Yield Not To Misfortune (The Underwood Mysteries Book 5) (4 page)

CHAPTER SIX

“Quare Impedit?” – Why does he obstruct?

As he followed Miss Petch into the morning room, Underwood took an opportunity to look about him. The place was a substantial Jacobean manor house, not much updated since it had been built, but meticulously maintained. It would seem that there was a large and hard-working staff, evidently not all quite so old and infirm as the butler, for there was not a smidge of dust to be seen, no curtain bore a rent, none of the panelling showed a chip. The mistress might very well be bed bound but she was a formidable presence.

“May I offer you some refreshment, Mr Underwood?” asked the young lady, when they were settled into weighty, and rather uncomfortable, chairs.

“Thank you, no; I have only just broken my fast. I came to see you as soon as I was able. Major Thornycroft was most distressed to hear of your brother’s plight and despatched me at once to see if there is any aid I can proffer.”

She looked distressed at the mention of her sibling, but Underwood saw no point in prevarication. He had come here to try and help Captain Rutherford Petch and he was not going to do that by avoiding the matter out of misplaced courtesy.

“Oh, Mr Underwood, if only you could help, but I fear it is beyond anyone to save my poor brother. I have heard the conditions in Australia are so harsh that he is unlikely to survive the fourteen years to which he has been condemned.”

“Perhaps if you told me the full story, Miss Petch, then I would be in a better position to judge?” he answered, soothingly. The very last thing he needed now was a weeping, hysterical woman.

She drew in a deep breath and began her tale.

“Rutherford was accused of stealing a very old, very valuable diamond necklace belonging to my Great Aunt. He had been drinking with some cronies in town and says that he fell asleep on the settee in the drawing room, unfortunately that meant he had forgotten to lock the front door when he came in. When the jewels were found to be missing, the Constable said that he had deliberately feigned drunkenness, taken the necklace and hoped that everyone would think that robbers had entered the house when all were asleep.”

This seemed to Underwood to be very slight evidence on which to transport a man for fourteen years. Obviously more questions needed to be asked and answered.

“Were the jewels ever traced?”

“Not a sign of them. They said that Rutherford would have broken them up and sold them separately.”

“Surely they would have been worth more as a whole?”

“I don’t know. I know nothing about these things.”

“Did your brother suddenly seem to have more money than before? Was there any evidence he profited from the crime?”

“He did have a sudden turn of luck, but he swore it was because an old friend had repaid a debt – but the “friend” could not be traced to appear in court for him.”

“Had he been in financial difficulties before the theft took place?”

She looked a little shame-faced, “Rutherford enjoyed life to the full, Mr Underwood.  He had faced death and seen terrible things when he was in the Peninsular. He came home determined to make the best of his life.”

“You are telling me that he spent money like water, caroused with no thought for tomorrow and was very nearly always on his uppers?”

She could not help but smile at these vulgarisms issuing from this staid middle-aged man – she was not to know that Underwood had spent twenty years as a tutor at Cambridge and his youthful charges had ensured that he was as well versed in the language of the Underworld as he was in Latin and Greek.

“I could not have put it more neatly myself, but he would never have resorted to stealing from his own family!”

“No, I can believe that, but his story of the robbery through the unlocked door may be more accurate than you wish to acknowledge. It is not unheard of for those to whom a debt is owed to request some assistance in the commission of a crime.”

She looked puzzled for a moment, then the truth dawned, “You think that he might have allowed robbers into the house in exchange for the payment of a debt?”

“It is a possibility we have to look at, much as it pains me to suggest that your brother, whom I have been assured by Major Thornycroft is nothing less than a hero, might have been involved, however nebulously.”

So intense had been their conversation that they both started when a voice from the doorway spoke in frosty tones, designed to chastise them both, “Miss Cressida! Have you entirely taken leave of your senses? Sitting alone in a room with a MAN!” this last word was spoken with such venom that Underwood turned to look for the depraved monster to which the newcomer referred. It was only when he met the icy gaze that he realised that this personification of evil to which she alluded was himself.

To his amazement he heard Miss Petch give an irrepressible giggle, “Oh, pish, Matilda! Poor Mr Underwood is old enough to be my father. You cannot possibly object to my having a conversation with him.”

