Death Comes to the Village

by Catherine Lloyd

  “And what’s wrong with a good rabbit stew, Miss Harrington?”

  Lucy made herself look into Mrs. Fielding’s narrowed eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s just that we had the same thing two days ago, and the rector will not be pleased if he is expected to eat it twice in one week.”

  “I don’t hear him complaining.” Mrs. Fielding folded her arms under her ample bosom in the manner of a woman who was not going to change her mind.

  Lucy tried again. “Do you have anything else?”

  “Do you expect me to go hurrying out to the village at this time of the day, miss, when I’m supposed to be cooking dinner?”

  Behind Lucy, Anna cleared her throat. “I’ll go to the village if you like, Lucy.”

  “There’s no need for that, Anna.” Lucy raised her chin. “I’m tired of fighting with you every day, Mrs. Fielding. If working at the rectory is no longer to your taste, perhaps you might consider finding employment elsewhere?” She nodded a dismissal. “Please make sure that rabbit is not the only main course on the table tonight, or I will be taking my concerns to my father. Good afternoon, Mrs. Fielding!”

  Before the cook could retaliate, Lucy turned on her heel, took Anna by the elbow, and marched them both out of the kitchen and into the back parlor. She shut the door and swung around to her sister.

  “Oh, that woman is infuriating!”

  Anna clasped her hands together. “You were magnificent.”

  “I thought about how Major Kurland would deal with such habitual insolence and pretended I was him.” Lucy smiled. “It was quite exhilarating.”

  “Do you think it will help?” Anna sat down and stared hopefully at Lucy. “Father always criticizes her cooking, but he seems curiously reluctant to terminate her employment. Do you think it is because Mrs. Fielding came with Mama?”

  “No, I think it’s because she provides him with more than just—” Lucy stopped speaking. “Well, never mind that. Let’s just say that he is very fond of her.”

  Anna nodded. “Because of Mama.”

  “It’s certainly not because of her cooking.” Lucy paced the small room. “It isn’t fair, Anna. I have all the responsibilities of the lady of the house, and none of the power. Mrs. Fielding knows I can’t get rid of her unless Papa is agreeable. She treats me with no respect at all.”

  “I know,” Anna agreed. “She is positively uncivil to you.”

  “I will have to speak to him.” Lucy stopped walking. “He won’t like it, but I refuse to be treated like this.”

  Anna rose from her seat and came across to kiss Lucy’s cheek. “Wait until after he’s eaten, won’t you? After all that mutton last week, seeing the rabbit stew on the table again might tip the balance in your favor.”

  Lucy smiled and hugged her sister. “Let’s hope so. Would you mind going up and reading to the twins for a while? I promised to do so, but I’m too agitated. I think I’ll walk into the village and see if I can talk to Miss Mildred.”

  “And find something better for us to have for dinner?”

  “If I encounter anything edible, I’ll definitely consider it. Has Anthony come in yet?”

  “Yes, he was in the stables earlier talking to Harris about his horse’s shoe being loose. Why, did you want him to accompany you?”

  “No, I just wanted to make certain he was home.”

  Anna paused at the door. “Why? What has he done?”

  “Nothing in particular.” Lucy didn’t want Anna carrying tales to her brother. Despite their argumentative natures, they were very close. “I just wanted to make sure everyone would be here for dinner.”

  “Mr. Nicholas Jenkins was here earlier.” Anna looked demure. “He said he had a message from his grandmother for you, but he quite forgot to give it to me. I think he was hoping that if he lingered in the parlor long enough, we might invite him to stay for dinner.”

  “You shouldn’t tease him, Anna. The poor man is quite besotted with you.”

  “I know, but I am never cruel to him, you must know that.” Anna clasped her hands to her bosom. “I couldn’t be cruel to him. He is rather sweet.”

  “I wonder what his grandmother wants? She’d probably like us to visit her this week. Will you accompany me?”

