Death Comes to the School

by Catherine Lloyd

  “This feels like velvet.” Lucy drew out what appeared to be some kind of dark green shoulder cape and wrinkled her nose. “It smells rather musty.” She set it on the table, beside the box, and peered into the interior of the box. “Oh, my goodness.”

  “What is it?” Anna exclaimed.

  “Look.” Lucy reached in and picked up four flat boxes, which were surprisingly heavy. “I think they are jewelry cases.”

  Ignoring Anna’s squeak of surprise, Lucy continued to remove another layer of shallow boxes and one large, deep ornate wooden one.

  “Shall we look inside?” Anna asked.

  “I don’t see why not.” Lucy opened the first box to reveal a double strand of pearls with a carved ivory pendant at the center of the chain. “This is beautiful.”

  Leaving Anna to sigh over the contents of the smaller boxes, Lucy turned her attention to the ornate wooden box she assumed was an actual jewelry casket which had a small key in the lock. On the blue satin lining inside sat a multitude of rings, earrings, and brooches, which sparkled and glowed even in the dullness of the winter afternoon.

  Anna met Lucy’s gaze. “Where on earth did Miss Broomfield get these things?”

  “Perhaps she inherited them from her mother.”

  “But why was she working as a teacher? Just one of these pieces is worth five years of her salary. Why didn’t she just sell everything and live off the income?”

  “I don’t know,” Lucy finally said. “None of this makes any sense at all.”

  * * *

  Hours later, after Anna had returned to the rectory and Lucy and Robert had eaten dinner with Aunt Rose, Lucy was still no nearer to understanding Miss Broomfield’s peculiar behavior.

  She waited impatiently as Robert methodically went through the hoard of jewelry, whistling under his breath as he held up some of the more elaborate pieces, such as the delicate tiara.

  Eventually, she had to ask. “Why do you think Miss Broomfield had all this wealth concealed in her cupboard?”

  “I have no idea.” He set down the last piece. “I suppose she might have wanted to keep the pieces for her future children.”

  “While teaching in a school and not even attempting to attract a husband of any kind?”

  “Or maybe she was simply attempting to keep her legacy safe.”

  Lucy sat at her desk. “I suppose it does provide a good reason why someone might want to kill her.”

  “But no one is this community would’ve known or suspected that she was rich,” Robert countered.

  “What about that Mr. Clapper who visited the smithy on the day she died?”

  “We don’t even know if he was acquainted with Miss Broomfield. Mr. Hall didn’t say he asked any questions about who lived where in Kurland St. Mary, or anything useful like that.”

  “I should ask Mr. Jarvis if he remembers Mr. Clapper saying anything when he stayed at the Queen’s Head.”

  “He didn’t seem to know much.” Robert smiled. “Better ask Mrs. Jarvis. She’s the one with all the gossip.”

  “I will.” Lucy stared at the boxes piled on the table. “There is one odd thing, though.”

  “What is that?”

  “The diamond and ruby necklace I found on top of her chest of drawers.”

  “Ah yes.” Robert perched on the edge of the desk and looked down at her. “Why was that piece in a different place to all the rest of her loot?”

  “Perhaps she was contemplating selling just that one item. Or giving it to someone.”

  Robert raised an eyebrow. “So now you suspect she was paying someone off? Who? The mysterious Mr. Clapper, I presume.”

  Lucy sniffed. “You are the one who used the word loot, as if she had somehow accrued all the valuables in a less than honest way.”

  “If we are bent on discussing outrageous scenarios, my dear, as is your wont, then we cannot ignore the fact that she might have stolen every damn thing and made off with it.”

  “I suppose that would explain why she was hiding her wealth.” Lucy sighed. “This is most confusing. I must write to my father’s friend in Cambridge tonight and hope that he can provide us with more information.”

  “In the meantime, I’ll call Dermot to come and help me lock up this treasure trove in our strong room.” He slowly straightened up and grabbed his cane. “We can rely on him to be discreet and keep this information to himself.”

  “Do you need my help?” Lucy inquired.

