A Place For Repentance (The Underwood Mysteries Book 6) (21 page)

“Let us pray that he has,” murmured Underwood. There was something about the notion of dozens of containers of hazardous substances that unnerved him, though he tried to tell himself that he was being unnecessarily disconcerted. Will now had the bottles under lock and key and he was a sensible man. He would soon discover how he could safely discard the unwanted stuff.

Unwilling to allow his wife to know of his worries, he quickly changed the subject.

“Do we attend the dance on Saturday evening? Jeremy James was asking and I assumed you would wish to go.” There was a note of hopefulness in his tone which suggested to Verity that he would happily forego the pleasure, but she was far too canny now to rise to that sort of bait. She had been cautioned by both her brother-in-law and his mother that she must never allow Underwood to wheedle her into always falling in with his wishes. They declared that he was quite selfish enough without her adding to their burden by indulging his every whim. Even after several years of marriage, she was still quite as enchanted by his company as she had been in the first flush of romance – more indeed, for their courtship had run a rocky course – and she found it very difficult to deny him anything, but she was ever aware that something too easily won was bound to be despised, so she occasionally steeled herself to gainsay him.

“But, of course,” she declared roundly, “I have been looking forward to it for weeks. I know that Francis and Ellen and Cara and Gil are planning to go. Cara confided just before we left the vicarage that she feels she must let Will and Martha come with them, along with poor little Violette, for heaven knows they will get few chances to enjoy themselves once the shop is open for business.”

“True enough,” said Underwood thoughtfully. “I must say, I was surprised to see the change in young Violette. She is dashed pretty now that the swelling caused by that rotting tooth has subsided.”

Verity glanced sideways at him, her brow raised, “Oh really? And what, pray, were you, a married man, about, mooning over young ladies?”

“Mooning! Gad, you insult me, my dear. I was never inclined towards mooning even in my salad days, much less now in my dotage. However, I am not so far gone that I can’t look at a pretty wench and appreciate her.”

“Wrong answer, Mr Underwood,” said his wife severely.

“She is, of course, not a patch upon your more mature beauty, my love,” he added judiciously.

“More mature? Have a care, sir, for if you dare to add the word ‘matronly’ to that epithet, I swear you’ll find yourself bundled into the hedge and have to find your own way home!”

They laughed and he kissed her, “I never knew I was wed to such a fiery creature,” he said, “I think perhaps I like it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

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

              We laid our plans meticulously.

              At first X wanted to be the one to kill him, to protect me if things should go wrong, but I was adamant in my refusal – he was my blood and only I had the right to spill it.

              But how to give me an alibi? The crime must never rebound on either of us, or what would be the point? The only revenge worth having was to walk free after his death – anything else was unthinkable.

              We laboured over the puzzle for days, growing more restive with every passing hour, then X had an ingenious notion.

              In the early morning on the day the deed was to be done, before anyone else was stirring, a length of fine thread was to be fastened to the bell which hung on a board above the kitchen door. Through a series of hidden wires throughout the house, these bells indicated which occupant of any room desired service. This one was for my bedroom. The cotton was guided carefully around the door frame so that it was all but invisible to the casual observer.

              That evening I would go to my bed early, pleading one of my all too frequent debilitating headaches and making sure that as many of the servants as possible heard my complaints and could swear that I had spent the night in bed, and unwell.

              My father could be relied upon to wend his drunken way home at around eleven, and so just before that hour I crept out of the front door – the back was too near the kitchens and I might possibly be seen - and walked silently up the lane which led to the house. Once well out of earshot I hid behind the hedge and waited.

              He would be on foot for the last few yards for he was ever careful of his reputation – not for anything would he allow the hired carriage driver know where he went after he left his whores and his gambling dens. He would never risk allowing a breath of scandal to tarnish his good name. He thought such measures kept him safe – they had done so for many years - but that run of luck was about to end.

              At last I heard his faltering gait and I stepped out in front of him, my pistol in my outstretched hand, aimed directly at his heart.

              He was startled for a moment until his blurred gaze grew used to the silver light of the full moon, then he laughed as he recognized me.

              “Get out of my way, you imbecile, and put that gun away. How dare you leave the house without my permission? You’ll pay dearly for this tomorrow, take my word upon it!”

              “There will be no tomorrow for you, father.” I told him, my voice was as steady as my hand, for suddenly I was no longer afraid of him.

              He began to stagger towards me, a leering grin upon his face, “You don’t have the courage to do me any harm,” he said.

It was to be the last time he sneered at me.

              The shot seemed preternaturally loud in the night.

              He sank to his knees, shock fighting with fury as he realized I had defied him, his hands clutching at his blood soaked breeches.

