A Place For Repentance (The Underwood Mysteries Book 6) (15 page)

              “Naturally,” he conceded, stretching out his hand to briefly take hers and squeeze it affectionately.

              “However, I was thinking that perhaps the button is a little more recognizable than you are assuming. If, for example, it was a silver or gold button, it might be possible to trace the tailor, for they are not so common as to be thrown away without good cause. If the button was torn from the coat in a struggle, some material might adhere to it. The button might have some insignia engraved upon it; from a uniform, perhaps?”

              Underwood was astounded. He had been inclined to dismiss the button as of no importance whatsoever, but his wife had demonstrated very ably that it could indeed hold valuable information regarding the killer of Paddy Mulligan.

              “Verity, you astonish me. I cannot begin to imagine where I would be without you. I shall write to Constable Hargreaves this very moment with your thoughts on the matter.”

              “Make sure you give me full credit for the theorizing,” she told him cynically.

              “Of course,” he said with the utmost seriousness, “and I shall also tell him that you make excellent tea.”

              She rolled up the newspaper and rapped his knuckles with it, “Impertinence, Mr Underwood,” she said, “will be your downfall!”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

‘Amici Probantur Rebus Adversis’ –Friends are tested by adversity

              It was quite a week before Toby and Underwood were able to have a private chat. Gil had stayed for several days after their return from Dacorum-in-the-Marsh, eager to see his brother and catch up on all his news, filling the house with his wife and sons. Officially Gil was still vicar of Hanbury, as well as being the Rural Dean, but in recent months he had been forced to spend more time at his other residence in Derby, convenient for the Bishop to discuss church affairs with him. This meant that the vicarage in Hanbury had been empty and needed airing and warming thoroughly before the family could be comfortable there again. Cara would not, for anything, risk the health of her beloved boys by allowing them to sleep in damp beds.

They left eventually for Brighton to visit the Earl and Countess, arranging to return via Bath to collect their mother and step-father, in plenty of time for Jeremy James’ celebration and promising to invite their parents to stay at the vicarage, which should be habitable again by then. As Gil solicitously remarked, poor Verity could not be expected to provide hospitality to an endless stream of visitors. Underwood was inclined to be offended that only Verity was taken into account in this, for much as he had enjoyed seeing his brother and family, it had been trying for him to have no place of peace to retreat to, for even the sofa in his study had been commandeered for poor Alistair to sleep upon.

              Toby, though he had never confided as much, had obviously been encouraged not to spend more time in Windward House than was absolutely necessary to do his work. Sabrina, his wife, was an ex-slave and had been the means by which poison had entered the house and had very nearly cost Underwood his life. Verity had been able to forgive the girl, being far more understanding about how she had been forced by her master to do his bidding.

Women lived a life which was dictated by their husbands and male relatives, powerless and penniless they had to obey or risk beatings, hunger and worse. If a woman were favoured with good luck, she was born into a family who cared for her and she would marry a man who cherished her, but all too often she was treated as a chattel, fit only to bear children and work for her husband or master.

Verity had found herself in such desperate need after her father died that she had been forced to work as a governess to keep a roof over her head. She knew only too well how tempting it was to behave in a way which was abhorrent simply to avoid hunger and homelessness. She had been fortunate in her choices but there had been occasions when she had found herself in dangerous situations with unscrupulous men. She had fallen in love with Underwood, but for a while his interest had lain elsewhere and she had been forced to watch the wooing in heart-broken silence, unable to warn him that his chosen lady was no worthy match for him, either in intellect or indeed kindness. It was the merest chance that he had found his way at last to the woman who truly loved him. Verity never forgot those unhappy days and it made her sympathize with the orders Sabrina had been compelled to obey.

              Underwood, however, retained a kernel of bitterness towards the young woman, and only hid it because of his great affection for Toby. He felt that had she really wanted to, she could have defied her master and saved him much suffering. Her greatest transgression though, had been to involve his child in her iniquity. That he would never forgive and he knew that deep down, Sabrina was fully aware of it, hence her avoidance of him unless she had no choice. He had allowed Toby to build his own small cottage in the large grounds of Windward House and Sabrina kept mostly to it, having been quietly told that though Toby was in the pay of the Underwoods as a general servant there was no need for her to be similarly employed.

