If someone knew about the jewels, they might well have considered a robbery worth the effort....
“Lady Kurland?”
Lucy slammed the lid of the box shut, hid it beneath her skirts, and turned toward the stairs, which Rebecca was already ascending.
“Yes, Rebecca? Is something wrong?”
“No, my lady. I just wanted to ask you what will happen to the school.” Rebecca smoothed her hands over her apron. “I, like a lot of the children around here, don’t want it to close down. Even with a teacher like Miss Broomfield, it was worth coming every day to help the little ones and learn something new for myself.”
“Was Miss Broomfield difficult to work for?” Rebecca bit her lip, and Lucy carried on speaking. “I would appreciate your honesty in this matter. Nothing you say can harm Miss Broomfield now.”
“She had a bit of a temper, my lady, and she didn’t seem to like teaching, if you know what I mean.” Rebecca shifted from one foot to the other. “She kept saying we were all too stupid to learn, and that there was no point in trying to better ourselves, because we would never be good enough.”
Lucy kept hold of her temper with some difficulty. “I hope you know that what she said wasn’t true.”
“Oh, I knew that, my lady.” Rebecca made a firm gesture with her hand. “Miss Brent told me differently, and I still visit her at her new home. Did you know she’s increasing? A baby a year after marriage.” Rebecca chuckled. “She’s very happy.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Lucy replied. “Did you tell her that Miss Broomfield was having a deleterious effect on the children at the school?”
“I did mention it eventually.” Rebecca fleetingly touched her cheek. “I had a cut under my eye from the tip of Miss Broomfield’s cane. Miss Brent asked me how it happened. She intended to speak to you and Sir Robert when she saw you at the Christmas service.” Rebecca paused. “Oh, my lady! What are we going to do about the carols? The children are so looking forward to singing in front of the whole village.”
“They are?” Lucy questioned.
“Indeed. Some of the little ones are going to be heartbroken if they don’t perform.” Rebecca hesitated. “Do you think Josephine and I could keep practicing the carols with the children? It would be only for a week or so more, and we wouldn’t try to teach them anything else.”
“I don’t see why not, as long as you are supervised.” Lucy considered the idea. “As long as Sir Robert doesn’t object to using the school for this purpose.”
It would also mean that she would have to pop in occasionally to oversee the girls, which Robert could hardly object to, either—could he?
“How did Miss Broomfield seem the last day you saw her?” Lucy asked.
Rebecca looked thoughtful. “She was in a terrible mood. The little children were cowering in their seats while she prowled around the room like a cornered cat lashing out with its claws.”
“Did she say why she was angry?”
“Not to me, my lady. After my dad came up to the school to have a little chat with her about how she used her cane, she wasn’t as mean to me as she was to Josephine.”
Knowing that Josephine had no family to protect her made Lucy fear that Rebecca was right.
“Did she say anything in particular to Josephine that you can recall?”
Rebecca looked over her shoulder, as if fearing either the teacher or Josephine would overhear her. “Miss Broomfield said that Josephine must be some rich gentleman’s by-blow, and that made her and her mother sinners.”
Lucy frowned. “Why would she say such a horrible thing?”
“Well, Josephine does live with the Greenwells, who are gentry, and even she admits that she isn’t closely related to them.” Rebecca lowered her voice. “Miss Broomfield liked to listen to all the gossip. Some of the smaller children would tell her all kinds of things.”
Lucy considered Rebecca’s words. In truth, through the children in her care, Miss Broomfield had had intimate access to the daily lives of almost every family in the vicinity. If she was the type of person who liked secrets, she must have been in her element. But had she used that information for other purposes?
“Did Miss Broomfield ever get you to deliver messages to anyone?” Lucy asked.
“Occasionally, my lady, but only in the village.”
“Were you ever sent as far as Mrs. Jenkins’s house or up to Kurland Hall?”
“I don’t think so,” Rebecca said doubtfully. “But I wasn’t the only one who ran messages for her. Do you want me to ask Josephine?”
