Death Comes to the Village (11 page)

“Thank you.”

Bookman’s grim expression disappeared. “You don’t need to thank me, sir. You would’ve done the same if our positions were reversed.”

Robert doubted that. He’d always been a little too lenient for Bookman’s tastes. “I hope Ben Cobbins stays away from Joe.”

“He’s a coward and a bully, sir. Now he’s been warned off, he’ll keep away, at least for a while.”

“And his poor wife will have to bear the brunt of his anger. I’d like to terminate his so-called employment with me, but then his family would be thrown out of their cottage.” Robert shook his head. “By the way, someone should go down to the rectory and tell Miss Harrington not to approach the Cobbins family until things settle down. I don’t want her walking into that cottage while Ben is still on the rampage.”

“Speaking of cottages, Major, Mr. Scarsdale just arrived in the hall. He says you wished to speak to him. Shall I put him off for another day?”

“No, send him up. I need to see him.” He waited as Bookman picked up the discarded blanket and draped it over his useless legs again. “I’d like you to stay in the room while I conduct the interview.”

“If that’s what you wish, of course, I will.” He hesitated. “Although I don’t think you’ll have much trouble with Mr. Scarsdale. He ain’t exactly in his prime.”

He took something out of his coat pocket and laid it on Robert’s lap. “Does that make you feel better, Major?”

Robert examined the familiar weight of his pistol and curved his fingers around the handle. “Yes, it does.”

“I’d hide it under your blanket, though, sir. We don’t want Mr. Scarsdale pissing himself in fear now, do we? He looked worried enough as it is.”

Robert fought a smile as he concealed the pistol under his blanket and waited while Bookman went to retrieve his land agent.

“Mr. Scarsdale, sir.”

Bookman bowed and then went to stand against the wall, the picture of an unobtrusive servant. Mr. Scarsdale came around to face Robert and inclined his head an obsequious inch. He wore the clothes of a simple country gentleman, but they were of the finest quality. His gray hair was cut short at the sides and combed forward over his bald patch rather like Napoleon. He carried an indefinable air of his own consequence.

“Major, it’s good to see you up and about again.”

“Hardly up.” Robert gestured at his covered legs. “But I’m determined to get back into managing my lands again.”

An expression of discomfort flitted across Mr. Scarsdale’s austere face. “There’s no need to rush yourself, me lad. I have it all well in hand.”

“I beg to differ, and I’m hardly a lad anymore.” Robert turned to Bookman. “Will you fetch the accounts books from beside my bed? I spent a very interesting evening reading through them.”

“You didn’t need to do that, sir.”

Robert fixed his agent with his most withering stare. “I believe I did, Mr. Scarsdale. There’s no point in prevaricating. Why haven’t you been maintaining my estate properly?”

“Well, as to that, sir, I’ve—”

“I’m not a fool, Mr. Scarsdale, and as you pointed out, I’m no longer languishing in bed. There are large sums of money missing from the accounts, money that should have been spent on improving my properties and land. Nothing has been done to maintain the cottages or improve the home farm since I left!”

“You don’t understand, sir. Everything costs more. It’s the war you see. It’s—”

Robert held up his hand. “This estate has more than enough money to survive the exigencies of a wartime economy. You, Mr. Scarsdale, have either exercised very poor judgment, or used the money for purposes of your own.” He paused to stare at his now perspiring land agent. “If you cannot account for the missing money before the end of the week, I will expect your resignation.”

“Are you suggesting I have
misled
you, Major Kurland?”

“I’m not suggesting it, I’m damn well saying it to your face! If you don’t want to be hauled before the local magistrate, which happens to be me, and face charges of theft and dishonesty, I suggest you cut your losses and leave forthwith.”

“But—Major Kurland, you’ve been ill, your mind is obviously confused and under a great deal of stress, you can’t possibly mean I’m dismissed!”

“Mr. Scarsdale, I am perfectly in my right mind, and I can’t make myself any clearer. Either return the money by the end of the week, or resign your position and leave the area.” He waited for a moment to see if his agent would start arguing again. “If you stay here, I
will
press charges against you.”

“But after all I’ve done for you! Keeping the estate running when you were away, never knowing if you would return—”

“Feathering your own nest.”

