Death Comes to the Village

by Catherine Lloyd

  “Without a reference?” Anna stripped off her apron. “What respectable family would take on a servant, especially as a nursemaid, without first writing to her former employers?”

  Lucy caught Anna’s eye and nodded at Betty. Sometimes her sister could be a little indiscreet in front of the servants. “Is there anything else you can think of that might help us, Betty?”

  “Not right now, miss.” Betty tugged at her wet, clinging skirts. “After doing all that washing, I’m too tired to think.”

  “Well, if you remember anything, please don’t hesitate to come and tell me at once.” Lucy rose and Betty nodded.

  “Yes, miss.”

  “If Jane isn’t busy, could you send her down?”

  “Of course, miss. I’ll go and find her before I change my dress.”

  “Thank you, Betty. I’m sorry the whole burden of the laundry fell upon you today. I promise I will make it up to you.”

  Betty bobbed a curtsy. “That’s all right, miss. But I hope we find out what happened to Mary. I’ll have a few words to say to her myself when I see her next.”

  After Betty left, Anna glanced at Lucy. “I wonder what has happened? Had you even paid her quarterly wages?”

  “No, I haven’t. She didn’t strike me as the kind of girl who would save her wages, either.” Lucy frowned down at her cracked hands, which now smelled strongly of lye soap. “Do you think she might have broken into Father’s strongbox and taken some money?”

  “Oh my goodness. I don’t know.” Anna brought a hand to her cheek, her blue eyes wide. “Unless she had an accomplice—a man who wanted her to run away with him, or simply pretended that he did to get her to steal from us.”

  “You have the most vivid of imaginations. Perhaps you should stop reading those horrid gothic novels Mrs. Jenkins lends you.”

  “You read them, too, Lucy, and you were the one who mentioned Mary stealing from us first.”

  Lucy ignored that remark and continued to think out loud. “It is far more likely Mary found a new position and simply decided to leave us. I suspect we’ll get a letter from her in the mail eventually asking for her back wages.”

  “Which you won’t pay.”

  “Which Papa won’t pay. He won’t be happy about this at all. I cannot think of a way to conceal what has happened from him. He’ll be sure to blame me in some fashion.”

  “It is hardly your fault if one of the maids decides to change employment, Lucy,” Anna said robustly. “You’ll just have to stand up for yourself.”

  Lucy bit back her hasty reply. It was easy for Anna to suggest she should be more forthright with their father when she was his favorite child, and not the oldest daughter of the house whose duty had been laid out for her from the cradle. Even now, when she knew her father’s air of authority hid only his appalling selfishness, she still hadn’t found a way to break free of his oft-expressed expectations. What had once been unquestioning obedience had slowly turned into a bitter and unexpressed resentment she had to conceal to avoid telling him her true feelings.

  There was a knock on the door and Jane, the twins’ nursemaid, appeared, her pleasant face flushed and her gaze wide with excitement.

  “Is it true, Miss Harrington? Has Mary gone?”

  “It certainly seems so.” Lucy invited Jane to sit down. “Did she mention anything about leaving to you?”

  “Well, she complained a few times about how hard she worked, but no more than anyone else, miss.”

  “But did she say anything more specific?” Lucy smiled sympathetically at Jane. “I hate to ask you to share her confidences, but I am very concerned as to her safety. Did she mention seeking a new position?”

  “I did say I would help her if she wanted to become a nursemaid, but I don’t think she’d applied for any positions. I told her she needed more experience, and that she should ask you if she could help out sometimes.”

  “That was excellent advice,” Lucy agreed. “When did she decide she wanted to become a nursemaid?”

  “Quite a while ago, miss.” Jane smoothed her apron.

  “Was Mary walking out with anyone in the village?” Anna leaned forward, ignoring Lucy’s glare.

  “I don’t think so, Miss Anna. There was a man she was seeing for a while who was working on the new stables, but he’s gone now.” Jane hesitated. “She did get letters occasionally. She said they were from her childhood sweetheart.”

