A Place For Repentance (The Underwood Mysteries Book 6) (31 page)

              It would appear to be the ideal moment for Underwood to finally introduce himself. He rose to his feet just as Gervase reached his sister’s side and bent to whisper something to her. She glanced up and past her sibling’s shoulder and met Underwood’s eyes.

              “Mr Underwood, we meet at last,” she said, offering her hand. He took it and bowed politely.

              “Miss Sowerbutts if I’m not mistaken. I understand you have been expressing a wish to meet me. I wonder if I might venture to ask why? Have we met before? If so, I fear I am unchivalrous enough to have forgotten it.”

              The brother interrupted impatiently, “Lilith, we shall be late.”

              The lady appeared unconcerned by their threatened tardiness, “Do excuse my brother, Mr Underwood. He has a horror of keeping others waiting. Gervase, where are your manners? Say good day to Mr Underwood.”

              The youth shuffled his feet and frowned, but he thrust a reluctant hand towards the older man, “Beg pardon, sir, how d’ye do?”

              “I’m well, thank you. Tell me, do I know you? Your face seems familiar? Were you perhaps one of my students at Cambridge – ah, but no! That cannot be. You are far too young. I almost forget that it is nigh upon ten years since I last entered the hallowed halls of the university. Perhaps an older brother?”

              “Don’t possess such a thing, sir,” mumbled the boy, gruffly. His voice had an odd timbre which made Underwood guess that it had not long since broken into manhood.

              “I’m so sorry, Mr Underwood, but we really do have to go. A pity, for I should have liked to speak to you,” said the sister, seeming to respond to a tug on her sleeve from her brother.

              “Was there any particular reason? Do you need my help, or advice perhaps?”

              “No, nothing of the sort. It is just that your fame has gone before you and I should very much like to be able to tell friends that I exchanged pleasantries with the celebrated Mr Underwood.”

              “I don’t know about that,” said Underwood in a modest tone which fooled no one who heard him, “mayhap we will cross paths again sometime soon. I presume you will be at the party tomorrow for Jeremy James birthday?”

              “Sadly we have not been invited, not having made the major’s acquaintance until a day or two ago.”

              “I’m sure the major would be delighted to extend an invitation now?” said Underwood, turning to Jeremy James and sending him a tacit message with a simple lift of one eyebrow.

              Thornycroft liked to cultivate an air of idle brainlessness, but his mind was sharp enough when he paid attention. It took only that faint gesture from his friend to alert him to the fact that Underwood required a favour. Accordingly he grinned amiably and said, “But of course you must attend. The more the merrier. And there is little enough else to do in town, for almost everyone is to be there and  since Sir George has suspended all travel, one could not escape, even if one wanted to.”

              “Then it is settled. I will see you tomorrow,” said Lilith pleasantly.

              She linked her brother’s arm and began to stroll towards the door, evidently not in as great a hurry as Gervase had intimated.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

‘Ab Honesto Virum Bonum Nihil Deterret’ – Nothing deters a good man from acting honourably

              Underwood watched the pair for a few seconds, then returned to his mother and took a seat beside her, “An intriguing woman,” he said thoughtfully.

              His mother was quick to detect a note of interest and put an entirely mistaken interpretation upon it. Did her son perhaps need to be reminded of the diamond he already possessed rather than be dazzled by the false glitter of paste?

              “Rather forward and impertinent,” she said tartly, a little unfairly as she had rather liked the girl before Underwood had demonstrated this odd fascination with her. “She had the temerity to address me by my first name upon our introduction.”

              Underwood shot her a sharp look, “She did what?”

              Mrs Milner was surprised by the terseness with which he spoke to her, but she answered calmly enough, “As I shook her hand she called me Annabella. Of course I called her upon it and she said she must have heard one of the others use my name, but I take leave to doubt it. The only woman in Hanbury who uses my Christian name is Serena Hartley-Wells and she is far too busy organizing the party to be here today …”

              Her son was suddenly oddly energized and leapt to his feet. He looked swiftly about him and spotting Verity’s pelisse still draped over the back of a chair he grabbed it and set off across the room at something perilously close to a run.

              The Sowerbutts were just through the doors when he caught up with them.

              “Miss Sowerbutts,” he called to her and she stopped abruptly and turned, her expression questioning.

              “Mr Underwood, you wanted something?”

              He thrust the pelisse towards her, the row of tiny mother-of-pearl buttons sparkling in the sunlight, “I think you forgot your coat,” he said.

