Death Comes to the School

by Catherine Lloyd

  She waved at Lucy and came across the yard. “Are you ready to proceed? Mrs. Jarvis was busy, so I had to extricate Mr. Jarvis from serving ale in the tavern. He was very gracious about being disturbed.”

  Sophia climbed into the carriage, and Lucy followed her. “I realized I’d left my favorite shawl in London and wrote to ask my housekeeper to send it on to me.” Sophia paused and looked over Lucy’s shoulder through the still open carriage door. “Is that Robert with Mrs. Jarvis?” She chuckled. “I wonder what they were doing in there.”

  Lucy turned her head and saw her husband emerging from the stables, Mrs. Jarvis clinging to his arm as she chattered away nineteen to the dozen. Lucy slammed the door and rapped on the ceiling to alert the coachman to depart.

  “Lucy?” Sophia’s puzzled voice came from behind her. “Why didn’t you want to stop and speak to Robert?”

  Lucy fumbled for her handkerchief as a storm of unforeseen emotions swirled inside her. “Because . . . maybe he wouldn’t want to be interrupted.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Sophia took her elbow and maneuvered her around. “Are you crying? What is wrong? What happened? You can’t possibly think that Robert is . . . that Mrs. Jarvis would . . . could you?”

  “Why not?” Lucy spoke through gulping sobs into her handkerchief. “He hasn’t visited my bed for six months.” She dissolved into tears and let Sophia sit beside her and pat her shoulders in a most comforting way.

  When the carriage stopped, Sophia opened the door and grabbed Lucy’s hand. “You are coming in with me. You cannot risk going home in this state.”

  She led Lucy in through the front door, spoke privately with her mother’s butler, and then took Lucy straight up the stairs to her bedchamber.

  “I do apologize.” Lucy blew her nose, and she sank into a chair by the fire. “I know I am behaving appallingly, but seeing the evidence with my own eyes after all my worrying. . . quite overset me.”

  Sophia put a glass of brandy into her hand. “Drink up. You have suffered something of a shock.” She waited until Lucy took a small sip before continuing. “Now, what is this all about? Do you suspect Robert of being unfaithful to you with Mrs. Jarvis?”

  “He knew her when he was a young officer in London.”

  “Robert told you this?”

  “No, Mrs. Jarvis told me. Robert has seemingly forgotten to mention it. She didn’t think it was anything to be embarrassed about. But doesn’t it seem odd that she ended up living in Kurland St. Mary?”

  “But Robert has eyes for no woman but you,” Sophia said gently. “Just because they were acquainted before doesn’t mean they are becoming . . . acquainted again.”

  “He suggested we could have a marriage of friendship and mutual respect.” Lucy screwed up her handkerchief into a tight ball. “Mayhap he meant that he had already found other methods of physical release.”

  “Why on earth would he suggest that?”

  “We were talking about . . . another person, someone who is afraid of the physical nature of marriage. I asked him if there were men who would marry and not expect the marriage to be consummated. I think he believed I was talking about our marriage.”

  “Do you and Robert still share a bed?”

  “We sleep in the same bed, but he makes no effort to . . . seek me out at night.”

  “And what happens if you seek him out?”

  Lucy slowly looked up at Sophia. “I don’t.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “Because what if he repudiated me?” Lucy’s cheeks heated. She had never before spoken to anyone about the intimate facts of her marriage. “He waits until I am asleep before he comes to bed. He makes no effort to touch me.”

  “Lucy, you did suffer two miscarriages in six months,” Sophia said softly and reached out to hold her hand. “Perhaps Robert is afraid, as well.”

  “So afraid that he chases Mrs. Jarvis into the stables? She had straw in her hair, Sophia.”

  “Then it seems as if you have no choice, Lucy dear.” Sophia fixed her with a sympathetic stare. “You need to gather your courage and ask your husband exactly what is going on.”

  Chapter 16

  “So Professor Elwood had never even met Miss Broomfield and simply wrote the reference to help his old friend.” Robert whistled. “Good Lord.”