              He was not dead. That was never my intention, though I had not confided that to X. I had aimed at that part of his anatomy which had been my torment and would now be his, for I fully intended to keep him alive a while yet, to inflict a little of the torture upon him that he had visited so often upon me.

              When he realized what I had done, he tried to laugh again, but it was an effort, and I almost admired his animal courage, “You should have killed me. I’ll see you hang for this.”

              “Oh, you are going to die, but not just yet.” I answered and calmly reloaded my pistol, talking all the while, telling him what was to happen next. “But I’ll not hang for it. My darling X is just now answering the summons of my room bell. All the servants will hear it ring and see it responded to, for I am safe in bed, ill and irascible.”

              He looked stunned, “How? If you have a stooge in your room to ring the bell for you, then you are a fool, for they will take you for every penny you have to keep your secret.” His breath was coming in gasps now and I could see the pain was beginning to bite. At first shock had protected him from sensation, but now the sweat stood out on his brow.

              “There is no need for anyone but me and X. Standing in the doorway of the Servant’s Hall, listening for my summons, there will be a sharp tug on a length of cotton, which will simultaneously jangle the bell, then snap, leaving no trace of the trick. X will rush to my wildly ringing bell, afraid that I am seriously ill. According to the other staff, we will both have been in my room when the hour of your death becomes known.”

              He looked disconcerted for a moment, then he forced another laugh, “Ah, but what you don’t know is that I have willed every penny to a distant cousin and away from you. He will control you as I always have – you have swapped one master for another!”

              It was my turn to give way to mirth, “You think that I want your money? You are wrong! If you had left me your riches, I might have been tempted to stay in that cursed house and spend my ill-gotten gains, ever grateful to you for your bounty but in doing me this disfavour, you have set me free! I can live my life as I want, and never give you another thought, except occasionally to enjoy the knowledge that you rot in hell!”

              From the very first moment we had made our plan it had been my fantasy that when I finally had him at my mercy that I would make him kneel and beg for compassion and for forgiveness, but as I looked into his eyes I saw nothing but cold, implacable hatred. He would never apologise and I would merely torture and demean myself by asking it of him. He would laugh at my need to hear him say he was sorry for my suffering – and so I would not give him the satisfaction.

              I raised my pistol and shot him squarely between the eyes, leaving a gaping hole through which his blood and brains spattered as he fell backwards.

              I hastened to search his pockets to take whatever I could to preserve the illusion of robbery, a part of my mind amazed at my own coolness – perhaps I had inherited more of his character than I wanted to believe.

              Then I went home and sneaked back into my room, meeting no one, until I found X waiting for me, whereupon we fell into each other’s arms and I knew I was nothing like him, for I could feel love, which he could never have experienced.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

‘Populus Vult Decipi, Ergo Decipiatur’ – The public wishes to be taken in, therefore let it be taken in

              The arrival of General and Mrs Milner on Saturday morning completed the party and so it was with high spirits that Jeremy James and Adeline greeted the Underwood family and friends as they entered the Assembly Rooms that evening. In fact the ball was supposedly a public affair, but the major had so many guests with him that it had become almost a private engagement.

              Even the occasionally less than filial Underwood could not help but be gratified at having his nearest and dearest by him – especially since the meeting was to take place under someone else’s roof and thereby absolved him of any responsibility for their enjoyment.

              At once they annexed one of the many alcoves for themselves, making sure that it contained a settee – some areas had only uncomfortable, high back chairs and Mrs Milner was of an age that deserved some small luxuries.

Martha Jebson was barely able to contain her glee for she was finally mixing with a better class of person than mere shop-keepers, as she had always considered her ineffable right. She was even condescendingly pleasant to Violette, who, in her borrowed finery, looked rather overwhelmed by the sparkling gaiety of both the venue and the company.

Hanbury’s Assembly Rooms were quite as fine as the Pump Rooms, but rather less utilized in general, as the population tended to be both aging and enfeebled and their attendant young relatives and companions were given to understand that they were not in the spa town for their own jollity, but to give succour to their invalids.

Jeremy James’ birthday had given the sedate little town a whole new lease of life. Tonight every inch glowed with the light of a thousand candles, some in chandeliers hanging from the ornately plastered ceilings, some in sconces and candelabra and all reflected in the full length mirrors. These were richly framed and adorned the walls between each of the arched alcoves which held those who were not taking part in the dancing, but from whence they could watch those who had taken to the floor. At the far end were huge double doors which let onto another hall, which contained the supper tables, where one could purchase a light repast of cold meats, pies and cakes for sixpence, and choose from several beverages, including claret-cup, punch and tea for the ladies. The gentlemen, of course, had access to far more masculine entertainments; as well as separate rooms where they could indulge in various forms of gambling, mostly card games, they could also imbibe much stronger alcohol than the watered down offerings with which the ladies had to be satisfied.

