It was the sort of joyless existence Lucy had once feared for herself. Although many would approve of the teacher’s rigid morals and the lack of frivolity in her life, her choices evoked an unexpected wave of sympathy in Lucy’s heart. Why had Miss Broomfield ended up alone and apparently friendless in a small village in Hertfordshire?
Lucy folded a darned petticoat and added it to the pile on the bed. The teacher had three everyday dresses in black and one church dress in dark blue.
“From the discoloration of the buttons, I suspect Miss Broomfield must have dyed these dresses at some point,” Aunt Rose said.
Lucy paused in her work to consider Rose’s announcement. “I wonder if she was in mourning. Not everyone can afford to have a black gown made for them. I wonder if she lost her betrothed in the recent wars.”
“I suppose that could be possible,” Rose agreed. “But if she was in mourning, one might think she would still have her sweetheart’s miniature or some kind of picture of him close to her bed.”
“Maybe her family didn’t approve of her choice, and she wasn’t allowed to have any reminders of him.”
“But as she has clearly abandoned her family, why would she hide her allegiances now?” Rose pointed out.
“It certainly is a puzzle.” Lucy checked the cupboard and noticed a box on the shelf, behind the last pair of walking boots. She took out the boots and picked up the box, which was much heavier than she had anticipated. “Whatever is in here?”
“Her golden treasures?” Rose smiled as Lucy put the sturdy box down on the bed. “Perhaps we have misjudged her, and she simply did not have the time to decide where to place all her personal items, and they are all in here.”
“She was employed for at least five months,” Lucy objected. “One might think she would have settled in by then.” She attempted to open the box. “It’s locked.”
“Then I wonder where she put the key.”
“I’ll check in the cupboard.” Lucy made a thorough search of the small space. “I can’t find anything in here.”
“Then we will simply take it to the hall and see if one of Robert’s staff can open it for us. I believe Foley is rather adept at unlocking doors.”
“Only because he is used to the vagaries of the locks at Kurland Hall. I swear, there is not one single keyhole that matches another throughout the whole house.” With a sigh, Lucy abandoned her efforts to open the box. “I’ll send someone down to pick up all these things so we can catalog them at our leisure. Is there anything we might have missed?”
“I don’t think so.” Rose shook her head. “Not unless Miss Broomfield had a penchant for hiding things away.”
“Who knows what she might have done?” Lucy’s gaze settled on the wooden chest. “From all accounts, she made no effort to make friends in the village or share confidences. Perhaps she didn’t unpack because she had already decided to leave.”
“I suppose that is possible, but from what Robert told us, I doubt she would have an easy time getting another teaching post without a reference.”
“Unless she intended to go back to the gentleman my father knows who recommended her. I can’t wait to find out what he has to say about this matter.” Lucy stood and brushed down her skirts. “We should get back to the hall. I’d like to visit Josephine Blake at the Greenwells’ this afternoon.”
Rose put on her coat and followed Lucy down into the kitchen. “Do you feel well enough to walk back, my dear? Or should I go ahead and ask Coleman to bring down the gig?”
Lucy peered out at the gloomy skies. “If we leave now and escape the rain, I’m certain I’ll be fine.”
To Lucy’s relief, Rose didn’t press the matter and merely buttoned her coat, picked up her umbrella, and followed Lucy out to the schoolroom. After making sure the fire and candles were out Lucy locked the outside door. They proceeded past the duck pond and into the High Street of Kurland St. Mary village. It was a gentle uphill walk of less than a mile, one that Lucy had made a thousand times before.
Their progress was slowed by the many people who stopped to welcome Rose back to the village, and by those who wanted to ask after Lucy’s health. It was surprisingly hard to smile through some of the more pointed comments, but Lucy had learned to endure the well-meaning concern. To her relief, a lot of the chatter was directed at the unexpected closure of the school. She had no intention of telling anyone what had happened until she had spoken to Robert.
“Lady Kurland?”
Rebecca Hall, the blacksmith’s daughter who worked at the school, came running out of the smithy. She wiped her hands on her apron and curtsied to Lucy.