  He glanced over at his wife, who was sitting in the chair in front of his desk, her gaze focused downward on her folded hands. She had gone to bed straight after her return from Cambridge and had risen before him. Persuading her to take the time to speak to him for a few moments had taken some doing.

  “I feel sorry for the Hillcott family,” Robert added. “I will write them a letter after Christmas and express our condolences.”

  “As you wish.” Lucy’s gaze was now fixed on the clock on the mantelpiece. “I have a lot to do today, so is there anything else I can assist you with?”

  “Not at this moment.” He paused to study her averted face. “Are you feeling all right?”

  “Why should I not be?” She rose to her feet. “Pray excuse me.”

  He stood, as well, and went to open the door for her. “Are you quite certain you are well?”

  “I have guests arriving in less than an hour and a villagers’ party to organize. We are also hosting a ball for the entire county tomorrow night.” She didn’t even look at him. “I am simply busy.”

  He caught hold of her elbow. “It’s more than that. What’s wrong?”

  She eased out of his grasp. “I have to go.”

  “Lucy . . .”

  “Please excuse me.”

  He let her slide past him and returned to his desk, his sense of unease building. It wasn’t like his Lucy to be so quiet. He might sometimes be irritated by her forthright nature, but he didn’t recollect her ever standing down from a fight. He couldn’t discount the fact that she did have a lot to do, but normally, she was in her element on such occasions, not grimly determined and terse. That was normally his modus operandi.

  He stared out of the window at the towering black clouds that were advancing across the parkland like massed ranks of infantry. He hoped that all the guests would arrive safely, and that both the ball and the party would take place as planned. From the taste of frost on his tongue, he guessed they were about to welcome winter in all its glory.

  * * *

  “Lady Kurland?”

  Lucy broke off from her discussion with her housekeeper and found Foley hovering by her elbow. It was late in the afternoon on an exceedingly long day, and she was beginning to feel somewhat overwhelmed by the tasks still ahead of her. She kept reminding herself that her staff was remarkably competent, and that she had lots of help at hand if she would only remember to call on it.

  “Yes?”

  “There is a gentleman who wishes to speak to you.”

  “About the ball or the village party?”

  Foley frowned. “He said it was on a matter of business, my lady.”

  “Did he give you his name?”

  “No, my lady, but he did say he had come from London, and it was related to the matter of Miss Broomfield.”

  “Then I will come at once.” She paused. “If you can find Sir Robert, please ask him to join us at his convenience.”

  She didn’t bother to change out of her old gown. She was far too busy to waste half an hour while the poor man kicked his heels in the land agent’s office.

  When she opened the door, a youngish gentleman jumped to his feet, bowed, and offered her his card.

  “My name is Mr. Clapper, Lady Kurland. I received your note through the good offices of Mr. Stanford.” He was very much as Bertha had described him, slightly shabby, but handsome enough to get away with it.

  “It is very kind of you to come all the way down from London to speak to me.” Lucy offered him a seat. “Especially in this awful weather.”

  “I decided the matter was too important to wait until after Christmastide.” He sat down. “I understand that you and Sir
Robert Kurland own the school where Miss Broomfield was employed.”

  “That is correct. It was my husband who discovered Miss Broomfield was dead.”

  “Her family is desolated to hear that.”

  “The Hillcott family of Norfolk?”

  Mr. Clapper frowned. “With all due respect, how do you know of that connection?”

  “I spoke to a Professor Elwood, who wrote a reference for Miss Broomfield, and he revealed the link between our teacher and the Hillcotts.” Lucy paused. “I assume that you work for them in some capacity?”

  “Not exactly. I deal with issues relating to Miss Broomfield only through a separate law firm. She was quite adamant about that. She didn’t trust her parents or their usual solicitors.”

  “But you acted as some kind of liaison between the parties.”

  “Exactly.” He nodded. “It was my job to transfer Miss Broomfield’s allowance to her, and to alert her to any changes in her family circumstances.”

  “So you did meet with her here a week or so ago?”

  “I certainly attempted to do so.”

  “And are you at liberty to tell me why you sought her out?”

