Death Comes to the Village (9 page)

“The likelihood of my giving him a job, Miss Harrington, depends on the truthfulness of his answers.”

“I understand that, but I do feel sorry for the boy. It was obvious his father had beaten him quite badly for losing his situation.”

“Or for getting caught. The boy would probably prefer to stay home and terrorize the locals like his father rather than earn a proper wage.”

“I don’t think he would. Joe has always been different from the rest of his family, and no one would
want
to stay in that cottage.” She shuddered. “It is in such a state of disrepair I wonder why it hasn’t fallen down around their ears.”

Major Kurland snapped the spyglass shut. “That’s one of my cottages, isn’t it?”

“I believe it is.”

“Then why hasn’t my agent either repaired it, or turned the family out? We have no obligation to house the family. Cobbins doesn’t work for me.”

“I believe Ben still considers himself on your payroll as one of your gamekeepers. I doubt Mr. Scarsdale wants to disagree with him.”

“That’s Scarsdale’s job.”

“I know, but—” Lucy hesitated, then plunged on. “He doesn’t seem interested in carrying out any repairs to the property, or care to listen to any complaints from your tenants.”

“And how would you know this?”

“Because everyone talks to me.” She half-smiled. “I’m like Caesar’s wife.”

“I suppose you are.” Major Kurland regarded her seriously. “I will speak to the man.”

Lucy took the chair opposite. “That isn’t for me to say, sir.”

“Because you’ve meddled enough for one day?”

“Hardly ‘meddled,’ sir. I’ve just drawn your attention to a situation that is within your control to alleviate.”

“If I choose to.”

“Why would you not? This is your home, too. I doubt you wish to see it fall into ruin.” With a sense of having pushed her companion as far as she could for one day, she contemplated the table beside the major’s chair. “Would you like me to read the newspaper to you?”

“No, thank you. I believe I have been given quite enough to think about in my
own
small environment to be worrying about the state of the nation and abroad.”

His tone was acerbic, but Lucy pretended not to notice. No man liked to be corrected, especially by a woman. It was better to make one’s point, and leave the gentleman to make up his own mind where he could convince himself that it was all his own idea after all.

The major handed her a letter.

“Perhaps you might attempt to make head or tail of this correspondence from my aunt Rose. I must confess that I cannot read a word of it without bringing on a headache.”

Lucy squinted at the crossed and then crossed again pages. She turned the page this way and that, but to no avail. “I
think
she is suggesting she might come and visit you, but I’m not quite sure when.” She looked up. “The rest of it makes no sense to me at all, but seems to be about dates, and times, and what she intends to bring with her. Do you need laying hens?”

“That’s all I made out of it, too.” He took the letter back with a sigh.

“Do you want her to visit you?”

A smile flickered across his face. “If my aunt Rose decides to visit, nothing I say will change her mind.”

“She is your mother’s sister?”

“That’s correct. She visited quite regularly when my mother was alive.”

“I think I remember her. She was always very pleasant. Her company will do you good.”

“I’m not so sure about that. I have no inclination to rejoin society at this time.”

“She’s your aunt. She scarcely counts as ‘society.’ ”

“That’s true, but she likes to amuse herself, so no doubt I’ll be inundated with morning callers and invitations to all kinds of events.”

“You don’t have to receive anyone, or accept their invitations,” Lucy reminded him.

“My aunt can receive her own guests, and I am hardly likely to be considered an asset at anyone’s country ball.” His smile was bitter. “Unless I employ two stout footmen to carry me from place to place in this chair.”

“It’s not beyond the realm of possibility, sir.”

“I’d rather not bother.” He took the letter back and handed her another one with an official-looking document with a red seal on it. “This one is from my regiment.”

Lucy carefully broke the seal and spread out the single sheet of parchment.

“Thank goodness it is written in a far clearer hand. ‘To Major Robert Kurland of the Prince of Wales’s Own Royal Hussars. Your presence is requested at an evening reception to be held by our Right Royal Patron His Royal Highness, the Prince Regent, at Carlton House on the nineteenth of this month.’ ”

Lucy looked up. “Oh my, it is an invitation from
royalty
. How disappointing for you that you cannot attend.”