Mrs Milner, lately Mrs Underwood, and proud mother of Cadmus and Gil, settled into her seat, quite happy to watch the dancers, claret-cup in her hand and her lorgnette lifted occasionally to her eye so that she could better observe her sons without their knowledge. She enjoyed family occasions more than her boys would ever know, for she despised clinging women and always inferred to them at least, that she was quite happy with her own life and had only a faintly passing interest in theirs. She was fortunate in her daughters-in-law for they both recognized that her stand-offish attitude was a loving subterfuge to avoid scaring off her sons, as though they were a pair of skittish colts who would run at the first indication of being scrutinized. Both Cara and especially Verity, who was naturally kind-hearted and fond of her mother-in-law, made sure that she received regular missives, reporting their every move.

The adoring mother had been devastated the year before when her eldest had been so very ill and had dreaded the thought that he might expire before she did. She looked at him now, covertly, scanning his face for any sign that he might still be unwell and keeping it from her. She was completely satisfied with her observations, for both her sons seemed full of good spirits.

The grey which was now very evident in Gil’s dark hair was not quite so obvious in Cadmus’ ash blond, but close examination showed that he too was growing silver amongst the gold. Mrs Milner thought that Gil looked most distinguished greying at the temples, for other than that he was aging well. He had gathered most of the lines on his face when his first wife Catherine had died, leaving a legal farrago for him to deal with along with his grief. She had been a Roman Catholic and had left her son from her first marriage in his care. The grandparents of young Alistair had been horrified at the thought that the boy was to be raised by a Church of England vicar and had fought tooth and nail to take him away from Gil. He had been equally determined to keep the boy, not only because he was immensely fond of him, but because it had been Catherine’s dying request and the only small part of her he had left.

The advent of Lady Cara Lovell, their subsequent marriage and the birth of their two boys had restored Gil’s zest for life and Mrs Milner felt she had little to worry her in regard to her youngest. He had ever been the easiest child and barring that one small hiccup with Catherine, he had rarely caused her a sleepless night.

The same could not be said for Cadmus. She seemed to have spent half his life fretting about her eldest son. In his youth he had fallen deeply in love with an heiress, whose guardian had been determined never to lose control of her finances, mainly because he had ruthlessly defrauded her for years. When she and Underwood had been about to marry, he had poisoned her in the hopes that her death might cover his infamy. Underwood, had, of course, uncovered the crime and it had all been for naught, for Underwood would gladly have married her penniless or not, and the uncle went cursing to the gallows. Small comfort to the bereft young man who had sunk into such low spirits that all who knew him had feared for him. As a consequence he had buried himself in his work as a tutor at Cambridge University and his mother had despaired of him ever meeting another woman and getting married. It was a good few years later that he had finally met the woman who was to cure him of his melancholy and give him the children his mother had longed for, even if he had apparently not.

Mrs Milner transferred her gaze to Verity, who, pink-cheeked and excited, was chatting to Ellen Herbert on her one side and Cara on the other, doubtless wondering when their husbands were going to end their misery and ask them to dance. Her feet, shod in white satin pumps, were already tapping in time to the music beneath the hem of her lilac dress. She had grown much more fashionable with the advent of Cara, who missed living in London and being part of the
ton
and so had taken the slightly dumpy and ungainly Verity under her wing. The new gown of satin, beneath an over-gown of white net, embroidered with tall purple flower spikes at the hem, suited her dark colouring very well. Cara was in midnight blue, as befitted a vicar’s wife, but that was the only concession she made, for the dress was the very latest thing, with a deeply gathered hem, so that it swung out when she danced, showing a daring glimpse of very shapely ankle.

Ellen, slightly older than the other two, was enjoying a rare outing with her husband, for as a much-in-demand doctor, Francis often had to send his wife to engagements alone, or with the knowledge that he might be called away at any moment. 

The gentlemen were in evening dress, knee-breeches, stockings, flat shoes and cloth tailcoats, with shining silver or gilt buttons and deep velvet collars. Underneath were fancy silk or satin waistcoats, white shirts and all with impeccably tied cravats. Gil’s clothing, as always, was deep black, but the others were very nearly peacocks, with colourful waistcoats, some of the more elderly gentlemen wore old fashioned ones which were embroidered with exotic birds and flowers. Cadmus was slightly less opulent than his fellows, but still more showy than his clerical brother.

