A Place For Repentance (The Underwood Mysteries Book 6) (33 page)

              “I presume not, but since we are at odds in believing that Waterloo is the trigger for these murders, I’m still rather concerned, though you, evidently, are not.”             

              “If not the battle, then what, Underwood?” asked the Constable impatiently. “Show me some proof of motive and then I shall rethink my theory, but until then, Miss Molyneux is the best suspect I have.”

              Underwood was tired and not in the least inclined to start trying to explain his own vague suspicions to a cynical listener. He left the subject hanging in mid-air and presented his next piece of bad news to Sir George.

              “Mrs Jebson quarrelled bitterly with her husband before absconding with certain toxic substances from his poisons cabinet,” he said, making no attempt to soften the blow.

“Dear God, do not tell me that we can now expect to have a suicide on our hands?”

That Sir George was appalled by this disclosure was not in doubt, but the reason for his horror was less clear. Underwood was given to suppose that he might just be more upset by the trouble such an event would cause him rather than pity for the woman concerned.

              “In my opinion she is not the suicidal sort,” he responded thoughtfully, “And the substance she took was strychnine which is, I understand, a particularly nasty way to die. Muscle spasms of a brutal nature, which arch the back until the head almost touches the heels and convulsions, giving way to paralysis of the face and neck. No one in their right mind would inflict such a death upon themselves.”

              “Unless she does not understand the effects but only knows that it is poison,” said Sir George.

              Underwood flinched visibly at the very idea that someone might unwittingly take a poison which would end their life in such an agonizing fashion.

              “We can only hope that suicide is not her intention.”

              “What else could it be?”

              “Mrs Jebson does not have a … ah … prepossessing personality, sir. I rather fear she would enjoy the distress inflicted upon her husband in worrying about her.”

              “Rather a barbarous revenge,” commented Sir George, thinking that if his wife had done anything of the sort, he might be rather inclined to extract a little vengeance of his own.

              “Better that than the alternative,” said Underwood grimly.

              “Well, nothing more can be done tonight. If she has not returned by tomorrow, I will organize a search by some members of the Watch.”

              “Thank you, sir. I’ll wish you goodnight.”

              As Underwood prepared to leave, Sir George could not resist one last parting shot.

              “Tell me Underwood, what are you going to do with yourself when Mr Robert Peel gets his Police Force Bill through Parliament? There’ll be no need for your interference once we have a properly organized and thoroughly trained troop of men taking care of law and order.”

              Underwood smiled, “I shall put my feet up at home and stay there, with my family gathered about me.”

              Sir George guffawed loudly in absolute disbelief, “I’ll wager you anything you like that you’ll do no such thing.”

CHAPTER FORTY

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

              We bought a cottage to serve as our own little home; a place where we could be together, away from prying eyes and the judgement of others, where we could rest when we were not travelling about the country on our various quests.

              Here we kept our disguises – it became apparent very quickly that we would need to move around freely and in different ways in order to reach some of the places where our help was needed. Not all our victims were from the upper and middle-classes – not by any means! We were often required to don clothes from which we shrank in disgust – but how else to get close to those whom we were required to exterminate?

              Soon we were called away from the cottage for protracted periods – it was astounding how quickly word of our services flew about the criminal underworld. Before long we had more commissions than we could ever hope to fulfil – it is such a wicked world out there! We had to become much more discerning about which tasks we would agree to undertake – only the most desperate of clients and the very worst abusers would find themselves facing judge, jury and executioner all in the one small frame of yours truly!

              I never allowed X’s hands to become sullied with the blood of those miscreants – I’ll have that known now. X killed no one! I had X’s help to trap the victims, to bring them to their place of execution and I was shielded by X from capture and prosecution, but X spilled not one drop of blood! Should the day ever dawn that we face Man’s justice, let it be stated that I take full responsibility – X obeyed my orders.

              I like to believe that our disguises were impenetrable for we grew more and more adventurous. Sometimes we were two rich sisters, dressed in silks and draped in jewels, travelling post with money no object and staying in the finest hotels; other times two poor prostitutes or perhaps servant girls. We took turns in being the lady and the abigail – X loved to play the lady, acting superlatively, no one would have guessed at her humble beginnings.

              On occasion we dressed as men too. Two friends on a spree together, brothers, tutor and pupil, master and valet. We had a whole host of characters, all different, all named and given a life story. We spent hours in invention – we could have turned our talents to writing romances, so ingenious were our devices.