  “Indeed. I have already communicated with my superiors and the Hillcott family. I’ve been authorized to deal with any consequences of Miss Broomfield’s unexpected death and to answer any of your quite understandable questions.” He placed his bag on the table. “I do, however, have a slightly delicate question of my own to ask first.”

  Lucy assumed her most benign expression. “What would that be?”

  He still hesitated. “Did Miss Broomfield take her own life?”

  “No, she did not.”

  He visibly sagged. “Thank God for that small mercy. From what I understand, her mind . . . was not strong, and her emotions sometimes overcame her.”

  “She certainly had quite a temper.”

  “Was there a physician present when she died?”

  “When my husband realized Miss Broomfield was dead, he fetched our Dr. Fletcher, who confirmed that she had indeed passed away.”

  “Do you happen to know what the cause of death was?” Mr. Clapper opened his bag, took out a notebook, wrote something, and looked inquiringly at her.

  “Someone inserted a twelve-inch hat pin down through the back of her neck.”

  His mouth opened, and he gaped at her. “Excuse me?”

  “Some unknown person came up behind her and stabbed her with a hat pin,” Lucy repeated patiently.

  He visibly swayed in his seat. “Good Lord.”

  “Do you have any idea why someone should have chosen to do that, Mr. Clapper?”

  She heard the door open quietly behind her and immediately knew that Robert had joined her. Without turning, she held up her hand. “This is Mr. Clapper, Robert. I was just explaining how Miss Broomfield died.”

  “So I heard.” He limped over to the younger man and shook his hand. “A shame to meet you in such difficult circumstances, Mr. Clapper, but thank you for coming to help us clear up this matter.”

  “Sir Robert.” Mr. Clapper blinked hard. “I had no idea.... Are you both suggesting that Miss Broomfield was murdered by persons unknown?”

  “That depends.” Robert took the seat beside Lucy. “Did my wife mention that Miss Broomfield died the day that you visited her?”

  “I . . .” He looked helplessly from Lucy to Robert. “I had no idea! You cannot think . . . that I had anything to do with the matter. I’m just a glorified clerk!”

  “Why did you visit her on that particular day?” Robert asked.

  “Because she had a new position and address. I was making sure I knew where she was so that I could safely deliver her yearly allowance to her on the first day of January.”

  “May I ask how much her family gave her per year?”

  “Four hundred pounds, sir.”

  Robert whistled and turned to look at Lucy. “How much did we pay her to teach?”

  “Fifty pounds a year. We also provided her accommodation, coal, wood, and candles.”

  “I believe Miss Broomfield had certain pieces of valuable family jewelry in her possession.” Mr. Clapper cleared his throat. “You do have her belongings in a secure place, don’t you?”

  “In my strong room. Why? Have you been authorized to collect them?” Robert asked.

  “I could certainly take everything off your hands and return her effects to her family, sir.” Mr. Clapper sat up straight. “In truth, I would consider it my duty to do so.”

  “Where exactly did you meet with Miss Broomfield when you called on her? Was she in her study, in the schoolroom, or in her own apartment upstairs?” Lucy asked.

  “I obviously didn’t make myself clear.” Mr. Clapper swallowed hard. “I came to see her at the appointed hour and found the schoolhouse locked and seemingly unoccupied. I knocked on both the front and back doors, to no avail.”

  “At what time did you arrive at the school?”

  “I can’t quite remember. I was more concerned about finding a blacksmith to ensure I made it back to London that night rather than about noticing the time.”

  “But you said you had an appointment. What time was Miss Broomfield expecting you?” Lucy persisted.

  “Around four o’clock. She said the children would have left for the day by then. She was quite insistent that I didn’t make my presence widely known in the village, which is why I didn’t stay more than five minutes outside the school.” He looked from Lucy to Robert. “Is there something amiss?”

  “Not at all. I was just trying to understand the sequence of events,” Lucy said soothingly.

  “I decided that seeing as I had ascertained exactly where Miss Broomfield was living, I would do better off returning in the New Year rather than hanging around and bothering her.” He hesitated. “She had quite a sharp tongue.”

