Death Comes to the School

by Catherine Lloyd

  “There is another one.” She gave him a second note, this one folded.

  “Miss Broomfield received two letters?” Robert unfolded the note and read it aloud. “Norfolk is a cold and unforgiving place. You will burn at the stake with your fellow Catholic martyrs.” He lowered his gaze to Lucy. “What’s this about Norfolk?”

  “I believe that’s where Miss Broomfield came from. Do you remember that Dermot told us the diamond and ruby necklace was made for a family called Hillcott? I found an engraving of a Hillcott Hall in a copy of Ackermann’s Miss Broomfield had on her shelf.”

  “That certainly seems an unlikely periodical for her to keep and quite a coincidence. I suppose she could have worked there and stolen the jewelry.” He handed her back the notes. “Anything else?”

  “When I was at the schoolhouse today, Reg came by to check the flow of the kitchen chimney, which Miss Broomfield informed me was blocked just before her death.”

  “And he found the letters up there?”

  “In this box.” She showed him the black metal box on her lap and took out a slim black volume. “There are some other . . . things in there, as well.”

  “Such as?” Robert asked.

  “Her rosary, another prayer book, and her diary.” Lucy’s lip trembled. “I started to read it, but . . . she was not a nice person, Robert. I fear her mind was unhinged. She revels in hatred and hellfire.”

  He held out his hand. “Give the book to me. I’ll read it. I have a far stronger stomach than you, and it might contain something that helps us work out what the devil is going on.”

  “Thank you.”

  She placed the book in his hand, with the letters inside the front cover. He put it in his coat pocket to examine later. She still looked shaken, and that didn’t please Robert at all.

  “It seems that we are at an impasse,” Lucy said quietly.

  “Margaret is unconscious, Miss Broomfield is dead, and we still have no idea why.”

  He took her hand. “Perhaps this time we will never know exactly what happened.”

  She nodded and then looked up at him, her chin set at a resolute angle, one he had come to know well. “Tomorrow I am going with Anna, Sophia, and Dermot to purchase the last of the toys for the villagers’ party. I will do my best to enjoy my day and to try to forget about the things I cannot solve.”

  “That’s an excellent strategy.” He drew her gently to her feet and kissed her brow. “Now come and have dinner with me. Aunt Rose has invited your father, and I need you to defend me against his claims that I am an unintelligent oaf.”

  Chapter 15

  “Mr. Fletcher?” Lucy called out to her husband’s land agent. “Can you wait a moment?”

  They were moving through the busy streets of the university town of Cambridge, and Lucy was struggling to keep up with Dermot’s longer stride and youthful vigor. It was another gray day, with a biting wind that swept between the stone colleges of the university and the river Cam. The streets were not only narrow but were also packed with people.

  “I do apologize, Lady Kurland.” Dermot stepped into a low doorway. “I was too busy chatting to Miss Harrington to notice you and Mrs. Stanford had gotten behind me.”

  “I was going to suggest that you and my sister continue shopping. Mrs. Stanford and I will go back to the inn and deposit all the parcels we are carrying,” Lucy said after she caught her breath.

  It was not precisely the thing for Anna to be out without a chaperone in the city, but Lucy was fairly certain she could rely on Dermot’s ability to behave in an appropriate manner.

  Sophia touched her arm. “I’ll carry on shopping with them, Lucy. I have another gift to buy.”

  Lucy raised an inquiring eyebrow at her friend but chose not to disagree openly with her. “Then I will return to the inn and meet you there in an hour, before we begin the journey home.”

  Anna sighed. “I wish we had more time. I’ve scarcely started on my list.”

  Dermot bowed to her. “Now that I have completed my commissions for Sir Robert, I am completely at your disposal, Miss Harrington.” He offered her his arm. “Where would you like to go next?”

  Sophia winked at Lucy as she went to follow the happy pair. “I promise I’ll keep an eye on them, not a close eye, but a mindful one, just in case.”

