Death Comes to the Village (19 page)

“Yes, sir.” Joe straightened and put his shoulders back. “What do you want me to say to Miss Harrington? Do you want her up here?”

“I want you to see if she is at home. If she isn’t, ask where she might be. If no one seems to know, I would like you to check the church and the graveyard.”

“Why there?”

“Because she is the rector’s daughter and she might be there! Don’t overthink this, Joseph. Just run along, find out, and report back to me as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir!” Joe turned sharply and ran off, his boots clumping down the stairs.

Bookman looked in the door. “Did you want me, Major?”

Robert concentrated on concealing his concern. “I’m worried about the whereabouts of Miss Harrington.”

“Why’s that, sir?”

“She wrote to say she would be here at twelve and, obviously, I overslept.”

Bookman brought a pot of coffee over to Robert and poured him a cup. “I wouldn’t fret, sir. She’s probably just busy doing other things.”

“I’m not fretting, she—”

“She what, sir?” Bookman briefly touched Robert’s shoulder. “You seem rather agitated. Are you sure you don’t want to see Dr. Baker?”

“I’m perfectly fine.” He realized he was a breath away from losing his temper. “I’m simply concerned that I have inconvenienced my neighbor.”

“Miss Harrington is a good Christian woman and won’t take offense.” Bookman left the coffeepot by Robert’s elbow. “Would you like me to pop down to the rectory and see if all is well?”

“There’s no need. I’ve already sent young Cobbins.” Although he felt like smashing it against the wall, Robert placed his coffee cup onto the table. “I feel so damned useless.”

His valet studied him. “With all due respect, sir, don’t you think you’re taking this rather too hard? You overslept and missed a visit from Miss Harrington. I’m sure she’ll return eventually. The woman can’t seem to keep away. In truth, I’d imagine you’d be glad to be spared her presence for a day.”

“You think I’m overreacting?”

“If you want me to be honest with you, sir, then yes, I do.” Bookman hesitated. “Perhaps now if we can keep you away from the laudanum, you’ll settle down a bit.”

“You believe I’m delusional?”

“Sir, when I checked, half that bottle of laudanum was gone. It was full yesterday.”

Robert’s flash of temper dissipated and was replaced by a wave of uncertainty that made him want to puke. “That will be all, Bookman. Please make sure I’m informed when Joe returns.”

 

Lucy opened her eyes and quickly closed them again. The smell of decaying leaves and mold surrounded her, and her cheek was crushed up against something cold and hard that definitely wasn’t her pillow. With a great effort, she pushed one hand flat on the wet ground and tried to raise her head. She was still in the graveyard. How long had she lain there undiscovered?

She rolled onto her side and managed to sit up. A wave of pain and nausea engulfed her, and she pressed a hand to her aching head. Her fingers came away covered in blood. Had someone come up behind her? She vaguely remembered her cheek connecting with the corner of the DeVry tomb, and nothing else. Her bonnet was askew so she attempted to straighten it and almost cried out. She hadn’t just fallen then. Someone had hit her on the back of the head.

She swallowed hard against the desire to be sick, leaned back against the nearest convenient gravestone, and wrapped her arms around her raised knees. The graveyard was silent apart from the sound of the wind sighing through the trees and the occasional call of a bird. Where exactly was she? There was no sign of the DeVry tomb, or any of the larger mausoleums. The peppery scent of chrysanthemums on a nearby grave and the fresh mound of another meant she must be in the newer part of the graveyard.

Had she managed to run away, or had her attacker deliberately moved her? Was he watching her now to see if she would regain consciousness? Panic surged through her, and she stood up in a tangle of damp muddied skirts and unsteady legs, one hand braced on the gravestone. She had to get home. She had to get help!

She picked up her skirts and started back toward the entrance of the graveyard, her breathing as uneven as the ground, fear ruling her. Had someone been waiting for her in the graveyard? Had they watched until she’d knelt down by the tomb and decided she’d seen enough? A low moan escaped her chattering teeth, and she fixed her attention on the gate and the road beyond it. She had to get home.

Without pausing to look behind her, she ran through the gate and toward the rectory. The church clock chimed the quarter hour, but she had no idea what time it was. As she stumbled toward the house, the front door opened and Anthony emerged, talking to their father.

