Death Comes to the Village (10 page)

“I’m not surprised. There is something about being confined to bed that brings out the worst instincts in everyone. The person in the bed reverts to being an infant, and the provider becomes their mother. Sometimes one wishes to be comforted and cosseted, but not forever.”

“Are you suggesting I
enjoyed
such treatment, Miss Harrington?”

“Not at all, Major. You were hardly a compliant patient. Your desire to be up and about was patently evident from the start.”

“I
hated
being in bed.”

“As a man of action, one would assume that would be the case.” She smiled. “Do you wish to discuss Joe Cobbins, or are you too tired?”

“He wasn’t much help about the thefts, was he?” Robert rubbed his jaw. “Almost the entire village visits that dratted place.”

“But he did confirm that Mary and Daisy were friends and that they came into the shop together, but not with an unknown man. He also managed to convince you he hadn’t stolen anything. If he isn’t the thief, we need to consider who is.”

“Foley said we have had some small thefts here, too.”

“Here at the manor?” Miss Harrington shook her head. “Then we should definitely be looking beyond the village shop.”

“As I suspected, Miss Harrington. I fear we are dealing with a more organized gang of criminals.”

She raised her chin an obstinate inch. “I still think the two girls stole things to finance their trip.”

“Well, we shall see what happens in the village now that the girls have fled to London. If the thefts stop, your theory will likely be proved correct, but if they do not, we will be searching for a more locally based band.”

She smiled at him. “You were very kind to the boy. Thank you.”

He waved away her gratitude. “He needs a new start in life, and the quicker we get him away from his disreputable parent, the better. Will you help Mrs. Cobbins? I apologize for enlisting your aid without consulting with you.”

“Of course, I will. Will you be able to send someone to assess the state of the cottage and whether it is fit for her to live in?”

“That bad, is it?” Robert stared at her.

“Yes.” Her brown eyes were unflinching,

“I will ask Foley to send for Mr. Scarsdale immediately.”

Miss Harrington picked up her basket and reclaimed her bonnet and gloves. “You’re looking a little tired, Major. I’m sure that can wait until tomorrow. Do you intend to keep Joe here, or should I stay and walk him home?”

“He’ll probably need to go home to break the news to his mother, but I’ll send Bookman with him. You need not trouble yourself.”

She tied the ribbons of her plain bonnet under her chin. “I must confess to being a little concerned about what Ben Cobbins will do when he finds out his son has escaped him again.”

“Leave him to me, Miss Harrington. I’ll make sure he understands his position.”

Her doubtful gaze drifted over his useless body and he stiffened. “I might not be able to beat the man in a fair fight, but I’m still the local magistrate. There are other ways to ensure obedience than brute force, Miss Harrington.”

“I don’t doubt that, sir. Power and privilege are often abused in such a fashion.” She nodded and headed for the door. “Good afternoon.”

She shut the door behind her with a definite snap that did nothing to aid Robert’s budding headache. He realized he was clenching his jaw and gripping the armrest of his chair with all his strength.

“Meddling woman!”

While Robert waited for Foley to reappear, he focused on the view again. Miss Harrington had some nerve. Not only had she dared to suggest that he had
enjoyed
being stuck in bed, but then had gone on to imply that he was some kind of aristocratic bully. She had no idea how much he longed to take on Ben Cobbins in a bare-knuckle fight, to mark the man’s face as he had dared to mark his own child’s. . . .

And as for him wanting to languish in bed and be treated like an infant. He stared hard at the scurrying white clouds. Had she guessed that some deep cowardly part of him had dreamed of that—of staying in bed forever, of relinquishing control over his pain, his status in life, his military career? Being forced to sit up and literally take notice of his surroundings had made him reconnect with his world. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for that at all.

A knock on the door distracted him from his thoughts. He waited until Foley and the head of his stable yard, Jack Sutton, who had also been to war with him, entered the room and then set out his plans for Joe Cobbins’s future.