“There is no need. I can ask her when I go down to the kitchen. Have you finished sorting the books in the study yet?”
“We still have a few left. Some of them have names printed inside them, and we weren’t sure who they might belong to.”
“I’ll come and look at them. Lots of people donated books from their libraries to help the school, so I should recognize those names.”
“Imagine having your own library.” Rebecca sighed. “I have three books tucked away on a shelf where my brothers can’t get at them.”
“You are more than welcome to come up to the hall and borrow a book from our library, Rebecca.”
“Really, my lady?” Rebecca’s brown eyes widened. “You have hundreds of books in there! I saw them that day I came up to speak to Sir Robert.”
“And they are all available to you.” Lucy paused for a moment to consider some of the more lurid classical literature housed in the library. “As long as you receive my or Sir Robert’s approval.”
“Thank you, my lady!” Rebecca bobbed a curtsy. “I can’t wait to tell my dad. He’ll be so proud of me.”
“Now, why don’t you continue your task downstairs, and I will join you in a few minutes.”
Rebecca clomped down the stairs, leaving Lucy to put the jewelry box in her pocket and complete her search of Miss Broomfield’s bedroom. Now knowing the teacher’s habit of concealment, Lucy paid close attention to less obvious parts of the furniture but found nothing more interesting than an embroidered handkerchief that had fallen to the floor behind the bed.
She moved through to the sitting room and, dispensing with formality, sat on the floor to go through the books on the shelves built below the window. The books were more personal in nature, consisting of many volumes of sermons, a well-worn copy of the Bible, and a travel guide to the county of Hertfordshire. Tucked right in at the end was a leather-bound edition of Rudolph Ackermann’s monthly Repository of Arts, Literature, Commerce, Manufactures, Fashions, and Politics, which seemed positively frivolous compared to everything else. Why had Miss Broomfield kept this particular book?
After ascertaining that everything else was the personal property of Miss Broomfield, Lucy placed the books in a box, with the Ackermann’s on the top, for removal up to the hall. There was nothing else to investigate in the living quarters, so Lucy made her way downstairs to help the girls.
To their credit, they had almost completed their task, leaving just a small pile of books for Lucy to examine on the kitchen table. She easily recognized most of the families who had donated the books to the school, but two names eluded her. After instructing the girls to place everything but the books belonging to Miss Broomfield back on the shelves, she asked Rebecca to bring down the box she had left on the landing.
It was now almost noon, and Mr. Coleman would be returning to take her home to Kurland Hall. Knowing her father’s delight in having company, she suspected Rose would be having her midday meal with the Harringtons and wouldn’t be returning for some while after that. The rector had proclaimed Robert’s aunt to be a woman of sound mind and high intelligence and seemed to enjoy her company immensely. To Lucy’s surprise, Rose seemed to agree.
“The carriage is here, my lady.” Josephine spoke for the first time in quite a while.
“Thank you.” Lucy pointed at the various boxes on the kitchen table. “Perhaps you could both help me carry these out?”
Lucy
had barely left the schoolhouse before Mr. Coleman relieved her of the box she was carrying.
“I’ll take that, my lady. Sir Robert doesn’t want you exerting yourself.”
“Thank you.” She willingly relinquished her load. Despite what Robert might fear, she had no intention of getting into an argument with her staff every time they showed their concern for her.
She waited until Rebecca closed the schoolroom door behind her and held out her hand.
“Do you have your key?”
“Yes, my lady.” Rebecca took it out of her pocket. “Shall I lock the door?”
“Yes, please, and then give the key to me. I’d rather keep them safely at the hall. You can accompany me in the carriage, Rebecca, and I will call in on your father and retrieve the other one.”
“All right, my lady.” Rebecca started for the carriage. “Come on, Josephine. Don’t stand around in the cold.”
Mr. Coleman winked at the girls as he handed them up into the interior of the carriage. “Miss Blake, Miss Hall.”