“Lucy! What in God’s name happened to you?”

He ran toward her, and within a moment, she was enclosed in his warm embrace. She touched his face and tried to speak.

“I must tell Papa, I must—”

“I’m right here, my dear. Anthony, she looks as if she might swoon. Pick her up and bring her into the house.”

“Yes, Father.”

Lucy moaned as Anthony manfully tried to carry her in through the open front door. He deposited her on the couch in the small front parlor set aside for the least important visitors, and stood back, visibly puffing.

“Good Lord, you’re heavier than you look, Lucy.”

“Fetch Anna and Dr. Baker.” Her father issued orders with his usual calm air of authority. Lucy didn’t think she’d ever been so pleased to hear his voice before. He pulled up a chair and sat beside her. “Now, what happened? We were beginning to wonder where you were.”

“What time is it?” Lucy whispered.

“Almost one in the afternoon.”

“Oh my goodness.” Lucy slumped back against the cushions. “I left the house at about eleven.” She struggled to sit back up and grabbed for her father’s hand. “Papa, you have to go and look in the graveyard. I think there is a dead body in there.”

“Lucy, my dear, you are obviously overwrought. Of course there are dead bodies in there. Now why don’t you lie back and wait until Dr. Baker comes to see how you are?”

She clutched the lapel of his coat. “No, you don’t understand! You have to go and see for yourself. The DeVry tomb has been opened!”

He gently disengaged her fingers from his coat. “If that is the case, we will go and see for ourselves when you have recovered.”

“But you should go now!”

“Please don’t distress yourself.” He looked up. “Ah, here is Anna to take care of you. I’ll go and ascertain whether the good doctor has arrived.”

“Papa . . .” Lucy watched her father hurry away and turned to Anna. “Why won’t he listen to me?”

“Possibly because you are behaving quite oddly. I could hear you screeching at him from the hall. Whatever is the matter?”

She struggled to breathe. “I think someone has been murdered! Doesn’t anyone care?”

“Of course, we care.” Anna motioned at Betty to come forward and help her. “Let’s get you out of your bonnet and coat, and make you ready to receive the doctor.” She inspected Lucy’s dirty hands. “What happened to your gloves?”

“I took them off in the graveyard to try to . . .” She winced as Anna untied her bonnet ribbons and eased it off her head. “I have a terrible headache.”

“I’m not surprised.” Anna wet a cloth in the basin of warm water Betty held and carefully washed Lucy’s hands and then her face. “I think you are going to have a black eye, as well.”

“Good afternoon, ladies.”

“Dr. Baker. It is so good of you to come so quickly. I think my sister hit her head in the graveyard.”

Anna rose and went to exchange pleasantries with Dr. Baker, who stood with her father by the door. When they all lowered their voices, Lucy knew they were whispering about her. Eventually Dr. Baker came over, sat beside her, and possessed himself of her hand and wrist. He was a slight man in his fifties with the wiry build of a terrier and a similarly tenacious temperament.

“My dear, Miss Harrington, how are you feeling? Your pulse is quite tumultuous.” He squeezed her fingers. “You should be more careful. The graveyard is a most uneven place to take a walk. I’m not surprised you fell.”

He gently examined her cheek, his fingers cool on her heated flesh. “I’ll clean this wound, but I suspect you will have some nasty bruising. Did you hurt yourself anywhere else? Your ankle, your shoulder?”

“My head.”

“Yes, as I said, I’ll take care of that for you.” He chuckled. “Don’t worry. I doubt it will mar your beauty for more than a few days.”

“That’s not what I meant. It’s the back of my head that really hurts.”

The doctor beckoned to Anna. “Could you assist me in helping Miss Harrington sit up, Miss Anna?”

“Certainly.”

She was eased upright and Dr. Baker began to touch her scalp. “Tell me if anything hurts.” When his fingers grazed just above the nape of her neck she choked back a cry and he went still. “Ah, there is a definite swelling here, about the size of a hen’s egg. You probably hit your head a second time after you collapsed.”

“No, I didn’t. Someone
hit
me.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I didn’t fall and hurt myself. I was already kneeling down. Someone came up behind me and hit me. I must have banged my face when I fell forward, not the other way round.”

