Death Comes to London (21 page)

“Perhaps she might have feared that if he spoke to Broughton, he’d realize that she hadn’t been telling the truth. Maybe the story of the rubies was false, and she was alarmed that he intended to take it too far?”

“So she chose to drown herself in a fit of remorse? This makes no sense, Miss Harrington.”

“But what if she told him when they were on the lake? Perhaps when the boats collided he decided not to save her so that he could extricate himself from a potentially damaging situation that would affect his career if he pursued her lies?”

“But, by all accounts, he loved her dearly.”

“Maybe he loved her too much.”

Major Kurland rubbed a hand over his jaw in an impatient gesture. “This whole scenario is based on nothing but your vivid imagination, Miss Harrington.”

“Then why did Lady Bentley die? I searched through all the dowager’s possessions. There was no sign of those rubies.”

“I don’t know why she died; perhaps both of the old ladies killed themselves and there is nothing more to say about the matter.”

“Now that
is
a ridiculous suggestion, sir. Perhaps the question we should be asking ourselves is who would
want
both ladies dead?”

“Apart from all of the Broughton family and half of society who have grown tired of dealing with the squabbling pair?”

“Well, at least we can’t blame Oliver for this one.” Lucy sat back and folded her hands in her lap.

A banging on the door made her jump to her feet with a gasp, but it was only Foley. She was just about to ask him what was the matter when he fixed his gaze on the major.

“Major Kurland! There’s a commotion coming from Master Oliver’s room!”

Lucy could hear something now, and gathered her skirts. “I’ll go.”

Major Kurland threw back the bedcovers and she hastily averted her gaze. “I’m coming, too.”

She didn’t wait for him, but ran out into the hallway and down to the open door where one of the maids stood screaming.

“What’s wrong, Mairi?”

“Master Oliver! I just brought up his dinner. He’s—”

Lucy brushed past her and then came to an abrupt stop. Oliver’s bed was empty, and the nurse who tended him lay sprawled on the floor, either dead or unconscious. A gust of wind blew in her face and, stepping over the fallen figure, Lucy advanced toward the wide-open window where the curtains were open and flapping wildly.

“Miss Harrington, stay there.”

Lucy looked over her shoulder to see Major Kurland, resplendent in his blue banyan, coming in through the doorway.

“But—”

“Don’t argue with me.” He held up his hand. “Let me approach the window first.”

She managed to stay still as he went slowly ahead of her, his cane tapping on the wooden floorboards. He paused and then leaned slowly forward until he could see out of the window.

“Good Lord,” he murmured. “He’s out on the ledge.”

“
Oliver
is?”

“Yes.” Major Kurland turned to her. “And we’re three stories up with the flagstone square below us. Find Foley and tell him to gather some of the male servants and get them to bring a large blanket out to the front of the house below this window.”

“In . . . in case Oliver
jumps?
”

“I doubt he’s sitting out there to appreciate the sunset, Miss Harrington.”

“And what are you going to do while I’m organizing Foley?”

“I’m going to try and talk to him.”

“
You
are?”

The doubt on her face almost made him smile. “Yes.”

“You can’t possibly be considering going out there yourself?”

He glanced down at his cane. “Of course not. I bloody well
can’t,
can I? After you’ve found Foley, come back and see if you can revive the nurse. I’ve already sent for Broughton.”

Lucy forced her trembling limbs to obey and ran to do his bidding.

Robert contemplated the open window and the hunched figure to the right of it. During the war he’d gained a lot of experience in how to talk to frightened young men. Boys who were afraid to go into battle for the first time, or soldiers who couldn’t bear the thought of being in the middle of such senseless slaughter again. Usually a dose of calm good sense won the day. He could only hope his skills hadn’t deserted him. . . .

He set a pillow on the window ledge and sat sideways on it, favoring his injured leg. The chill of the wind gusted through his hair, but it was a mere nothing to the winters he’d faced in Spain. He leaned out as far as he could and contemplated the hunched figure.

“Oliver?”

There was no response.

“It’s Major Kurland. Do you wish to return to your bed now? It is getting rather cold out here.”