Rebecca giggled, and even Josephine managed a smile.
“Lady Kurland.”
“Thank you, Mr. Coleman. Can we stop by the smithy first and then proceed to the Greenwells’?”
“As you wish, my lady.” He shut the door and then climbed back on his box.
It took only a minute or so before they were stopping outside the smithy. Rebecca was already wrestling with the carriage door.
“I’ll get the key, my lady. There’s no need for you to get out,” she said.
Lucy placed her hand over Rebecca’s and showed her how to release the door latch. “Josephine can definitely stay here in the warm, but I intend to get out and speak to your father. Perhaps you can locate the key while I do so?”
“As you wish, my lady.” Rebecca hurried down the step without waiting for Mr. Coleman to assist her and ran toward the smithy, shouting as she approached. “Dad! Her ladyship wants a word with you!”
Lucy winced. Even though she knew Rebecca was shouting so that her father could hear her over the sound of his furnace, she was still extremely loud.
The banging abruptly ceased, and the smithy emerged from the depth of his workshop, wiping his hands on his stained leather apron.
“Miss Lucy! I mean Lady Kurland. How are you today, lass?”
“I am very well, thank you.” Lucy had known the Hall family her entire life and stood on easy terms with them. “I wanted to thank you for allowing Rebecca to aid me at the school. She has been extremely helpful.”
Mr. Hall grinned. “I’m glad to hear it. She’s a handful that one but smart as sixpence. Shame she wasn’t born a boy, because then at least I’d know the smithy would be in good hands after I’m gone.”
“I’m sure your Sam will do an admirable job.”
“God willing.” Mr. Hall didn’t sound convinced. He leaned in a little closer. “Is it true the schoolteacher is dead?”
“Indeed, it is,” Lucy replied.
“She wasn’t very old, but illness can strike at any time. Was it a lung sickness?”
“No. She was stabbed in the back of the neck.”
“Well, I never.” Mr. Hall’s mouth dropped open. “Right here in Kurland St. Mary. Under our very noses?”
“Apparently. Have you noticed any strangers loitering around here in the past few days, Mr. Hall?”
“There are always a few passing through the village, like, but most of them don’t linger. I had one gentleman stop at my smithy the other day so that I could fix his bridle. He did go off for a wander around the village while I soldered the ring closed again.”
“A gentleman?” Lucy asked. “Did he say where he was from?”
“He said he was heading for London. I didn’t tell him he was a fool for doing so in this weather, but after seeing the state of his horse, I did wonder if he’d make it.”
“Did you notice which way he went when he left the smithy?”
Mr. Hall scratched his head. “I can’t say I did, Miss Lucy. I told him there was an inn on the far side of the village, if he changed his mind and decided to stay for the night. It was already getting dark when he left me.”
“Thank you.”
“If I think of anything else, I’ll be sure to pass the message on to you or Sir Robert.” Mr. Hall looked over his shoulder as Rebecca came out to join them. “Her ladyship says you’ve been very helpful, daughter. Shame that the school will be closing now that the teacher’s gone.”
Rebecca’s smile disappeared, and Lucy hastened to intervene.
“The school will be closed only temporarily. We fully intend to find another teacher with the utmost urgency so that we can reopen after Christmas.” Mr. Hall opened his mouth, but Lucy continued speaking. “In fact, I will still require Rebecca’s help over the next week or so, while the children practice their carols for the Christmas service at the church. I do hope you will allow Rebecca to assist me in this matter.”
“That’s up to her mother, my lady.”
“Mum’s fine with it,” Rebecca interjected with a grin. “I just asked her.”
“Then that’s all settled.” Lucy gave Mr. Hall her most confident smile. “We will, of course, pay Rebecca’s salary in full for the next two weeks.” She nodded at the girl. “I will send you a message when I have spoken to Sir Robert about the carol service.”
“Thank you, my lady.”
