A Place For Repentance (The Underwood Mysteries Book 6) (20 page)

              They prepared to leave the Pump Rooms, in search of alcohol, which they all now felt they needed, even the abstemious Underwood, only to be distracted by an altercation which had broken out between John Pennyfather and Bertram Swann.

              None of Petch’s old comrades had noticed his arrival as they had been too intent on flirting with the willowy miss who had been enjoying setting her prospective suitors against each other. Her mama had evidently felt she had been allowed quite enough leeway and her behaviour was bordering upon causing an open scandal, so she had been dragged unwillingly away.

              Once she was out of earshot, the festering resentment felt by Swann at Pennyfather’s dismissive sneering was allowed full vent.

              Swann heaved himself to his one good leg and his wooden stump and, leaning heavily on his crutch, he shoved Pennyfather to one side, “Get out of my way, you bell swagger, before I draw your cork for you.”

              Pennyfather laughed, but his expression belied the sound of amusement, for the colour rose in his cheeks at being called a bully, albeit in thieves’ cant, which he fully understood, even if some listeners did not.

              “Hold hard, boy,” he said to the younger man, “watch your manners or I’ll have to teach you etiquette the hard way.”

              Swann was far too angry to take note of the warning tone of voice. He was not only furious that Pennyfather had bested him with Miss Mills, who had shown him a marked preference, but he was frustrated by his own treacherous body, which once more had let him badly down. He fulminated at the unfairness of life. He had given his leg in the service of his country, keeping safe pert little misses like the blonde Venus who had just flitted happily away, and what thanks did he get for it? Derision from fellows like Pennyfather, who had been lucky enough to escape from the wars unscathed, when they should know better; and spiteful scorn from shallow chits who should learn to hide their pitying glances.

              For the first time in a long time he allowed his rage full release.

              “Do you think you are the man to teach me anything, you lickspittle?”

              Pennyfather had tried to hold his own temper, for he could not provoke a maimed fellow officer into a confrontation and keep his dignity, but his young rival was going too far with his insults and manhandling.

              He opened his mouth to offer to send for his second, but Jeremy James arrived on the scene in the very nick of time, wheeling his chair between the combatants, “Stow it, you fellows, this is no place for this behaviour. Dammit all, you will frighten the ladies. If you must quarrel, take it outside.”

              The intervention gave Pennyfather the delay he needed to cool his hot head. He shrugged and grinned amiably, “No need, Thorny. Swann and I will agree to differ, will we not?”

              Swann’s stomach still roiled with hatred and fury, but he held his friend Jeremy James in the very highest regard and after taking one look at his serious face and realizing that any contretemps would distress him beyond measure; he swallowed his pride and nodded briefly and grimly.

              “All is well, Thorny, worry not.”

              They all left the Pump Rooms together to find a tavern, but Pennyfather and Swann made sure they kept their distance from each other for the rest of the day.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

‘Plures Crapula Quam Gladious’ – Drunkenness kills more people than the sword

              “Oh my goodness, look at the time!” Verity Underwood consulted the small gold watch that hung from a pretty chain around her neck, brushing straggling, sweat-damp hairs from her face and giving herself a smear of dirt across her cheek in the process.

              Martha Jebson, who had been forced by Verity to work harder than she ever had in her life before, gave a sigh of relief, “Is it time to stop?”

              “Well, you have no need to, but I must go home.”

              Martha slumped onto the sofa, almost sliding to the floor as she did, so high was it piled with bedding, clothes, shoes and other paraphernalia. The carrier’s cart had arrived, amazingly, since its over-laden progress could normally expect to be far slower than a carriage drawn by the sort of high-steppers that the Petches preferred, ahead of Will and the rest in the Pershore coach. This was mainly because the travellers had been forced into several prolonged stops to settle Prue and Minta, who had not taken to the ride as well as everyone had hoped. They had found the whole experience distressing, and were wholly bemused, not understanding why they must be thrown about in the rocking, rollicking vehicle for hours on end, when all they wanted to do was eat, play and sleep.

              Rutherford had been the soul of patience in trying to entertain them, but sadly they possessed too little concentration and capacity to play the sort of guessing games he suggested and were too tired and grumpy to find the view from the window at all amusing.

              When Will finally arrived with his daughters and Violette, he found the shop in chaos and Martha snappish, partly from the inconvenience of his advent, but mostly from having been worked to a standstill by Verity, who had suddenly taken on the persona of a martinet and ordered her workmen about with an imperious manner which could not be gainsaid. If there was one thing at which Verity excelled, it was organization. In this she and Underwood were frighteningly similar – a place for everything, and everything in its place.

              Will and Violette were immediately despatched to find the children something to eat and cautioned not to return for at least two hours, whereupon the workers hoped that the accommodation above the shop at least might be in some sort of order.

