Death comes to bath, p.1
Death Comes to Bath, page 1
Books by Catherine Lloyd
DEATH COMES TO THE VILLAGE
DEATH COMES TO LONDON
DEATH COMES TO KURLAND HALL
DEATH COMES TO THE FAIR
DEATH COMES TO THE SCHOOL
DEATH COMES TO BATH
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
DEATH COMES TO BATH
CATHERINE LLOYD
KENSINGTON BOOKS
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2019 by Catherine Duggan
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-1-4967-0212-8
First Kensington Hardcover Edition: January 2019
ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-0213-5 (e-book)
ISBN-10: 1-4967-0213-1 (e-book)
Many thanks to Sandra Marine and Ruth Long, who read this book for me and helped knock it into shape. I spent two very happy weeks in the city of Bath last summer making sure I walked the routes and visited the places Lucy and Robert would’ve enjoyed. If you ever have the opportunity, I highly recommend a visit to Bath.
Prologue
Kurland St. Mary
January 1822
“Robert! Robert, can you hear me?”
Aware that something was vaguely amiss, Sir Robert Kurland attempted to focus on his wife’s face, which appeared to be underwater. Something slobbered noisily on his cheek. He was fairly certain that wasn’t his wife, and was one of his dogs. He blinked hard and pain shot through his limbs with such appalling agony that his back arched in instinctive protest.
“Robert.”
In truth, he’d much prefer to sink back into oblivion and leave all the unsettling brightness concentrated around his wife alone, but she obviously needed him, and he could never deny her anything.
Where was he? The last thing he remembered was coming down the main staircase in Kurland Hall intent on taking his two young dogs, Picton and Blucher, for a short stroll down the drive before breakfast. The surface beneath him was hard and cold, which was a damned sight better than being buried up to his neck in the mud at Waterloo, but still uncomfortable.
“Thank you, Foley.” Lucy appeared to be speaking to his butler.
Robert groaned as something soft was placed beneath his head and a blanket was thrown over his torso.
“Dr. Fletcher is on his way, my lady.”
“No.” Robert managed to open his eyes. “Damnation, not him.”
“Robert.” Lucy leaned closer and a tear dripped from her cheek onto his. “Oh, my darling . . .”
He frowned at her. “My dear girl, there’s no need for tears. I’m not dead yet.”
She tried to smile and wiped hastily at her cheek. “I do apologize, but the sight of you on the ground has somewhat affected me.” She turned her head. Robert followed the direction of her gaze and saw several pairs of muddy booted feet approaching.
“We can’t leave you out here in the cold. If you can stand it, James and the other footmen are going to lift you and take you to bed,” Lucy said.
Even though he was hardly in a position to argue, Robert still wanted to object. He tensed as the men gathered around him.
“On my mark.” Foley took charge. “One, two, three . . .”
Even before Robert was lifted off the ground the pain swallowed him whole, and he knew no more.
The next time he opened his eyes he was lying in his own bed with the covers drawn back, and his blasted friend ex-army surgeon Patrick Fletcher was glaring down at him.
Someone had removed all of Robert’s clothes except his shirt, and that was pulled up to expose his left hip and thigh.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” Patrick demanded. His strong fingers gently probed the massive swelling on Robert’s thigh.
“So much for your bedside manner, Dr. Fletcher. You will hardly make your fortune with the aristocracy if you shout at your patients,” Robert murmured.
“I’m shouting at you because you are a special case.” Patrick placed his hand on Robert’s forehead. “You also have a fever.”
“I am aware of that.”
“You promised at Christmas that you would allow me to examine you properly.”
“You’re examining me now,” Robert pointed out, and received another ferocious glare in return. “Where is my wife?”
“She is right here, sir.”
Patrick stepped back, and Robert located Lucy sitting in a chair next to the fire, her hands twisted together in her lap around her handkerchief. The dogs were asleep at her feet. She looked remarkably pale but met his gaze resolutely.
“I know you said you didn’t wish to see Dr. Fletcher, but when one’s husband is discovered unconscious on the drive, one is entitled to ignore his wishes.”
“Indeed,” Robert said. “Although one might have considered waiting awhile and consulting the patient first.”
“Lady Kurland did the right thing,” Patrick replied. “I know you don’t want to hear this, Robert, but this swelling on your thigh is hot to the touch. I hesitate to literally reopen old wounds, but I’ve heard of cases like this before from fellow army surgeons, and I’d like the opportunity to drain the swelling and see what’s going on.”
Robert swallowed hard. The idea of a surgeon laying hands on him again made every cowardly impulse in him stir to attention. It was also why he hadn’t mentioned the swelling to anyone, not even his wife.
“If I don’t try something, you will probably lose the leg, and maybe your life if the inflammation spreads,” Patrick continued.