He tensed as Oliver slowly turned his head toward him. His eyes glittered black and his complexion was flushed. He wore a white nightshirt and his arms were wrapped around his knees, which were drawn up tightly against his chest. Robert judged the ledge to be less than two feet wide.

“Are you in pain? Can I get someone to help you? I’m sure Dr. Redmond could give you something to make you feel better.”

“No more potions. Can’t trust him!” Oliver muttered. “Can’t trust anyone. Think he’s trying to kill me.”

“You’re obviously not well, Oliver; perhaps you should come back to bed. I can call my own physician if you prefer.”

Oliver shuddered so violently that Robert instinctively reached for him before stilling the motion. He doubted that even with his arm extended to the fullest he could get hold of Oliver’s shirt, let alone something tangible like his elbow.

“I’m sure we can sort this out. Why don’t you come back in and we can discuss it in a more reasonable manner?”

“No, I’m not going back in there! Broughton thinks I killed the old lady, but I didn’t. I wanted to and I’m glad that she’s dead, but I didn’t kill her.”

“If you say so, I’m sure you are right.”

Oliver licked his parched lips. “You believe me?”

Robert held his gaze. “I’m willing to try.”

“No, you’re his friend, you believe all his lies.” His gaze dropped lower. “No! They’re both coming back!”

Robert looked down, too, and saw the top of a hackney cab from which Broughton and Dr. Redmond were emerging. Broughton looked up, his face white, and Oliver screamed and tried to press himself back against the unforgiving wall, his fingers scrabbling against the brickwork.

Robert leaned out even farther. “Oliver, look at me, don’t—” Just as his fingers brushed frantically against Oliver’s shirt, the boy jumped.

“God,
no!
” Robert closed his eyes as the sickening crunch of a body hitting the cobbled street below reached him. For a moment he thought he might vomit but managed to control himself and finally look down.

Oliver’s body lay at an unnatural angle on the ground and even from his viewpoint, Robert could see the bright red of his blood draining away through the cobblestones and into the gutter. Several figures were running toward Oliver, including Dr. Redmond, who crouched down beside the body and immediately shook his head. He remained kneeling, his frantic hands feeling over Oliver’s torso as if desperately seeking a heartbeat that was no longer there.

“What happened?”

Robert turned to face Miss Harrington, who had just come back into the room.

“I couldn’t stop him.”

She raised her fingers to her mouth. “Oliver’s
dead?
”

“Don’t look.” He nodded as he eased away from the window and found his cane. “How is the nurse?”

Miss Harrington swallowed hard. “She has a bump on her head. She thinks Oliver must have hit her when her back was turned.”

“Does she remember what happened just before that?” Robert’s gaze fell on the bedside table where an empty glass and spoon stood beside a black bottle.

“She was giving Oliver his medicine and waiting for the maid to bring up his dinner.”

Robert picked up the bottle and after checking that the cork was firmly in place, put the bottle in his pocket.

“What are you—?”

He put a finger to his lips. “I’ll explain later. Miss Harrington, you need to remove yourself from this room. In truth, I don’t want Broughton or Dr. Redmond knowing you were here at all.”

Chapter 14

“O
h, the poor lady, to lose her mother-in-law and her youngest son within such a few days.” Mrs. Hathaway wiped her eyes with her lace handkerchief as Sophia patted her hand.

Lucy could only nod as she tried not to think of what had happened to Oliver. At Broughton House, she’d slipped back into the morning room and had sat quietly, gathering her shattered nerves until Lieutenant Broughton had burst into the room, awakening his mother, and told them both the bad news.

The countess had indeed been inconsolable. So much so that Lucy had helped her up the stairs, watching very carefully as a pale Dr. Redmond dosed her with laudanum and put her to bed. There had been no sign of Major Kurland, who she assumed had answered Broughton as to his part in the tragedy and gone back to his room. Why had he taken the medicine bottle from beside Oliver’s bed? What further horrors was he imagining?

A knock on the door heralded the arrival of the butler, who bowed to Mrs. Hathaway.

“Ma’am, there is a man in the kitchens who says he was sent here by a Major Kurland to await further orders. Do you know of this person, or should I eject him from the house?”

Lucy looked up. “It might be a messenger from Kurland St. Mary who doesn’t know that the major moved into the Broughtons’ house. Did he give you his name?”