Underwood was not entirely happy to be thus dismissed as harmless – and old enough to have fathered a woman of thirty summers, but looking at the grim visage of the dragon in the doorway, he rather suspected that his ‘great’ age might be the saving of him.

“You should have sent for me, Miss, and well you know it. This is not fitting at all.”

“Well, you are here now,” said Miss Petch in a conciliatory manner, “Come, sit down and meet Mr Underwood. He’s here to help Rutherford.”

To Underwood’s astonishment the woman’s attitude altered dramatically as soon as she approached the settee and sat beside her charge, “Miss Cressida, I beg you will keep your voice down. You know what fuss and bother the mere mention of your dear brother’s name causes in this house.” Her voice was lowered to a whisper and Underwood strained to hear her words, and she threw a wary glance over her shoulder as though she expected to be overheard.

“But darling Matty, if Mr Underwood could but prove Rutherford innocent,” said Miss Petch, holding clasped hands to her breast as though vouchsafed some miraculous event already.

The lady referred to as Matty waved her hands in alarm, “Hush, oh pray hush, my dear!”

Underwood was mystified, and lowering his voice, as seemed to be required, he said, “My dear ladies, could someone please tell me what is going on?”

Miss Petch gave a tiny shake of her head, “I do apologise, Mr Underwood, you must think that Miss Fettiplace and I have quite taken leave of our senses.”

He assumed, correctly, that Miss Fettiplace must be the elderly newcomer and nodded towards her in acknowledgement, since the moment to perform formal introductions seemed to have passed. She gave him a tremulous smile, which robbed her earlier fearsome expression of any veracity.

“Miss Petch is quite right, Mr Underwood, you must think us terribly wanting in manners, but things have gone awry in this house since Mr Rutherford was sentenced.”

“I gather the mistress of the house is something of a tartar?” he asked, keeping his own voice low, though he failed to see who could possibly be eavesdropping, or indeed what harm their conversation could do.

“Old Miss Greenhowe? Lord bless you, sir, not her! She barely knows what day of the week it is.”

Miss Petch tutted and said mildly, “Really, Matty, you do exaggerate. My Great Aunt is not quite that mindless.”

Miss Fettiplace gave her a sympathetic look, “My dear Cressida, it is you who deludes yourself. Your Aunt is well beyond mindless and if you were honest you would admit it. Do you really think she would have prosecuted dear Rutherford if she had been in her right mind? If he had needed money she would have given it to him with no questions asked. Since she grew so forgetful other people have taken full advantage of her.”

Underwood began to realise that his initial concerns were probably about to be proved accurate. There was something very dark going on in this house.

“Could you be a little more explicit, Miss Fettiplace?”

She again glanced fearfully towards the door and shook her head, “Not here,” she whispered. “Are you staying at The Black Bear Inn?”

“I am.”

“Then as soon as I can I will to come into town and see you. I can make some excuse and be there around four o’clock. Would that be convenient?”

Underwood had no objection to this plan, but it still all seemed excessively secretive. Surely the two women could speak freely in their own home? He said as much and while Miss Fettiplace shook her head violently, Miss Petch merely looked uncomfortable, “I’m sure things have not come to such a pass as Matty is intimating, Mr Underwood.”

There was the sound of a carriage drawing up outside the window, which looked out onto front drive and Miss Fettiplace threw a triumphant glance in the direction of her charge.

“That will be Mr Luckhurst, or his lawyer, you may be sure,” she said, in a normal tone, much to Underwood’s relief. The whispering was beginning to grate on his nerves. “One of those turncoats downstairs will have sent the footman to fetch him the very moment Mr Underwood arrived,” she added bitterly.

The noises from the hall denoted an arrival and voices came to Underwood through the closed door, “Don’t worry, Brimblecombe, I shall see myself in, I know the way!” The sarcasm aimed at the servant was obvious and Underwood guessed that the old man had tried to prevent the newcomer from disturbing Miss Petch and her guest. It would appear that he, at least, was not one of the “downstairs turncoats”.

The door opened with rather more alacrity than was strictly necessary and Underwood wondered if the interloper had hoped to catch part of their conversation – if so he was sadly disappointed. They all sat in silence as he walked into the room, looking askance at him.

