A Place For Repentance (The Underwood Mysteries Book 6) (13 page)

              “So, is there anything else happening in town that I ought to know about?” asked Underwood presently.

              “There has been a spate of thefts from the Pump Rooms, theatre and the Spa Baths. Very mysterious. Sir George even called in the militia to help search for the stolen jewels, to no avail. Because we have had more than the usual influx of new visitors and the return of some of the old, it has made his task much more difficult.”

              “How odd that Toby did not mention it.”

              “Not really. He would fear Verity’s wrath if he encouraged you back into crime investigation,” said Gil.

“True enough. And now that I do know about it, I shall of course look into it! Is there anyone really interesting besides our suspected sneak-thief?”

“I doubt you will think so. Many of them are Jeremy James’ cronies and they are for the most part, a wild lot, but you will meet them all in due course and judge for yourself.”

              “I shall look forward to it,” said Underwood, and he meant it, relishing the promise of many new faces to come to know and taking up the reins of his old life. The melancholy which had been hanging over him these past months, like a threatening shadow, finally seemed to have lifted.

              He looked about him, at his wife, his brother and sister-in-law, and heard the children playing some raucous game upstairs and he felt suddenly grateful for all he had.

              “Is there any more tea in that pot?” he asked Gil, who smiled and took his cup.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

(Extract from a journal discovered by C H Underwood, Winter, 1829)

              Of course the first plan was not to kill my father but merely to confront him with his infamy and compel him to desist. We were not so depraved that our first thought was murder, though his behaviour undoubtedly deserved the ultimate sanction.

              We should have known it would never work. He would not willingly deny himself his sport, and he knew our threats were toothless.

              In fact our united front actually gave him more power – for now he had a bargaining chip that in our innocence we had not for a moment considered, but had handed to him on a platter, all unknowing.

              Simply put, he could now use our affection for each other to force us into ever more unspeakable acts in order to try and save the other pain and humiliation.

              Truly he was the devil incarnate.

              Alone I tried to reason with him. I told him that I would tell everyone what he was doing to me, that I would blacken his name as he deserved.

              He laughed in my face, “Do you really think anyone would believe you, stupid child? I can have you sent to an asylum if you dare to open your mouth. And your little friend will be out on the street without a character – or better still, accused of stealing from me. The penalty for that would be to dangle in the magistrate’s picture frame, or a lifetime in Australia. How would you like that?”

              So, now we had no choice – he had to die. It was him or us.

              But how to go about it without doing ourselves harm?

              Together we plotted when we knew we were alone.

              At first our revenge was to be swift, bloody, and brutal, with no thought for our own protection. Let them hang us both, at least we would be together and he would be dead and not able to torment anyone else.

              But gradually we came to realize that our real revenge would not be to die together, but to continue to live together after he was gone, with all his riches at our disposal.

              Then we began to plan seriously, with purpose and precision.

              All close combat was quickly dismissed. I was only fifteen years old at this time and no match for him in strength or wiliness. He had kept me so closely confined that my muscles were wasted and nearly useless. We must find a way to kill him so that he had no opportunity to fight back. We toyed with the notion of creeping in on him when he was asleep, but decided it was far too risky. When the deed was done, it must be clean and final. He must have no chance to recover and wreak his vengeance upon us.

              This only left the use of a pistol. But neither of us could fire any sort of a gun and if we asked for such an item, it might rouse his suspicion, even though he believed he was invincible.

              In the end it was my father’s own overweening ego which proved to be his downfall. He had long ago acquired this house which was large enough to be the envy of his fellows, but isolated from neighbours so that he could play his sick games unheeded for his depravity had begun long before I was born. I dreaded to think what my poor mother had gone through, an innocent bride brought to this haven of evil.

              Such a house would of necessity have very large cellars and we found one, unused, and unrecalled even by the servants, who ventured down there only to fetch coal or wine. To make doubly sure of remaining undetected, we hid the door behind crates, old broken furniture, and anything else we could find to pile up in front of it, leaving only a narrow gap for us to squeeze through.