  “Her new admirer wasn’t a local man, then?”

  “I’m not sure, miss.”

  “Perhaps he came to find her and asked her to marry him.” Anna clasped her hands together. “Wouldn’t that be romantic?”

  “I suppose it would be, miss.” Jane paused. “But why didn’t he come to the front door and ask permission to court her in a respectable manner like a gentleman and a Christian?”

  “That’s a very good point, Jane. Did Mary seem agitated or out of sorts recently?”

  “She did seem a mite distracted, but I had no idea that she planned to take off.” There was a loud crash from the upper floor and Jane stiffened. “I told those two heathens to sit still and wait for me to bring up their supper. They are probably fighting again. I’ve never known two lads who can’t resist starting a boxing match with one another.”

  “You’d better go, Jane.” Lucy rose, too. “Tell the boys to behave themselves, or else I won’t come up and wish them good night.”

  “I will, miss, and if I think of anything else to help with Mary, I’ll tell you right away.”

  Lucy pressed a hand to her aching forehead. “Thank you, Jane.”

  Anna closed the door behind the nurse. “I still think there is a man involved somewhere, don’t you?”

  “It certainly is possible.”

  “Perhaps Mary’s suitor went to her parents first to ask permission to marry her and then came here?”

  “I don’t think she had parents. I believe Father recruited her from the foundling hospital and orphanage in Cambridge.”

  Anna continued to pace the carpet. “It certainly is a puzzle, isn’t it?”

  “Indeed.” The clock struck five. “I need to check that Mrs. Fielding has returned from the village and started dinner.” She opened the door and then paused. “Is Anthony back? I wonder if he caught any fish?”

  Anna stamped her foot. “Lucy, why do you have to be so practical? What about Mary?”

  “There is nothing we can do about Mary until Father returns.” Lucy swallowed hard. “Let’s hope Anthony was successful and that a good dinner will mellow Father’s temper before I have to tell him the bad news and ask him to check we haven’t been robbed.”

  Robert sat up in bed and waited while Foley carefully placed the tray containing his supper on his lap. It was Bookman’s evening off, and Foley was deputizing for him. Because of their many years away from home together during the war, Robert sometimes forgot that, like him, Bookman still had family and friends in the surrounding area.

  “Now be careful, sir. We don’t want you covered in hot soup,” Foley warned.

  After his humiliating experiences with Miss Harrington earlier that day, it was a sentiment Robert heartily agreed with. He picked up his spoon and studied the clear broth. “This is scarcely soup, Foley. There’s no meat in it.”

  “It’s what Dr. Baker ordered Cook to make you, sir, so don’t go scowling at me. A good broth will help you recover your appetite.”

  “My appetite is quite recovered.” Robert put down his spoon. “Will you go and fetch me a nice plate of roast beef? I still have all my teeth. I’d like to use them while I can.”

  “Now, sir, don’t you be ordering me about like that when you know I’ll have Bookman and Cook raising hell with me for disobeying the doctor.”

  “Then I’ll just have to starve to death.” Robert took a tentative sip. The soup was watery and quite unappealing, but he had to eat something.

  “There’s a nice custard for pudding, sir.”

  “How lovely. I feel as i
f I am back in the nursery again being coaxed to eat by my nurse.”

  Foley handed him a napkin. “How about I get you a nice hunk of Cook’s newly baked bread and a glass of port?”

  Robert smiled for the first time since Miss Harrington had visited him that morning. “You are indeed an angel, Foley.”

  “But you must finish your soup first.”

  He picked up the bowl and drank the contents down in one gulp.

  “I’ve finished. Now fetch me that port.”

  “That is hardly the way a gentleman should comport himself at the table, sir.”

  Robert placed his spoon in his bowl and handed Foley the tray. “I’m not at the table and I scarcely feel like a gentleman. You, of all people, should know that society regards my lineage as very spotty indeed.”

  Foley stuck out his chin. “Don’t be funning with me now, sir. Your mother was perfectly respectable. You are a gentleman born, and you know it.”