              I was better at playing a man than X for I was still far too thin and there was no need to bind my breasts to flatten them as poor X had to endure.

              Then came the fateful day that we happened to be on the stage in West Wimpleford – it  matters not where we had been or where we were headed – and this time we were a widow and maid servant.

              I barely noticed the blond gentleman when he joined us – he caught my eye just once, but with my veil hiding most of my face, I thought he would be hard pressed to recognize me again – I don’t even know why I thought that, for I rarely bothered abut such trifles, but there was something about his penetrating gaze that made me uneasy and I thought he looked like a man who missed very little. 

              I was to learn later that he was the celebrated C H Underwood.

              Scarcely were we out of the town when the highwayman stopped the coach. I would not normally have shot him – what was he doing, after all, but making a living from those who could well afford to pay him his illicit little toll? X and I always had a few coins about our persons for just such eventualities.

              But then he spoke to the passengers and asked which one of us went by the name of Underwood, and in that instant I knew that this man was in the same game as X and myself – he had been sent to despatch this Underwood fellow. No highwayman cared to learn the names of his victims, nor gave himself away by speaking any more than necessary, or otherwise wasting time. Highway robbery is a crime swiftly executed.

              Of course I had heard the name C H Underwood before, even though I had no idea of his identity until that very moment. I had read of his exploits in the newspapers and I was convinced that he was a good man. Whosoever had requested his death was a villain and I was not about to allow it to happen.

              Underwood was obviously afraid – only a fool would not be – but he was brave. He requested to be let out of the carriage unmolested so that no one else would be hurt. He knew he was stepping out to his death, but still he thought of others.

              I reacted quickly. It was a risk to interfere, for what real lady carries a pistol and knows how to use it? A few, I know, but not so many as to be commonplace!

              I looked at X and an almost imperceptible nod gave me the signal to rid the world of another piece of human detritus.

              My hand was in my beaded reticule, ostensibly to get money, but in reality I had a small, lady’s pistol secreted within.

              I lifted the gun, still inside the bag and pulled the trigger. I despatched him with less thought than I would swat a fly or stamp upon a cockroach.

              No need for a button left at the scene this time – I had killed that one for free.

              And how could I possibly imagine that Underwood and I would meet again, almost a year later?

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

‘Age Quod Agis’ – Do what you do carefully, concentrate on the business in hand

              Underwood woke in the middle of the night to the sound of rain against the panes. He lay for a moment listening to the sporadic spatter as the wind changed direction. It occurred to him to hope that Martha Jebson was somewhere under cover, then he recalled her heartlessness in throwing Violette out onto the street with no knowledge of where she might go and he slightly altered his opinion. Perhaps she would benefit from a taste of her own medicine – ironic for an apothecary’s wife.

              A steady drip, drip, drip alerted him to the fact that water was seeping through the window, which was ajar, for it had been warm and humid when he and Verity had retired for the night. He rose as quietly as he could to close the casement, but Verity felt rather than heard his movement and murmured sleepily, “What is it? What’s the matter?”

              “Go back to sleep, it’s nothing. Just the rain coming in a little,” he said softly. He knew better than to raise his voice to anything above the breathiest whisper for Clarissa was attuned to the least sound from her parent’s room and would set up a squall if she thought she was missing any excitement.

              “Oh, no, not rain on the day of Jeremy James’ party.”

              “I shouldn’t worry, don’t they say rain before seven, fine by eleven?” he quoted, hoping that it proved true on this occasion. So much work and anticipation had gone into this event that he could not countenance the possibility of disaster.

              He need not have concerned himself. When he woke later it was to full sunlight shining into his eyes. He had neglected to draw the curtains when he shut the window in the dark some hours before.

              Lady Hartley-Wells had outdone herself. She had not hosted a party for twenty years or more and was determined to make a success of this one, feeling that it could very well be her last. Not that she intended to die any time soon, but she was not a social butterfly anymore and it ill-behoved her to pretend that she was.

Miss Cromer had been sent to consult Will Jebson and he had provided a linctus for her cold which she declared to be ‘miraculous’ but in truth the cure had been her own determination not to let something as slight as a chill spoil her enjoyment.