              Toby preferred to ignore the undercurrents and kept his wife and friend apart as much as he was able. He could not, in all conscience, criticize Underwood for his refusal to accept Sabrina’s proffered regrets – she had never apologized, feeling that to do so would be to accept blame and that she could not do. She had been coerced into her misdeeds and the responsibility was not hers. Besides which, she had, in her own way, tried to warn Underwood, telling him not to accept the task which set him against her master and he had chosen to ignore her. In her eyes the man had brought all his misfortunes upon himself and she saw no reason to spend the rest of her life berating herself. Toby knew this was merely her way of coping with the knowledge that she had very nearly killed a good man on behalf of an evil one, but Underwood dismissed this as simple avoidance of the truth and despised her for it.

              In order to spend some time with his friend, Toby told his wife that he had a task to perform in the house which would keep him late and though she knew he was prevaricating, Sabrina accepted this excuse without comment.

              Verity discreetly left the two men to enjoy a glass of claret in the study and took herself off to read a bedtime story to her daughters.

              Underwood took the chair before the fire and invited Toby to seat himself on the sofa, though the fire was not lit and the open window allowed a cool evening breeze to waft the curtains gently to and fro.

              “It is good to see you looking so well, Underwood,” said Toby, broaching the subject which most other people had avoided for fear of sending Underwood back into a decline. It was also Toby’s way of showing Underwood that he was not going to allow the past to come between them. To be afraid of mentioning what had happened would be to admit that he felt some guilt at falling in love with and marrying Sabrina and that, he knew, would be to hint at disrespect for his wife.

              “I must concede, Toby, that I was cynical when Gil suggested I should take a holiday. I did not see how my lethargy and melancholy feelings could be banished simply by a change of scene, but I own I do now see that he was quite right. I seem to be very nearly my old self again, though whether that is down to the rest-cure or Will Jebson’s tonic I have no idea.”

              “Perhaps a little of both?” suggested Toby, sipping his wine.

              Underwood laughed softly, “Very possibly. And even more so because, at long last, everyone appears to have stopped treating me like an invalid. That was wearing very thin, I assure you.”

              It was Toby’s turn to guffaw, which he did with his customary gusto, “Damn me, I never thought I’d hear Underwood the hypochondriac admitting he was tired of being handled with kid gloves!”

              His companion had the grace to accept this comment with the humour with which it was meant, “Ah, but my dear fellow, there is a difference between
choosing
to be ill and having it thrust upon one!”

              “I suppose there is. And it cannot have hurt that Verity has lifted her ban on your detecting. I know having your wings clipped lay heavy upon you.”

              Underwood lifted a quizzical brow, “Gil hinted that you knew about that?”

              “Knew about it and was tasked with keeping an eye on you to make sure you abided by it,” admitted the black man with a shrug of his broad shoulders. “Mrs Underwood may adore you, my friend, but she does not trust you as far as she could throw you soaking wet – well, not where interfering in other people’s business is concerned, anyway!”

              “She does right not to,” said Underwood equably. “This has been the longest six months of my life and it was only my own bodily weakness which caused me to keep my word – and the fact that nothing of any note occurred in Hanbury whilst I was confined.”

              Toby glanced over his shoulder to make certain the door was firmly closed, “Did anything interesting happen in West Wimpleford or Dacorum-in-the-Marsh?” he asked.

              His secretive gesture and slightly lowered tone informed Underwood that his friend was referring to the shooting incident of which Verity knew nothing, and must never uncover.

              “If you are asking me if I discovered the identity of the ‘widow’ whilst I was away, I must disappoint you for I found no new information. In fact the memory of her is fading fast and I take leave to doubt I would recognize her now if I saw her, or her servant. The meeting was very short and then she disappeared as surely as if she had been whisked into the air by a whirlwind and deposited on the Continent. The name she gave was false, of course.”