  “No. You write your important letter, and I will ensure that it is delivered as quickly as possible on the morrow.”

  “Thank you.” Lucy hesitated. “I had a long conversation with Anna today about her marriage prospects.”

  “And?”

  “She fears having a child.”

  “An understandable dilemma.” He went toward the door, his gait awkward even with his cane.

  “I don’t think I managed to reassure her about the matter, either.”

  “How could you, considering what you have been through this last year?” He looked back at her from the door, his face in shadows.

  “I do not regret what has occurred.” She held his gaze. “I only wish the outcome had been . . . better.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Do you think there are gentlemen who might consider marrying a woman and not expect her to have children?”

  “I doubt it. What man would choose to marry if he didn’t want an heir?”

  “I see.” Lucy looked down at her lap. “What about for companionship and respect and . . . love?”

  He came back in and gently closed the door. “If you are trying to tell me something, could you be more specific?”

  She blinked up at him. “What ever do you mean?”

  “If you are suggesting that our marriage is built on friendship, respect, and love, then I would have to agree with you. I would also agree that it can remain like that if that is your choice.”

  “I was talking about Anna.”

  “Are you sure?” He didn’t look angry, just tired. “I promise that I will not stop loving and liking you, regardless of your decision. Just let me know, won’t you?”

  With an abrupt jerk of his head, he turned on his heel and left, leaving Lucy openmouthed.

  Had he thought she was suggesting she no longer wanted to share his bed? Was he really that foolish? He was the one who had been avoiding her for the past few months! She half rose from her seat and considered running after him, and then remembered what had happened the last time she chased him into his lair.

  She sat down again, her hands entwined together on her lap, her whole body trembling. Should she consider what he was offering her? Was he merely suggesting an arrangement that he had already started to implement in his own subtle way? An arrangement that many couples of their social class arrived at and agreed with?

  Taking a deep breath, Lucy turned her attention to the letter she had to write. If Robert came back with Dermot to take the boxes away, she would pretend not to see him at all.

  Chapter 11

  The next morning, Lucy decided to start her day by visiting the Queen’s Head. She’d slept badly, too aware of Robert gently snoring on his side of the bed, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. She knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t force further discussion on the issue of whether she wished their marriage to remain celibate but would leave her to make her own decision and communicate it to him when she was ready.

  But she had no answer for him, just a sense that her heart was actually hurting, and that it was somehow difficult to concentrate. She didn’t like to fail at anything, and marriage was no exception.

  As it wasn’t market day, the inn was relatively quiet. It was a chilly but bright morning, and she’d chosen to walk down to the village, as much to give her something to do as to avoid having to rouse Mr. Coleman from the stable. Having taken her breakfast in bed, Aunt Rose had agreed to meet her at the rectory at noon, when the twins were expected to arrive home.

&n
bsp; She was looking forward to seeing her brothers, who would be sure to keep her busy, with their boundless energy and propensity for getting into trouble. Over the years they had come to regard Robert as something of a hero, probably because unlike their indolent father, he was more than happy to order them around and expect instant obedience. For some reason, they appreciated that. Lucy would never quite understand men.

  “Lady Kurland?”

  Lucy walked into the inn to find Mrs. Jarvis just emerging from the kitchen. The inn was over two hundred years old, with neither a straight ceiling nor a flat floor within its black beams and wattle-and-daub walls.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Jarvis. I wonder if I might have a moment of your time?”

  “Good gracious, my lady, of course you may!” Mrs. Jarvis curtsied. “I was just thinking of going up to the hall to speak to Major Kurland myself.” She opened the door into one of the private parlors and ushered Lucy inside. “Not that he’s Major Kurland anymore now, is he? Of course, when I knew him, he wasn’t even that!” She chuckled, sending her blond ringlets bobbing under her lace cap.

  Lucy turned to face her. “You knew Sir Robert before you moved to Kurland St. Mary?”

  “Oh, yes, my lady. Didn’t he mention it to you? The naughty boy. I met him in London about sixteen years ago, when I was a dancer in the theater, and he and his officer friends came backstage to ogle the performers.”