              As the wife of the vicar, who was also Rural Dean, thus doubling her obligation, Cara Underwood was also helping Martha. One or two of the other ladies of their circle had also popped in over the past few days to lend a hand for an hour or two, but the task was far greater than anyone had realized. The old gentleman who had previously run the store had been alone for several years before his sad demise and had evidently not lifted a finger in the place in all that time. The shop he had given a little more attention to, as it was seen by his customers, but his living quarters had been not just been neglected but also filled with all manner of rubbish. The grime was grim, as Verity had joked at the onset. She was no longer in a jesting mood, however, for grim did not even begin to describe some of the horrors she had encountered in the backs of cupboards and under half-rotting rugs and shabby furniture. Dead mice, mummified and stomach-churning; spiders, cockroaches and beetles, all too alive and running for cover. She had repressed more screams than she cared to recall.

              When Will and Violette had taken the children away again, Cara put her hands upon her hips and gazed around in despair, “It is no use Verity, this place is never going to be ready to house those children tonight, though we work our fingers to the bone. What possessed you, Martha, to tell Mr Jebson to come now? He should have waited another week at least.”

              “I didn’t tell him to come,” said Martha snippily. She was tired, dirty and sick of cleaning, having for years relied upon poor Lucy and her predecessor to do all the donkey-work in her own little cottage. “On the contrary, I told him exactly how much there was to do and counselled him to wait a little longer, but he wouldn’t listen. He said the children were missing me dreadfully and his place was by my side to help.”

              Verity, exhausted and grumpy herself, took leave to doubt the former comment, for the two little girls had shown no particular interest in being reunited with their mother, nor, on admittedly short acquaintance, had Martha shown any sign of being bereft at her children’s absence. However, she said nothing. Sometimes it was better to let certain things simply slip by unacknowledged.

              “What is to be done about it?” she asked instead. “They are here now, and nothing can change that. We can hardly send them back to Wimpleford. All their goods came with them on the carrier’s cart.”

              “They must stay at a hotel,” said Cara decidedly.

              Martha gave an outraged gasp, “Easy for you to say, Lady Bountiful, but money is not so widespread in our household that we can stretch to living in hotels.”

              Cara looked mutinous and Verity felt sure there was a curt response on the way, so she interjected hastily, “That is no use anyway, Cara, for there is not a hotel room to be had in Hanbury at the moment, with all the visitors who have come to see Major Thornycroft. Besides, I fear it would sadly unsettle those two little girls.”

              “Then,” said Cara with a sigh, “they must come to the vicarage for the night. I dare swear Gil would have invited them long ago; he is so very good and kind, and I must try to be so.”

              “We won’t come where we are not wanted,” said Martha, drawing herself up to her full height and meeting Cara’s eye, a battling light in her own orbs.

              Cara was nothing if not kind-hearted, even if it was deeply buried on occasion – she had to be, even when she did not want to be, for how else could Gil love her? She gave a small, conciliatory laugh, “Oh pray accept my apologies, my dear Mrs Jebson. That was the most ill-formed invitation I have ever heard. Your family is welcome to our hospitality, in fact, I insist that you all stay until Saturday, and I will pay someone to finish off this onerous task. I think we have all proved our mettle by what we have achieved so far and to do more would smack of martyrdom.”

              Even someone as prickly as Martha Jebson could not refuse so generous an offer and the ladies left the shop and went in search of Will in perfect amity.

              Verity heaved a huge, though silent, sigh of relief, for she had been about to make a similar offer of bed and board at Windward House, and she dreaded the reaction of her husband had she arrived with the Jebson clan and servant in tow.

              Gil had often been in the fortunate position of living in a large and rambling vicarage, but in his early years as a vicar, he had rarely had them filled to capacity. Fortunately he was a far more gregarious soul than his brother and enjoyed company, especially since his own internal loneliness had been eased by meeting and falling in love with the congenial Cara, who had been raised in the household of an Earl and Countess and could be relied upon to enjoy a party.

              Prue and Minta, though older in years than William and Edward, were even so delighted to have other children to play with and they all went off quite happily to the nursery in the company of Ruth the nursemaid. Will was relieved that they had recovered so swiftly from the nightmare journey they had so recently endured. He was feeling rather less inclined to bounce so jauntily back and wanted nothing more than a few moments to himself. With this in mind, he declared his intention of taking a look at the shop premises, alone, so that he could take stock and decide how he was going to set out his own goods.

              Underwood had just arrived to accompany Verity home, having made good his escape from Jeremy James, Petch and the Wablers, who looked all set to make a night of it, though it was barely five in the afternoon. He had failed to find her at the shop, but Mrs Simpson had helpfully left her own counter to inform him that the party had decamped to the vicarage for tea, or so she presumed.