              X purchased a pistol with savings garnered over months – my father paid his servants well, in exchange for their unswerving loyalty and silence – and luckily the man who sold it was willing to show how to load, clean and fire it.

              It took weeks of careful practice, when we knew my father would be away from the house, and the servants busy with their own affairs, but finally we were both good enough shots to be sure that when we fired, we would at least hit our target.

              The scene was set.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

‘O Si Sic Omnia!’ – Oh, if only things were always like this!

              Verity and Underwood felt as though they were seeing Hanbury through fresh eyes after their time away from the bustle of the busy little town. Certainly for Underwood the taint of melancholy was gone and it seemed to everyone who knew him that he was not only physically better than he had been for some months, but he was also invigorated and had regained his old enthusiasm for life.

              As soon as they were able, the couple found their way to the Pump Rooms to renew their acquaintance with old friends and to keenly inspect the newcomers. Spring and summer were always the most interesting time in the spa, for the poor state of the roads meant that travelling in the winter, or even a particularly wet autumn, was nigh on impossible, unless in the direst need. The moment a dry spell came, those of the population who were able quickly roused themselves and places like Bath, Brighton and Harrogate swiftly filled with those who not only wished to take a rest-cure, but also the gregarious souls who wanted to experience new faces and places to combat the tedium of long, cold days trapped indoors.

Hanbury was slowly becoming one of the more popular destinations, thanks to people like Lady Cara and the rest of the Lovell family, who had shown the mostly London-based aristocracy that fashionable life could exist outside the Home Counties. However, the vast majority of visitors were still the Northern middle-classes, who were suddenly finding a little spare money to indulge such frivolities as holidays.

Underwood had not much interest from which class people hailed, he was simply engrossed in all human vagaries and an inveterate observer of all who came within his orbit. Gil had often accused him of loving gossip for gossip’s sake, but Underwood pointed out disparagingly and with great dignity, that much his younger brother knew! It was all valuable information should he be required to solve any mystery which might occur. Gil had snorted derisively and quipped, “Yes, I’m sure it is vital that you know that Mrs Lethaby the haberdasher’s wife has been flirting with the Wablers again and causing jealous silences over the counter in the shop whenever husband and wife serve together.”

“It could very well be, should the haberdasher be found with a pair of scissors protruding from his back!” responded Underwood with perfect seriousness, causing Gil equal measures of horror and amusement.

The Wablers were very much in evidence when the Underwoods entered the lavish Pump Rooms, resplendent with marble floors, mahogany benches, shiny brass fittings and glittering candlelit chandeliers. It was daytime, but even the large windows could not penetrate the full vastness of the rooms, so the candles were nearly always lit and added to the steamy heat of the rooms.

Adeline had been sitting with her husband and companions, bored at their talk of gambling, drinking and their latest flirtations, so she was delighted to spy her dearest friend Verity on her slow progress across the floor, stopping to acknowledge greetings and to chat with various acquaintances as she passed. Presently the two ladies met and went off to find their own group of friends, leaving Underwood to exchange good-natured insults with the old soldiers. They were used to such banter for the very name by which they were known as a group was a vulgarism bestowed upon lowly foot-soldiers by the more elite cavalry. The Wablers had tragically found themselves reduced to a life out of the saddle by their injuries and accepted their fate with wry and black humour.

“Is the tavern not open yet?” asked Underwood, approaching the men. They turned to answer him, mostly with rude comments and he grinned at them, delighted to be back amongst them. They were no longer young, and all had given their health in the service of their country, but they still retained a vigour and a talent for drollery which made one forget their terrible impairments when in their presence.

“Underwood, you old fraud!” exclaimed Jeremy James, reaching up to grasp his friend by the arm, for from his seat in his wheeled chair, he could not reach to slap a shoulder or back, “What was all this I heard about you shamming your poor wife into thinking you were ill? Fading away from lack of attention, more like!”