Having satisfied herself that all was well with her sons, Mrs Milner turned her attention to the other guests. She had already decided that Martha Jebson, despite being out of her usual company, needed no help in settling herself into an alien environment. There was a lady who felt no inferiority, no matter how superior her companions might feel themselves to be. The same could not be said for her husband or the little French girl who accompanied them. Will Jebson could not have looked more discomfited had he been stark naked and the girl was obviously longing to enjoy herself but was uncomfortably aware that she was wearing borrowed finery and was there under sufferance.

Mrs Milner was about to address some kindly remark to her, to set her at her ease, but she should have known that Verity would notice sooner than she and had already taken the girl by the hand and was leading her across the room to where the Wablers gathered. They would not stay in the ballroom for very long, since few of them could easily dance, but they liked to take note of which of the young ladies they intended to flirt with when the dancing was over. Once they had a filly or two in their sights, they would retire to the gambling rooms and re-emerge much later, in time to escort their chosen ladies to the supper tables.

Freddie Meadows and Piers Elliott were Verity’s chosen targets. Freddie sported a patch to cover the fact that his right eye was gone and he wore a monocle to aid the sight in his left, which was poor, but still viable. Piers lacked his right arm, but that did not prevent him from treading a measure when the mood took him. Both gentlemen professed themselves delighted to have a partner and Violette smiled warmly up at both of them, choosing Freddie for her first dance and promising to return and partner Piers next.

“He can’t see past the end of his nose, my dear,” Piers assured her, nodding towards his companion. “You’ll be sorry you chose him first over me. He’ll trample on your toes worse than a cart horse would.”

Freddie was not to be outdone on the insulting front and snorted rudely, “At least I can come away from the dance having had a cosy armful, which is more than you’ll be able to lay claim to.”

Violette had spent half her life on the edges of one battle or another and knew full well that such black humour was the order of the day. She laughed and told both gentlemen that she would enjoy the dance, no matter what the cost to her toes, or her untouched waist.

Freddie swept her away into a waltz, which even in the provinces was becoming allowable; it had been considered a scandalous dance for many years, since it entailed the young lady resting within the embrace of the young gentleman. He actually danced very well, for though the others on the floor were mere shadows to him, he at least could see them when they drew too near and he could deftly guide his partner into safety.

Will Jebson withdrew to the edge of the alcove so that he could lean against the arch and be almost hidden by the plush curtain that hung there and watched Violette dance with a look of wistfulness upon his face which was not lost upon Underwood, who rarely missed anything, though he pretended indolence and was at that moment sprawled lazily upon the sofa next to his mama, doing his filial duty of listening to her drone on about the health and well-being of everyone she knew and in whom she thought he ought to take an interest. Sadly he rarely did, but he listened with half an ear and looked about him from beneath hooded lids, taking in the expressions on the faces of those around him and wondering what strange thoughts went on behind the smiles.

He glanced at Martha to see if she had noted her husband’s apparent fascination with their French nursemaid, but she was busy gossiping with Cara, who, as a penance for her earlier rudeness to the woman, was making an extra effort to be pleasant. Her bored face and carefully smothered yawn showed him how tedious she was finding the conversation, but she stoically held her place, only taking a moment to send a loving smile towards Gil when he caught her eye.

“Ask your wife to dance, Gil,” said Underwood quietly, leaning forward and tugging at his brother’s coat tails from his place on the sofa.

Gil was about to demur, then thought better of it and held his hand out to his lovely partner, “Come, sweetheart,” he said. “Let us show these youngsters how it is done properly.”

The vicar did not dance often – in fact in the past he had resolutely refused, but since he had acquired a much younger and more beguiling wife than he had ever dreamed possible, he had shed a little of his soberness and indulged her whims with alacrity.

Martha was not to be outdone by Cara, with whom she had decided she could enjoy a friendly rivalry – or maybe not so very friendly, but entertaining just the same. She took hold of her husband’s hand and practically dragged him onto the floor. Poor Will was already a good way out of his depth amongst the gentry and he blushed to the roots of his hair at having to show off his extremely rusty skills before the suave and elegant company, but Martha was impossible to deny and he simply had to gather about him the dregs of his dignity and try desperately to recall the steps of a dance he barely knew.

Alone with his mother for a few moments Underwood took the opportunity to have a quiet word with her, “You and the General keeping well, mother?” he asked solicitously.

“Of course, my love,” she answered with a smile. “We have the usual old people complaints of aches and pains, but we rub along nicely all the same. And you, my dear boy? No recurrence of your illness last year?”

“No, Mama, nothing at all. I’m fully fit again, and have learned a valuable lesson about trusting those who do not deserve it.” He smiled at being called a ‘boy’, but then he had baulked slightly at his mother referring to ‘old people complaints’ – he obviously no more thought of her as old, than she thought of him as a middle-aged man with a family.