  “Thank you,” Lucy called out as she waited for them all to turn the corner. Not having to explain herself to Sophia was an unforeseen advantage to her next expedition. She consulted the address on the letter and headed toward the Peterhouse College buildings.

  * * *

  “I’ll see if Professor Elwood is in his rooms, Lady Kurland.”

  The porter at the gate didn’t seem very willing to help her, which wasn’t a surprise. She’d heard many stories of academia from her father and his friends, and none of them had indicated much willingness of the intellectual elite to climb down from their ivory towers and speak to a mere woman.

  “Thank you.” Lucy sat down on the stone bench in the sheltered gatehouse. “I’ll wait.”

  To her surprise, the man came back relatively quickly. “Professor Elwood is more than willing to receive you in his chamber, my lady. Please follow me.”

  The college cloisters and grassy quad were deserted as the students had been released for the yuletide season. The ancient architecture was well worth admiring, but Lucy had neither the interest nor the time to contemplate it.

  “Lady Kurland, Professor.”

  “Thank you, Timms. Do come in, my dear.”

  Lucy entered the book-lined chamber and closely studied the elderly man who rose to greet her. She guessed he was in his seventh decade. He had a long white beard and kind blue eyes.

  “Please be seated, Lady Kurland. I have heard much about you from your father. He oft lamented that you weren’t born a boy and able to use your intellectual abilities.”

  “He told me the same thing many times.” Lucy maintained her smile as she sat down. “I appreciate your offering me this opportunity to speak to you about Miss Broomfield.”

  “Ah, yes.” He returned to sit behind his desk and dropped his gaze to his folded hands. “I thought that might be your mission. I understand from your letter that she is dead.”

  “Yes, and in somewhat suspicious circumstances.” Lucy sat forward. “May I ask how you came to write that reference for her?”

  “I wrote it as a favor to a member of her family whom I have known since we were both sent away to school at the age of seven. He asked me if I would help him find a secure position for a niece of his who had fallen on hard times.”

  “This friend of yours is Miss Broomfield’s uncle?”

  “Yes. A Mr. Richard Hillcott. He is a vicar who inherited the living on the Hillcott estate in Norfolk.” He hesitated. “Broomfield is not her real surname. She was born a Hillcott.”

  Lucy nodded. “I was beginning to suspect she was connected to that family. Did she fall out with them at some point?”

  “I fear so. From what I understand, she was brought up under the influence of her Spanish grandmother, who was of a different religious persuasion. At the age of seventeen, when most girls are thinking about their coming-out, she declared she wished to become a nun.”

  “Good gracious!” Lucy sat up straight.

  “As you might imagine, her concerned but loving parents were quick to condemn such foolishness. Their solution was to take her away on a tour of the continent to perhaps change her mind, but she was still determined. While out of the country, she struck up an unfortunate and clandestine friendship with a young student priest she met in Naples.

  “Unfortunately, the ‘relationship’ continued by letter after her return to England. The man eventually dared follow her to Norfolk. While she outwardly conformed to her parents’ expectations, in private she was becoming enamored of this young man, who sought to convert her to his religion so that she could fulfill her desire to become a bride of Christ.”

  “Did he wish to conver
t her to Roman Catholicism or to himself?” Lucy asked.

  “I believe his motives were pure, Lady Kurland. All I can tell you is that when she ran away from home and appeared on his doorstep, saying she loved him, he was the first to insist she return home.”

  Lucy tried to imagine the stern-faced Miss Broomfield as a young woman willing to risk everything over her misguided infatuation with a man, and shuddered. Even though she had disliked the woman, it must have been particularly humiliating to have her hopes crushed and her so-called lover repudiate her.

  “What happened after that?”

  Professor Elwood sighed. “I am afraid to say that she became hysterical and, after threatening to take her own life, had to be confined in her bedchamber for almost a year. I believe her parents even considered sending her to a private asylum at one point. It wasn’t until she demanded and was given proof that her priest friend had returned to Italy and taken his final vows that she finally collapsed and became . . . acquiescent again.”