Mr. Scarsdale glared at Robert and pointed his whip at him. “You’ll live to regret this, sir. You’ll never find a man who’ll be as honest as I was when his master was too feeble-witted to keep an eye on things himself.”

Bookman took a step forward. “I think it’s time for you to leave, Mr. Scarsdale. I’ll show you out. I’m sure you have a lot of packing to do.”

“Thank you, Bookman.” Robert nodded a curt dismissal to his land agent, who was visibly trembling with rage. “Good day, Mr. Scarsdale.”

Mr. Scarsdale glared at him. “I’ll see myself out, sir, and be damned to the lot of you!”

Bookman held the door open, and Mr. Scarsdale swept out, Bookman in his wake. Robert waited until he returned.

“He’s gone, sir.”

“And good riddance.” Robert stared out of the window. “Does everyone around here see me as a permanent invalid?”

“You have been sick for quite a while now, sir, and folks will always gossip.” Bookman replaced the brandy decanter on the sideboard and picked up Robert’s empty glass.

“Which explains why Scarsdale didn’t stop stealing from me even after I returned from the continent. The man thinks I am feeble-witted as well as bedridden!” Robert turned quickly enough to see Bookman’s guilty expression. “Dammit, they all do, don’t they?”

“You were remarkably direct with him, sir. I don’t think he’ll make the mistake of underestimating you again.”

“He won’t get the opportunity,” Robert snapped. “I doubt I’ll see him returning all the money he’s stolen from me by Friday.” He carefully eased the pressure on his aching left leg. “After dealing so badly with Cobbins, perhaps I felt the need to exercise my rank of ‘power and privilege,’ as Miss Harrington so adroitly put it, on Mr. Scarsdale.”

“Nothing wrong with that, sir. The man deserved everything he got. Both of them do.”

“No doubt he’ll be telling everyone in the village that I’ve finally gone insane,” Robert muttered. “Devil take it, sometimes I feel as if I have!”

Bookman drew the curtains. “I’ll ring for James and we’ll put you back to bed, sir. I think you’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

Bookman’s refusal to be drawn on the subject of his employer’s sanity didn’t mollify Robert in the slightest. He knew Foley and his valet had worried over him for months. But he was quite sane now. In truth, he didn’t like being forced back into the world, but he had a duty to his tenants and his family to perform his responsibilities. Miss Harrington had reminded him of that. He found himself wanting to smile. If he were very lucky, she’d probably furnish him with the name of a new land agent, as well.

 

“And what’s wrong with a good rabbit stew, Miss Harrington?”

Lucy made herself look into Mrs. Fielding’s narrowed eyes. “There’s nothing
wrong
with it. It’s just that we had the same thing two days ago, and the rector will not be pleased if he is expected to eat it twice in one week.”

“I don’t hear him complaining.” Mrs. Fielding folded her arms under her ample bosom in the manner of a woman who was not going to change her mind.

Lucy tried again. “Do you have anything else?”

“Do you expect me to go hurrying out to the village at this time of the day, miss, when I’m supposed to be cooking dinner?”

Behind Lucy, Anna cleared her throat. “I’ll go to the village if you like, Lucy.”

“There’s no need for that, Anna.” Lucy raised her chin. “I’m tired of fighting with you every day, Mrs. Fielding. If working at the rectory is no longer to your taste, perhaps you might consider finding employment elsewhere?” She nodded a dismissal. “Please make sure that rabbit is not the only main course on the table tonight, or I will be taking my concerns to my father. Good afternoon, Mrs. Fielding!”

Before the cook could retaliate, Lucy turned on her heel, took Anna by the elbow, and marched them both out of the kitchen and into the back parlor. She shut the door and swung around to her sister.

“Oh, that woman is
infuriating!
”

Anna clasped her hands together. “You were magnificent.”

“I thought about how Major Kurland would deal with such habitual insolence and pretended I was him.” Lucy smiled. “It was quite exhilarating.”

“Do you think it will help?” Anna sat down and stared hopefully at Lucy. “Father always criticizes her cooking, but he seems curiously reluctant to terminate her employment. Do you think it is because Mrs. Fielding came with Mama?”