She was laid back against her pillows and Anna was instructed to continue cleaning her face and to give her willow bark tea for the pain. Dr. Baker withdrew to the other side of the room and spoke to her father, his expression concerned. The odd phrase floated back to her,
“Hysterical . . . overactive imagination . . . damage to the already frail female brain . . . not like her at all.”

“Why won’t they listen to me?” Lucy whispered as Anna came to kneel beside her.

“They think you just fell and hit your head.” Anna pressed a cold cloth against Lucy’s cheek and another at the nape of her neck. “And that you’re imagining things.”

“I am not!”

“I’m not sure how you are going to convince them of that. And why would anyone want to hit you, Lucy? I hate to say it, but it does sound a little far-fetched.”

Lucy glared at her sister. “There are reasons I cannot share with you at present that make it highly likely that someone might want to harm me. Can you send a message to Major Kurland and tell him what happened?”

“To Major Kurland? What on earth does this have to do with him? You can hardly accuse
him
of wanting to knock you unconscious.”

“Just do what I ask!” She tried to sit up, and the room swung around most unpleasantly. “Please, Anna, just—”

A small figure appeared in the doorway and stood, mouth agape, surveying the scene. “Cor, look at all that blood, Miss Harrington! What have you been up to?”

Betty approached Joseph Cobbins and flapped her apron at him. “What are you doing here? Get out, you varmint.”

Joe held his ground and ducked around Betty to approach Lucy. “Major Kurland wanted to know where you were. Are you all right, miss?”

“I’ll be fine.” Lucy glanced around at her companions. If she tried to give Joe a message about what she’d found in the graveyard, she’d probably be dosed with laudanum and put straight to bed. “If you could wait a moment, I’ll write a note for you to take to the major.”

“No, you will not.” Anna stood over her, her usually pleasant expression absent, her arms folded over her chest. “You will go to bed. If you are well enough in the morning, you may write as many notes as you please.” She turned to Joe. “Tell Major Kurland that my sister is unable to see him today. She will call on him when she has the time.”

“All right then, miss. I’ll tell him.” Joe cast a last commiserating look at Lucy and left before she could utter another word.

Anna glared after him. “How rude of Major Kurland! Just because you didn’t visit him for one day, he has to inquire as to where you are! You have spoiled him, Lucy.”

“That’s not the way it is, he—”

“He is far too used to getting his own way. You were quite right about him all along. Perhaps now he’ll have the decency to reflect on his conduct and consider treating you with more respect!”

She didn’t have the energy to argue with her sister, and obediently drank the bitter willow bark tea Betty offered her.

Dr. Baker and her father came back into the parlor and stared down at her. Lucy attempted to muster a smile.

“Thank you for your help, Doctor. I’m sure I’ll feel much better after a good sleep.”

“I’m sure you will, Miss Harrington. I suspect the blow to your head has dissipated your normal good sense.” He shared a glance with her father and lowered his voice, turning slightly away. “Let us hope she feels more like herself in the morning. If she persists in believing such delusions, please do not hesitate to send for me again.”

“Thank you, Dr. Baker.” Her father shook the doctor’s hand, and Betty escorted him out of the parlor.

“Now, Lucy, I’ll get Harris to carry you upstairs to your bed, and there you will stay until tomorrow morning.”

“Papa, I know you think I am imagining things, but can you at least check the graveyard? I lost my gloves by the DeVry tomb.”

He bent and kissed her forehead. “Don’t worry, I’ll buy you another pair.”

“But—”

“Lucy, my love, go to bed and stop worrying. You’re giving me a headache to rival your own.” He gave her his perfunctory rector’s smile and she knew he was anxious to get away. She had a strong suspicion that if she kept on insisting things were not as he thought, she’d be the one being sent away for a nice long rest in a madhouse.

“Yes, Papa.”

She allowed herself to be picked up and taken upstairs to bed. Anna turned down the covers and Betty put a hot brick at the bottom to warm the sheets. They fussed around her until she was in her nightgown and her hair unpinned, which helped relieve some of the ache in her skull. Her head hurt so badly now that she could barely see. She even took the laudanum the doctor prescribed and tried to find a comfortable place to rest on her pillow. Within moments, she was asleep and free to worry only in her dreams.