Manners forced Underwood to his feet, but one look at the man who had barged into the room made him regret the necessity of being courteous. Corpulent and red faced, Mr Luckhurst, for it was indeed he, had an arrogant air which was obvious before he even opened his mouth, which all too soon he did.

“A visitor, Cressida? Pray introduce me, then you might explain why, against my explicit instructions, you have disturbed our Aunt’s peace?”

Miss Petch blanched as she stuttered over her words, “Ormund, this is Mr Underwood, an old friend of Major Thornycroft, and I do assure you most sincerely, that Great Aunt Jemima has no notion that there is anyone in the house.”

“But, my dear Coz, it is
her
house. Do you not see how rude it is of you to invite strangers under a roof which you occupy solely on the goodwill of your relations?”

Colour flooded the previously pale cheeks, “I had not thought of that, Ormund, I do apologise.”

Underwood saw it was the moment for him to intervene, “Pray do not blame Miss Petch for my bad manners, sir. I called to pay my respects, but I see that I should have made an appointment and not turned up uninvited. I am, however, about to take my leave which I shall do forthwith, and with deepest apologies.”

Luckhurst turned unfriendly pale blue eyes upon him for the first time since entering the room, “I do not understand why you should have called in the first place, sir. The names of Underwood and Thornycroft mean nothing to me. What is your connexion with my cousin?”

“The major and I were comrades of Rutherford Petch. I called in the hope of seeing an old friend, but have just been informed by Miss Petch of the sad circumstances of his absence. I can only apologise again and take my leave.”

The red in his cheeks spread to the rest of Luckhurst’s face and neck and for a moment Underwood thought he might have a seizure, “That man’s name is not to be mentioned in this house, sir. I’ll thank you to take yourself off at once and since you now know that he no longer resides here, you can quit town forthwith and return to from wherever you came!”

Underwood simply looked at the man, his own grey eyes cold and contemptuous.

Luckhurst’s glare wavered under the unremitting gaze and he realised that he had gone too far. His bluster faded and he muttered, “Good day, to you sir. I’m sorry you have had a wasted journey.”

Underwood turned to the two ladies, bowed low and kissed both their hands as though they had been duchesses, “The pleasure has been entirely mine, ladies. Goodbye.”

With that he walked past Luckhurst without acknowledgement and was gone.

*

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Quidquid Agas Prudenter Agas
” –
Whatever you do, do with caution

The day before Lydia Woodforde’s planned arrival in Hanbury, the ladies were called to a meeting in the Pump Rooms by Lady Hartley-Wells, with the intention of discussing how they were going to deal with the unprecedented event – a situation which promised to be awkward to say the very least.

Verity, the daughter of a vicar, had been raised to believe herself to be born to be of service to all and was ever aware of the convenience of others and was therefore never late for any appointment, and so found herself to be the first arrival and was able to take a few moments to enjoy the spectacle of Hanbury Spa Pump rooms. And they were well worth a look. The architect and builder had envisioned Hanbury as the Northern rival to Bath and Harrogate and had designed most of the main buildings in the town accordingly. No expense had been spared in making everything as sumptuous as possible. Resplendent in marble and mahogany, the Pump-room itself was a triumph of the town-planners.  Several dolphin-fashioned fountains spewed forth the clear, cold hill water into marble basins and those who wished, and were able to afford the charges, could help themselves to the magical cure-all.  There were brass cups on chains provided for the purpose, but many of the richer visitors brought their own silver or crystal cups.  Mahogany benches lined the walls, or made little round islands in the centre of the marble-tiled floors.  Palm trees strained towards the glass roof, as though to feel the real sun on their feathery heads, and lent an atmosphere of sticky heat which could almost be mistaken, by those who knew no better, for the tropical.

It was not just this opulence which fascinated Verity, but also the gentry who were enjoying it.  There were a few poor souls scattered about who could be seen to be genuinely ill or infirm, but most of the wheeled chairs were occupied by women whose faces displayed the sourness of boredom, the disappointment of lives which were empty and without purpose, and who had consequently taken refuge in the small excitement of pretended illness, or by men who had spent their youths indulging in every kind of excess and were now paying the price of ill-health.

There was a sprinkling of younger people; unmarried and obedient daughters, who trotted dutifully to the gushing fountains to fill the cups; the idle young bucks, short of money and hoping to charm a little from the pockets of gout-ridden fathers by a show of filial affection. Then there were lady companions, bitter at their poverty and spinsterhood, who could be guaranteed to quell any show of humour or romance from the young.