  Lucy managed a smile. “How strange that you ended up living in the same village.”

  “I know.” Mrs. Jarvis winked. “I can’t say he was pleased to see me, but I’m not here to cause trouble. You can have my word on that, my lady.”

  “That’s . . . very good of you.” Lucy sank into a chair in front of the fire. “Do you have a message for Sir Robert that I can deliver for you?”

  “No need for that now.” Mrs. Jarvis took the seat opposite Lucy. “You can tell him yourself. He was asking whether that Mr. Clapper who stayed here had shared any information about why he’d been in the village, seeing as the name wasn’t familiar to Sir Robert.”

  “I believe my husband said you’d confirmed that Mr. Clapper stayed the night but that no one spoke to him beyond the basic civilities.”

  “Which was how matters stood until Bertha, my second chambermaid, came back to work today after staying home to look after her poor mother.” Mrs. Jarvis shook her head. “Thirty-nine years old and birthing her fifteenth child, and Bertha’s the oldest and only seventeen.”

  “The Pilcher family?”

  “Yes, my lady, that’s right. Well, as I said, Bertha came back today, and she was the one who tidied up after Mr. Clapper the night he stayed here. She was telling me that he was quite a chatty man, but a little likely to pinch her bottom, if you take my meaning, and—”

  In a vain attempt to stem the flow of words, Lucy held up her hand. “So Bertha spoke to Mr. Clapper. What did he say to her?”

  “I was just getting to that, my lady. Bertha said that Mr. Clapper was a solicitor, and that he lived in Cheapside, in London.”

  “Cheapside?” Lucy tried to locate the area in her memory. “I don’t think I ever visited anyone there.”

  “Probably not, my lady. It’s not exactly a fashionable part of town, is it? Filled with cits, merchants, and bankers.”

  “Did Mr. Clapper mention why he was in Kurland St. Mary?”

  “Now, Bertha did ask him, which she shouldn’t have done, seeing as I tell my girls not to be too nosy about our clients, just in case they end up getting themselves into trouble, and he said it was confidential client business, whatever that means.”

  “Presumably, he came to see someone in the village involving a legal matter,” Lucy said. “I wonder who it was. Could I speak to Bertha directly? Mrs. Jarvis, would you mind?”

  “I’ll see if I can find her for you.” Mrs. Jarvis stood and retied her apron strings around her ample waist. “Now, you stay there beside the fire, and I’ll find you something hot and warming to bring the color back to your cheeks. I didn’t hear your carriage, or I would’ve come outside to welcome you. Did you walk? I’ll wager Major Kurland doesn’t like you doing that when you’re not well.”

  “I’m quite well,” Lucy said.

  Mrs. Jarvis made a tutting sound. “That’s just like a lady to pretend all is fine. The whole village knows of your sadness, Lady Kurland, and we all wish you nothing but the best of health in the upcoming year.”

  “Thank you. I really am—”

  “And don’t you worry about Major Kurland looking elsewhere for his oats, because if he were, I’d be the first to know, and I haven’t heard a whisper, so he’s still as loyal as can be—which I would expect from a gentleman of his standing. And you’ve been married only three years. Give him another ten, and then he might be gallivanting across the county, with your blessing.”

  Mrs. Jarvis winked before she disappeared out of the door, leaving Lucy feeling like a ship caught in a storm. Had Mrs. Jarvis implied that Robert didn’t have a mistress—yet? She’d forgotten that the village school wasn’t the only place where gossips gathered.

  It hadn’t even occurred to Lucy that Robert might already have provided for his own needs . . . and she certainly couldn’t believe that he would do so in his own village. But her father had maintained a similar arrangement for many years, so perhaps she could be wrong.

  Lucy undid the buttons of her pelisse as the heat from the fire warmed the air around her. And why hadn’t Robert mentioned his prior acquaintance with Mrs. Jarvis? He’d certainly seemed slightly ill at ease the last time they’d visited the inn. What exactly had their relationship been? She could hardly ask Robert. The fact that Mrs. Jarvis had ended up in Kurland St. Mary could be viewed either as unlucky chance or as quite deliberate.

