A Place For Repentance (The Underwood Mysteries Book 6) (26 page)

              “He was sure it was the same woman?”

              “Oh, yes indeed. In fact he had a quiet word with the management of the Pump Rooms and the Master of Ceremonies at the Assembly Rooms and they in their turn had a quiet word with the ‘ladies’. It was this, and not concern for Miss Mills’ reputation which sent them hotfoot out of town.”

              “I did wonder at their hasty departure,” said Underwood thoughtfully. “I don’t suppose this friend of yours will confirm all this?”

              “I have no idea, but I shouldn’t be at all surprised. But why should you want him to?”

              “There are some salient questions to be put to them. Ladies of that type do not normally resort to subterfuge in finding clients. Why the elaborate masquerade? They surely cannot have hoped to trick either you or Pennyfather into marriage?”

              Swann’s ego was still stinging from the rejection in favour of Pennyfather then the discovery that he had set his heart upon a woman of low cunning, and had embarrassed himself by offering to fight a duel in defence of her ‘honour’. His expression darkened and he rose to his feet, “Dammit all, how the devil should I know? Enough of this farce, Underwood. Can you not let me forget what an utter fool I have been?”

              “I do apologise, Bertie,” said his host softly, “that will be all for now. I’ll tell Toby to fetch the carriage and take you all back into town. You have all been most helpful.”

              He would also ask Toby to discreetly enquire after ‘Miss’ Mills when he reached town. Swann had suffered enough and would be troubled no more.

              When the guests had departed, he requested Verity’s presence in the study so that they might discuss the information he had managed to garner from the Wablers.

              Verity’s tender heart ached for poor Swann, who had not only been cruelly rebuffed by the false Miss, but had also been duped by her in front of his comrades. His humiliation was complete. Verity had a strong maternal feeling for her ‘boys’, after all they had been through, all they had sacrificed for their countrymen, and she was stirred into a rare rage when she learned of the perfidy of the woman.

              “If you find her, Cadmus,” she said grimly, “be sure to let me have five minutes alone with her!”

              Her husband was caught between emotions. He was vastly amused to think of his small termagant tearing into a hardened prostitute for lying and cheating, but rather shocked that she would ever imagine that he would allow her to keep such company, even for the five minutes she had requested.

              “You may fantasize over such a meeting to your heart’s content, my love, but disabuse yourself of the notion that it will ever become a reality,” he said sternly.

              Verity knew that on most occasions she could persuade her husband to fall in with her wishes, but one look at his determined face and she knew that this was not such a moment. Wisely she said nothing more. Just as Underwood knew when not to push his luck too far with his doting wife, so too did Verity. It was this respect for each other which made their marriage a success and not for anything would she destroy that trust. The matter was closed.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

‘Degeneres Animos Timor Arguit’ – Cowardice proves that a man’s spirit is base

              Left alone in his study, Underwood looked about him. He loved this room, which he had made entirely his own. The oak shelves which lined the walls almost bowed under the weight of his many books, and the heavy red velvet drapes held the destructive rays of the sun at bay, leaving the room in an eternal but cosy twilight. His desk stood under the window and looked out onto the garden, where he could see his children playing with Sabrina.

              It was a large space which stretched down to a row of trees which formed the boundary of his land, beyond which was a streamlet edged on the far side by a small wood rising up behind the house, then to the craggy hills which he had grown to love with a passion which surprised him.

              Even as he watched through the casement a loud screech from one of his giggling daughters caused the tenants of the trees to rise as one with caws of annoyance then scatter to the wind like floating wisps of burnt paper. He knew he should have the rookery and the feathered bullies that lived there, cleaned out. They were not amicable neighbours, noisy, untidy and he knew that it was largely due to their malign presence that his garden was bereft of the sweet and colourful songbirds which Horatia tried in vain to entice with generous sprinklings of crumbs. He could never quite bring himself to do it, reluctant as he was to kill for killings sake.

              The irony of this eccentricity was not lost upon him, for though he would not trap and kill a flock of troublesome and thoroughly unpleasant birds, he would gladly rid the world of all the wicked people in it.

              This led him to think of Sabrina and her past transgressions. Observing her now, smiling, happy, being delightfully playful with his little girls, chasing and hugging them when she caught them, it was hard to imagine that she had stood by and watched him battle for life when she could have spoken up and saved him much pain and anguish.

              Back from his errand of driving the Wablers back into Hanbury, the big black man joined the group in the garden and Underwood could not help but observe an expression of adoration on Toby’s face as he stood back and looked upon his lovely young wife, her hair as dark as the wing of one of the wicked crows from the rookery, her light brown skin smooth and unmarred by any blemish.