Some of these Verity already knew, some were newcomers and their visit would be so transient that she would never get to know them, but the group who had gathered themselves about her were either permanent inhabitants, or long term visitors and she valued them dearly as friends rather than mere acquaintances. Cara had once told her that she cultivated a personal relationship with everyone she met and it was true that she probably had the widest circle of acolytes than even the greatest political hostess in the land. The lowliest urchin to the most well-born gentlewoman could be counted amongst those who turned to her but she was far too modest to recognise the fact and so she was rather touched to be included in the “Lydia Meeting”, feeling that Serena Hartley-Wells and Henrietta Woodforde were being very kind in allowing her a voice in what was, after all, essentially none of her affair. She was so unassuming that it never occurred to her that both ladies felt that her presence was absolutely vital as she had become the hub around which Hanbury society revolved. With her calm manner, kind heart, sensible approach and most vital of all, her delightful and dry sense of humour, she had become immensely important to the smooth running of social events in the town. No one would now dream of planning anything without consulting Mrs Underwood.

Also summoned to the coterie were Adeline Thornycroft, wife of the gallant Major, Lady Cara Underwood, Gil’s spouse, Mrs Kitty Wolstencroft, Adeline’s mother, Miss Cromer, Lady Hartley-Wells’ companion, who was, or so Verity gathered, some form of impecunious relation of the elderly lady, and Ellen Herbert, wife of Dr Francis Herbert.

The Herberts had recently moved to Hanbury, after years of resisting Underwood’s pleas to do so. Francis Herbert had known Underwood, Gil and Verity since they had all been living in Bracken Tor, under the aegis of the late Sir Henry Wynter, whose family had been the subject of Underwood’s first case. This was something they all preferred to forget, as it had not ended happily for the Wynter family and most especially Sir Henry, who had blown his brains out when his misdemeanours had come to light.

However, the friendship had endured and Underwood regularly called Dr Herbert to his aid when he needed an impartial opinion on a suspicious death, or indeed, when he or his family stood in need of a physician. Francis Herbert had eventually grown tired of the constant to and fro-ing which was not only costly but tiring, and since he had no respect for the man who had taken over the mantle of squire from the late Sir Henry, he had finally agreed to his friend’s demands. Since his wife was one of Verity’s best friends, it had not been difficult to persuade her of a change of address and they now ran a very successful medical practice in the town. In fact, though he would never have admitted anything of the sort to Underwood, who tended to think he was always right, Francis often wondered why he had refused to move for so long. The Spa town of Hanbury had a constantly shifting population of the elderly and the sick and was extremely lucrative for anyone in the medical profession, be it as a doctor, apothecary or indeed quack!

Several other ladies prominent in the town had also joined the little group when they saw them gather in the Pump Rooms, so it was quite a crowd who were made privy to the tragic story of Mrs Woodforde’s long lost child. The lady had at first been reluctant to share the tale with anyone but her closest associates, but Lady Hartley-Wells had been firm. They must start as they meant to go on and if Lydia was to be introduced to society, it must be on a basis of truth. Nothing could be more damaging to anyone’s reputation than to find that Lady Hartley-Wells, Mrs Underwood and Mrs Woodforde had lied, or at least hidden the truth, should Lydia turn out to be an impostor.

Verity, perhaps naively, had imagined that all the ladies would be as kind-hearted and prepared to take a risk on the girl as she was herself, and that this meeting was merely to decide what entertainments they would all take turns to provide, to make young Lydia feel at home. She could not have been more sadly mistaken. The ladies were divided at the onset. She listened with growing disquiet as the group grew more heated with every passing moment.

“Well, I’m not having the girl in my house until I know who she is,” declared Mrs Lethaby, wife of the owner of the largest drapers’ shop in Hanbury. Since most of the other ladies shopped regularly in Lethaby’s, and had no wish to lose the very generous discount her husband offered to residents, whilst charging visitors only slightly less than London prices, there were murmurs of assent.

“Very true,” said one of the other ladies, “she could, quite literally, be anyone at all! We could be introducing a woman of ill-repute to our husbands and children.” Verity was rather given the impression that the lady was more concerned about her husband meeting the “woman of ill-repute” than her children, then dismissed the thought as unworthy.