  Chastising herself for the unruly and nonsensical direction of her thoughts, Lucy turned as the door opened. A short round female came in and curtsied to her.

  “Lady Kurland? I’m Bertha Pilcher.”

  Lucy smiled. Bertha had the distinctive red hair of her father and the freckles to match. “How is your mother faring since the birth of her child?”

  “Oh, you know her, my lady. She’s already back working in the fields, the little ’un strapped to her back.”

  “I will visit her as soon as I can.”

  “She’ll like that, my lady. She’s always pleased to see you. Miss Anna sent a lovely basket of knitted baby things from the rectory this morning.”

  “I’ll make sure to tell her that the items were well received.” Lucy redirected her thoughts. “I wanted to ask you about a gentleman who stayed at the inn last week—a Mr. Clapper. Do you remember him?”

  “Yes, indeed, my lady. I was just telling Mrs. Jarvis that he was a mite fond of patting and pinching my backside. Eventually, I stood on his toes, and he became a bit more gentlemanly after that!”

  “I understand he was a solicitor from Cheapside, in London.”

  “Yes, that’s right, my lady. He was boasting about what a fine house he lived in and how many aristocratic clients his business had.” Bertha sniffed. “Not that I believed him, my lady. He was no fashion plate. His shirt cuffs were fraying, and his coat was so old, it had patches on the elbows.”

  “Did he give you any hint about why he was in Kurland St. Mary?”

  “Just that he was here on business, to see a lady.”

  “A lady? Are you quite certain he said that?”

  “Yes, indeed. Does it matter?” Bertha asked. “I suppose there aren’t that many people in our village who don’t conduct all their business through Jacksons Solicitors in Hertford. Who needs a fancy solicitor from London?”

  “I suspect you are right.” Lucy frowned. “Did he say anything else?”

  “About why he was here?” Bertha shook her head. “Not really. He did seem pleased as punch about having secrets to keep, though.”

  “He certainly sounds like an extremely annoying man,” Lucy murmured. “Thank you for your help, Bertha
, and please give your mother and father my best regards and congratulations on the birth of their latest child.”

  “I’ll do that, my lady. Now, is there anything else I can aid you with?”

  “You have already been most helpful.” Lucy smiled at the girl as she curtsied and left the room.

  Mrs. Jarvis appeared almost immediately and placed a glass containing some kind of steaming hot liquid at Lucy’s elbow. “Whiskey and honey with a touch of my own apple cider and ginger to warm your cockles, my lady.”

  “It certainly smells delicious.” Lucy took the glass in her gloved hands and sniffed appreciatively. “Thank you.”

  “Now, you drink it all down before you go,” Mrs. Jarvis ordered. “Are you walking back to the hall, or have you errands to run in the village?”

  “I’m meeting my sister and Mrs. Armitage at the rectory, so I don’t have far to go.” Lucy suspected that the landlady was about her age, if not younger, but she couldn’t find it in herself to object to being mothered for a moment. “My younger brothers are arriving home from school today.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Major Kurland told me last time he popped in for a chat. How lovely for you.” She beamed at Lucy. “My son is coming down from London to celebrate the festivities with us this year. You’ll meet him at the party on Christmas Eve.”

  “I didn’t realize you had a son, Mrs. Jarvis.”

  “He works in a brewery in London. That’s how I met Mr. Jarvis. I was there meeting my son one day, and he introduced me to Mr. Jarvis, who was a widower in want of a wife.” She winked at Lucy. “And seeing as I’d always had my eye on a move to the countryside, I was more than willing to lend an ear to his proposal.”

  “How . . . convenient for you both.”

  “Seeing as Mr. Jarvis hasn’t got a son to take over this place, he’s hopeful my boy might be interested. He’s a big lad of almost sixteen and well suited for this kind of work. Knows his ale, as well.”

  “That sounds like an excellent plan.” Lucy finished her drink in one long overheated swallow. The whiskey burned a searing and not unpleasant path straight to her stomach. “I had better be on my way. Thank you so much for your hospitality.”