              She shrank away from the garment as though it was something defiled, but only for an instant. She recovered herself so quickly that only the keenest of observers would have noticed her reaction. She forced a smile to her lips.

              “Thank you, sir, but you are mistaken. It is not mine. You see, I am wearing my pelisse.”

              She lifted a hand to her breast and stroked the pink linen of her fitted tunic as if to draw his attention to it.

              He gave a light laugh and nodded to acknowledge his error, “Of course you are. I do beg your pardon. We men know so little of fashion. I should have noticed your garb, for it is a pretty item, secured as it is with a row of bows.” He gestured towards the knotted ribands, his finger lightly brushing the edge of one. The action was dangerously flirtatious and she smiled knowingly, glancing at him sideways.

              “I suggest you go and find the real owner of the item, sir. It looks to be expensive.”

              He bowed again and Gervase, still frowning, drew her firmly away and off down the street.

              Underwood, in no hurry to find ‘the real owner’ since he knew quite well to whom it belonged, stood and watched until they were out of sight, and only then did he go back inside the Pump Rooms.

              Verity looked at him as he approached, surprised to see him carrying her coat, “Oh, you found it. Thank you, Cadmus. Shall we go?”

              “I think that would be advisable. I would have words with you, my love, when we reach home.” He turned to his mother and added, “Do you require an escort, Mama?”

              “No, my dear, thank you. Cara and I are going to the vicarage for tea. I shall see you tomorrow, of course.”

              “Yes indeed.”

              They took a few more moments to say their goodbyes, then went to find Toby and the carriage.

*

              The atmosphere in the apothecary shop had been heavy and poisonous since Violette’s departure. Martha had often annoyed Will before, but he had always submerged any irritation by simply working harder and staying longer in the little shop in West Wimpleford, thus avoiding contact with her until her temper and his had improved. Such action had always soothed his wife in the past, for she liked nothing more than the knowledge that he was making more money.

              This escape was no longer open to him. They now lived and worked together.

              The situation was not helped by the twins, who sensed the discord, though they could not understand the reason for it; they missed Violette, who had shown them more affection than their mother ever had in their short lives. As a result of this unhappy confusion, they played up as they never had before. If they were not quiet and sulky, they were tetchy and troublesome. Just to season the stew of misery, they threw in the occasional screaming and crying fit.

              When Martha finally reached the end of her patience and spoke the words that Will had been dreading, the resulting quarrel was the most dreadful they had ever imagined in their worst nightmares.

              She stormed into the shop, red-faced, her hair falling from its fastenings, for Prue had actually turned upon her and using both hands had grabbed it and pulled it with all her strength, only releasing her shrieking mother when she slapped her as hard as she could, whereupon Minta had fallen upon her ankle and bitten it.

              “That’s it! Those little monsters are going into the asylum.”

              For the first time in their married life, Will answered her like for like, “My children are going nowhere! If you can’t cope, I suggest you pack your bags and take yourself off back to Wimpleford.”

              “What? And leave the way clear for you and your little French trollop to live over the brush together? I think not!”

              Hs face grew as flushed as hers and he had to clench his hands to his sides to stop himself from using them. He would never have hit her – he could not bring himself to strike any woman, but the desire to throw a punch at the wall or a door was almost overwhelming.

              “This has nothing to do with Violette. All she ever did was take care of my children in a way which should have come naturally to their own mother, but did not!”

              “Your children? Your children! Am I to be given no credit for the nine months of carrying and the twenty hours of labour to bring them into the world?”

              “And that is all you have ever done for them – or for me,” he said bitterly, “And you have ensured you never go through any such thing again by barring me from your bed ever since. We owe you nothing, you twisted, bitter-faced old hag!”

              She gasped with shock. She had never heard him use such a vitriolic tone, nor throw such insults, but the smoothness with which they were now delivered told her that though they had been unspoken, they had assuredly been thought of time and again.

              Hands on hips she faced him, a grim smile on her face, “So, now we have the truth of it. You’ve resented me for denying you congress and just been too cowardly to admit it.”

              “You could not be more wrong! It has been no hardship to me. It was more a duty than a pleasure from the very first,” he said coldly.

              That hit her harder than a blow from his fist would have done. For once she was bereft of an answer and he knew a moment of cruel triumph.

              The faint sound of his daughters crying upstairs floated faintly down to Will and he realized she must have locked them in their bedroom, or worse still a cupboard, something she was inclined to do when they grew too hard for her to control. He knew he had to swallow the rest of his bile for their sakes.