Lucy came to stand beside the doctor and looked down at Robert. “As you might imagine, I would rather you continued your existence.”
He reached for her hand. “Then I must agree to put myself in the good doctor’s hands. When do you want to perform your butchery?”
Patrick shared a glance with Lucy. “Now if possible.”
Robert nodded. “Then give me a moment with my wife, and I am all yours.”
“I need to get some equipment and persuade Foley to give me the best brandy in the house.” Patrick squeezed Robert’s shoulder hard. “I’ll do my absolute best to save your leg.”
The silence left behind by the doctor was broken by the crackling of the fire and the whimper of one of the dogs chasing rabbits in his sleep. Lucy sat on the side of the bed and wrapped an arm around Robert’s shoulders. He drew her close and kissed the top of her head.
“I do apologize for worrying you.”
She cupped his chin. “You have always been a worry, but one that I willingly embraced.” She searched his face. “Do you wish me to assist Dr. Fletcher or would you rather I took myself off?”
“I’d rather you were here.” He hesitated. “Just in case.”
“Then here I shall remain.” She kissed him gently on the lips. “At your side.” She glanced over at the fire. “The dogs, however, will return to the kitchen.” She went as if to sit up, and he held her in place.
“If the worst happens, I’ve made provision for you and protected the estate as best as I can from Paul, but—”
She placed a finger on his lips. “Let’s not worry about that now. I have every confidence in your ability to protect me, and I do not fear the future.” She smiled and he stored the memory away like a precious jewel. Her strength and calmness had never been more vital to him than at this moment.
He kissed her fingers and then her mouth, deepening the kiss until she was molded against him and they breathed as one. Eventually, she eased away from him, her eyes grave, and patted her now disordered hair.
“I must look a fright.”
“You look remarkably pretty to me,” Robert said.
There was a knock on the door, and Silas, his valet, peered in. “Dr. Fletcher asked me to come and assist, sir. I hope that’s all right.”
“Please join us.” Robert pointed at the dogs. “But take these two fine fellows down to the kitchen first and make sure one of the stable boys gives them some exercise.”
“Yes, Sir Robert.”
Foley came in with a bottle of his best brandy and placed the decanter beside Robert’s bed.
“Good luck, sir. We’ll all be praying for you.”
* * *
Lucy pressed her lips tightly together and averted her gaze as Dr. Fletcher used his wickedly sharp blade to cut through the angry-looking flesh on Robert’s thigh. Why hadn’t her husband told her how bad his leg ha d gotten, and why hadn’t she noticed? If Robert survived the good doctor’s attentions, Lucy would be asking Robert those very questions herself.
“Hold him still,” Dr. Fletcher instructed Robert’s valet as his patient visibly stirred even in his drunken stupor. “Lady Kurland, I’ll need that bleeding bowl positioned beneath the incision.”
Despite being virtually insensible, Robert flinched as a stream of foul-smelling pus gushed from the small cut and eventually slowed to a trickle. Dr. Fletcher pushed gently on the swelling until it started to bleed.
“Ah, wait.” He leaned in closely and used the tip of his knife to draw something out of the hole. “Look at that! Must have stayed in there all this time.”
“What exactly is it?” Lucy inquired through her teeth.
“Looks like a piece of blue fabric from Sir Robert’s hussars’ uniform to me.” Dr. Fletcher laughed, which struck Lucy as particularly insensitive at this particular moment, and typical of a man. “I must have left it behind last time I was in here. I’ll feel around and see if there is anything else. You can take the bowl away, and I’ll bind up the wound.”
Fighting nausea, Lucy covered the bowl and placed it on a tray outside the door. She’d already sent a note to the local healer, Grace Turner, asking her to come and see Robert at her earliest convenience. Lucy had great faith in Dr. Fletcher, but it never hurt to consult an expert in herbal remedies. Grace’s potions had done more to improve Lucy’s well-being during the previous year than any of Dr. Fletcher’s concoctions.
As she returned to the bedchamber, Lucy sent up a quick prayer to the heavens. If Robert could survive the almost inevitable fever from Dr. Fletcher’s attentions, she had high hopes that the sheer stubbornness of his nature would ensure his continued survival.
Chapter 1
“And what if I don’t want to go to Bath?” Robert inquired, scowling at his wife as she tidied his pillows. Rain spattered the diamond windowpanes of their bedchamber, and a cold draught whistled down the chimney, making the wood fire send out sullen puffs of smoke. “What if I prefer to stay here in my own bed, and in my own house?”
“You’ve been skulking in that bed for weeks,” Lucy said, pausing in her efforts to straighten the sheets. “Dr. Fletcher believes the hot springs at Bath will be beneficial to you, and I am in complete agreement with him. I’ve rented a house close to the baths and Pump Room where you can drink the waters and take additional treatments as recommended by Dr. Fletcher.”