              The festivities began in the late afternoon, for at least half the guests were parents and had their offspring with them. To this end, Wells Place had been turned into something resembling a fair. No expense had been spared. There was a string of donkeys providing rides, and games galore, both for the children and the adults. Skittles vied with archery. Cricket was being played, with little adherence to the rules, on the large field behind the house. There were frames holding swing boats, and entertainers teaching juggling and demonstrating fire-eating – in fact Lady Hartley-Wells had tracked down and hired a travelling fair. She was a woman who really knew how to throw a party, thought Verity, looking about her in awe. To add to the myriad delights, there were marquees where refreshments were laid out in delicious profusion.

              Indoors there were cards and billiards in the games room and there was to be dancing in the ballroom later. The music indoors was provided by a string quartet and was suitably refined. Outside was a small band who played the sort of jolly folk tunes that made May Day and Christmas such joyous affairs.

              Horatia and Clarissa looked about, scarcely able to believe their eyes at such wonders and immediately took off, Horatia running full pelt, Clarissa staggering after her sister on plump and unsteady legs. Sabrina smiled at Verity, “Toby and I will watch the children. You go off and enjoy yourself with Mr Underwood.”  

              Verity needed no second bidding and soon Underwood found himself in the middle of what he would once have considered a nightmare, but which he secretly enjoyed immensely. Verity wished to take a ride on the swing boats, then she insisted that they have an archery competition – though they were equally as bad as each other and she won by simply getting an arrow into the target. Underwood missed completely, but declared that it was because the sun was in his eyes.

              When they had finally exhausted all the fun that could be had outside, they ventured indoors and found most of their friends socializing in the ballroom. Only the most hardened gamblers were already in the games room which had been set with half a dozen card tables.

              Underwood spotted Sir George Gratten talking to Lady Hartley-Wells and excusing himself to his wife he went to join them. Verity was quite happy to let him go for her own little coterie was gathered and she went happily to sit with them in a cosy alcove, waiting for the dancing to begin.

              “Good day, Underwood. Your timing is impeccable. I was about to suggest to Serena that her talent for organization is unprecedented and she should host a gathering such as this every year. Add your voice to mine to persuade her!”

              Lady Hartley-Wells looked shocked for a moment and then she smiled in that stern way of hers that warned that perhaps one had got away with a single piece of impertinence, but try nothing further on pain of death!

              “Underwood has no need to add his supplications to yours, George, I was about to reply that it is the finest notion you’ve had in that empty noddle of yours for thirty years!”

              The pompous Sir George would have liked to snipe back at her, but even he was a little afraid of the redoubtable lady and merely laughed affably at her sally.

              “We are all in agreement then,” he said, ignoring the fact that Underwood had made no contribution to the conversation whatsoever. “We should hold it on the anniversary of Waterloo – that would be apt, I think.”

              Serena snorted at the presumption of her old friend, but she did not deny him. When she presently went off to see that all was running smoothly, Underwood took the opportunity to ask the Constable if there were any news.

              “I assume Will Jebson has not contacted you to tell you that his wife has turned up, alive and well?”

              “On the contrary, he sent me a note asking if I had found any trace of her. The answer was sadly no. I set my men searching places such as hayricks and ditches in the surrounding area, thinking that she might have found somewhere to spend the night, or had perhaps fallen and knocked herself unconscious. Those were the better situations I was imagining for her. The worst is that she lies dead and my men have been warned that they may be looking for a corpse.”

              “I hope to God that is not the case,” murmured Underwood.

              “If it is, then the outlook is grim for your friend Jebson, after his admission that they had a violent quarrel before she ran out on him.”

              Underwood would have liked to disabuse him of this unhappy conclusion but in good conscience he could not, so he swiftly changed the subject and they talked of other things for a few minutes. Underwood then caught sight of Miss Sowerbutts and her brother Gervase and it gave him the perfect way of extricating himself.

              “Will you excuse me, sir?” If Gratten was surprised by his sudden departure he gave no indication of it, merely strolling off to find himself a glass of something cooling on this hot afternoon.

              Underwood kept an eye on the Sowerbutts siblings, but made a detour so that he could speak to his wife. He drew her away from the company of his mother, sister-in-law and the nominal hostess of the party, Adeline, though she had been usurped by Lady Hartley-Wells – a position she gave up gladly – and the other ladies.

              “My love,” he said quietly, “I am about to behave in a way which is quite out of character for me and I would ask your indulgence.”