  “But didn’t you stay the night at the inn?” Lucy asked. “You could have tried to speak to Miss Broomfield the next morning.”

  “Alas, I left before dawn.” He shrugged. “I had to be back at my desk by midday to deal with another client’s affairs.”

  Robert turned from his contemplation of the window. “I regret that your journey back to London will not happen today, either. There is a snowstorm coming, and I doubt the roads will be passable.” He nodded affably at Mr. Clapper. “I also need to ask my secretary, Mr. Fletcher, to make a comprehensive list of all Miss Broomfield’s possessions. When it is completed, you can take it back to the Hillcott family and ask them what they wish to do to retrieve the items.”

  Mr. Clapper’s skin flushed red. “I am quite competent, Sir Robert. I do have the trust of the Hillcott family.”

  “I’m quite sure you do, but pray consider my position. As the local magistrate, it would not behoove me to be giving away a deceased person’s possessions to anyone who just turned up and asked for them, now would it?” His smile held the edge of a challenge. “A simple letter from the Hillcott family acknowledging receipt of our list and authorizing you to collect Miss Broomfield’s effects will suffice.”

  “Yes, Sir Robert. Thank y-you,” Mr. Clapper stuttered. “I have no particular reason to get back to town. I don’t have any family to spend the Christmas season with, anyway.”

  “As you are being forced to stay overnight and spend Christmas Eve with us, I offer you the hospitality of Kurland Hall and the opportunity to attend our villagers’ party tomorrow afternoon and the evening ball.”

  Mr. Clapper stood up, his expression brightening. “That would be most . . . gracious of you, sir.”

  Robert rang the bell. “Mr. Foley will find you a room, and I’ll send Mr. Fletcher to speak to you once you are settled.”

  “Thank you again, sir.”

  Robert waited until Mr. Clapper was escorted out before shutting the door and leaning back on it. “I don’t think our Mr. Clapper was telling the truth, do you?”

  “No,” Lucy said decisively. “Why did he come rushing down here at Ch
ristmas to sort out a matter of no urgency?”

  “And why did he come rushing down to Kurland St. Mary to see Miss Broomfield ahead of his scheduled visit, and run away so quickly afterward in the first place?”

  For the first time that day, Lucy directly met her husband’s gaze. “I suspect that’s because he killed her.”

  “But he claimed not to know she was dead,” Robert objected.

  “He certainly did sound surprised when I told him, but he could’ve been pretending.” Lucy paused to reconsider exactly what Mr. Clapper had said. “He was also the one who brought up the family jewels. I wonder who told him about those.”

  “I suppose the Hillcotts might want them back.”

  “That would be understandable. But would they tell a man who was merely acting as a go-between about them?”

  “Perhaps Mr. Clapper was involved in a little bit of skulduggery himself,” Robert said.

  “That diamond and ruby necklace was separate from everything else.” Lucy nodded. “Mayhap Miss Broomfield had it ready to give to him and changed her mind, leaving it hidden on top of the chest of drawers, which ended in an argument, with him killing her.”

  “We did wonder if Miss Broomfield’s killer had been disturbed at some point and had fled the scene before stealing the jewelry. And as Mr. Clapper certainly knew about her secret hoard, he certainly had a motive.”

  “Then why did he risk staying overnight at the inn?” Lucy wondered aloud.

  “Well, as he didn’t steal anything, maybe he thought he’d get away with it. Which might explain how Miss Broomfield met her end, but not the anonymous letters or what happened to Margaret Greenwell.” Robert grimaced. “We can hardly blame Mr. Clapper for those.”

  “I suppose it is possible that Miss Broomfield wrote all the letters, and that some of them were just discovered or delivered later than intended,” Lucy said slowly. “And Margaret’s fall could’ve been because her groom was negligent and didn’t notice the saddle girth needed attention.”

  “You don’t sound very convinced of your own argument, my dear.”

  “That’s probably because I’m not.” She squeezed her hands together. “And in truth, I do not have time to worry about this particular matter today. There are other far more important things to deal with.”