“I’d be more worried about my silver going missing than her morals,” said another cynically.

“She’s about to inherit a fortune,” said Ellen Herbert, “I think your silver is quite safe.”

“Your husband isn’t though,” said Mrs Angela Simpson, the milliner, “Everyone knows he would chase anything in a skirt and a fortune would just make him more avid!”

Verity realised that the discussion was getting out of hand, possibly about to descend into vitriol and quarrels which always simmered under the surface in any group of people might just erupt into serious rancour. She judged it the moment to intervene, “Ladies, ladies! Please desist! There is no need for all this unpleasantness. I beg you will apply a little logic to the situation and you will see that this is all irrelevant.”

“I don’t see how it can be irrelevant, Verity,” said Cara. She was very fond of her sister-in-law, but even she recognised that Underwood’s wife lacked discernment in her judgement. Verity would always see the good in people, and though Cara was a vicar’s wife, she was still a daughter of the aristocracy. Marriage had knocked off many of her prickles, as had close association with the very unusual family into which she had married, but there was still a large part of her that was deeply conventional and aware of her innate superiority of rank, “Think how hugely embarrassing it would be if the young woman turns out to be appallingly common? One cannot retract an invitation once given without causing grave offence.”

“If she’s that appallingly common I shouldn’t worry too much about causing offence!” said Verity tartly, “But I do not see why you have suddenly all decided that she is going to be anything other than a nicely brought up girl. Pray think sensibly, I beg you. There can only be two reasons why this girl is not who she says she is.”

“And what are they, pray?” asked Cara, with a slight edge of annoyance. She was not used to being gainsaid – except by Gil, but his manner was so diffident that she barely noticed his opposition and she was still so enchanted by him, even after three years of marriage and twin boys, that she mostly did as he gently suggested with good grace. The only dangerous moment in their relationship had occurred when her father had insisted that Gil take a promotion, preferably to the position of Bishop, in order to keep his wife in the manner to which she was accustomed. Gil had been uncharacteristically harsh in his refusal and the only way the disaster had been averted was when Underwood suggested his brother take the slightly less lofty position of Rural Dean, so that he could continue with the “hands-on” work with his parishioners which meant so much to him. Not that this had prevented Underwood from ceaselessly teasing his younger brother about his new job!

“The first would be that if the real Lydia had disapproved of the scheming and had refused to help her father claim the inheritance – if indeed he is still alive, which we don’t know either! Lydia could, indeed, be telling the whole, unvarnished truth.”

Cara lifted a quizzical brow, “I can’t imagine why she should do so with a fortune at stake, but go on, what other reason might there be?”

“Sadly if the real Lydia had died – but if that were the case, why should Mr Woodforde not find some poor, but perfectly respectable woman to take the part of Lydia?”

Lady Hartley-Wells intervened gruffly, “I knew Silas Woodforde and I have to tell you Verity, that the man was thoroughly unpleasant. He would probably think it a grand joke to inflict some horrid woman upon us and watch from a distance as we all struggle to cope with her vulgarity.”

“Oh,” said Verity, deflated, “But I still think we should wait until we have met her before we make our judgements.”

“Very sensible advice. I suggest we hold off making any plans or arrangements of any sort until we’ve seen the girl for ourselves. I will hold the first party at my house when I will introduce her to anyone who cares to come – I can assure you I shall have no compunction about giving her the cut direct if I need to. Embarrassment doesn’t bother a woman of my age, I’ve seen and lived through it all and survived!”

Verity noticed that poor Mrs Woodforde had remained staunchly silent, but on the brink of tears, throughout this exchange and her heart went out to the woman. She was obviously very distressed by the whole affair and Verity was determined to do her best to be especially nice to Lydia in the hope that she was Mrs Woodforde’s prodigal daughter and that the two ladies would repair and renew their relationship and live happily together in spite of all the bitter years that had gone before.

Cara and Ellen caught the heartfelt and compassionate glance Verity threw in the direction of the older lady and with a slight lift of the brow from Ellen and a moue of the mouth from Cara, they silently resolved to make sure their friend and sister did not make a fool of herself or get terribly hurt by the complicated and possibly dangerous affair.

*