              Perhaps, thought Underwood, pained by Toby’s dilemma, it was time to forgive. If Toby, who was no fool, could love the girl so much, maybe there was more good than evil in her. But then, did not love make fools of us all?

              He knew that there were actions he had taken, and indeed not taken, for the sake of his own wife. His conscience had taken second place to Verity’s welfare or happiness on more than one occasion.

              He turned away from the prospect seen from his window, still unsure if he could find redemption for Toby’s wife but hoping that he could.

              The thought of executing the crows, with their black plumage, reminded him of the ‘widow’ and he wondered afresh if he would even recognize her should he meet her again. So severe had been his illness after their ill-fated meeting that all memory was vague. He knew he had not even been at his most observant during the coach journey, his mind being preoccupied with the puzzle of Rutherford Petch and the miscarriage of justice that had exiled him. She and her maid were now nothing but an indistinct recollection. And if she had changed her appearance, perhaps her hair was styled differently or even coloured with the use of a wig? The use of makeup could alter the physiognomy of an actress on the stage, but would that stand the close scrutiny of one standing face to face? He had no idea, but he sensed danger. Something told him that she was still very much around. He could not shake off the conviction that somewhere she was hovering, a lovely angel of death. No woman should be able to shoot a man with such cold and deadly accuracy unless she knew what she was about. Such expertise was not learned overnight, nor in a happy family home. And the coincidence of a bullet delivered directly between the eyes was too precise to ignore.

              But under what guise was she in Hanbury – if indeed it was her?

*

              Violette was happier than she had been for a long time. She had never worked so hard, nor had so much been expected of her, but she delighted in it, hugging her secret to her chest like a precious child. He liked her – she knew now beyond any shadow of doubt that he liked her and all she had to do was wait patiently until he realized how much she adored him, then everything would fall into place, no matter what the difficulties were, they could be overcome. Love conquers all, wasn’t that what they said?

              While these romantic thoughts flooded her imagination, she was up to her elbows in soapy water, on her hands and knees, scrubbing the floor of Will Jebson’s new shop.

              Martha had quickly grown tired of the hard work entailed in cleaning and restocking the shop. Since Lucy was still refusing to join them, she had two choices. She either helped Will downstairs, or freed Violette from her child-caring duties to help him instead. She had always found entertaining her daughters an onerous task, but when compared to the brutal labour involved in righting ten years of neglect by Mr Davy, she had decided that she should spend some time with her darling girls.

              Violette didn’t care. She was quite happy to do anything required of her whilst wrapped in her dreamy cocoon of joy.

              Will was finally feeling a little more content too. The shop was beginning to look almost ready to open to customers. The dangerous chemicals, poisons, acids and other paraphernalia left by the previous owner were safely stored in a strongbox with three locks, which was then stowed in the cellar.

              However, the major reason for his peace of mind was Martha’s newly discovered gratification. He had never known her to be so accommodating. Always in the past there had been something for her to complain about. Nothing was ever quite good enough. The house was too small, the garden too big, he was not earning enough money, he was spending too much time at the shop and neglecting his family. Suddenly all her desires were being met. She had freedom from the tie of her children thanks to Violette and could indulge her need to be involved in town life. Due to the kindness of Mrs Underwood, she was fully accepted into the Hanbury ladies’ circle and was relishing her new role as the proprietor of one of the more important establishments in the town. She knew she could not hope to elevate herself from working class to gentry, but she fully intended to be seen as a successful middle class woman of property and if she had to trample on everyone in her path to get there, she would happily do so. The birth of her twins had dealt a severe blow to her ambitions, but with Violette to take care of them and keep them away from her new friends, she could almost pretend that the unfortunate birth had never taken place.

              It would hardly have occurred to Will that his wife was happy because she had managed to push their daughters very firmly into the background; he was merely grateful that she seemed so much more pleasant to live with and he delved no further. If Prue and Minta were happy and Martha satisfied, then he required nothing for himself.

              He was looking forward to having the shop open as he had never before spent so much time away from his work. His place was behind the counter, helping the sick to recover and he could barely wait to be there again.

              With that mild ambition in mind, he turned his attention back to the shelves he had been scrubbing, finding himself moving in time to the sound of Violette’s similar task on the floor. He smiled slightly and glanced over his shoulder, only to find her looking up at him in the same instant. They exchanged a shy smile and went back to work. Will allowed himself to ponder on how much he preferred working alongside the young French woman than his wife, before he banished the unworthy thought, and renewed his efforts, as though to punish himself for this minor betrayal.