“I’m not one of the prince’s supporters. I probably wouldn’t have gone even if I was able.”

“Not
gone?
” Lucy stared at him. “To Carlton House?”

“I’ve been there before. It’s always too crowded and too hot. The Prince Regent has an aversion to opening a window.”

“But . . .”
How must it feel to be so blasé about things that she could only dream of doing?
“Isn’t it an honor?”

“It sounds like an excuse for the prince to congratulate himself again on our success in battle.”

“He is the patron of your regiment.”

“But he’s never fought with us.”

“He’s the heir to the throne. No one would want him to risk his life like that. Think of the succession!”

He grimaced. “The Prince Regent has several brothers, although I’ll take your point that the thought of any of
them
on the throne is equally horrifying. My only hope is that King George recovers soon and takes up the reins of government before his son ruins us.” He took the letter out of her unresisting fingers. “Perhaps you might be willing to assist me, and pen a short note back declining the invitation and explaining my present circumstances.”

“Certainly, sir. Are you quite sure that you don’t require a secretary?” Lucy stood up and gave him her best glare. “Shall I write the letter now, or would you prefer me to take it home?”

His smile was sweet enough to set her teeth on edge. “Whatever suits you best, Miss Harrington. I would hate to disrupt you with my petty errands.”

A knock at the door made Lucy recollect her surroundings and place the letter in her basket. Foley entered the room with a sullen-looking Joseph Cobbins.

“Major Kurland, Miss Harrington. Apparently you are expecting this young person.” He nudged Joseph in the ribs. “Keep your hands to yourself, Cobbins. I’ll be checking your pockets myself before you leave.”

If it was possible, Joe scowled even more. Lucy went across to meet him.

“Joseph, thank you for coming. Have you met Major Kurland before?”

She put a hand on Joe’s shoulder and maneuvered him around the clutter of furniture until he faced the major’s chair.

“Good afternoon, Joseph.”

“What happened to you, then?” Joe stared at the seated figure.

Before Major Kurland could take offense, Lucy intervened. “Major Kurland was wounded at the battle of Waterloo.”

Joe’s eyes widened. “Cor, really? What regiment?”

“The Prince of Wales’s Own Royal Hussars.” This time the major answered before Lucy could speak.

“The tenth?”

“That’s correct.”

“Well, blimey. I didn’t know that, sir. Me dad said all lords and ladies were lazy good-for-nothings who deserved to have their heads cut off like that lot in France.”

“I’m a soldier, not an aristocrat. But your father does have a point.”

“Well, I’m sure you wouldn’t get beheaded, sir.” Joe nodded. “Soldiers are great guns. Did you kill loads of Frenchies?”

Aware that the major’s expression had tightened, Lucy smiled brightly at them both. “Joseph, I’m sure Major Kurland would prefer to talk about your recent contretemps with your employers than about his experiences during the war.”

“Contre-what?” Joe scratched his head. “Do you mean that lying old biddy, Miss Amelia, who said I stole things from her store?”

“Why do you think Miss Amelia would call you a thief if she didn’t think it was true?”

“I dunno, sir. Things have gone missing from the shop, there’s no doubt about that. I was the one who first noticed! But she didn’t give me any credit for that, did she? Said I’d done it to distract her from my wickedness, or something.” He sniffed and wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. “The thing is, it could be anyone stealing stuff. Half the village is in there every day pawing over the goods.”

“Is that true, Miss Harrington?”

“It is, Major. The Potters’ store is always busy.”

“Have you ever seen Mary Smith or Daisy Weeks in there, Joseph?”

“Yes, Major, they sometimes come in together giggling and carrying on and whispering like girls do.”

“They were friends?”

“I suppose so.” Joseph scratched his head again, inspected what he’d gathered on his finger, and crushed it. “But you know girls, they’re always squabbling about something or other.”

