“Perhaps,” Penelope said. “I would imagine you would be too busy deciding whether Fairfax Park will make a suitable home for you.”
Lucy felt her cheeks heat. “There is no suggestion of that. Mr. Fairfax merely values my opinion on domestic matters.”
“I think we both know it is more than that.” Penelope sniffed. “I only wish I’d had the forethought to engage his interest before he thought of you.”
“You are more than welcome to try.”
“Would you not like to be mistress of Fairfax Park? I am surprised at you, Lucy. Mr. Fairfax would make an unexceptional husband, and you would live very well.”
“Until his half brother became of age to take on the estate himself.”
“By which time, if Mr. Fairfax has any sense, he will have sufficiently feathered his own nest to provide you with an alternative home and a good income.”
“You are terribly mercenary.” Lucy shook her head. “I doubt Mr. Fairfax has any such thought in his mind.”
The carriage slowed and rocked as the coachman negotiated a turn through a set of iron gates and past a lodge. The figure of the gatekeeper passed in a blur as the sun began to set and the elm trees lining the long drive closed overhead. Eventually, Fairfax Park was revealed as a sturdy stone building of a similar size to Kurland Hall but built in a later era.
A footman opened the door to the carriage and let down the step. Mrs. Green was the first to emerge, followed by a surly-faced Miss Stanford. Lucy waited until last, her gaze fixed on the set of stone steps leading up to the double front door of the house. The structure appeared to be in excellent order, with a covering of ivy that softened the harshness of the gray stone.
“Welcome to Fairfax Park.”
Lucy turned to see Mr. Fairfax striding toward her. “Thank you.”
He paused beside her, his face lifted to the line of windows above the door, which reflected back a smattering of the reddish sunset.
“It is strange to be back here. I never thought it would happen, and in such tragic circumstances.” He swallowed hard. “I will have to attend to my half brother in the nursery. He needs to hear about his mother’s unfortunate death.”
“Would you like me to accompany you? I am quite used to dealing with small boys.”
He took her gloved hand and brought it to his lips. “That is very kind of you, but I think I must do this alone. Please make yourself at home. I will see you and the other ladies at dinner.”
Lucy nodded, and he walked with her up the steps and introduced her to the butler, a Mr. Simmons, who appeared to be a very competent man. Simmons passed her over to the chief housemaid, who escorted her up to a very nice bedchamber, which faced over the park at the back of the house.
It was a relief to take off her bonnet and gloves and wash off the dirt of the road. After speaking to the maid assigned to her and Penelope, Lucy lay down on her bed for a short nap. She spared a thought for Major Kurland, who hadn’t once spoken to her before she’d left on her journey. He’d said he cared about her. Had he assumed that her acceptance of Mr. Fairfax’s invitation to visit Fairfax Park was also an acceptance of a proposal of marriage? Her father had been delighted at Mr. Fairfax’s interest in her and had urged her to consider her options very carefully indeed. She couldn’t decide whether Major Kurland’s unusual silence on the subject was good or bad. She would almost have preferred it if he’d lost his temper with her. At least then she would have known where she stood.
As her eyes closed, she found herself smiling. Poor Major Kurland. When he shouted at her, she refused to have anything to do with him. How on earth did she expect him to behave? The idea of becoming mistress of a large estate with a pleasant husband was not one that any woman in her right mind would discount. But she had always hoped for more than a dutiful marriage. Could she grow to love Thomas Fairfax? She certainly liked him very much.
She reminded herself that the visit did not have to culminate in a proposal of marriage, and that she was perfectly capable of avoiding such a situation if the need arose. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to steer Mr. Fairfax’s affections toward Penelope. She seemed far more accepting of a marriage of convenience than Lucy would ever be. A year ago the idea of any marriage had seemed acceptable, so what had changed? Her last thought as sleep overcame her was of Major Kurland winking at her at Sophia’s wedding. She might never marry, but her weeks in London and her encounters with the major had certainly made her think differently about what she required in a husband.