  “Did she ever make her debut to society?”

  “No. Her parents decided the excitement and expectation would be too much for her, so she stayed at home.”

  “Then how did she end up as a teacher?” Lucy asked.

  “At some point she answered some applications for teacher and governess positions in the Lady, a periodical her mother subscribed to. One day she just left with almost none of her possessions. Her parents were, of course, distraught, thinking she had fled to the continent to follow through on her vow to become a nun, but they could find no trace of her in any of the convents or orders they contacted.”

  “Because she’d found employment at a school in Cornwall.”

  “So I understand. Eventually, she wrote to her parents, and she continued to do so once a year.”

  “I’ll wager they had begun to believe she was dead and were probably thrilled to receive any communication from her at all.” Lucy shook her head. “What an extraordinary story. I have a letter from the school in Cornwall, which dismissed her for undesirable conduct toward her students.”

  “That’s probably when I became involved in this sorry business.” Professor Elwood heaved a sigh. “Richard came to see me and said that his niece had been unfairly dismissed from her previous post, yet she still refused to come home to her parents. He asked if I had any idea where she could seek employment. I had just received your father’s letter, and thinking that I could perhaps help two of my oldest friends at the same time, I agreed to write a reference for Miss Broomfield.”

  “Did you ever meet her?” Lucy asked.

  “No, I did not. I wish I had.” He held her gaze. “I am truly sorry that my attempt to be helpful caused such a tragic resolution.”

  “You could not have predicted such an outcome, sir. Who could?” The distress in his eyes moved Lucy considerably. “Do you happen to know whether Miss Broomfield’s parents used an intermediary to contact her, or did they do so themselves?”

  “She refused to see any of them, so I would assume they used some sort of intermediary from the legal profession.”

  “Did they offer her any financial assistance?”

  “That I do not know.” He reached for a piece of paper on his desk. “I have written down the name and address of Mr. Richard Hillcott. I wrote to inform him that you had contacted me. He gave me permission to share his family’s personal information with you.” He paused. “I assume you will treat this sensitive material with the respect it deserves.”

  “Naturally.” Lucy nodded. “My husband is the local magistrate in Kurland St. Mary and is a man of character and discretion. You can trust him to use what you have told me fairly and only to aid the course of justice.”

  “I am glad to hear that there are still men with integrity in our land.”

  Lucy checked the clock hanging on the wall above the fireplace. “Is there anything else you can think of with regards to this matter, sir?”

  “No, my dear.” He followed her gaze to the clock. “Do you have another appointment? I was going to suggest we share some afternoon tea.”

  “I wish that were possible, Professor, but I have to return home.” Lucy rose and curtsied. “You have been very helpful. Perhaps when you next visit Kurland St. Mary, we can spend a more agreeable afternoon together at the hall.”

  “I look forward to it.” He stood and brought her gloved hand to his lips. “Despite the subject matter, it has been a pleasure meeting you, Lady Kurland, and I do hope to further our acquaintance.”

  “Are you settled here for the Christmas season, sir?”

  “I am expected at my sister’s house for the festivities.” His blue eyes brightened. “I never married myself, but my sister has a houseful of children and grandchildren for me to spoil and enjoy.”

  “How lovely.” Lucy smiled at him. “Seasons greetings, sir, and all the best wishes for a happy New Year.”

  Her smile faded as she walked back out onto the street and worked out which direction she needed to take in order to arrive back safely at the correct inn. It seemed Miss Broomfield’s life had not been a happy one. But it was extremely unlikely that anyone from her family had wanted her dead. In truth, they had wanted her to stay at home, have a traditional London Season, and get married to a suitable gentleman.

  Why had she resisted them? What kind of woman chose to leave her family and become a governess and teacher in a world where those positions were not valued or appreciated? Lucy knew how crushing the weight of familial expectation could be, but she had never developed the courage to flout it completely.

