Death Comes to the Village (12 page)

She flinched when he put his fingers under her chin and made her look up at him. “Don’t interfere with what’s mine, Miss Harrington, unless you want to suffer the consequences.”

She forced herself to look calmly into his bloodshot eyes. “If you lay a finger on me, sir, my family will never let you live.”

“On the contrary, if they thought I’d ruined you, they’d cast you out without a second thought.” He gaze slid down over her. “Luckily for you, scrawny, flat-chested virgins don’t hold much appeal for a man of my appetites. Just keep away from me and mine, or I might have to overcome my disgust and teach you a lesson anyway.”

He chucked her under the chin and then stepped away, whistling to his dogs. Lucy remained frozen until he disappeared back into the forest. When she tried to move, her limbs trembled so violently she almost fell. She rubbed her gloved fingers across her mouth where Ben Cobbins had flicked her lip and fought the desire to vomit. She would not turn and run back home. She would not let him frighten her. Forcing herself to take a deep breath, she continued on her way to the village, determined that regardless of her own personal safety, Ben Cobbins would never get near his son again.

“
A
h, Miss Harrington, and how are you this fine day?”

“Good morning, Major Kurland.”

Robert waited until his visitor put down her basket and took off her bonnet before looking at her more closely. Due to the constant rain, tendrils of her brown hair had escaped her tight braids and curled around her face, softening her uncompromising features. For some reason, she looked rather tense and her normally calm smile was absent. She took a seat opposite him and he put down his newspaper.

“Do you have any news for me?”

She fussed over the contents of her basket and then straightened again, a handkerchief clutched in her hand, to loudly blow her nose. Robert’s fingertips started to drum on the arm of his chair and she looked up at him.

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

“I asked if you had anything of import to share with me.”

“Oh yes, I spoke to Miss Mildred yesterday about who she had seen out and about in the village on the night you were awakened.”

“And what did she tell you?”

“She definitely saw Daisy Weeks.”

Robert sat back. “Which doesn’t help us at all.”

“I haven’t finished yet.” She shot him a reproving glance, which reminded him forcibly of his mother. “Miss Mildred also said she saw several of
your
servants, Major, and some unknown men who were heading from the Whistling Pig to a cockfight in Lower Kurland. Apparently, according to her,
all
the men were behaving foolishly due to the effects of too much alcohol.”

“Ah, I wondered why it was so quiet here at the manor,” Robert mused. “Everyone was probably off at the cockfight.” It certainly explained where Bookman had gone after his dinner with Foley. His valet had an eye for the birds.

“Did she see your servant girl?”

“She doesn’t remember doing so, but I suppose even if the girls left together, Daisy would’ve collected Mary on the way to the main road rather than expecting her to come back into the village.”

“Are you beginning to doubt your own conclusions, Miss Harrington?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you no longer believe the girls left together?”

“If they didn’t, what has become of Mary? I can only pray that if she didn’t leave with Daisy, she ran away with the man she was interested in.” She hesitated. “But what if that isn’t true, either? Wherever can she be?”

Robert studied her closely. Should he acquaint Miss Harrington with his theories as to what else might have happened to the unfortunate girls, or leave her in blissful ignorance? He had no basis for his suspicions apart from his knowledge of all manners of hell on earth. But had his battle experiences distorted his perception or enhanced it? As Bookman had mentioned, the idea of violent death in the tranquil village of Kurland St. Mary seemed ridiculous, but a girl was missing. Two of them, in fact.

“What is it?” He looked up to find her staring at him just as closely as he had studied her. “What do you fear?”

“Maybe neither of the girls managed to escape to London. If there is a thief in our midst, perhaps they interrupted him, and he decided to dispose of them.”

She shook her head as if trying to push back his words. “That’s ridiculous. Why would anyone want to hurt Mary or Daisy?”

“He wouldn’t
want
to hurt them. He might have felt he had no choice.”

She looked away. “I devoutly hope you are wrong, Major.”

“So do I.” He felt like a callow youth who had inadvertently trampled all over a delicate bed of spring flowers. “I hardly wish them dead.”

She shivered. “If most of the men were out of the village at a cockfight, it would’ve been a good opportunity for both the girls to escape and for our thief, or thieves, to take advantage of the empty homes.”

“Indeed.”

