “About what?”

  “Us Romany families being in the area, and other ungodly matters.”

  “What happened?”

  “I believe that year my family moved on after the Thurrock wife boasted that we would all soon be brought to godliness and cleansed of our heathenish ways.” He grimaced. “I’m not sure what happened to the village after we were gone.”

  Lucy always marveled how he spoke about such matters as if they had happened yesterday, not almost two hundred years earlier.

  “Then it is safe to say that the Thurrocks as a family will not be missed in Kurland St. Mary.” Lucy finished her tea. “I liked Mr. Ezekiel Thurrock immensely, but it seems he was quite different from the majority of the bearers of his name.”

  “Aye, I think he was. Poor man, and I’ll wager he suffered for it.” He held out his hand. “Give me your cup, then.”

  She surrendered it into his hands, and waited as he upended it into the saucer and stared intently at the pattern of tea leaves before looking up at her.

  “I see you’ve found your one true love, miss.”

  She nodded, earning herself a slight smile.

  “But there’s danger ahead, and you need to keep your wits about you.”

  “I beg your pardon?” She blinked at him. “Aren’t you supposed to tell me I’ll live a long and happy life and have a dozen children?”

  “I would if you’d come to me for a fortune at the fair, but the leaves don’t lie and that’s what I see in them.” He held her gaze before pushing the cup back over to her. “You take care, Miss Lucy.”

  “I will.”

  They sat in silence for a moment longer, and then Mr. Driskin stood and put on his hat.

  “I must be going, miss. Hetty will be worrying. Many thanks for your hospitality.”

  “Thank you for sharing the news from Kurland Hall. I do hope the major’s horses are going to be all right.”

  “I reckon they will be while I’m around to keep an eye on them.” He winked at her again. “I’ll be up there again tomorrow, so don’t you fret.”

  After he left, Lucy stayed where she was at the table trying to make sense of what Mr. Driskin had told her. Not only was she apparently in danger, but also who was John Stearne of Manningtree, and why should writing to him have caused such a stir in the villages? She would have to ask her father.

  Mrs. Fielding came into the kitchen with Betty behind her carrying a large basket.

  “Miss Harrington.”

  Lucy nodded at the cook and took her cup and the teapot over to the sink.

  “Was that Horatio Driskin I saw walking away from the rectory, miss?” Mrs. Fielding asked as she washed her hands and put on her apron.

  “Yes. He came to see my father.”

  “Did you keep an eye on him? You can’t turn your back on a Gipsy for a second. Thieving buggers.”

  “As you know, Mr. Driskin is a valued acquaintance of my father’s. I doubt he would steal from a family he’s known for years.”

  “You never know with that kind.” Mrs. Fielding sniffed. “Now I must get on with preparing the dinner. Where’s Maisey gotten to?”

  Lucy paused. “She was here earlier. I’ll check upstairs and see if she is still cleaning.”

  Mrs. Fielding nodded and started barking orders at Betty. Lucy set off to find Maisey, her thoughts in a whirl. She was worried about Major Kurland’s horses and, aware that she would not be permitted to go up to the hall and offer him any comfort. Sometimes she couldn’t wait to escape the rectory and finally be free of her father’s petty restrictions.

  * * *

  Robert yawned and stretched out his arms as his valet took off his coat.

  “Thank you, Silas.”

  “You’re welcome, sir. How is your ankle feeling tonight?”

  “Much better.”

  Silas folded and put away various articles of clothing as Robert snatched up his nightshirt, which was warming by the fire, and put it on. He limped over to his bed, drew back the covers, and then studied the awkward angle of his pillows.

  “Silas?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Did you change my sheets today?”

  “No, sir. Why?”

  Robert leaned forward and very carefully removed his two pillows.

  “What the devil is that?”

  Silas was now at his side. “I don’t know, sir. I have no idea how it got there!” He went to move past Robert. “Let me—”

  “No, don’t touch it.” Robert studied the bundle of herbs and prickly holly tied up with string. “I think there’s a note.”

  “Use your riding gloves, sir.” Silas handed them to him.