  Had Miss Broomfield finally lost her nerve at the thought of venturing onto the war-ravaged continent to find a suitable nunnery? In her debilitated state, had crossing the Channel been too much for her, so she’d chosen to stay as far away from her family as she could manage? Lucy would never know.

  She stopped to cross the busy road, which was crowded with people shopping and others intent on selling their wares. She took a firmer hold on her reticule as a gang of young boys burst through the crowds, fingers outstretched to catch any unsecured purses or dangling treasures. She safely reached the other side of the street just as the town clock struck the hour. If all went well, they would be home in five or six hours.

  * * *

  “Lucy, wake up.”

  She opened her eyes to see Sophia smiling at her. From the rocking motion, she deduced they were still traveling. It was now dark outside, and it was difficult to see clearly, despite the carriage lamps.

  “What is it?”

  “Can we stop at the Queen’s Head so that I can collect a parcel?”

  “Of course. We have to stop at the rectory, anyway.”

  “Thank you.” Sophia nudged her. “Look at Anna.” Lucy peered past her friend to the opposite side of the interior, where her sister had fallen asleep, her head on Dermot’s shoulder. He had put his arm around her and was smiling even in his sleep. Thinking about Anna’s aversion to marriage made the tableau bittersweet for Lucy.

  “We’re almost home. We just came off the Hertford road,” Sophia added. “I’ll be glad to get out of this cramped space.”

  Lucy couldn’t argue with that. She wasn’t quite sure how Robert would react when he heard the news that they’d gone all the way to Cambridge rather than to the much closer town of Hertford. Whatever he thought, she was glad she had gone. They might not be any closer to discovering why Miss Broomfield had died, but Lucy had a much clearer picture of how she had lived.

  “I enjoyed the children singing last night immensely,” Sophia remarked. “I declare, there was hardly a dry eye in the church. You did an excellent job, my dear.”

  “I did nothing but supervise Rebecca and Josephine,” Lucy said. “They were the ones who put in all the hard work necessary for success. But I think even my father was impressed. He said we should make it an annual tradition.”

  “If you can find a teacher to keep your school open all year.”

  “We certainly ha
ven’t been very lucky so far.” Lucy rubbed the condensation from the small glass window with the tip of her gloved finger. “Let’s take Anna to the rectory first and visit the Queen’s Head after that.”

  Lucy kissed Anna good night and watched as she went in the front door of the rectory, accompanied by Dermot, who had insisted on carrying all her parcels. He had also said that the walk back to Kurland Hall would do him good after the restricted hours spent in the carriage and had told them not to bother to return for him.

  “Mr. Fletcher is in love with your sister,” Sophia remarked.

  “I know.” Lucy sighed.

  “Would you disapprove of such a match?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Would your father?”

  “Absolutely. Between his distaste for popish ways and Dermot’s social class, the poor man would never stand a chance.”

  “But what if Anna was in love with him, too?” Sophia persisted.

  “She likes him very much, but she certainly hasn’t admitted to having any romantical feelings about him to me.” Lucy hesitated. “She isn’t willing to rush into a marriage just for the sake of it.”

  “That is very sensible. And she is so beautiful, I doubt she will ever have to worry about finding a gentleman who is worthy of her.”

  Lucy felt the carriage slow and tried to look out of the window. “We’re approaching the Queen’s Head.”

  Sophia put on her bonnet and tied the ribbons. “I suppose I’d better make myself respectable before I descend. I swear, there are more gossips in Kurland St. Mary than in London.”

  “We both attended a London Season, Sophia, and know better.” Lucy smiled at her friend. “But one does have to keep up appearances here, as well.”

  She took the opportunity to climb down from the carriage to stretch her legs while Sophia hurried into the inn. There was only one other vehicle in the stable yard. It took a few moments of peering through the darkness to establish that it looked like the Kurland gig.

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Jarvis.”

  Lucy turned her attention back to the inn, where Sophia stood illuminated in a square of light from the open door.