  Deciding that he had teased his old family retainer enough for one evening, Robert asked, “Did you sleep well last night, Foley?”

  “I did, sir. After our supper, Bookman and I played a few hands of piquet and shared a jug of ale. Then I took myself up to bed early and slept like a baby.”

  Robert wondered just how much ale Foley and Bookman had shared to make them both sleep through the racket he’d made when he’d fallen, bringing the chair down with him.

  “By the way, sir, Bookman felt terrible that you didn’t think to ring for him to help you back to bed last night.”

  “And destroy his night’s rest as well as my own?” Robert countered. In truth, he had eventually rung the bell in desperation, but no one had come. He wasn’t going to mention it now and cause a fuss. “I was scarcely on the floor for more than a few minutes before he found me.”

  That wasn’t true, either, but he didn’t want his trusted servants to feel guilty about what had happened. They had already started treating him like a permanent invalid, and he didn’t want to encourage them any further. Trotting out a strange story of having seen something mysterious moving through the grounds would hardly enhance his credibility or his claims to be on the mend. He’d more likely end up in Bedlam.

  “I’ll fetch the rest of your repast, sir.” Foley bowed and left the room.

  While he waited for Foley to return, Robert put on his spectacles and studied the newspapers Miss Harrington had brought him. While convalescing, he’d avoided reading about what was happening in London and the rest of the country. He’d felt quite detached from the social order, the riots, and the fear of revolution wafting seditiously across the English Channel from France. His focus had turned inward to his own pain and loss—to simply surviving. But as Foley had reminded him, he was a gentleman, and at some point he would have to take his place in society, even if only at a local level. His family had held the position of squire and local magistrate for hundreds of years. He wanted that to continue.

  He’d barely skimmed the first article about the latest peace treaty before his headache returned. Casting the paper aside, he took off his new spectacles. When Miss Harrington next visited, he’d ask her to read to him. She’d probably enjoy being a ministering angel. He found himself smiling at that thought. Despite her meek appearance, she was no milk-and-water miss, and she certainly wouldn’t allow him to order her around. It was quite refreshing.

  “Here you are, sir. A nice glass of port.” Foley was already speaking as he entered the room. “I also brought the post up for you.”

  “Thank you. Is there anything of interest?”

  “A letter from your aunt Rose, one with no return address, which we had to pay for, and something official-looking from your regiment.”

  Robert studied the mail and then returned his attention to the excellence of the port. He wasn’t in the mood to decipher the spiderlike scrawl of his aunt Rose, and the military could wait until he drew his last breath. The unpaid letter from an unknown correspondent was probably his cousin and heir presumptive, Paul, and he was in no mood to read that, either. He put the letters to one side.

  “Miss Harrington said there was a disturbance in the village last night. Did you hear anything, sir?” Foley handed Robert a plate filled with bread and rich yellow butter.

  Robert stiffened. “What kind of disturbance?”

  “She wasn’t sure, sir. She said her father mentioned something on his way out this morning.” Foley refilled Robert’s port glass.

  For some reason, Robert was glad Miss Harrington hadn’t said that he’d been the one inquiring about the incident. He didn’t want to have to explain to Foley quite how far he’d ventured out of bed. Foley would tell Dr. Baker, who would probably double his dire prediction of how long it would take Robert to walk again.

  “I assume you told her we’d keep an eye out for anything suspicious.”

  “I did, sir.” Foley deftly stoppered the port and removed it from Robert’s reach. “Let’s hope the rector was mistaken, although I have heard rumors that there are gangs of discharged soldiers roaming the countryside stealing from decent folk.”

  “What else are they supposed to do when the government offers them no recompense for their service to their country?”

  “Easy for you to say, sir, until you are murdered in your bed.” Foley rearranged the items on the tray. “I’ll tell the staff to make sure they lock their doors tonight.”

  “Trust me, Foley, a locked door won’t stop a determined rabble from getting in.”

