A Place For Repentance (The Underwood Mysteries Book 6) (9 page)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

‘Inopem Me Copia Fecit’ – Abundance has made me poor

              Underwood felt he would like to discuss more fully with his wife her plans for the French girl, but the determined set of her chin when he broached the subject told him that he would be wasting his breath. In truth, his sympathies were every bit as acute as Verity’s and he would no more see the girl on the street than would his spouse, and if she must come to Windward House, then she would come – he merely reasoned that they should make every effort to settle her elsewhere first – their home really should be the very last resort. If he did not keep a sensible head then they would very soon been impoverished by a houseful of strays of every sort, from starved mongrels, beaten horses and indeed unemployed and unemployable Gallic actresses.

              He decided to leave the matter for a later date, since the girl was recovering from her ordeal and was too ill to be troubled with questions about her future plans.

              In the meantime he and Verity had several engagements to attend so he could afford to leave things as they stood for the moment at least.

              When he recalled that their next visit was to be dinner at Will Jebson’s house, he felt it politic to inform Verity of the vulnerability of the two children. He knew that, like himself, she would simply accept the two little girls as just that, children, but he wanted her to be aware so that she might not display surprise and perhaps inadvertently offend Will and his wife.

              Her large brown eyes filled with tears of sympathy and concern, “Oh, those poor, dear little girls. How cruel nature can be sometimes! Do they suffer at all?”

              He hastened to reassure her, “Not at all, my love. They are the happiest pair of children I have ever encountered and Will obviously dotes upon them. They want for nothing I promise you, and their condition would appear to cause them no physical distress.”

              She pressed a hand to her heart, “Thank goodness for that,” she said fervently, “but what gift can we take for them? I was thinking of books but perhaps they would not be an appropriate thing to offer?”

              “When I was with them, they were playing with toy animals, so I suspect something of that sort would be welcomed.”

              She looked thoughtful, “Thank you, Cadmus; you have, for once, been extremely helpful.”

              “What do you mean, ‘for once’?” he protested hotly, “I am ever at your service, your

generous helpmate and willing slave.”

              She raised a gentle hand to his cheek and smiled up at him, “My dear, I find it prodigiously touching that you think so,” she said, tapping him lightly, and went off to do her errands, leaving him spluttering with annoyance.

Since Lindell had also been invited, the three of them hired a gig, which Lindell drove, much to Underwood’s relief. He could, of course, handle horseflesh quite adequately, but he had never grown fond of doing things for himself, much preferring that aspect of his old life in Cambridge, where he had no other responsibilities but himself and his students’ education. Life was so much easier when all mundane labour was taken care of for him and he could drift aimlessly about thinking deeply erudite thoughts and not having to soil his hands. Verity, unfortunately, considered it good for him to occasionally take care of simple tasks, like helping her in the garden, or learning to cook a basic meal. She also thought he could not possibly be sufficiently close to his daughters unless he interacted frequently with them. He recalled his own father being mainly absent and even when at home, distant and eternally busy, earning the money which Underwood now mostly lived upon. He felt that his father’s behaviour had been exemplary and he and Gil had not missed out in any way – but he accepted his wife’s strictures and secretly revelled in the chance to become a child again when he was with his little girls and felt no one was observing his silliness.

The journey to West Wimpleford was accomplished in good time and Will welcomed them into his home with a wide smile and evident delight. His wife, it seemed, was still upstairs getting dressed, so they were shown into the parlour and Verity at once sank to her knees and began to play with Prue and Minta, presenting them with the two rag dolls she had brought, after first asking their father’s permission to proffer the toys.

The two little faces lit with delight and Will assured her that she could not have chosen better, for he had treated his daughters to lovely china-faced dolls and they had sadly been swiftly broken, not from malice, but a lack of understanding that they were delicate and could not be dropped or used carelessly.

Verity was pleased and told him that she would make sure that the young ladies in Lindell’s sewing class would be informed that the dollies were a great success.

Martha Jebson joined them presently and looked horrified when she noticed that her guest was sitting on the rug and playing with her children.

“My dear Mrs Underwood, what can William be thinking, letting the girls take up all your attention, having you behaving like a hoyden, just to amuse them?”

Something in her tone suggested that she felt the fault lay entirely with Verity and not Will. The former was rather shocked – it was not a common occurrence for her to be put in the wrong by anyone, for those in her own close circle viewed her eccentricities with a fond and tolerant eye and rarely questioned her choices.

She scrambled to her feet, a blush staining her cheeks, “I do beg your pardon, Mrs Jebson, I fear I rather forgot myself.”

Martha Jebson smiled condescendingly, rather pleased that she had elicited an apology from the uppity Mrs Underwood. Will had returned from his sojourn in Hanbury the year before singing the lady’s praises and since then Martha had resolved to dislike her, for surely no one could be the picture of perfection that Will had painted. She inclined her head rather haughtily, “Shall we go into the dining room? I think Lucy is ready to serve.”

Will, evidently embarrassed by his wife’s behaviour, rose hastily to his feet and said, as cheerily as he was able in the circumstances, “Yes, yes, please go through to the dining room, I shall just put up the fire guard and settle the girls with their toys.”

He lifted a bulky but very strong, folded iron fireguard from the alcove next to the fireplace and began to wrangle it into place. Lindell went to help him, commenting, as Will used two hooks driven into the wall to fasten it to, “That’s a clever innovation, Will. Safe and secure.”

“Yes, the smith and I designed it between us. Unfortunately Prue and Minta have very little notion of danger and cannot be trusted alone in a room with an open fire.”

“Are the children not eating with us?” ventured Verity, almost afraid to speak after her last exchange with Martha.