“And what is wrong with that, pray?” asked Underwood, with perfect equanimity. “A man has a right to demand his wife’s consideration from time to time, otherwise what is the point of sacrificing one’s freedom on the altar of matrimony? No one wants to be leg-shackled to a termagant.”

The Wablers laughed at this sally and invited Underwood to join them.

“Old Thorny has no call to criticise you, Underwood,” interpolated the one-legged Swann, when the merriment had died away, “this birthday party of his is taking over the entire town. Talk about crying out for attention! By gad, if I was as old as him, I wouldn’t be advertising the fact.”

“Quite right, Bertie,” called the others, drowning out the major’s protests. “Who the devil wants to celebrate forty miserable years of Old Thorny being amongst us?”

“Stow it,” said Jeremy James rudely, when he felt they had exhausted their cache of vilifications. “Tell me, Underwood, did you see Petch? Did he promise to come?”

“I saw him and he did indeed give me his oath that he will be with us next month, bringing his sister, who, I understand, he is now desperate to marry off so that he …” Underwood broke off – he had almost given Petch away and ended his sentence with “so he can return to Australia.” He hastily amended the speech, “So that he can cease worrying that his scoundrel cousin will return and claim her hand.”

This hardly complimentary assessment of Rutherford’s intentions was just the sort of fodder that the Wablers thrived upon and Underwood was able to sit back and listen, with growing amusement but also some alarm, as the gentlemen vied with each other as to who was going to win the hand of the fair Miss Cressida, and how they intended to go about wooing her – which plotting grew ever more raucous and unlikely as they competed with each other in being either chivalrous or ribald, depending upon the speaker. Underwood glanced across to where his wife was sitting, with all her coterie about her, and rather wished he had opted for feminine gossip rather than the masculine bawdy wit which he now had to endure. Alas, it was his own fault he knew for having set the fire alight; therefore he bore it, but fully intended to ask his wife later what new titbits had come to light in her own conversation.

Had he but known it, he might very well have preferred the Wablers’ rowdiness for a long-suffering Verity found herself comforting a profoundly harassed Adeline Thorneycroft, along with the other ladies of their circle. Jeremy James’ party had, by all accounts, taken on a life of its own and was growing by the day.

“I can’t begin to tell you, Verity,” she exclaimed, half annoyed and half distressed, “I have had the entire thing taken out of my hands. I could accept that Jemmy would want Rutherford Petch to attend – after all, he did save his life. But these extra months that Captain Petch’s absence has granted have just allowed the word to spread far and wide. What was to be a small, informal gathering of dear friends and family has grown out of all proportion. You know we had to change the venue from our own home to Lady Hartley-Wells’ mansion – and thank goodness she offered, or I don’t know how we should have managed! Now I am not entirely sure that even her house and the marquee in the garden will be large enough to accommodate everyone who has invited themselves.”

Verity was puzzled, “But who are all these extra persons?” she asked.

“I think it must be his entire regiment, and perhaps some others too,” said her young friend with a sigh of frustration. “Word passed swiftly around and now they seem to be treating it as some sort of an ‘old soldiers’ reunion’. They are coming from all over the country and for the whole week, some of them. I’m at my wit’s end as to how to entertain them all.”

Verity gave Adeline a hug, but could not repress a laugh, “My dear girl, you are such a goose! The solution is very simple.”

Adeline was inclined to be offended, “A goose! A headless chicken perhaps, might more properly describe me. Verity, how can you laugh at me when I am so distracted?”

“Because you are causing yourself so much pointless heartache, my dear,” replied the matron, veteran of a few similar campaigns of her own and Underwood’s making, for when the mood occasionally took them, they both were recklessly generous with their invitations and only thought of the arithmetic afterwards. “The answer is that you do nothing at all!”

Adeline was astounded and somewhat sceptical, “Pray don’t tease me, Verity, I don’t think my nerves can take much more. How can I invite all these people, then deny them any hospitality? It simply isn’t done, my dear.”