*

Joshua Thickbroome had never been more relieved to part company with his former comrades than he was when the vehicle driven by Toby drew up outside the hostelry indicated by the Wablers. Tea with the Underwoods had been very pleasant, but now was the time for some serious drinking.

              He shrugged off their invitations to join them. He was in need of something stronger than mere alcohol and he hoped he knew where to get it.

              It was no secret that Will Jebson had taken over the chemist shop on Back Lane, since the ladies rarely talked of anything but the progress being made on the refurbishment of the premises. Not that Thickbroome was in the habit of listening to the ladies’ tittle-tattle, but one could hardly miss the strident tones of Mrs Jebson as she bragged to the other women about how very successful she expected the new business to be. The only interesting snippet which Thickbroome had retained had been the shock and horror among the ‘cacklers’ as the Wablers called them, when Martha had confided that Will had found huge amounts of the old stock still on the shelves.

              Something that Thickbroome had managed to hide for years, along with his secret passion for Pennyfather, was his addiction to laudanum. Pennyfather had certainly never known of either weakness, or he would not have countenanced his friendship or his companionship in so many enterprises. Sadly one need fed the other. Being so near to his desire, but forced to deny it, Thickbroome had indulged more and more in opium and when he could not get that, large amounts of laudanum to take the edge off his cravings.

              The past two days had intensified his feelings of deprivation for he had not dared to find an opium den and seek oblivion in ‘chasing the dragon’ with the Constable of Hanbury always in attendance. It would not be illegal for him to indulge, but it would be seen as a flaw in his character, a feebleness to which he could not admit.

              The questioning that afternoon by Underwood and the responses given by the men who had served with himself and Pennyfather had sent into sudden and stark relief the true nature of the person who had held his heart for so long. It was as though with the death of the man he had thought he loved, Thickbroome was able to finally see him for what he was, and not for the paragon he had created in his own mind. The spell was broken. But in escaping the meshes of his tormentor, Thickbroome had found something fundamental inside him had shattered. He saw, with awful clarity, that his suppressed emotions had led him to do many things of which he was now deeply ashamed – and all for the sake of a drunken arm around his shoulder, the sad dregs of a physical contact for which he longed. 

He did not care who knew it now, let them all judge him wanting, but he intended to take enough of his chosen drug to dull the pain.

              Will had just descended the ladder when the shop bell jangled. Violette stopped scrubbing and glanced up but when she saw it was just one of the soldiers coming through the door, she pushed her hair out of her face with the back of her hand and carried on with her task.

              Will smiled pleasantly, walking around the counter, intending to stop the man from entering any further, “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m afraid we are not yet ready to open for business. I do beg your pardon, it was my fault, I should have made sure the door was locked.”

              “Well, I’m here now, so be a good fellow and get me a bottle of laudanum and we’ll say not more about it,” said Thickbroome with forced civility. He had not realized that the shop was not yet trading.

              “I’m sorry, sir,” repeated Will evenly, “but I don’t have anything of that sort. When I have finished unpacking, I will be better placed to find what you want.”

              Thickbroome suddenly lost his temper. He had been sleeping badly, if at all, since Pennyfather’s murder and he was feeling the discomfort of withdrawal. The questions posed by Underwood had roused long-hidden emotions which he had no wish to confront. He wanted and needed a crutch, a balm for his tortured soul, and he intended to have one.

              Before Will knew what was happening, Thickbroome had him by the throat and was forcing him backwards towards the counter, “Damn your eyes, get me what I want or I swear I’ll throttle you.”

              Violette was on her feet and screaming at him, “Let him go, you animal!” She raised her hand to strike his assailant and Will realized it was up to him to take the heat out of the situation before someone was hurt.

              “Violette, no!” he said firmly, then added, “Calm down, sir, and let me go. You know this is not the way to behave.”

              Thickbroome tightened his grip, “Don’t presume to try and teach me manners, you jumped up little gallipot!”

              Violette looked about her for a weapon but all she had was her bucket of dirty water. Without hesitation she took it up and threw the entire contents over the enraged soldier. The shock made him release Will, but he roared with fury and turned on her.

              “You little strumpet! How dare you?”

              The noise below had brought Martha running, the two little girls tumbling after her, barely able to keep their feet in their hurry. She stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips, taking in the whole chaotic scene. The children took one look at the enraged, dripping wet soldier and immediately sensed danger and withdrew behind their mother’s skirts, peeping at him in horrified fascination.