  Robert picked up the bundle and walked it across to his dressing table for closer examination in the candlelight.

  “It says, ‘Leave well alone, or worse will follow,’” Robert said. “Well, that’s fairly direct.” He looked into his valet’s puzzled face. “What in God’s name is going on?”

  Chapter 17

  “I must speak to you,” Major Kurland murmured to Lucy as he stopped in the aisle to allow her to exit from her seat.

  The sun had finally appeared after days of rain, and soft light shone through the arched windows of the church. The service was well attended, and the banns had been posted for her and Major Kurland without incident, so their potential union was now official and sanctioned by the church.

  “Ask Father for permission to walk us home after the service,” she whispered back.

  “That will hardly take a second seeing as you live right opposite.”

  “But then I will have to ask you in for tea and refreshments. It’s only polite.”

  He offered her his arm, and they proceeded down the aisle, nodding at acquaintances and accepting congratulations on their engagement. She was glad to see that he was limping less. The rector stood by the door, conversing amiably with his parishioners as they exited. His expression sharpened as Lucy approached him.

  “Good morning, Sir Robert.”

  “Rector.” Major Kurland bowed. “May I ask your permission to escort the ladies home to the rectory?”

  “If you must.”

  “Thank you.”

  Her father cleared his throat. “Are your horses fully recovered?”

  “Yes, they are—thanks to Mr. Driskin, who spotted what was wrong and produced an herbal cure.”

  “Any idea who did it?”

  “Not yet, but trust me I will find out, and my justice will be both swift and merciless.”

  Major Kurland raised his voice slightly as he uttered his barely concealed threat, causing a stir amongst the remaining congregation.

  They carried on walking, Miss Chingford and her sister behind them, and crossed the road to the rectory.

  “Would you care to join us for some tea, Major?”

  “That would be delightful.” Major Kurland took off his hat and stepped over the threshold into the house. “I have much to discuss with you about the upcoming wedding. I do hope the rector will permit us to do that at least.”

  “As long as we are suitably chaperoned, he can hardly object,” Lucy said demurely.

  She led him into the back parlor calling out to Betty to bring some tea. Penelope murmured something about taking her sister to see Dr. Fletcher and disappeared into the kitchen.

  Lucy sat by the fire. “Are your hor
ses truly well now?”

  Major Kurland sat down, his expression grim. “Mostly recovered. There are a couple that are still weak, but Coleman is hopeful they will all pull through.”

  “How horrible for you. Does Coleman have any idea how it happened?”

  “None at all, but I suspect it was meant as a warning to me.”

  Lucy held his gaze. “That’s what Mr. Driskin thought as well.”

  “Clever man. It took me a little bit longer to work it out.” He paused. “It became clear when I attempted to go to bed, and found a bundle of herbs and holly under my pillow with a note telling me to keep my nose out of village business.”

  “Goodness gracious! Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Luckily I noticed my pillows were askew. Silas is normally so precise about such things that it struck me as odd. I moved the pillow, and found the prickly bouquet underneath.”

  Lucy shuddered. “Did you sleep in another room?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Of course not. It was just a pile of sticks.”

  “Wrapped in a threat.”

  He shrugged. “Who would really dare to kill me?”

  She studied him carefully. “Maybe they wouldn’t need to kill you, but would find a way to make your death look as ‘natural’ as one of the Thurrock brothers’ deaths.”

  “Ah. Good point. Don’t worry, Miss Harrington. I will be on my guard.”

  “Mr. Driskin also wondered if the crime would be attributed to the arrival of the Romany in the villages.”

  “Or as another ‘accident’ of nature?” He scowled. “I am getting tired of this. I’d rather an enemy I can see than one who skulks about trying to be clever.”

  Betty came in with the tea tray. Lucy asked her to sit in the corner of the room as their chaperone in case her father decided to check on them when he returned. She poured them both a cup and sat back, her mind racing as she tried to think through everything that had happened.

  “Don’t worry, Miss Harrington. I promise we will both be safe,” Major Kurland said quietly.

  “How can you know that?” She reached for his hand and then thought better of it. “What if the next time the poison is meant for you?”