L
ucy sat at her father’s desk and ran her finger down the neat column of figures in his accounts book. She oversaw most of the household finances, and could easily decipher the cryptic scrawls he made in the margins regarding each entry. Thankfully, the amounts spent on building the new house and grounds had tailed off in the last year, and their debts were minimal. He tried to live within his means, but his passion for horseflesh sometimes overcame his good sense, and left Lucy scrabbling to make up his excesses with household economies of her own.

She turned back a few pages and rested her finger under an entry for a payment for the interior and exterior woodwork of the new stable block. The recipient of the payment was a carpenter called Isaiah Bridges who resided in Lower Kurland. Had the man Mary been interested in worked for the Bridges family? When she accompanied Edward to the outlying parishes, she would make sure to stop at their residence and ask after him.

“Lucy?”

She heard Anthony shouting her name and shut the accounts book.

“I’m in the study.”

He came through the door, buttoning his waistcoat. “Have you seen my blue coat?”

“When did you last wear it?”

“A week or so ago. There was a button loose. You said you’d fix it for me.”

Lucy rose to her feet. “I was so busy I asked one of the servants to do it.” She saw Betty passing through the hall. “Do you know what happened to Master Anthony’s blue coat?”

“The one with the big shiny buttons?”

“Yes, that one. Have you seen it?”

“I remember Mary sitting with it on her lap sewing on a button a few days ago, but what happened to it after that, I have no notion.”

Lucy had already started up the stairs. “Edward said that Mary accidentally put several of your garments in his room. I’ll go and see if that included your coat.”

She continued up the second flight of stairs and headed along the narrow hallway toward Edward’s door. She assumed he had already left the house for the church, but she knocked anyway. To her surprise, the door was flung open and Edward appeared. When he saw her, his expression took on a hunted quality. He stepped outside and shut the door behind him.

“Miss Harrington.”

“Good morning, Edward. Are you all right?”

“I woke up rather late.” He made as if to duck past her. “If you will excuse me, I’m rather behind in my tasks.”

“Before you dash off, could you look in your cupboard and see if Anthony’s best blue coat is there?”

“Anthony’s coat?” He looked at her blankly. “Of course! Let me just check for you.”

He disappeared inside the room, shutting the door firmly in Lucy’s face. Within moments, he was back, the coat draped over his arm.

“Is this the one? I’m surprised I didn’t notice it before. It is rather too showy for my tastes and my profession.”

“It is rather too showy for a clergyman’s son, as well, but Anthony was determined to have it.” She laid the coat over her arm. “Thank you, Edward. Anthony will be very relieved.”

She took it down to the hallway and found her brother restlessly pacing while he waited for her.

“Well done, sis! Where on earth did you find it?”

“In Edward’s closet. Mary was obviously quite distracted before she left us.”

“Thank you.” He examined the coat. “You don’t think old Edward took it deliberately and has been prancing around in it, playing the dandy?”

“I doubt it.” Lucy fought a smile. “It is hardly his style.”

Anthony’s grin faded. “Dammit, Mary sewed the button on in the wrong place and with white thread.” He held it out to Lucy. “Lord! I can’t wear it like that.”

Lucy inspected the badly managed repair. “No, you cannot. Leave it with me and I’ll make it right.”

“But I want to wear it now.”

Lucy raised her eyebrows. “Your best coat? Whatever for? Aren’t you supposed to be meeting with your tutor this morning?”

Anthony mumbled something and looked away.

“You
are
seeing Mr. Galton, aren’t you?”

“Can’t a fellow have a day off occasionally?” Anthony demanded. “Even our Creator rested on the Sabbath.”

“It isn’t Sunday, brother mine, and you scarcely work for your daily bread.”

Color gathered on Anthony’s cheeks. “And you aren’t my mother, so what does it have to do with you?”

Lucy refused to look away. “I care about your welfare. If Father finds out you are neglecting your studies, you will have to answer to him.”

“And what will he do? Nothing! All he cares about are his damn horses.”

“That’s not true.” Lucy went forward and touched Anthony’s arm. “What’s really the matter?”

He shrugged off her hand. “I’ll be back in time to see Mr. Galton, so you don’t need to go telling tales.”