“We must find out if anyone else has suffered any losses of this nature.” Miss Harrington nodded. “I’ll ask the Hathaways and the Jenkinses tomorrow.”

“An excellent idea.” Robert gestured at the bell. “Would you like to ring for some tea?”

“I can’t stay for very long, Major. I have to speak to my father about replacing our cook.”

“Mrs. Fielding?”

“Yes, do you know her?”

Robert only knew that local gossip insisted Mrs. Fielding was the rector’s longtime bed partner, and he wasn’t going to discuss that with Miss Harrington.

“Only that she’s been at the rectory for as long as I can remember. What has she done to earn your displeasure?”

“Her cooking is appalling and she treats me like a child.”

“You are much younger than her, and she is a very experienced cook.”

“In her case, experience is not an advantage. My father complains about the food he’s forced to eat on a daily basis, but he expects me to deal with Mrs. Fielding’s unpleasantness. And I know why he avoids terminating her employment, he—” She stopped with a gasp and put her hand to her mouth.

“Ah, so gossip doesn’t lie,” Robert murmured.

“I beg your pardon?” Miss Harrington’s cheeks reddened even more.

“Nothing, Miss Harrington. I was just thinking of all the reasons why the rector might not choose to terminate his cook’s employment. I’m quite certain he doesn’t want to deal with the hiring of a new one.”

“I would be in charge of that, sir, and I’m quite happy to do it.” Miss Harrington rifled through the contents of her basket. “Sometimes I feel as if I have all the responsibility of the lady of the house and none of the power.”

“Surely the best thing to do in that instance would be to set up an establishment on your own?”

She stared at him. “It’s not quite that simple for a woman, Major.”

“It is if you get married.”

“And how would I have managed that in the last seven years while I’ve been caring for my siblings?”

“A determined man would’ve taken you away, anyway.”

“I’m not the sort of woman to inspire such devotion.” Her smile was tight. “Nor would I have allowed myself to leave. How is Joseph doing at the stables?”

Acutely aware that he had veered into unacceptably personal territory, Robert accepted her change of subject.

“He is doing very well. That brings to mind something else I wanted to say to you. Stay away from the Cobbins place for a while. Ben is extremely angry about being deprived of his son.”

She shuddered. “I know. I had the misfortune to cross paths with him on my way to speak to Miss Mildred yesterday.”

“He dared to accost you?” Robert demanded.

“He told me in no uncertain terms to keep away from his family.” Miss Harrington rang the bell and gathered her possessions. “When I returned home, I was told you had sent a messenger down to warn me not to go to his cottage.”

“Did I?” Robert frowned. “I believe I mentioned it to Bookman. I’m glad he followed my orders, even if it came too late for you to avoid Cobbins entirely.”

“I’ll keep away from the cottage, Major, I swear.” Miss Harrington put her bonnet on again. “The curate is going to visit the other two parishes later this week. I shall accompany him.”

“And what do you hope to achieve there?”

She tied the damp ribbons in a no-nonsense bow directly under her chin. “The man whom Mary was interested in works for a carpenter from Lower Kurland. I thought I might check and see if he is still employed there.”

“An excellent idea. And you will speak to the Hathaways and Jenkinses discreetly about any thefts?”

“Yes, Major.” She glanced over at the window. “And how are you enjoying sitting up?”

He considered her. “Was that your idea? I thought it was a bit revolutionary for our dear Dr. Baker. I am enjoying it more than I thought, although it also reminds me of all the things I am not yet able to accomplish.”

“You can write a list, so that when you are able to march around the estate issuing orders to your heart’s content, you will know exactly what needs to be done.” She paused. “Oh, I almost forgot! I found the very thing for you yesterday when I was perusing a copy of
Ackermann’s Repository
.”

He waited as she dug into her basket and drew out a slim volume. “There is an article and a diagram about a contraption called Merlin’s Mechanical Chair.”

“And what exactly does that have to do with me?”

She came back and placed the book on his knees, opening it at a marked page. “The writer says: ‘This curious machine of which a correct perspective view is given in the annexed engraving. It is expressly catalogued for the accommodation of invalids who from age or infirmity are unable to walk about—’ ”

Robert picked up the book and studied the engraving of the blue chair, which was furnished with a selection of wheels, cogs, and rods to rival any clock or newfangled steam-driven power loom.

“This is ridiculous.”