              Tea was not on offer as the ladies were all fluttering about the place, deciding upon who was to sleep where, and which bed linen to use upon which beds.

              Since he could see that Verity was not only still busy, but also in her element helping to organize the entire household, even though it was not her own, Underwood offered to accompany Will to the shop. He had yet to view it and was interested in seeing for himself what had been occupying his wife for the past week or more.

              Will gladly accepted the offer. He knew Underwood was the one man he could trust not to bother him with endless questions and comments.

As if to prove it, they maintained a companionable silence as they walked down the street and turned the corner into Back Lane, which, as its name suggested, was just off the main highway, on a charmingly cobbled and narrow thoroughfare of ancient aspect, with small, bow-fronted shops along one side and cottages on the other. Will’s new premises was double-fronted with a low door in the middle and since it took up the same floor space above and stretched to a small attic under the eaves, it was quite large enough for his family and servants, for Lucy had also agreed to accompany them in the end, after much wailing and heart-searching about leaving her home town and the young man she had set her cap at – though it was rather doubtful that he was similarly interested. She was to follow on the stagecoach in a few days’ time when she had finished cleaning the cottage, and had visited her only relation, an elderly aunt, and then said goodbye to her prospective lover. The true reason for this delay was to give the young man a chance to come to the point and propose, so that she had no cause to follow her employers to Hanbury. It had not yet happened, but she lived in hope.

Once he had unlocked the door and walked into the shop, Will stood, aghast, and looked helplessly around, “Oh dear God,” he murmured under his breath.

Underwood assumed it was the layer of dust and dirt that appalled his friend, for he was none too happy to observe festoons of cobwebs and the way some wag had written their name in the filth on the shop counter.

“Cheer up, Will, the ladies will soon have the place sparkling,” he said, with more conviction than he felt.

“That is not the problem, Mr Underwood,” said Will despairingly, “No one told me that the previous owner was a chemist. I assumed he was a perfumer or some such. Some of these bottles have highly dangerous contents. There are poisons here, acids, and all sorts of horrid toxins. I cannot believe that the owner did not have it all properly disposed of when the old man died.”

“Can you not throw it all out?” asked Underwood, determined to calm the obviously agitated apothecary.

“Absolutely not!” exclaimed Will, truly horrified. “Only think if any of this stuff fell into the wrong hands? Children playing might find it, animals searching for food might come across it. No, no, it must be disposed of safely.”

“I quite see that,” said Underwood attempting to placate. No one knew better than him what those ‘wrong hands’ might infer. He was more concerned with deliberate acts of murder than theoretical ‘children and animals’. “But what is to be done? This is obviously far too dangerous a place to bring your family.”

“I cannot presume upon your good brother for too long, but equally I cannot risk bringing my girls here. They could not be trusted to know the difference between harmless concoctions and these. I could not find rest if I thought they might be exposed to danger, but they are big girls now, and inquisitive. If we were to take our eyes off them for but a few seconds, the consequence could be disastrous.”

“I quite see that. How long will it take to find a safe way to dispose of this stuff?”

Will shrugged hopelessly, “I would not even begin to know how to do it. I have never handled half this stuff. My shop is a place of remedy and prevention and though I do carry some poisons, for killing rats and lice and such pests, I have no experience of such as these.”

“What about a strong cupboard or chest that can be locked securely?” suggested Underwood.

Will looked relieved at being presented with such a sensible solution, “Of course! I shall go directly and find something suitable. And this door must stay locked until I have done so. Thank you Mr Underwood, you have been most helpful. I was never nearer to putting my daughters straight back on the stage back to West Wimpleford – and who knows what we would find? We have burnt our boats there, I fear, for all Captain Petch’s generosity.”

The two gentlemen left the shop together, Will going off down the high street in search of a strong box or lockable cupboard and Underwood returning to the vicarage, determined this time to bear his wife off home. They had left their children in the charge of Toby and his young wife for quite long enough. Underwood preferred not to trust Sabrina at all with his progeny, but Verity was adamant that she had paid her penance and would never again transgress. Faced with Toby’s tacit pleas for forgiveness and Verity’s voluble demands for understanding, he had not much choice but to accept Sabrina as part of his household, but he would never be truly happy about it.

In the gig and heading for Windward House, Underwood confided to Verity about the poisons left in the chemist shop and Will’s worry about their disposal. She looked concerned and remarked with deep feeling, “Thank heaven Will came to Hanbury when he did. When we ladies had finished cleaning the rooms upstairs, ready for the family to live in, we would surely have turned our attention to the shop. I dread to think what might have happened. Martha has been brutal in burning the old furniture and fittings, and throwing what can’t be burned into the midden. I fear she would simply have tossed all those bottles away, never heeding what they contained. I believe Will may have averted a disaster.”