  “Of course I will.” Anna held open the door. “Now you should be on your way, or we’ll have nothing edible on our dinner table at all. In truth, Mr. Jenkins should be pleased he wasn’t invited.”

  Lucy found her cloak and put on her bonnet. It was late afternoon, and although the clouds were gathering, it wasn’t yet dark. As she walked down the driveway, she pulled on her second-best pair of gloves and attempted to gain control of her temper. It was ridiculous to get annoyed with Mrs. Fielding, but she hated the thinly veiled contempt in the woman’s gaze, and her unmistakable conviction that the rector would never let her go. It made all Lucy’s dealings with her feel tainted and had done so for years.

  She took a deep breath of the rapidly chilling air and strode resolutely onward toward the village. The sound of a barking dog made her look up, but she couldn’t tell from which direction the yelping was coming. She swung around with a gasp as a large body crashed through the undergrowth of the trees to her right. Within moments, she was surrounded by a pack of slavering dogs snapping at her heels and jumping up at her.

  “Well, damn if it isn’t Miss Bloody, Interfering Harrington.”

  She forced herself to look away from the dogs and saw Ben Cobbins stepping through the gap the dogs had made in the brushwood. He wore no hat, and his long overcoat hung open to display his stained leather waistcoat and grimy neckcloth. An ancient pistol was tucked into the waistband of his breeches.

  “Call your dogs off, Mr. Cobbins.”

  He strolled closer, smacking the end of his billy club into his open palm. Lucy found she couldn’t look away.

  “Call them off? Now why would I do that? They know their own.”

  “I’m not a rabbit or a fox to be hunted down, Mr. Cobbins.”

  His lips drew back in a travesty of a smile. “What are you going to do about it, Miss Harrington? Scream for help?” He looked up and down the deserted road. “I don’t see no one about to hear you.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I know it was you that set the major to giving my boy a job.”

  “I would’ve thought you’d be pleased Joe was working again.”

  “Then you’d be wrong.” He came closer until she could smell the rancid tang of his unwashed skin and the beer hops on his breath. His gaze wandered over her with insulting interest.

  She flinched when he put his fingers under her chin and made her look up at him. “Don’t interfere with what’s mine, Miss Harrington, unless you want to suffer the consequences.”

  She forced herself to look calmly into his bloodshot eyes. “If you lay a finger on me, sir, my family will never let you live.”

  “On the contrary, if they thought I’d ruined you, they’d cast you out without a second thought.” He gaze slid down over her. “Luckily for you, scrawny, flat-chested virgins don’t hold much appeal for a man of my appetites. Just keep away from me and mine, or I might have to overcome my disgust and teach you a lesson anyway.”

  He chucked her under the chin and then stepped away, whistling to his dogs. Lucy remained frozen until he disappeared back into the forest. When she tried to move, her limbs trembled so violently she almost fell. She rubbed her gloved fingers across her mouth where Ben Cobbins had flicked her lip and fought the desire to vomit. She would not turn and run back home. She would not let him frighten her. Forcing herself to take a deep breath, she continued on her way to the village, determined that regardless of her own personal safety, Ben Cobbins would never get near his son again.

  Chapter 8

  “Ah, Miss Harrington, and how are you this fine day?”

  “Good morning, Major Kurland.”

  Robert waited until his visitor put down her basket and took off her bonnet before looking at
her more closely. Due to the constant rain, tendrils of her brown hair had escaped her tight braids and curled around her face, softening her uncompromising features. For some reason, she looked rather tense and her normally calm smile was absent. She took a seat opposite him and he put down his newspaper.

  “Do you have any news for me?”

  She fussed over the contents of her basket and then straightened again, a handkerchief clutched in her hand, to loudly blow her nose. Robert’s fingertips started to drum on the arm of his chair and she looked up at him.

  “I beg your pardon, sir?”

  “I asked if you had anything of import to share with me.”