It was unlike her to be so unsettled. She would set her mind to inquiring into the state of Fairfax Park and finding out more about Mrs. Fairfax. That should keep her occupied and less disposed to give in to her emotions.
Robert sat at his desk in the lamplight and studied the immaculate records Thomas had left behind him. When he hired a new land agent, the man would have no difficulty in following his predecessor’s plans for the farms, fields, and cottages of the Kurland estate. Thomas had done a fine job.
Robert consulted his pocket watch and calculated that Thomas and the ladies should have reached Fairfax Park earlier that afternoon. He’d almost considered going with them, but his pride had stopped him. If Miss Harrington wanted to marry Thomas, he wasn’t going to stand in her way. He wanted her to be happy, and if Thomas made her happy, he was content with that.
A knock on the door announced Foley with his dinner on a tray and a bottle of red wine. With no guests left to entertain, he was back to his more slovenly ways.
“Major Kurland, there is a note for you. I have placed it on the tray.”
“Thank you, Foley.”
His butler lingered, setting out a glass for the wine and taking his time uncorking the bottle, while Robert picked up the note and read it.
“Damn the man,” he muttered.
“Is Mr. Paul bothering you again, sir?” Foley shook his head. “He always was stubborn, that one.”
“Mr. Paul is threatening to travel up to Mr. Fairfax’s home to ‘rescue’ Miss Stanford.” Robert balled up the note and threw it in the fire. “I suppose I will have to go down to the Queen’s Head and see him.”
“Eat your dinner first, Major. From what I hear, the landlord won’t let him leave unless he pays some of what he owes.”
“Which I doubt he has the means to do.” Robert groaned. “He is infuriating. If I let him chase after Miss Stanford, Andrew will have my head, but if I let him stay at the inn, I have to put up with his incessant demands. Get the gig ready. I’ll go down and see him after I’ve eaten.”
Robert shoveled down his dinner in a most ungentlemanly way, which would have shocked Foley, and drank half the bottle of wine. As he pulled out his handkerchief to wipe his face, the locket fell out of his pocket, and he stared at it in exasperation.
He put on his spectacles, drew his new pocketknife and investigated the minute crack between the two gold surfaces. He then eased the tip of the knife inward until the locket was forced apart. Inside was a portrait of a dark-haired baby and an inscribed date. Squinting at the lettering, Robert could only assume that the baby was Mrs. Fairfax’s son. But why hadn’t she claimed the locket that first morning, when he’d asked who it belonged to? Had she feared being incriminated in Mrs. Chingford’s death?
Robert considered the locket. Was this what Miss Stanford had been searching for? If it was, why had she wanted it, or had she simply been ordered to find it by Paul, who, despite his physical absence from the wedding, seemed rather too involved in the matter for Robert’s liking? His cousin had a genius for creating trouble and, by all accounts, had known Mrs. Chingford rather well.
“Damnation,” Robert muttered as he pocketed the locket. “I’m going to have to talk to him.”
The gig was already waiting for him at the door, so he set off in the gathering darkness to the inn. There was no sign of Paul in the crowded bar. The landlady, who assured him that his cousin was in his room, directed Robert up the stairs.
Robert knocked ha
rd on the door with the head of his cane, and eventually Paul answered. He had taken off his coat and had his shirtsleeves rolled up. His smile widened as he invited Robert in.
“Cousin, how good of you to call. Perhaps you could prevail on the landlady to bring us a decent bottle of brandy. She refuses to give me any unless I pay for it directly.”
“I’m not surprised.” Robert took a seat by the fire. “I’ve already ordered a bottle.”
Paul sat opposite him, his relaxed posture at odds with the wariness of his gaze. “Thank you. I assume you got my note.”
“I’m not going to allow you to follow Miss Stanford to Fairfax Park. She is quite safe there.”
“Safe from me, you mean. For God’s sake, Robert, I would’ve thought you’d be pleased if I went out and found myself an heiress.”
“Not this one.”
“Then what do you expect me to do? Starve?”
“How about earning your own living?”
“I’m a gentleman. Do you expect me to engage in trade?”