              “Of course, Cadmus,” she said, looking up at him and wondering anew how this clever and handsome man could be her husband. He looked especially fetching today, in his blue velvet tailcoat, cream breeches and a white linen shirt and stock. His waistcoat was embroidered and sported a heavy gold chain with a fob and a watch in the pocket. She had matched her outfit to his, quite by chance and wore her blue striped muslin.

              “What would you like me to do?” she added.

              He looked down at her, a half smile on his face and his grey eyes burning into her like the embers of a dying fire, which told her that he liked what he saw quite as much as she did.

“I have a task to perform and it may appear that I am behaving in a way which would distress you, but I want you to know that I have nothing but respect and adoration for you.”

              She smiled in return and lifted a gentle hand to his cheek, “I know that and trust you completely, my dear. Do whatever it is you have to do. I will say and do nothing.”

              “Thank you, my own heart’s darling.” He kissed her hand, and was gone.

              The music being played up until this point had been of the quiet, background variety, to sooth the revellers while they ate from the cold collation set out in the dining room. Now that evening was drawing on, and the shadows grew long outside, the mood changed a little. Some of the younger children were taken away to bed, amongst them Horatia and Clarissa, though the older children were given a later curfew. A row of flaming torches were lit in the grounds so that the fair could continue, though the archery was swiftly put away – no one wanted arrows flying in the twilight. The donkeys were led back to their well-earned bundles of hay.

              Underwood had lost sight of Miss Sowerbutts and her brother and he cursed himself for his carelessness, but he would not, for anything, have missed his hurried explanation to his wife. She must, always, come first in his thoughts.

              He wandered through the rooms and fortunately came upon them both in the games room, where Gervase had seated himself ready to play and his sister stood behind him, negligently fanning herself with a pretty ivory fan and looking bored.

              Underwood approached her and standing slightly behind her, he said softly in her ear, “My dear Miss Sowerbutts, I have been searching everywhere for you.”

              She twisted her head so that she might see more clearly who was addressing her. Upon recognizing him she treated him to a long, languorous smile, “My dear Mr Underwood, what on earth could you possibly want with me?”

              “Come with me and I will show you,” he answered, matching her languid grace with his own particular brand of elegance.

              She put her hand in his.

              “Where are we going?”

              “I know of a small anteroom where we can be alone.”

              “How daring - but my brother will be so angry.”

              “How can he be angry if he knows nothing of our little
tete-a-tete
?”

              “Naughty Mr Underwood,” she said, but she allowed him to lead her through the crowd of people and soon they found themselves in a back corridor which led, as Underwood had said, to a small sitting room, still as sumptuously furnished as the rest of Wells Place, but far smaller. It was a spot which Underwood used as a bolt-hole when the strain of being too gregarious played upon his nerves. Miss Cromer, who also detested cards, but was forced to indulge her mistress, had shown it to him years before. It was her own room, in point of fact, but she was rarely allowed to retreat to it, for as companion to Lady Hartley-Wells, she was expected to be on duty almost all the time. She certainly wouldn’t be using it that evening; she would be far too busy entertaining guests along with her mistress, probably, if Underwood knew the Wablers and their legendary capacity for drinking and revelling, until the early hours of the morning.   

              As soon as they were alone, she turned towards him, laid her hands upon his chest, and looking up into his eyes from beneath lowered lashes, she said demurely, “I had no idea you were interested in me, Mr Underwood – what is your first name, bye the by? I cannot feel at all romantic if I have to refer to you as ‘mister’ all the time.”

              He very firmly removed her hands from his person and said brutally, “There will be no romance, Miss – or should I say the Wimpleford Widow?”

              She gave him a wounded look, as though he had disappointed her, and dropped sulkily onto the settee, “Cruel, sir, to lead a poor girl on. You should hang your head in shame. And who pray tell is this widow to whom you refer?”

              “You are,” he responded bluntly, “and stop your play acting. We both know the truth.”

              She gave a sigh of great but sorely tried patience, “My dear sir, as you can plainly see, I am not married, let alone widowed. I really have no idea what you are talking about.” She held up a ringless hand and waggled her fingers playfully at him.

              “So,” he countered, approaching her swiftly and grasping the reticule that hung from her arm, “If I were to search this bag, I would not find a pistol hidden in it.”

              She pulled it away from him, observed him through narrowed eyes for a moment then laughed and held up both her hands as though in surrender, “You win, sir. You would find a gun and as I would prefer not to use it, I will not put you to the trouble of trying to take it from me.”