“Did either of them ever come into the store with a man?”

“What sort of man? Like their dad or something?”

“No, someone who wasn’t familiar to you.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Who else comes in the store?”

“Just about everyone, except you and the gentry from the big houses. They send their servants to do the work, and I deliver their orders right to the kitchen door.” Gloom descended over his expression. “Well, I used to.”

“Did your father encourage you to get a job?”

“That was all Miss Harrington’s doing. My dad thought it was a fool’s game, especially when I wouldn’t bring home any leftovers or extras for him to sell on.”

“He expected you to steal for him?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t mean I did it.” Joe raised his indignant gaze to the major’s. “If I wanted to steal stuff, I didn’t need to get a job. I could’ve just stayed with my dad and learned from the best.”

“Then why did you take the position?”

Lucy was impressed by the calmness of the major’s tone until it occurred to her that he was probably used to dealing with young men and boys from his days in the military. She suspected that beneath his rather harsh exterior, he was a good judge of character.

Joe’s skin flushed. “It’s like this, sir. I wanted to help out my mum, and save a bit for myself so that I could run away and join the army. My dad never gives me a penny when I work for him.”

Lucy met the major’s gaze over Joe’s head, and he nodded at her ever so slightly.

“How old are you?”

“Thirteen, sir.”

“A little young to join up.”

“I’m fourteen in a few months.”

Robert sat back and studied the boy, who drew himself up to his full height. “I have a proposition for you, Joseph.”

“What’s that mean?”

“A proposal. If you accept a job in my stables and keep your nose clean for a year, I will use my influence to have you accepted into a good regiment, and will outfit you at my expense.”

Joe’s mouth fell open. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I am willing to give you a chance to prove yourself. Everyone deserves a chance, and I suspect the military will be the making of you.” He pointed at the boy. “But understand this. If you steal as much as a head of corn from one of my horses’ nosebags, you’ll be turned off without a character, and I will wash my hands of you.”

“What about my mum? Who’s going to keep an eye or her and all the little ones?”

“Like all my staff, you will receive time off, and are welcome to spend it with your mother and siblings. I do not, however, expect to see your father visiting you at work or anywhere on my grounds. I will make that clear to him myself.”

Joe studied Robert’s face. “I don’t want to see him, sir. I swear it, but I have to make sure that my mum is all right.”

“That sentiment does you proud, Joseph. Between my efforts, and those of Miss Harrington, I think we can ensure that your mother is provided for. If you wish, I can even ensure that a proportion of your wages is paid directly to her. Do you accept my offer?” He held out his hand.

“Yes, sir. I do, sir. Thank you, sir.” Joe grabbed Robert’s hand and shook it vigorously. “When can I start?”

“If you will ring the bell, I’ll speak to Foley right now. You can wait downstairs until he’s made the necessary arrangements.”

Foley came in and Robert nodded at Joe.

“Please take young Joseph down to the kitchens and make sure he is given something to eat. When he’s settled, come back to me and bring Sutton with you.”

“Sutton from the stables, sir?”

“Yes, Foley.”

“Why do you want to see
him,
Major? He’ll bring all that muck in with him.”

“Are you trying to tell me who should be allowed in my own house?”

Foley dropped his gaze. “Of course not, sir. I’ll find him right now.”

Robert waited until the door closed behind his butler and Joe before he allowed himself to relax.

“That’s the trouble with old family retainers, isn’t it? They become rather proprietorial,” Miss Harrington commented. “But that stare you gave him was positively glacial. I’m sure he won’t forget himself in front of visitors again.”

Robert turned to face Miss Harrington, who had remained seated opposite him. She’d taken off her bonnet to reveal her neatly braided mousey hair and clear complexion. Her dress appeared to be the same muddy brown as her eyes. Accustomed as he’d become to the dashing beauties of Europe and the ladies of the London
Ton,
she reminded him of a dusty sparrow.

“Since I came back from the continent, Foley and Bookman have been treating me like a child.”