“Why not? That’s how my grandfather made his fortune. It’s the only reason I can still afford to run Kurland Hall.”
“Then appoint me as your steward. Let me take over Mr. Fairfax’s duties.”
Robert sighed. “I don’t trust you not to ruin me.” There was a knock at the door, and Paul got up to retrieve the bottle of brandy and two glasses.
When they’d both taken a shot of brandy, Robert looked up at his cousin. “I want you to leave Kurland St. Mary.”
“And, as I keep telling you, I have nowhere else to go and no money.”
Robert poured them both another measure of brandy. “What if I made it worth your while to leave?”
“It depends. If I can’t marry Miss Stanford and claim her dowry, I will need to be compensated very heavily.”
“You are not going to marry Miss Stanford.”
“Then give me an incentive to leave.”
Robert looked down into his glass and gently swirled the remaining brandy around. “What was your connection with Mrs. Chingford?”
“What’s that got to do with our present negotiation?”
“Your ability to answer some questions honestly might lead me to offer you more favorable terms.”
Paul refilled his brandy glass and sat back. “I met Mrs. Chingford before I left for India, and kept up a correspondence with her for many years.”
“I understand that she was a voracious letter writer.”
“She also lacked the funds to sustain her lifestyle and had turned to . . . other less reputable revenue streams to remain solvent.”
“Such as?”
“Selling information to the scandal sheets. Deliberately starting gossip and innuendo within the ton to see what dirt she could stir up, thus fueling more gossip for the papers.” He shrugged. “Genteel blackmail.”
“A match made in heaven, then.”
“We did share some common goals, but there is no need to sneer. We both needed money.”
Robert thought back about all the information he and Miss Harrington had gathered between them before he’d put an abrupt end to their investigation.
“Mrs. Chingford knew Mrs. Fairfax, as well?”
“I believe she did.”
“Did you know her?”
“I knew of her. Mrs. Chingford said that she thought Mrs. Fairfax was the daughter of her old nurse and that she had risen far above her social station.”
“And bearing in mind Mrs. Chingford’s propensity for gossip and blackmail, what did she intend to do about that information?” Robert asked.
“I have no idea.” Paul shrugged. “You have to remember that Mrs. Chingford was dead when I arrived in Kurland St. Mary.”
“But she wrote to you.”
“Occasionally.”
“And you came close to marrying her, by all accounts.” Robert caught his cousin’s gaze. “Which is possibly why you stole into her bedchamber at the rectory and went through her correspondence.”
“Who told you that?”
“That is irrelevant. What matters is what you wanted to find and destroy.”
“There was nothing specific, Robert. I was just being careful.”
“And what about when you sent Miss Stanford to search Mrs. Fairfax’s room at my house? Were you writing to Mrs. Fairfax, too?”
“From what Mrs. Chingford told me, Mrs. Fairfax could barely read and write. I doubt I would’ve enjoyed corresponding with her.”
Robert frowned. “I’ve seen her handwriting. It was completely legible.”
“Then Mrs. Chingford was just being unkind. Why does it matter, anyway?” Paul sat forward. “I did not correspond with Mrs. Fairfax, and I don’t know what Miss Stanford was looking for.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Paul’s mouth set in an obstinate line. “I have nothing further to say to you about this matter.”
Robert leaned on his cane and started to rise. “Then I have nothing further to say to you. Good evening, Paul.”
“Wait. You can’t just walk out without giving me my money!”
“I can if you insist on lying to me. I was quite clear. If you won’t answer my questions, I won’t help you.”
“Then sit down again,” Paul snapped. “And I’ll tell you the little I know.”
The food at Fairfax Park was adequate, and the service rather slow. The house itself lacked the neatness Lucy would have expected and bore the hallmark of an establishment that had been neglected either by a mistress who didn’t care or a staff who didn’t obey their orders. She had yet to determine which it was, but had scheduled an interview with the butler after dinner to discuss the matter in depth.