“Good gracious, no!” exclaimed their mother, “They ate long ago, in the kitchen where they belong. Do you allow your children to dine with the adults?”

Verity and Underwood very often did eat at the same time as their daughters and at the same table, for, as Verity was wont to point out, how could they be expected to learn proper manners unless they were taught by example? Underwood, who had had little to do with young children before he had his own family, assumed that Verity knew what she was talking about and followed her lead – though he had found the very early years somewhat trying as he abhorred mess of any kind.

Verity, disconcerted at once again wrong-footed by her hostess, simply descended into silence and scuttled into the dining room before she could trip herself up again.

Lucy proved to be a sulky girl, with red cheeks and heat-straggled hair escaping from her cap and clinging to her hot forehead. She was large, lumpish and unattractive but Verity smiled shyly at her hoping for a friendly response from at least one of the women in the household. It availed her nothing for Lucy, with evident ill-humour, slapped dishes onto the table and disappeared back into the kitchen without a word. Verity had never been rendered more uncomfortable by any situation in her life.

Martha ignored her little display of temper and invited her guests to sit. The meal was simple, roast beef and vegetables, but it was well cooked and tasty. Underwood for one was delighted. He affected a delicate digestion, which gave him every excuse not to eat anything he didn’t fancy, and his usual inclination was towards the most basic fare, with which he felt safe.  There had been a fashion in recent years, due to an influx of émigrés from revolutionary France, for Gallic chefs to be employed as a pretension by the upper classes. It was not something which met with Underwood’s approval. He found the food too rich and strong-tasting for his palate.

It was fortunate that he enjoyed the food, for he was destined not to relish the conversation around the table, for Martha dominated and it seemed she had a hidden agenda, for she resolutely refused to be guided away from her chosen subject, which was the Spa town of Hanbury. No matter how her husband tried to gently quieten her and bring the others into the discussion, she persisted in firing question after question, mostly at Underwood, about Hanbury, Braxton and district.

Towards the end of the meal, her purpose became apparent, at least to Will, who had already begged her not to think of pursuing the odd plan she had hatched.

“So, Mr Underwood, from all you have told me, Hanbury is a thriving little town, with a large and transient population.”

“That is a fair assessment,” ventured her guest cautiously.

“And the people there are generally unwell and in search of a rest cure?”

“I would hesitate to class everyone who chooses to visit as ‘unwell’,” said Underwood, determined to be accurate. He was aware of many perfectly healthy residents, who simply enjoyed the atmosphere in the buzzing little town, and loved the beautiful setting in the magnificent Pennines.

“But many are?” she persisted.

“Some,” he countered, “Hanbury has other attractions besides its healing waters.”

“Tell me, Mrs Underwood,” said Martha, turning her piercing gaze upon the largely silent Verity, who had quickly come to realize that her input was not required by the bombastic Martha, and had accordingly addressed herself to her dinner and Lindell when there was a space in the conversation for her to intervene, “are you well acquainted with the shops in town?  I know you will have more idea than the gentlemen, who do not trouble themselves with such prosaic things.”

Verity considered herself to be anything but ‘prosaic’ and had far more varied interests than mere shopping. She was rather insulted to suddenly have this query thrown at her, after being rudely ignored for the greater part of the last hour, but she swallowed the sharp retort which sprang to her lips. She was so fond of Will that she would not, for the world, distress him by indulging in an unseemly quarrel with his wife, though she was uncharacteristically irritated and felt much inclined to snap, like the horrid little lapdogs that many elderly ladies in Hanbury seemed to own.

“I know many of the emporia,” she conceded, deliberately using a pretentious word and her coolest tone to remind Mrs Jebson that she was not dealing with a complete idiot.

“Oh, ‘emporia’ is it?” giggled Martha mockingly, “I do so love the middle classes. They think they are so much better than everyone else.”

Will leapt to his friends’ defence before anyone else had the chance to reply to this piece of impertinence, much to the relief of his guests, for they all opened their lips to protest at Martha’s rudeness, and Underwood especially would not have guarded his tongue, for he had no tolerance at all for incivility.

“Martha, my dear, you let your enthusiasm cloud your judgement. Your tongue runs away with you. May I ask you to fetch the dessert?”

His wife was unabashed, “Oh, la! William, the Underwoods know better than to take umbrage at anything I may say – we are, after all, cut from the same cloth. They have to work for a living just as we do.”

It was Underwood’s turn to feel aggrieved, for her comments hinted that he and Verity had in some way indicated that they felt themselves to be superior to their hosts and this was very far from the truth. The only people Underwood had ever felt himself superior to were the rogues and scoundrels who committed crimes for which he brought them to book. He very much resented being accused, however obliquely, of feeling any such unworthy emotion – and as for his wife! Verity was the sweetest creature alive who never treated anyone, however lowly or high their station, with anything less than wholehearted kindness and respect.

“Martha!” exclaimed Will with quiet firmness, “that is quite enough. This is not the way I expect guests to be treated under my roof.”

His tone brooked no argument and she seemed finally to realize that she had gone too far; with a lift of her shoulder, and a slight sneer, she begged pardon, “I merely wanted to ask you, Mrs Underwood, if there are many apothecary shops in Hanbury. I have a particular reason for asking.”

Verity was immensely relieved that she had been asked something which she could answer without causing contention – she felt very strongly that she had indeed caused the last outburst by trying to outdo the wretched woman; something which she would hesitate to attempt again.

“To my knowledge there is not one, Mrs Jebson. In fact, it is, now you come to mention it, a most peculiar circumstance. One would have thought that in a place which hosts so many invalids, that an apothecary would be a necessary service. I believe that most of the shops simply sell one or two commercial remedies and everyone either relies upon the healing spa water or sees one of the many doctors in the town – who would have, of course, their own patent medications.”