  “Oh yes, I spoke to Miss Mildred yesterday about who she had seen out and about in the village on the night you were awakened.”

  “And what did she tell you?”

  “She definitely saw Daisy Weeks.”

  Robert sat back. “Which doesn’t help us at all.”

  “I haven’t finished yet.” She shot him a reproving glance, which reminded him forcibly of his mother. “Miss Mildred also said she saw several of your servants, Major, and some unknown men who were heading from the Whistling Pig to a cockfight in Lower Kurland. Apparently, according to her, all the men were behaving foolishly due to the effects of too much alcohol.”

  “Ah, I wondered why it was so quiet here at the manor,” Robert mused. “Everyone was probably off at the cockfight.” It certainly explained where Bookman had gone after his dinner with Foley. His valet had an eye for the birds.

  “Did she see your servant girl?”

  “She doesn’t remember doing so, but I suppose even if the girls left together, Daisy would’ve collected Mary on the way to the main road rather than expecting her to come back into the village.”

  “Are you beginning to doubt your own conclusions, Miss Harrington?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you no longer believe the girls left together?”

  “If they didn’t, what has become of Mary? I can only pray that if she didn’t leave with Daisy, she ran away with the man she was interested in.” She hesitated. “But what if that isn’t true, either? Wherever can she be?”

  Robert studied her closely. Should he acquaint Miss Harrington with his theories as to what else might have happened to the unfortunate girls, or leave her in blissful ignorance? He had no basis for his suspicions apart from his knowledge of all manners of hell on earth. But had his battle experiences distorted his perception or enhanced it? As Bookman had mentioned, the idea of violent death in the tranquil village of Kurland St. Mary seemed ridiculous, but a girl was missing. Two of them, in fact.

  “What is it?” He looked up to find her staring at him just as closely as he had studied her. “What do you fear?”

  “Maybe neither of the girls managed to escape to London. If there is a thief in our midst, perhaps they interrupted him, and he decided to dispose of them.”

  She shook her head as if trying to push back his words. “That’s ridiculous. Why would anyone want to hurt Mary or Daisy?”

  “He wouldn’t want to hurt them. He might have felt he had no choice.”

  She looked away. “I devoutly hope you are wrong, Major.”

  “So do I.” He felt like a callow youth who had inadvertently trampled all over a delicate bed of spring flowers. “I hardly wish them dead.”

  She shivered. “If most of the men were out of the village at a cockfight, it would’ve been a good opportunity for both the girls to escape and for our thief, or thieves, to take advantage of the empty homes.”

  “Indeed.”

  “We must find out if anyone else has suffered any losses of this nature.” Miss Harrington nodded. “I’ll ask the Hathaways and the Jenkinses tomorrow.”

  “An excellent idea.” Robert gestured at the bell. “Would you like to ring for some tea?”

  “I can’t stay for very long, Major. I have to speak to my father about replacing our cook.”

  “Mrs. Fielding?”

  “Yes, do you know her?”

  Robert only knew that local gossip insisted Mrs. Fielding was the rector’s longtime bed partner, and he wasn’t going to discuss that with Miss Harrington.

  “Only that she’s been at the rectory for as long as I can remember. What has she done to earn your displeasure?”

  “Her cooking is appalling and she treats me like a child.”

  “You are much younger than her, and she is a very experienced cook.”

  “In her case, experience is not an advantage. My father complains about the food he’s forced to eat on a daily basis, but he expects me to deal with Mrs. Fielding’s unpleasantness. And I know why he avoids terminating her employment, he—” She stopped with a gasp and put her hand to her mouth.

  “Ah, so gossip doesn’t lie,” Robert murmured.

  “I beg your pardon?” Miss Harrington’s cheeks reddened even more.

  “Nothing, Miss Harrington. I was just thinking of all the reasons why the rector might not choose to terminate his cook’s employment. I’m quite certain he doesn’t want to deal with the hiring of a new one.”