“But that is the whole point, Adeline, you did not invite them,” pointed out Verity gently, “They have decided to come of their own accord, so leave them to sort themselves out! Concentrate on those who have the right to call upon you and ignore the rest. I assure you, these men are old soldiers and used to roughing it. They will not thank you for tea-parties and country dances. Far better to leave them to their own devices. The actual evening of the party, provide a supper for three quarters of the numbers you have and if the food runs out, then so be it! In my experience the ladies are corseted too tightly to eat at all and the gentlemen are too busy gaming and flirting to think about food. All will be well, I promise you.”

The other ladies were quick to assure Adeline that Verity spoke wise words and after a little cogitation, the wife of the good major decided that she would do exactly as advised. To the relief of all, it now became permissible to turn their attention to the other matters which needed airing after Verity’s long absence from the circle.

“I have a favour to ask of you, ladies, and I know I can rely upon you, for you are all so good-hearted and kind.” Verity knew better than anyone how to sugar a pill.

“I’m sure we’ll do our best,” said Angela Simpson, the milliner, not in the least fooled by Verity’s opening gambit. She was not about to vouchsafe her aid until she knew exactly what she was promising to do.

“It is nothing so very arduous,” Verity assured them earnestly, “I have merely invited Will Jebson’s wife to join our little group for a few days and I want you all to be nice to her.”

“Why is being nice a favour?” asked the sceptical Mrs Simpson. “Surely it would be a natural thing for us to do?”

Having thus given herself away, Verity had no choice but be brutally honest, “You have not yet met Mrs Jebson,” she said, with a wry smile. “Of course your experience of her may be entirely different, but I own I found her ... shall we say challenging?”

Adeline laughed, “Oh dear heavens, Verity! The woman must be a nightmare if you found her ‘challenging’. I have never known anyone, however detestable, that you have not discovered some redeeming trait to soften their odium.”

“I do try to see the good in people,” Verity admitted diffidently, “but Mrs Jebson did try my tolerance to the very limit. However, she aims to move her husband’s business to Hanbury and I felt obliged to help.”

The ladies who owned shops in the town were immediately interested in this snippet and it was left to Mrs Simpson, once again, to be their spokeswoman, “What kind of business might that be, Mrs Underwood?” she asked, trying not to sound hostile should the shop be in direct competition to her own establishment.

“He is an apothecary. You will recall it was he whom I believe saved my dear Underwood from disaster last year.”

This pronouncement was greeted with relief and some considerable enthusiasm to make up for their previous wariness.

“An apothecary is just what we need. Since old Mr Davy the chemist died over the winter, we have had no-one who makes simple remedies for everyday ailments. All the doctors in the town are only interested in selling their over-priced patent medicines to those who can pay.”

“I had quite forgotten Mr Davy,” said Verity, who rarely used anything but her own home-made tinctures and balms, garnered in her youth from her father’s more elderly parishioners. Country parishes were awash with ‘wise women’ and Verity had been an eager student. “I suppose that means his shop is standing empty?”

“It is. He had no family, so no-one has yet taken over the premises.”

Verity looked thoughtful. This was very good news – or was it? She would welcome Will Jebson to her circle of friends, but his wife? Verity looked down the years and saw herself being baited by the contentious Martha on a regular basis and was not sure she could stand it. Then she thought of those two little girls and knew that she could do nothing that might put them in jeopardy. Martha Jebson would be told of the shop the moment she arrived in Hanbury and Verity would have to learn a way to ignore or combat the bitter jibes of their objectionable mama! Even she must have, somewhere deep inside, a softer nature and it would take only patience and kindness to unearth it.

Adeline watched the expressions flit across her friend’s face and knew she was fighting an inner battle. This did not bode well for Mrs Jebson. If she had so affected the sweet and kindly Verity, she must truly be a tiresome woman. Mrs Thornycroft decided it was time to remind her companion of the good things that would ensue should the apothecary remove to Hanbury.

“Mr Jebson would be a welcome addition, would he not? It was little short of miraculous that he brought Mr Underwood back from the very brink when he was despaired of by all.”