“That’s not fair. I have always been your staunchest supporter.”

“I’m going to get something else to wear.” He turned away and headed up the stairs, leaving Lucy standing at the bottom still clutching his now abandoned coat. For a moment, she considered going after him, but what could she say? If he didn’t wish to confide in her, she could hardly force him to do so.

With a small sigh, she went to the parlor at the back of the house where the light was brightest in the morning. Her sewing basket sat beside her chair and already contained several of the twins’ shirts, a few socks to darn, and a half-finished knitted silk reticule. Despite her concerns about her brother’s prevarications, she would sew on his button and leave the coat in his room. She selected a skein of brown silk and carefully snipped the white threads off the hastily sewed-on crooked pewter button. Why Anthony needed his best coat on a weekday morning was a mystery she was less close to unraveling. Was he going off to meet someone? And if so, why was it a secret?

As she sewed, she mentally reviewed the neighborhood and considered if anyone new had engaged Anthony’s interest. She paused, her needle poised above the coat. Was he hanging around with some of the wilder younger sons of the gentry who came to hunt, or was it more to do with a young lady? He
had
wanted to wear his best coat....

The thump of boots on the stairs and the crash of the front door slamming heralded Anthony’s tumultuous exit. Lucy finished attaching the button, secured the thread, and cut off the excess. She smoothed the coat over her knees, checking the other buttons were still secure, and straightened out the pocket flaps. There was a bump in one of the pockets and Lucy dipped her hand inside the silk lining. She brought out a small box, which on closer inspection appeared to be made of porcelain, and was painted with an intricate pastoral scene on the hinged lid. She carefully examined the box, but there were no inscriptions on it apart from the usual maker’s marks on the bottom.

Where had Anthony acquired such a thing? It certainly didn’t belong at the rectory, and to her knowledge, he hadn’t taken up the habit of inhaling snuff. Had he won it at cards, or had someone given it to him as a keepsake?

Ashamed of her thoughts, Lucy put the box back into the pocket. She wasn’t his mother, and even though she cared for him greatly, she didn’t have the right to pry into his private life. If he told her what was wrong, she would, of course, help him, but his earlier criticism of her becoming her father’s watchdog stung. He was an adult, and she had no right to interfere in his life. She stood up, put the coat over her arm, and decided to return it to his room, intact.

 

The sounds of an altercation woke Robert from an uneasy nap. For a moment, he couldn’t recall where he was. With an oath he threw off the blanket someone had carefully covered him with, and strained to turn his head toward his bedroom door, from behind which came the thump of feet and more than one angry voice.

The door was flung open so hard that it crashed into the wall and made everything in the room shake. Robert had no problem identifying his unexpected visitor. Ben Cobbins was a fearsome sight, the sort of man who enjoyed hurting those who were weaker than him and always had.

“Where’s my boy?” Cobbins demanded, striding across to tower over Robert.

Robert stared up at him. “Mr. Cobbins.”

“I said, where’s my boy? What did you and that interfering bitch from the rectory do to him?”

Foley rushed to Cobbins’s side. “You just leave the major alone, Ben Cobbins. He’s not well, and he doesn’t need to be disturbed by the likes of you!”

Robert waved Foley to one side and concentrated his attention on Cobbins. “If you are referring to your son Joseph, he has accepted an offer of employment in my stables and has started work there today. As he went home last night to gather his belongings, and tell his mother where he would be staying, I find it difficult to believe you were unaware of the circumstances of his departure.”

“You have no right to take my son from me.” Ben was breathing heavily, his face mottled purple, his eyes narrowed like a bull about to charge.

“I hardly ‘took him,’ Mr. Cobbins. I merely offered him a job, an offer that he accepted. I fail to see why you are so enraged.”

“His wages should come to me, not his mother.”

“His wages are his own,” Robert said gently. “If he chooses to share them with his mother, that is his business. Not mine.”

He was aware that both Bookman and James, the footman, were now coming through the door, and he was conscious of a cowardly sense of relief. Cobbins’s enraged gaze swept the assembled company. His hands clenched into fists.