“Silas Smith, Miss Harrington.”

Lucy touched Mrs. Hathaway’s shoulder. “If you permit, ma’am, I’ll speak to this man and ascertain what he wants. If he does have a message for the major, it might be better to keep him with us this evening rather than send him over to the Broughtons.”

“That’s an excellent thought, Lucy. We don’t want to put them to any more trouble.” Mrs. Hathaway blew her nose twice. “I think I’ll take myself off to bed. It’s been a horrible day.”

“Then I’ll go and speak to him, shall I? And if the matter is truly urgent, I’ll send a message around to Major Kurland and ask him if he is well enough to meet Mr. Smith here.”

After bidding Mrs. Hathaway a fond good night and promising to come back and speak to Sophia before she, too, went to bed, Lucy went down to the kitchens and was taken into the butler’s pantry.

“Mr. Smith?”

The young man who stood up wasn’t one she remembered from the village.

He doffed his hat. “It’s Miss Harrington, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I understand that you are looking for Major Kurland. He’s not at Fenton’s at the moment. He moved into a friend’s house.”

“I know where he is, Miss Harrington. That’s why he told me to come here.” He straightened his spine. “I can’t show my face at Broughton House. I was dismissed by Lieutenant Broughton without a reference for aiding Mr. Oliver.”

“Oh good gracious, I remember now. You were Oliver’s manservant, weren’t you?”

“Yes, Miss Harrington. Just after I was dismissed, Major Kurland asked me to take a message to his land agent and return with the reply. He thought it best if I came here.”

She studied him for a long moment. “I’ll send a message to Major Kurland telling him you have arrived. I’m sure he’ll come immediately. Have you had your dinner yet?”

Robert alighted carefully from the hackney cab and threw the driver a coin before mounting the steps to the door of the rented house the Hathaways had retained for the Season. Within a few moments, he was taken in to the drawing room where Miss Harrington and her friend Mrs. Giffin awaited him.

After inquiring about Miss Anna and Mrs. Hathaway and murmuring some general replies to Mrs. Giffin’s anxious questions about the state of the Broughton family, he became aware that Miss Harrington was not her usual self. Despite several attempts to engage her interest, she simply stared into the fire and nodded absently at all his remarks.

Eventually, to avoid spending the whole evening talking around the painful topic of Oliver, Robert was forced to ask the question outright. “I understand there is a messenger awaiting me here?”

“Oh yes, that’s right!” Miss Harrington jumped. “If you’ll excuse me, Sophia, I’ll take Major Kurland down to the kitchens.”

Sophia smiled at them both. “I was just thinking about going to bed, actually.”

There was a knock on the door and the butler appeared again. “I apologize for interrupting you again, but a Mr. Stanford has arrived. He seems to think he was invited for dinner.”

Sophia jumped to her feet. “Good gracious! I completely forgot that Mother and I asked Mr. Stanford to come for dinner tonight! I must see him and explain.”

Robert bowed. “And while you do that, I’ll go down and speak to my man. A pleasure, Mrs. Giffin, as always.”

He headed for the door and Miss Harrington followed him. They passed Andrew Stanford coming up the stairs with the butler. He raised his eyebrows at Robert in a quizzical fashion, but thankfully didn’t ask any awkward questions. Robert wondered if Miss Harrington would prefer to be back in the drawing room with Andrew. She gave no sign of it; her expression was distracted as she silently paced alongside him.

Had she seen more than he’d thought that afternoon? Was her mind busy playing those gruesome seconds of Oliver’s jump from the ledge over and over again as his was? He knew that if he managed to sleep he would face a night full of horrors as he saw Oliver’s terrified face the second before he’d leaped into the air. . . .

“I didn’t tell Silas Smith about what happened to Oliver this afternoon.”

Miss Harrington had stopped outside one of the doors in the dimly lit servants’ quarters.

“That was remarkably sensible of you.”

“It was more that I am a coward. I thought you would do a better job of it.”

“I’ve had to tell many people that their loved ones are dead. It doesn’t get any easier.”

In the semidarkness, her hand fleetingly came to rest on his chest. “Then I apologize for expecting you to deal with such a loathsome task. I’ll tell him myself.”