  “Then would you like me to bring you your pistols, sir? Bookman has kept them in perfect order.”

  He fixed Foley with his most intimidating stare. “I do not want my pistols, and I do not want you alarming the staff over a potential threat that might not even happen. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, sir, although . . .”

  “Foley . . .” Robert held out his hand. “Give me the port and retire for the night. I won’t need you again.”

  With a martyred air, Foley handed over the glass decanter and headed for the door.

  “I’ll tell Bookman to check on you later, sir.”

  “You don’t have to do that, I’ll—” Robert realized he was speaking to himself as his loyal henchman had deliberately walked out of earshot. He let out his breath. There was no point in becoming agitated. After last night’s debacle, he suspected Bookman would be coming in to see him at whatever time of the night he returned, regardless of Robert’s commands.

  He settled back against his pillows and refilled his glass. Were Foley’s remarks about marauding soldiers true or a fabrication? He didn’t like to think of the men under his command begging for food or work. After helping defeat Napoleon, it didn’t seem right. But what was a landowner to do? He couldn’t feed them all, or he’d bankrupt his estate in a week.

  He slowly sipped at his port. What if the man he thought he’d seen last night was one of those displaced soldiers intent on robbing the villagers? Should he in truth be encouraging Foley to set his staff and his neighbors on their guard? A headache pushed against his temples, and he pressed his fingers into the pain. Whatever happened, in his present condition, he could do nothing to save anyone—not even himself. He swallowed down that bitter reminder and contemplated finishing the decanter of port. Perhaps he should have told Foley to bring him his pistols. Not for his own defense, but to put an end to his miserable existence once and for all.

  Chapter 4

  “I’m not sure what else you want me to do about this matter, Lucy.”

  With the air of a martyred man, the rector put down his knife and fork. They were enjoying a light luncheon, and the sun was shining directly over the newly laid out garden. After her siblings dispersed to their various pursuits, Lucy had lingered at the table to consult with her father.

  He continued, “Mary has obviously disappeared. Luckily for us, she didn’t take the silver with her. Where she has gone, I have no notion.”

  “But you will ask around on your travels, won’t yo
u, Papa?” Lucy encouraged. “You will be visiting the smaller parishes this week as usual.”

  The rector glanced across at his curate, who paused with a piece of toast halfway to his mouth. He swallowed hastily and spoke through a mouthful of crumbs.

  “Actually, Miss Harrington, I will be visiting Lower Kurland and Kurland St. Anne in the rector’s stead while he concentrates on writing his sermon.” His cheeks flushed an unbecoming shade of red. “I would be honored if you wish to accompany me.”

  Lucy flashed him a distracted smile. “That is very kind of you, Edward. Please let me know when you intend to go. If I’m able to leave my duties here, I will definitely come with you.”

  She returned her attention to her father, who had picked up his paper again. “Do you not think we have a responsibility to discover what happened to poor Mary? She was a foundling. As far as we know, she has no other family to care about what has become of her.”

  “The Bible has much to say about ingratitude, Lucy, of nourishing a viper in one’s bosom.” He stood up and looked down his nose at her. “Perhaps you might reflect on that before you presume to lecture me about my Christian duty to one who has sinned by leaving a perfectly good home provided to her by a loving, spiritual family.”

  Lucy opened her mouth to refute his argument, and then closed it again. She would never convince him of anything when he was offended by her suggestion that he was being less than Christian.

  The rector folded his paper and tucked it under his arm. “In truth, Daughter, perhaps you should examine your own conscience more thoroughly. Mary was under your domestic care, not mine. Perhaps if you had been a little more diligent in your duties, this unhappy occurrence would not have arisen.”

  An all-too-familiar anger coiled in Lucy’s stomach, but before she could speak, her father left the room, his demeanor that of a man who had nothing on his conscience at all. She’d forgotten he hated to be put in the wrong, especially in front of his curate. As soon as he had ascertained that Mary hadn’t stolen anything from the house and had left without her quarterly wages, he considered his part in the matter closed.