“Good morning, Rebecca.” Lucy lowered her voice. “Are you wondering why the school is closed?”
“Yes, my lady. Is Miss Broomfield unwell?” Rebecca’s hair was disheveled, and her cheeks were reddened with cold. “She was in a very bad mood the last time I saw her—almost snapped my head off for putting too much wood on the fire.”
“I would appreciate it if you could meet me at the schoolhouse tomorrow morning at ten o’clock, Rebecca,” Lucy said. “Will your mother be able to spare you?”
“Yes, my lady. I’m not usually there during the week, so she’s been right glad to have an extra pair of hands with the little ones.” Rebecca grimaced. “Not that I like it much, seeing as I don’t get paid, but family is family.”
Lucy had always admired Rebecca’s forthright honesty and knew she could rely on her to keep a secret.
“Then I will expect you tomorrow at ten.”
Rebecca curtsied again and grinned. “Yes, my lady.” She drew her shawl over her head and set off toward the warmth of the smithy and her family home behind it.
By the time Lucy and Rose walked past the Queen’s Head coaching inn and turned onto the main thoroughfare that led to Lower Kurland and Kurland St. Anne, Lucy was quite fatigued. The gateposts leading to Kurland Hall were a welcome sight, although the long elm-lined drive looked endless, winding away through the trees and disappearing into the gloom.
She straightened her shoulders and looked directly ahead, aware that Rose, who was at least twenty years older than her, was still chatting merrily and showing not the slightest hint of tiredness.
“Almost there, Lucy dear.” Rose patted her sleeve. “A nice cup of tea and one of Cook’s currant buns will soon restore our strength.”
“I do hope so,” Lucy replied. “If I can manage not to fall into a doze over the teapot.”
“Nothing wrong with taking a little nap when the occasion arises.” Rose winked at her. “I do it all the time. Living alone has its advantages.”
“Do you miss your family?”
“I miss what I had when my children were young and Mr. Armitage was still alive.” Rose sighed. “After his early death, I fear I overindulged our children, and now they scarcely have a good word to say about me. I overheard one of my son-in-laws referring to me as ‘common but useful’ on my last visit. This was just after I had paid his latest set of gambling debts because my daughter begged me to save her from ruin.”
“Then I certainly wouldn’t be offering to pay them again,” Lucy said indignantly, her own tiredness forgotten. “What an ungrateful rogue.”
“Indeed,” Rose agreed. “It is such a relief to be here with you and Robert, where I am liked for myself and not asked for anything but the pleasure of my company.”
“Your children are very foolish. If I ever come across them speaking ill of you, I will defend you with my last breath,” Lucy said.
“Thank you. Robert said you were formidable. I must admit, I would quite like to see you march up to my son-in-law and ring a peal over his head.” Rose pointed at the door into the walled kitchen garden. “If we go through here, will we reach the main house more quickly?”
“Yes. I was just about to suggest it.”
Lucy unlatched the gate and walked through into the vegetable and soft fruit garden, which was currently under straw, waiting for winter to be over. T
he high brick walls kept out the rising wind and deadened all sound. It was a very peaceful spot and one that Lucy often sought out when she needed to think.
“I’ll speak to Cook, organize one of the maids to go down with the gig to pick up Miss Broomfield’s things, and then we can go to the Greenwells’.” Lucy shook off her tiredness.
“Don’t forget our pot of tea and a bite to eat.” Rose opened the kitchen door, and the voices of the busy staff floated out, disturbing the quietness. “The nap, I suspect we can manage for ourselves.”
For the first time that day, Lucy smiled as she stepped into the comforting darkness of the house. She must remember to thank Robert again. His aunt Rose was better for her spirits than any tonic she had ever been prescribed.
Chapter 6
It had been a remarkably frustrating morning. Robert climbed back into the gig and waited for Dermot to join him. They’d spoken to almost all the villagers and visited several of the outlying farms. Some people had seen strangers in the village, but none of them could agree on exactly when or what the persons had looked like.