“You’ve gone ahead and arranged all this without consulting me?”
Lucy met his indignant gaze. “If I had consulted you, you would just have said no. It seemed far more efficient to simply organize everything, and present you with a fait accompli.”
Robert sighed. “What about the dogs?”
“James will remain here, and he has promised me that he will look after them as if they were his own.” Lucy offered Robert a cup of tea. “Foley and your valet will accompany us, as will Betty.”
Robert sipped the tea and studied his wife’s calm features. He had a sense that whatever objections he raised she would have answers for them. After Patrick had doctored his thigh he’d fallen into a fever that had weakened him considerably and he had no memory of the first few days after the operation. He still didn’t have the strength to prevent Lucy from ordering one of his footmen to bundle him up in his blankets and deposit him in his traveling coach.
“Bath isn’t exactly fashionable anymore,” Robert pointed out. “All of society flocks to Brighton.”
“Which is why I thought you would prefer Bath.” She patted his hand. “I doubt you wish to meet the prince regent strolling along the promenade?”
“Good Lord, no.” Robert shuddered. Even though it had been the prince regent himself who had awarded Robert his baronetcy he had no love for the royal buffoon. “That would not please me at all.”
“Then that’s settled.” Lucy took his cup away from him. “We’ll be on our way by the end of the week.”
Robert lay back against his pillows and accepted defeat. If his wife had been a man and of a military bent, he reckoned she would’ve beaten Napoleon in a month. She stood to brush a kiss on his forehead and picked up the tea tray.
“I’m going down to the rectory to advise my father of our decision. Do you have any message for your aunt Rose?”
Robert still found it difficult to believe that his beloved aunt had married Lucy’s pompous fool of a father, but they appeared to rub along very well together.
“Just give her my love.”
Lucy nodded. “Do you wish to speak to Dermot Fletcher about the estate?”
“I’ll do that later today. How long are you intending to keep me captive in Bath?”
She paused at the door. “At least three months.”
“That long?”
“That’s what Dr. Fletcher recommends.” She smiled at him, and it occurred to him that it was the first time he’d seen her look happy in days. He was not an easy man at the best of times, and being an invalid made him ten times more cantankerous.
“Thank you,” Robert said gruffly.
Lucy raised an eyebrow. “For what?”
“Arranging everything.”
She had the gall to laugh. “Now I know that you are still unwell. Normally, you would be standing toe to toe with me arguing the matter out.” She opened the door and left the room, leaving her warm amusement surrounding him.
It was good to see her laughing again—even at him. There was a time during the previous year when he’d thought she would never smile again. But she seemed much healthier now, and far more herself. Even if that self was somewhat exasperating . . .
* * *
After speaking to Foley, Lucy walked down the drive of Kurland Hall and took the shortcut beside the church that brought her out opposite the rectory. It was a brisk, cold morning that required a person to keep moving. The fact that Robert hadn’t ordered her to cancel the trip to Bath had surprised her immensely. Perhaps despite his objections to leaving home he was as bored as she was staying put for three months since Christmas.
She was convinced that the change of scenery and the hot springs at Bath would help aid his recovery. Dr. Fletcher and Grace Taylor, the local healer, both spoke very highly of the notion, and that was enough for Lucy. She would never forget Dr. Fletcher’s skill in preserving Robert’s life and leg yet again, and would be forever in his debt.
At the rectory gate, she paused and decided to use the front door. The golden stone was now covered in reddish ivy, which softened the harsh lines of the ten-year-old exterior. The new building didn’t impress Robert, but secretly, after living at the Elizabethan Kurland Hall for three years, Lucy rather appreciated the rectory’s warmth and symmetry. But she no longer lived there, and her father had a new wife who should be offered every courtesy. She waited as the bell clanged in the depths of the house, and was surprised when her father opened the door himself.
“Goodness me, Lucy. How very pleasant.” He pinched her cold cheek. “You look very well today, my dear. I was just about to go out for a ride. Did you wish to speak to me?”
Lucy followed him into the hallway as he shut the door. “Sir Robert and I will be leaving for Bath at the end of the week as planned.”
“Excellent news, my dear.” The rector rubbed his hands together. “I wish Sir Robert a full and vigorous recovery.”
“Thank you. I assured him that you would offer Mr. Fletcher your assistance in estate matters if required.” Lucy removed her bonnet and gloves and placed them on the hall table.
“Of course, of course.” The rector surreptitiously checked his pocket watch, picked up his riding crop, and put on his hat. “May I take you through to the back parlor? Rose and Anna will be delighted to see you I’m sure.”
Lucy allowed herself to be escorted down the corridor as her father opened the parlor door wide enough for her to step past him.