  “I would be in charge of that, sir, and I’m quite happy to do it.” Miss Harrington rifled through the contents of her basket. “Sometimes I feel as if I have all the responsibility of the lady of the house and none of the power.”

  “Surely the best thing to do in that instance would be to set up an establishment on your own?”

  She stared at him. “It’s not quite that simple for a woman, Major.”

  “It is if you get married.”

  “And how would I have managed that in the last seven years while I’ve been caring for my siblings?”

  “A determined man would’ve taken you away, anyway.”

  “I’m not the sort of woman to inspire such devotion.” Her smile was tight. “Nor would I have allowed myself to leave. How is Joseph doing at the stables?”

  Acutely aware that he had veered into unacceptably personal territory, Robert accepted her change of subject.

  “He is doing very well. That brings to mind something else I wanted to say to you. Stay away from the Cobbins place for a while. Ben is extremely angry about being deprived of his son.”

  She shuddered. “I know. I had the misfortune to cross paths with him on my way to speak to Miss Mildred yesterday.”

  “He dared to accost you?” Robert demanded.

  “He told me in no uncertain terms to keep away from his family.” Miss Harrington rang the bell and gathered her possessions. “When I returned home, I was told you had sent a messenger down to warn me not to go to his cottage.”

  “Did I?” Robert frowned. “I believe I mentioned it to Bookman. I’m glad he followed my orders, even if it came too late for you to avoid Cobbins entirely.”

  “I’ll keep away from the cottage, Major, I swear.” Miss Harrington put her bonnet on again. “The curate is going to visit the other two parishes later this week. I shall accompany him.”

  “And what do you hope to achieve there?”

  She tied the damp ribbons in a no-nonsense bow directly under her chin. “The man whom Mary was interested in works for a carpenter from Lower Kurland. I thought I might check and see if he is still employed there.”

  “An excellent idea. And you will speak to the Hathaways and Jenkinses discreetly about any thefts?”

  “Yes, Major.” She glanced over at the window. “And how are you enjoying sitting up?”

  He considered her. “Was that your idea? I thought it was a bit revolutionary for our dear Dr. Baker. I am enjoying it more than I thought, although it also reminds me of all the things I am not yet able to accomplish.”

  “You can write a list, so that when you are able to march around the estate issuing orders to your heart’s content, you will know exactly what needs to be done.” She paused. “Oh, I almost forgot! I found the very thing for you yesterday when I was perusing a copy of Ackermann’s Repository.”

  He wa
ited as she dug into her basket and drew out a slim volume. “There is an article and a diagram about a contraption called Merlin’s Mechanical Chair.”

  “And what exactly does that have to do with me?”

  She came back and placed the book on his knees, opening it at a marked page. “The writer says: ‘This curious machine of which a correct perspective view is given in the annexed engraving. It is expressly catalogued for the accommodation of invalids who from age or infirmity are unable to walk about—’ ”

  Robert picked up the book and studied the engraving of the blue chair, which was furnished with a selection of wheels, cogs, and rods to rival any clock or newfangled steam-driven power loom.

  “This is ridiculous.”

  Miss Harrington leaned over him, and he smelled lavender and a hint of rain that made him ache to be outside. She pointed at the wheels. “It looks fairly ingenious to me.”

  “Are you suggesting that I would attempt to sit in such a thing and be wheeled around like an infant?”

  “I don’t see why not, Major. It would mean you could go outside and take the air. Wouldn’t you like that?”

  “It would only work if you stayed on the path,” Robert objected. “It hardly looks substantial enough to last for more than a few minutes outside.”

  “But think of the possibilities, sir.” She jabbed at the text. “The author even suggests that with some accommodations, small cannon could be strapped to the chair and it could be used in military situations.”

  “Poppycock!” Robert shut the book. “I appreciate the thought, Miss Harrington, but I scarcely think this is feasible.”

  She moved away from him. “Perhaps you should read the whole article before you make your mind up, sir. I’ll leave it with you.”