Dermot picked up the reins of the gig. “Shall we return to Kurland Hall, Sir Robert?”
“We might as well.” Robert sighed, and his breath condensed in the cold air. “We have achieved nothing of import and have probably caused more worries than we have calmed fears.”
“I can’t see how we could have avoided that, sir.” Dermot clicked to the horse, and they moved off. “And it might make some people think about what they might have seen and remember more.”
“I always appreciate your optimism, Dermot.” Robert laid his cane against the seat. His thigh was cramping again, and his disposition was not inclined toward charity. “I am also constantly amazed at how little people notice what is going on around them.”
“I did think of one more place we might ask, sir.”
“Where is that?”
“The Queen’s Head.”
“An excellent suggestion. We can do that this afternoon. I want to make sure Lady Kurland and my aunt have returned from the schoolhouse.”
“Of course, sir.” Dermot took the turn into the drive and pointed up ahead. “I see one of the farm carts. Do you want me to catch it up in case Lady Kurland is on board?”
“There’s no need.”
Robert knew what his reception would be if his wife thought he was mollycoddling her. Sometimes she made it very difficult for him to express his concern, and while he admired her courage, he sometimes wished she’d let down her guard and allow him to comfort her.
Dermot took the gig around to the stables. Robert walked in through the front door and discovered Foley passing through the entrance hall with a full tray of tea.
“Is that for her ladyship?” Robert asked.
“Yes, sir. She and Mrs. Armitage are in the drawing room.”
“Then I’ll take it through to her.” Robert lifted the tray out of Foley’s hands, and hoped he wouldn’t spill it on the way due to his uneven gait. “What time is luncheon?”
“In half an hour, sir.” Foley bowed.
“Set a place for Mr. Fletcher, as well, please.”
Robert went through into the drawing room and discovered his wife and his aunt sitting on either side of the fireplace.
“Robert!” Rose smiled at him. “What a pleasant surprise.”
He set the tray carefully on the table beside his aunt, surreptitiously gauging the paleness of Lucy’s complexion. “I thought I’d join you for lunch. Did you manage to gather Miss Broomfield’s belongings together?”
“Indeed, we did.” Lucy reached for the teacup Rose offered her. “We decided to bring everything up to the hall as it was far too cold to sort it all out in the schoolhouse.”
“That sounds like a sensible idea.” Robert thanked Rose for the tea. “Did you find anything interesting?”
“Nothing that would indicate why someone would want to kill her,” Lucy replied.
“No incriminating notes, no full confession?”
“Unfortunately not.”
There was a spark of interest in Lucy’s eyes, which Robert hadn’t seen for quite a while. It was a pity that her interest was roused by a murder he had no intention of allowing her to investigate.
“As you well know, Robert, such matters often take time to unravel.” Lucy sipped her tea.
“Indeed. What are your plans for this afternoon?”
“I intend to go and visit Josephine Blake.”
“Then I might join you. I need to speak to Mr. Greenwell about the village party, and we can introduce them to Aunt Rose.”
“Splendid.” Rose put down her cup. “Are they a nice family?”
“They are pleasant enough,” Robert said. “Mr. Greenwell was abroad for several years in the diplomatic service. His wife preferred to let their country house and reside close to her family in south London. Now that he is between postings, they decided to open up the house in Lower Kurland again and are considering the possibility of staying there full-time.”
“I wonder why he did that when his daughters are of marriageable age?” Lucy asked.
“What does that have to do with anything?” Robert frowned.
“My dear sir, if you wish to marry off your daughters, retiring to the countryside is not the best way to help them meet desirable suitors.” Lucy placed her cup on the tray. “Although it might explain why the Greenwell ladies are so miserable and determined to interfere in the relationships of others.”
Robert turned to his aunt. “Lucy thinks the oldest Greenwell girl—”
“Margaret,” Lucy said.
“Has her eye on Nicholas Jenkins.”
Rose sat back. “Well, if she has any sense, of course she has! He is the most eligible man in the county.”
“And he is enamored of my sister, Anna,” Lucy said firmly.