              His upright stance drooped visibly, his head sank to his chest as he breathed deeply and tried to sound reasonable, “Martha, enough of this. We are both tired and upset, but we must think of the welfare of the children.”

              “Their welfare? What of mine? You have not given me a thought since the day my babies were born.”

              “Because they needed me and you very obviously do not. And now I need to go to them. You have left them distressed.”

              “Oh, go then. But take fair warning, I have the name of a place that will take them from Adeline Thornycroft and I intend to send them there as soon as the arrangements are made.”

              “I’ll kill you first,” said Will, furious and implacable.

              He could not know that as he turned away from her to go upstairs to his weeping girls and threw these words over his shoulder, Mrs Lethaby had just entered the shop, the jingling of the bell on the door drowned out by the steadily rising screams from above.

*

              Sabrina had happily cared for their children whilst the Underwoods were in town and a word from Verity ensured that she was content to continue to watch them for a while longer. Ginny offered to bring them tea, an offer which was gratefully accepted. They had both forgotten how long it was since they had eaten or drunk anything, so fraught had their day been. Freed from her domestic cares, Verity followed Underwood into his study and they both took a seat.

              “I presume you have a theory, Cadmus?” asked Verity, as she watched his expression. There was a particular tilt to his head and a tiny frown between his brows when her husband was puzzling something out. He looked the same when he played chess with his brother, determined to be several moves ahead.

              “Not exactly,” he admitted at once, “only intuition, and that avails me nothing should I be required to prove guilt or innocence to Sir George Gratten.”

              “What troubles you about the evidence, my dear? I don’t think there can be any doubt that it is the same person who killed both men, though the first indication was that Swann had fought a duel with Pennyfather.”

              Underwood waved a dismissive hand, “That was merely good fortune for the assassin. No one could have predicted or prompted that fight between Swann and Pennyfather. No, the man would have died with or without the quarrel. But why? That is the question that plagues me.”

              “You give no credit to the notion of some hidden Frenchman killing for revenge?”

              “I do not. I feel sure that the solution lies in the past lives of Pennyfather and Thickbroome, but I doubt it has anything to do with Waterloo.”

              “Tredgett holds a grudge for the way his poor young brother was treated by Pennyfather – perhaps there are others who feel the same way?”

              Underwood looked thoughtful, “It is possible, I don’t doubt it, but why, then, kill Thickbroome? He did not attempt to stop his comrade’s brutality, but from all we have heard, neither did he take part in it. Why those two?”

              “Perhaps we need to go farther back than Waterloo – were they boys together? Did something dreadful happen in childhood for which they might be held responsible.”

              “Nothing of the sort has been mentioned. I know not if they were boys together. I do know that they joined the militia together in Manchester after they came home from the Continent and left the army.”

              It was Verity’s turn to search her memory and after a moment she said softly, “You say it was Manchester?”

              “So I understand. You know something about it? Thickbroome mentioned some civil unrest which they were called to subdue.”

              “I know of only one date that could match – it is engraved upon my heart in its infamy. In fact, on the sixteenth of next month it will be ten years to the day.”

              Underwood spoke the date aloud, still not sure to what she referred. He had still been at Cambridge ten years before, but Verity was a Northerner born and bred.

              “The sixteenth of August, 1819?”

              In the same breath they both spoke the name, “Peterloo!”

              Underwood rose to his feet and began to pace excitedly, “By gad, Verity, I think you have it. This is not about Waterloo; it’s about the massacre by the militia on St Peter’s Field in Manchester. Innocent men, women and children slain by cavalrymen sent in to a confined space, hemmed in on all sides by buildings so that they had nowhere to run.”

              Verity remembered reading about the horror as if it were only yesterday. People had gathered in their thousands to hear the great Radical orator Henry Hunt protest the lack of parliamentary representation for Manchester. The atmosphere had been determined but mostly peaceful, no trouble expected, hence those who thought nothing of bringing their children with them, hoping that one day they might boast they had taken part in the history-making moment.

              The authorities, however, saw things differently. In a complete panic at the thought of some many gathered together in defiance of the law, they tried to arrest Hunt and when such action was protested by the crowd, they sent in the Manchester and Salford Yeoman Cavalry and the 15
th
Hussars all bearing sabres to clear the field. Having nowhere to move away, hundreds of people were slashed or trampled by the horses. The very first casualty was a two year old boy, who died in his mother’s arms after being hit by a charging stallion.