Death Comes to Kurland Hall Read Free Page B

apologize. I had forgotten that when you were betrothed to Major Kurland, you once viewed Kurland Hall as your future home.” She paused. “Perhaps Major Kurland thought it would pain you to reside under his roof again.”
    â€œHe has no such regard for my feelings.” Miss Chingford snorted. “It was my mother who offered to move down here. She said she had always wanted to renew her acquaintance with your father.”
    They both turned to look at their respective parents, who were happily reminiscing about their first meeting at a London ball. The younger Miss Chingford stifled a yawn and looked longingly at the door as the rector leaned over to whisper in her mother’s ear.
    â€œPerhaps you and Dorothea would like to see your room? We have put you next door to your mother,” Lucy said loudly.
    Her father waved at her to proceed, keeping Mrs. Chingford chatting as Lucy thanked Mr. Fairfax for bringing the Chingfords down from the manor house. He departed soon afterward, and she led the two ladies up the stairs.
    â€œWe shall dine at six. If you need anything, please ring the bell.” Lucy drew the curtains wide to let the sunlight illuminate the guest bedroom. “Your boxes have already been brought up, so I shall leave you to settle in.”
    â€œThank you.” Miss Chingford surveyed the charming guest room as though she’d been escorted to a cell in a debtors’ prison. “I’m sure we will be . . . very comfortable in here.”
    Lucy headed for the door. “I’ll send Betty up right away to help you unpack.”
    She escaped down the stairs and went into the kitchen, where Betty and Cook were sharing a pot of tea at the table. With a sigh, she sat down and helped herself, as well.
    â€œOur guests have arrived. Betty, will you go up and help them unpack? And, Mrs. Fielding, we will have three extra for dinner tonight.”
    â€œThe rector already informed me of that, Miss Harrington.” The glum reply wasn’t a surprise. Mrs. Fielding rarely liked anything Lucy said to her, preferring instead to receive her orders directly from the rector before she was willing to even consider carrying them out.
    Lucy took another fortifying gulp of the strong tea. “I’ll go and see if Mrs. Chingford is ready to be taken up to her room. My father is in danger of monopolizing her attention.”
    â€œIs he now?”
    There was an ominous note in the cook’s voice, which Lucy couldn’t help but secretly revel in.
    â€œYes. Apparently, they are old friends. He seems very taken with her.”
    Mrs. Fielding snorted and turned her attention to the stove, banging the pots and pans around. If Mrs. Chingford wasn’t careful, she might find herself being poisoned by the jealous cook, who considered the rector her personal property. The thought of poison reminded Lucy of her recent sojourn in London, and she shuddered. She returned to the drawing room, where her father most uncharacteristically lingered with Mrs. Chingford.
    â€œYour daughters are both settled in, Mrs. Chingford, and George awaits you in your study, Father. He says you are meant to be reviewing the Sunday sermon with him.”
    Her father sighed and then bent to kiss Mrs. Chingford’s hand in a most dashing way. “Duty calls. I look forward to seeing you at the dinner table this evening, ma’am.”
    Mrs. Chingford positively bridled. “I look forward to it, sir.”
    Lucy waited until her father disappeared into his study to consult with his new curate, and then turned back to Mrs. Chingford, whose smile had vanished. She was still a handsome woman with a classic profile her daughter had inherited. She had risen from her chair and appeared to be studying the china on the mantelpiece.
    â€œIs this a portrait of your late mother, Miss Harrington?”
    â€œIndeed it is.” Lucy paused to admire her mother’s serene smile. “It was