“No, I think it’s because she provides him with more than just—” Lucy stopped speaking. “Well, never mind that. Let’s just say that he is very fond of her.”

Anna nodded. “Because of Mama.”

“It’s certainly not because of her cooking.” Lucy paced the small room. “It isn’t fair, Anna. I have all the responsibilities of the lady of the house, and none of the power. Mrs. Fielding knows I can’t get rid of her unless Papa is agreeable. She treats me with no respect at all.”

“I know,” Anna agreed. “She is positively
uncivil
to you.”

“I will have to speak to him.” Lucy stopped walking. “He won’t like it, but I refuse to be treated like this.”

Anna rose from her seat and came across to kiss Lucy’s cheek. “Wait until after he’s eaten, won’t you? After all that mutton last week, seeing the rabbit stew on the table again might tip the balance in your favor.”

Lucy smiled and hugged her sister. “Let’s hope so. Would you mind going up and reading to the twins for a while? I promised to do so, but I’m too agitated. I think I’ll walk into the village and see if I can talk to Miss Mildred.”

“And find something better for us to have for dinner?”

“If I encounter anything edible, I’ll definitely consider it. Has Anthony come in yet?”

“Yes, he was in the stables earlier talking to Harris about his horse’s shoe being loose. Why, did you want him to accompany you?”

“No, I just wanted to make certain he was home.”

Anna paused at the door. “Why? What has he done?”

“Nothing in particular.” Lucy didn’t want Anna carrying tales to her brother. Despite their argumentative natures, they were very close. “I just wanted to make sure everyone would be here for dinner.”

“Mr. Nicholas Jenkins was here earlier.” Anna looked demure. “He
said
he had a message from his grandmother for you, but he quite forgot to give it to me. I think he was hoping that if he lingered in the parlor long enough, we might invite him to stay for dinner.”

“You shouldn’t tease him, Anna. The poor man is quite besotted with you.”

“I know, but I am never cruel to him, you must know that.” Anna clasped her hands to her bosom. “I
couldn’t
be cruel to him. He
is
rather sweet.”

“I wonder what his grandmother wants? She’d probably like us to visit her this week. Will you accompany me?”

“Of course I will.” Anna held open the door. “Now you should be on your way, or we’ll have nothing edible on our dinner table at all. In truth, Mr. Jenkins should be pleased he
wasn’t
invited.”

Lucy found her cloak and put on her bonnet. It was late afternoon, and although the clouds were gathering, it wasn’t yet dark. As she walked down the driveway, she pulled on her second-best pair of gloves and attempted to gain control of her temper. It was ridiculous to get annoyed with Mrs. Fielding, but she hated the thinly veiled contempt in the woman’s gaze, and her unmistakable conviction that the rector would never let her go. It made all Lucy’s dealings with her feel tainted and had done so for years.

She took a deep breath of the rapidly chilling air and strode resolutely onward toward the village. The sound of a barking dog made her look up, but she couldn’t tell from which direction the yelping was coming. She swung around with a gasp as a large body crashed through the undergrowth of the trees to her right. Within moments, she was surrounded by a pack of slavering dogs snapping at her heels and jumping up at her.

“Well, damn if it isn’t Miss Bloody, Interfering Harrington.”

She forced herself to look away from the dogs and saw Ben Cobbins stepping through the gap the dogs had made in the brushwood. He wore no hat, and his long overcoat hung open to display his stained leather waistcoat and grimy neckcloth. An ancient pistol was tucked into the waistband of his breeches.

“Call your dogs off, Mr. Cobbins.”

He strolled closer, smacking the end of his billy club into his open palm. Lucy found she couldn’t look away.

“Call them off? Now why would I do that? They know their own.”

“I’m not a rabbit or a fox to be hunted down, Mr. Cobbins.”

His lips drew back in a travesty of a smile. “What are you going to do about it, Miss Harrington? Scream for help?” He looked up and down the deserted road. “I don’t see no one about to hear you.”

“What do you want?”

“I know it was you that set the major to giving my boy a job.”

“I would’ve thought you’d be pleased Joe was working again.”

“Then you’d be wrong.” He came closer until she could smell the rancid tang of his unwashed skin and the beer hops on his breath. His gaze wandered over her with insulting interest.