She’d also been taken up to the nursery to meet Robin Fairfax, who proved to be a delightful boy of around seven or eight. Mr. Fairfax had mentioned that Mrs. Fairfax had been reluctant to send her son away to school, but that he meant to rectify that. Despite missing her own twin brothers, she had to agree that sending the boy to school was for the best. As an only child, he would benefit from the company of other boys of his class.
To her surprise, after taking her down to the butler’s pantry, Mr. Fairfax excused himself and returned to the drawing room to entertain the other ladies. Lucy wasn’t sure whether to be pleased with his trust in her abilities or worried at the responsibility and what it might imply.
Simmons sat her down in a comfortable chair beside the fire and poured her a cup of tea from an old brown china teapot that rested on the tiled hearth. A clock ticked on the mantelpiece, and the green curtains were drawn against the slight chill of the night.
“It is pleasant to have Mr. Fairfax back at the house, Miss Harrington. He was sorely missed.”
“I’m fairly certain that he didn’t want to return under such difficult circumstances, but I’m sure he will do his best to keep the estate together for his half brother.” Lucy sipped her strong black tea and repressed a shudder. “Mr. Fairfax is considering employing a housekeeper. Do you have anyone on the current staff who might qualify for that position?”
“Alas, no, Miss Harrington. Mrs. Fairfax liked to handle such matters herself.” He hesitated. “I don’t wish to speak ill of the dead, but I fear she felt somewhat intimidated about having a housekeeper.”
“I understand that she came from a slightly different social class,” Lucy said diplomatically. “Perhaps she wasn’t used to dealing with servants.”
Mr. Simmons relaxed his stance. “That is correct, miss. She didn’t have the right ‘way’ of speaking to those of a lower social order. As a result of this, despite my best efforts, some of the staff didn’t take her orders very seriously.”
Which explained the slightly unkempt appearance of the house.
“Even the nursery staff found her difficult. She liked to have access to her son at all times, which, I understand, disrupted his routine and made things very trying for his nurse.”
“I seem to remember Mrs. Fairfax mentioning t
o me that she found it hard to find a nurse she liked. Did she have difficulty retaining staff?”
“Oh yes, miss, she did.”
“How long has the current nurse been employed?”
“Mrs. Williams has been with us for almost a year now. She came after . . .” Mr. Simmons hesitated. “Another lady.”
“Would that have been Mrs. Madge Summers?” Lucy inquired. “She was also nurse to an acquaintance of mine’s youngest child. I seem to recall my friend mentioning to Mrs. Fairfax that they had shared the same nurse before Mrs. Summers retired.”
“There was a Mrs. Madge Summers employed here, miss.”
Lucy waited a moment, but from the set of Mr. Simmons’s face, she suspected he wouldn’t say anything more at this point. It was a pity, but at least she’d established a connection between Fairfax Park and Madge Summers.
“Perhaps you would consider drawing up a list of tasks a housekeeper would be required to perform at Fairfax Park and sharing it with me, Mr. Simmons. I will also speak to Mrs. Williams about her needs and position, as it seems young Robin might be going away to school.”
Simmons leaned forward. “If I might be so bold as to say I think it will be for the best. After the young master left and Mr. Fairfax died, Mr. Robin became subject to rather too much maternal influence in my opinion.”
Lucy nodded but didn’t comment as she finished her tea. “Did Mrs. Fairfax keep her own account books? Mr. Fairfax asked me to have a look at them to gain some sense of the monthly expenditure for the house.”
“She did, Miss Harrington. They would be in the yellow parlor at the rear of the house, where she kept her desk and her sewing basket.”
“Then perhaps you might show me that room before you take me up to see Mrs. Williams.”
Simmons stood and took the cup from Lucy. “A pleasure, Miss Harrington. It is something of a relief for the staff to find out that Mr. Fairfax intends to stay and manage the estate. We were all rather worried that he would never return.”
“I believe he considers it his duty, Mr. Simmons,” Lucy said tactfully as he opened the door for her. “Despite everything, loyalty to one’s family should come first, don’t you agree?”
Death Comes to Kurland Hall Page 21