“Now I must be on my way. It is always a pleasure to speak to you, Mr. Hall. Do you have that key for me, Rebecca?”
Rebecca’s smile disappeared. “I was just going to tell you, my lady. It’s not there. Someone must have taken it.”
Chapter 8
After dropping Josephine off at the Greenwells’, Lucy returned home and ate a hearty lunch. Robert was still out with Dermot, and Rose had sent a note to say she would be returning in time for dinner and not to worry about sending the carriage for her. For the first time in a while, Lucy didn’t feel tired enough to require an afternoon nap and instead decided to tackle Miss Broomfield’s personal effects.
She’d asked for the boxes from the school to be placed in her sitting room, along with everything else she’d gathered from the teacher’s apartment. The house was quiet, and for once the sun was shining, making everything more cheerful. Lucy decided her first task would be to write to the headmistress of the school in Cornwall who had dismissed Miss Broomfield. The letter would probably take a while to reach the remote area, so the sooner she wrote it, the better.
A fresh box of writing paper from the stationer’s in Hertford awaited her on the table, and she remembered the small matter of the invitations for the ball. If she were in London, she would have saved time and had them engraved, but there was no such service in the countryside, so they would all need to be handwritten.
That thought prompted another one as she put on her spectacles. She moved her daybook to one side to reveal the anonymous letter she’d received the previous week, and compared it to the letter Mrs. Jenkins had shared with her. The paper used by the writer was different, but the handwriting was similar enough to make Lucy curious. After opening her desk drawer, she found the pieces of paper Robert had taken from under Miss Broomfield’s hands the day she died, and compared them to the others....
“Goodness me,” Lucy breathed. “The script is quite similar.”
Was it possible that Miss Broomfield, the gatherer of secrets, was behind the poison-pen letters? Had she sat behind her desk every day, listening to the children in her care gossip, and used that information for her own nefarious means?
“But why?” Lucy whispered.
What pleasure had Miss Broomfield gained from hurting those in Kurland St. Mary? Lucy took off her spectacles. Why would anyone do such a horrible thing? Had Miss Broomfield been envious of Lucy and Mrs. Jenkins? She had lived in the village for only a few months and hadn’t even met Lucy formally until just before her death.
After placing the letters in a pile, Lucy rose to her feet an
d went over to the box that contained the contents of Miss Broomfield’s desk. If there were any more clues to the mystery, she would surely find them there.
* * *
Robert put his head around the door into Lucy’s sitting room and discovered his wife sitting on the floor, surrounded by piles of paper, her spectacles on the end of her nose. She looked up and beckoned him in, her expression so animated that he almost wanted to cheer.
“Robert, do come in. I have spent the past hour examining the contents of Miss Broomfield’s desk, and I have discovered some interesting things.”
He sat on the chair nearest to her and leaned forward to take the papers she offered him. In his present state of discomfort, if he attempted to sit on the floor, he might never get up again.
“What have we here?”
“The papers you found the day Miss Broomfield died, a letter written to Mrs. Jenkins, and one written to me. Compare the handwriting. Does it look similar?”
Robert spent a moment reading the letters and then looked sternly down at his wife, his good humor fading. “When did you receive this abomination of a letter?”
She bit her lip. “I believe it was last week.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about it?”
“I fully intended to, but—”
He interrupted her. “Only after you’d attempted to discover who sent it? Lucy, for God’s sake! When will you learn?”
“It wasn’t that simple, Robert.” She raised her chin. “I was upset. I didn’t want anyone to know the contents of that letter. It was only when Mrs. Jenkins told me she had received an unpleasant communication herself that I began to wonder if there was something suspicious going on.”
In the interests of harmony, he tamped down both his exasperation and the desire to reassure her that the letter writer was wrong, and focused on the matter at hand. “It seems as if your assumption was right.”
“Yes. And would you agree that the papers you took from Miss Broomfield are written in a very similar style?”
Death Comes to the School Page 11