Miss Harrington leaned over him, and he smelled lavender and a hint of rain that made him ache to be outside. She pointed at the wheels. “It looks fairly ingenious to me.”

“Are you suggesting that I would attempt to sit in such a thing and be wheeled around like an infant?”

“I don’t see why not, Major. It would mean you could go outside and take the air. Wouldn’t you like that?”

“It would only work if you stayed on the path,” Robert objected. “It hardly looks substantial enough to last for more than a few minutes outside.”

“But think of the possibilities, sir.” She jabbed at the text. “The author even suggests that with some accommodations, small cannon could be strapped to the chair and it could be used in military situations.”

“Poppycock!” Robert shut the book. “I appreciate the thought, Miss Harrington, but I scarcely think this is feasible.”

She moved away from him. “Perhaps you should read the whole article before you make your mind up, sir. I’ll leave it with you.”

Robert resisted the urge to throw the book at her head. Despite her calm exterior, she was far too used to getting her own way. He couldn’t ever imagine himself agreeing to be walked around the grounds in a glorified baby carriage. But he had to admit that Miss Harrington was trying to help him in her own unique way.

He found himself smiling at her. “I dismissed Mr. Scarsdale yesterday.”

“You did?” She clasped her hands to her bosom, and he congratulated himself on his successful attempt to distract her from her latest cause. “What did he do?”

“Apart from treating me like a complete fool? He underestimated me, Miss Harrington. I reclaimed and read through the accounting books and found he has been fleecing me for years.”

“That doesn’t surprise me at all. When I questioned him once about the state of repairs to one of the cottages, he was very unpleasant and recommended I mind my own business. I tried not to deal with him too closely after that, although it was hard not to speak out sometimes.”

“Perhaps you might do me yet another favor, Miss Harrington, and ask my tenants to come up to the manor and report any issues they’ve had with Mr. Scarsdale over the last few years.”

She paused at the door. “You’ll be inundated, Major. You might be better off waiting until you hire a new agent who can deal with the problems himself.”

“But will he?” Robert smoothed the cover of the book. “I want to hear from my tenants directly, so that I can see how matters stand before someone new takes over. We can start with a clean slate, so to speak.”

Miss Harrington smiled at him.

“What is it?”

“It’s nice to see you taking an interest in your land again.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that what you hoped to accomplish with all your badgering?”

She lifted her chin. “A lady never badgers, sir, she merely ‘requests.’ ”

He inclined his head. “Good afternoon, Miss Harrington.”

She curtsied. “Good afternoon, Major Kurland.”

After she’d gone, Robert turned his attention back to the article she’d foisted on him about the magical mechanical chair and read it through. Trust Miss Harrington to find something so infinitely fantastical and expect him to embrace it as wholeheartedly as she had. He contemplated the chair by the desk. The idea did have possibilities, though....

“Major Kurland!”

A hasty knock on the door and the appearance of Foley, his mouth agape, made Robert snap to attention.

“What is it, man?”

Before Foley could answer, he was pushed to one side and an all-too-familiar female bore down on Robert, arms spread wide.

“My favorite nephew. How good it is to see you!”

“Aunt Rose.” Robert submitted to his aunt’s perfumed embrace with as much grace as he could muster. “Whatever are you doing here?”

She planted a kiss on his cheek and beamed at him. “I told you I was coming to stay in my letter, love! Didn’t you read it?” She straightened and turned toward the door.

“And look, my dearest boy, I’ve brought you something even more precious to cheer you up!”

With a premonition of dread, Robert turned to the beautiful but unsmiling figure framed in the doorway.

“Miss Chingford.”

“Major Kurland.” She curtsied, but didn’t approach him—as though he carried the plague rather than was recovering from his wounds.

Aunt Rose smiled brightly. “Isn’t this wonderful, Robert? Dearest Penelope was so anxious about you that she begged to accompany me. How could I deny her?”

Robert kept smiling as his heart plummeted to his boots. He wished to God his aunt had denied Miss Chingford access to him. He hadn’t wanted her to see him like this. With an inward sigh he held out his hand.

“I cannot rise to greet you properly, Miss Chingford, but may I at least shake your hand?”

She took a step back. “In your bedchamber, sir? I hardly think that would be prudent.” She turned to Foley, who was standing beside her. “Perhaps you would have the goodness to instruct your butler to take me to my room. I am rather fatigued from the journey.”