“Then she had better make up her mind to take him,” Robert said, rising as the gong summoning them to luncheon sounded. “Or perhaps Miss Margaret will tempt him into changing his mind.”
“If he is that fickle, then he doesn’t deserve Anna.”
“I’ll be sure to remind him of that if he seeks my counsel.”
“Please do.”
Lucy took Robert’s proffered hand and stood up. He was pleased to see that she was looking quite flushed and animated. If he could just keep her thoughts on her sister, Anna’s romantic entanglements, and away from pursuing Miss Broomfield’s killer, he would be a very happy man.
* * *
As soon as Lucy stepped into the drawing room, the entire Greenwell family converged on her and Robert with a mixture of enthusiastic greetings. She suspected that after the excitement of London, their current social existence was sadly lacking, and that any visitor would be welcome. Greenwell Manor was a small compact house built at the end of the previous century and situated on extensive grounds. It stood on the edge of the hamlet of Lower Kurland. It had been rented out for many years to a retired colonel and his wife, who had recently died.
Robert made his bow to the womenfolk and then settled into a conversation with Mr. Greenwell and his eldest son, while Lucy and Rose sat down with the ladies. Lucy introduced them to Rose and listened patiently as they discussed mutual London acquaintances and the pleasure of living in a smaller community.
“My dear Lady Kurland, it is so kind of you to bring Mrs. Armitage to visit us,” Mrs. Greenwell said. “Did you come to discuss the details of the upcoming ball?”
“Actually, I came to inquire as to how Josephine is feeling today.” Lucy hoped she concealed her surprise.
“Josephine?” Mrs. Greenwell looked around, as if she wondered whom on earth Lucy was talking about. “It was very kind of Sir Robert to bring her home yesterday. She did not deserve such attention.”
Lucy raised her eyebrows. “You would have preferred her to walk home in the dark after suffering such a shock?”
“She does not generally walk all the way, Lady Kurland,” Mrs. Greenwe
ll objected. “She gets a ride from one of the local farmers who deliver milk to Kurland St. Mary in the late afternoon and then returns with him to our village.”
“I doubt even your farmer would have waited for her yesterday,” Lucy replied. “Josephine was very distressed when Sir Robert found her.”
“Being in the presence of a . . . deceased person must indeed have been worrisome for her. But she is a child with very little imagination who has already nursed her own mother through a life-ending illness. I doubt she was as upset as you might imagine.”
“I would still like to speak to her, if that is possible.” Lucy tried to maintain her polite smile. “I might also need her continued help as we sort out the schoolroom.”
“Oh, well, if she can be useful to you, Lady Kurland, then of course you must see her.” Mrs. Greenwell looked over at her younger daughter. “Amanda, will you go and find Josephine and ask her to come to the drawing room?”
“Yes, Mama.”
While they waited, Lucy accepted a cup of tea and allowed the Greenwells and Rose to divert the conversation to more conventional subjects. The occasional burst of laughter coming from the gentlemen indicated that her husband was not encountering the same obstacles as she was with the female members of the Greenwell family.
When Josephine appeared in the doorway, Lucy rose to her feet. The girl’s black hair was tied back from her face, and there were purple shadows under her blue eyes. Lucy had a sense that if she attempted to talk to Josephine with Mrs. Greenwell present, she would not receive the assurances she required.
“I’m sure you don’t want to hear Josephine repeat the story of her ordeal again.” Lucy smiled at her hostess as the youngest daughter reclaimed her seat. “Perhaps I might speak to her alone?”
“But—” Margaret started to speak and then went quiet after a sharp gesture from her mother.
“That would be perfectly acceptable.” Mrs. Greenwell pointed toward the far end of the drawing room, where there was a pianoforte and a small upright couch. “Will that suffice? If you need my assistance on any matter, then I am easily within reach.”
“Thank you.” Lucy walked over to Josephine, who was looking not only tired but also unsurprisingly apprehensive, and took her arm. “How are you feeling this morning, my dear?”
Death Comes to the School Page 8