“I want to see the little bugger.”

“He’s working at the moment. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you when he comes home on his day off on Sunday. Perhaps you might meet him at church. I encourage all my employees to attend the morning service.”

“Not bloody likely.”

“I don’t understand your anger, Mr. Cobbins. Most fathers would be pleased to see their sons working for a living.”

“Not for the gentry.”

“Is that so? But aren’t you in my employ, as well? If that offends you, I’m sure we can stop any wages you receive immediately.”

Cobbins spat onto the wooden floor. “Damn you, Major Kurland. I do a good job for you. Ask Mr. Scarsdale if I don’t.”

“I believe your business with me is done, Mr. Cobbins. Will you leave quietly, or do you require assistance?”

Bookman stepped forward, one of Robert’s dueling pistols cocked and ready to fire.

Cobbins’s gaze swept over Robert. “It’s lucky you’re already a useless cripple, Major Kurland, or I’d be telling you to watch out that one dark night you don’t slip and get your pretty face beaten in.”

“Thank you for the warning, Mr. Cobbins. When I’m on my feet again, we’ll have to put your theory to the test, won’t we?”

Foley stepped in front of Robert. “Go home, Ben, and leave the major in peace.”

Cobbins threw one last threatening look over his shoulder, and then left, accompanied by Bookman and James.

Robert stared down at his useless legs and struggled to contain the wave of frustrated anger that shook through him. The contempt in Ben Cobbins’s face had reminded Robert all too forcefully of his pitiful state. If Cobbins hadn’t been in the mood to capitulate, he could’ve picked Robert up and snapped his neck with the ease of killing a chicken. And Robert wouldn’t have been able to stop him.

“Are you all right, sir?” Foley asked, bending down to stare into Robert’s face. “You look a bit shaken.”

“Get me a brandy.”

For once, Foley didn’t argue, and poured Robert a hefty measure. “Here you are, sir. Well, I never. The gall of that man forcing his way in here as if he owned the place!”

He took another gulp of brandy, and it coursed down his throat like fire. “I can’t say I’m surprised. He’s always been an unpleasant individual, and losing control of young Joe’s income must have galled him.”

Foley refilled his glass. “He pushed past me in the hall. I had to chase him up the stairs. Luckily, Bookman saw him, too, and fetched James before any harm was done.”

“Make sure Sutton knows what happened, and tell him to keep Joe close by.”

“I’ll go and tell him right now, sir.” Foley hesitated. “Unless you want me to sit with you for a moment?”

“I’m perfectly fine, Foley.”

“Thank God for that, Major. I couldn’t have borne it if that ruffian had set back your recovery.”

“Go and speak to Sutton, and ask Bookman to come and see me after he’s escorted our uninvited guest off my land.”

Foley disappeared, and Robert let out his breath. Having lived quietly at home for several months, he’d forgotten how the outside world must view his current state. He was now a man who couldn’t mount his own horse or find the strength to hold his sword.

A weak man.

The sort of individual his younger self would have pitied and secretly despised. He finished the brandy and glanced around for the decanter, but Foley had placed it on the side table where he couldn’t reach it. He couldn’t afford to get drunk at this time of day anyway. What would his servants think of him, then?

“I’ve got rid of him, sir.” Bookman came in and closed the door behind him. “He’s an ugly customer, isn’t he? I wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t behind the spate of thefts in this house.”

“Foley told you about that?”

“He did, Major. I agreed to help him assess the defenses of the house and decide how we are going to stop any more light-fingered ladies or gents from helping themselves to your possessions again.” Bookman held up the brandy decanter, but Robert shook his head. “I told Cobbins that if I saw him anywhere near the house or the stables, I’d shoot him on sight and be damned to the consequences.”

There was a hard note to Bookman’s voice that Robert couldn’t fail to miss. His valet had been a ruthless soldier, quicker to kill than his superior, and completely cold-blooded about their survival, a quality that had saved Robert’s life on more than one occasion.