              “A pity. She was an intriguing figure and I would dearly have liked to have met her and her servant. It would be fascinating to know why they travel about the country without male protection when she at least seemed gently born.”

              “She certainly gave that impression, for her accent was upper-crust, but who knows? She could simply have been an exceptional actress.”

              The word actress put him in mind of the French girl and he began to tell Toby of his other adventures and soon the subject of the ‘widow’ was lost amongst all the other tales they had to exchange; so much so that the clock was striking midnight before they parted company and each went to his own bed satisfied that they had renewed their friendship, despite all that had gone before.

*

              Before another week was out, Martha Jebson arrived in Hanbury and as Verity had suspected she would, she took full advantage of her acquaintance with the popular Mrs Underwood.

Fortunately she arrived just before Cara and Gil left, so the Underwoods could truthfully say that they had no room to accommodate her.

              The fact of being away from her own domain and encroaching upon someone else’s did nothing to temper her arrogance, which Verity had secretly hoped it might. There was no shyness in meeting new people, no calming of her rumbustious nature, nor taming of her vitriolic turn of phrase. On her arrival in town she sent an imperious note to Verity, more or less commanding her attendance the next morning so that they might look for properties together. Verity was sorely tempted to both plead another engagement and to keep the knowledge of Mr Davy’s empty premises to herself, but the memory of Prue and Minta prevented such evasion.

Martha was clearly delighted that she had been saved much searching and negotiation with property agents, but this was not reflected in her reaction to the building when they finally tracked down the keys and entered.

              She looked around with a nose wrinkled in distaste, “Ew! This Mr Davy was not very particular, was he? This place will need a thorough clean.”

              “He was very elderly when he died,” said Verity, trying to be fair, for though the shop was not quite as dirty as Martha was hinting, it was nevertheless in need of a good sweeping and dusting. Some of the bottles looked as though they had not been moved off the shelves for months if not years and Verity recalled sadly that since his wife’s death the old man had been so vacant in mind that his business had rapidly declined. People were afraid that he would misdiagnose them and make matters worse, or, perhaps more frighteningly, that he would hand out a preparation that would not only do no good, but that might indeed do great harm. It had been a sad end to one who had contributed much to the community.

              Martha, of course, had not patience with these reminiscences from her companion. She shrugged off the tragic tale and said stridently, “Well, if the agents think they can charge me the figures they were quoting, they are sadly mistaken. It sounds to me as if there is no goodwill left in the business, they will expect us to dispose of all this rubbish and clean the place and it is not even on the main thoroughfare, so passing trade will be hard to attract. Heaven only knows what state the living quarters above will be in. Thank you for the information, Mrs Underwood, it will be very useful when I begin negotiation – and they cannot deny the truth, when I say that I had the details from you. They will not dare to give you the lie!”

              Verity’s heart sank at the thought of her name being bandied about by Martha, causing ill-feeling with the house agents for her interference. She tried to distance herself from the other woman’s ceaseless diatribe by looking curiously around the shop, which she had never before entered. Despite the neglect and the mustiness and the dust, there was an underlying aroma of the oils and herbs that had once formed the basis of the old man’s concoctions which was pleasantly evocative of her own mother’s still-room at the vicarage. Her mother had died when she was a baby, but her father had left the room untouched and she had toddled in there from time to time to sniff the air and imagine the ghostly figure of her deceased mama working away with pestle and mortar. She and her father had moved from that living when she was ten or so, and she had almost forgotten that she had ever had even that memory of the mother she never knew.

              She was brought brutally back to the present by Martha saying briskly, “It will be weeks before I can send for William and the children, there is so much to do here.”

              Her dismay was hard to hide, “Oh, but I thought Will would come right away, as soon as you found a shop.”

              “How can he? He must settle with Rutherford Petch for the properties in West Wimpleford to go to someone else, then move all our goods and chattels from both the shop and the house.”