Yield Not To Misfortune (The Underwood Mysteries Book 5) (8 page)

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Felicitas Habet Multos Amicos” – Prosperity has many friends

The residents of Hanbury would have been astounded if they had seen Underwood abroad so early the next morning. No one who knew him well expected to see him breakfasted and dressed before noon. However his early rising caused no stir in Wimpleford for it seemed everyone was up and busy. The stagecoach left at the crack of dawn and once the drivers and passengers were awake it was not long before everyone else followed suit – they did not go about their business quietly.

Due to his adventure of the day before, Underwood already knew where to find the apothecary shop, so he went there directly, checking first to see if he had unwanted company. However, either Luckhurst had found himself a better agent who could hide himself from the man he was following, or he had decided to leave Underwood to his own devices.

Hopeful of not been overheard Underwood entered the shop and asked to speak to the owner, who came out of the back room, eyeing his visitor warily, “We don’t want any trouble, sir, if you don’t mind.”

Underwood’s expression was one of pained innocence, “Trouble? My good fellow, what can you possibly mean by that?”

“It was you, wasn’t it, who caused the brawl outside my shop?”

“Brawl?” repeated Underwood, apparently scandalized, “I accidently nudged some poor fellow in the face, then asked you to care for him before taking myself off by the back way in case he had thoughts of revenge. I’m deeply offended by the very notion that I might be the sort of rackety individual who fights in the street.”

“That’s not the story Gabe Muir is telling,” offered the man cynically, though Underwood was not quite sure which version of events caused his scepticism.

“I’m sure it is not,” said Underwood, “but tell me sir, if you bettered in a fight by the likes of me and preferred to see yourself as something of a bruiser, wouldn’t you claim that I had attacked you before you had chance to put up your guard?”

The man laughed, “Gabe has always been a liar and a bully – and he’s been worse than ever in recent times, so all things considered, I reckon you might be telling the truth at that. Now, you asked to speak to me? What can I do for you?”

“Is there somewhere private we can talk?”

The apothecary raised an eyebrow, but in his line of work he was quite used to gentlemen asking to speak ‘privately’ though he had to admit that his usual client for this sort of consultation did not generally resemble someone like Underwood.

“Certainly, sir, this way.” With a flick of his finger he indicated to his assistant, who had been busily dusting the shelves and myriad bottles, that he was now in charge of the shop. Evidently it was a code easily understood by the lad, for he left off his task and took his position behind the counter, though the shop, Underwood was pleased to notice, was currently empty of any customers.

Underwood followed him through the curtained entrance to the back room and from there they turned left and into another smaller, much cosier room, with a tiny range which held a bubbling kettle.

“Just in time for tea,” said his host, “By the way, might I know the name of the man who finally taught Gabe Muir a lesson in manners?”

Underwood correctly identified this person as himself and gave his name, held out his hand to shake the apothecary’s and asked to provided with that gentleman’s name.

“I’m Jebson, William Jebson. Most people call me Will.”

Underwood was about to say, “Well, Will,” then realized how ridiculous it would sound and hastily amended it to, “I hope you can help me, Will.”

“I’ll do my best, Mr Underwood. I presume your little problem is something you would rather your wife didn’t find out about?”

Underwood was completely mystified and it showed on his face, “I beg your pardon? What has my wife to do with the matter, pray?”

It was bourn upon Will that he might possibly have taken a firm grip on the wrong end of the stick, “Is this not a health matter, sir?”

“Certainly not, I’ve never been better,” said Underwood, then blushed to the roots of his hair when the light dawned and he finally understood what exactly the apothecary had been assuming was wrong with him. He was rarely wrong-footed but this completely threw him. He forced a short laugh and attempted to recover his equanimity, “I see we are speaking at cross-purposes, my friend. Shall we begin again?”

“Please do,” said Will, equally nonplussed. In twenty years of serving the public he had never mistaken anyone quite so badly, or felt such embarrassment.

“I understand that you provide laudanum for Miss Greenhowe of Pershore House.”

Will had thought he could not possibly feel more uncomfortable than he just had, but this remark of Underwood’s obviously hit a nerve for his face lost all expression, “My business relies upon my showing discretion, Mr Underwood, so I could not possibly answer that question.”

“Then don’t answer it. I know it to be a fact. Quite apart from any other consideration, you have the only such shop in the district. Unless Mr Luckhurst is prepared to travel afar to get his Aunt’s medication, he could not find it anywhere else.”

This vouchsafed no response but Underwood was undeterred, “I will ask no further questions, Will,” he added kindly.

“Good, because you will get no answers.”

“I need none, I simply need you to listen to my request and see if you can find it in your conscience to help me.”

“Listening costs nowt,” said the apothecary, but his expression was implacable. He did not look like a man who was preparing himself to be reasonable, but Underwood went on. This was his last throw of the dice and he badly needed a small amount of luck in order to be able to continue with his investigation.

“Believe me when I say that I understand that Mr Luckhurst holds this town in a grip which it will not be easy to break. Sadly in this world, money talks louder than love, loyalty, courage and anything else you can think of. I know it must seem to all of you who are in his thrall that there is nothing you can do against him, but I am here to assure you that I intend to fight him – and I fully intend to win.”

“You’ll be lucky, my friend,” said Jebson bitterly, “Since he took over his Aunt’s estate, he has made it clear that anyone who opposes him can wave goodbye to any business which comes from Pershore House and any of his cronies who live here about – and that is a lot of trade, let me tell you. Not only that, the Greenhowes own at least half the properties in the town, so anyone renting from them can expect to find themselves evicted if he doesn’t like the look of you.”

“But he hasn’t inherited yet – and if I can prove Rutherford Petch’s innocence, he never will.”

Will Jebson smiled for the first time since Luckhurst’s name had been mentioned, “Ah, Mr Rutherford, he was a lad and a half! He would have dealt fairly, that’s for sure.”

“Then help me get him back from his sojourn in Australia.”

Underwood could see the man was wavering, “I want to, Mr Underwood, I really do. But I have a wife and a family to provide for. If Luckhurst discovered I was going against him, that would be my livelihood gone.”

“He need never know, that’s the beauty of my scheme. I’m trusting you now, Will, for I know you could go straight to Luckhurst and tell him what I ask of you, but I’m guessing you will not.”

“Try me,” said the man tersely.

“I believe Luckhurst is dosing his Aunt with excessive amounts of laudanum. I’m guessing he buys a great deal of the stuff from you.”

“More than he ought to need,” said Will.

“Then all you need to do is decrease the dose. He’ll never know – or at least he won’t suspect until it is too late. I need to speak to the old lady – but I need to do so while she has a clear head.”

“From what I’ve heard, she never has a clear head,” was the reply.

“Slightly clearer, then,” countered Underwood, “I just need to get through to her just exactly what Luckhurst is up to – and if possible, get her to remember what she did with the Greenhowe diamonds.”

Will looked down at his hands, which were clenched so tight his knuckles showed white against the dark stuff of his trousers. He debated with himself for several longs seconds, during which Underwood held his breath, almost as though the sound of his intake of air would upset the delicate balancing of clashing principles churning in the apothecary’s mind.

“I’ll do it,” he said at last, quiet, but determined, “That devil is going to kill the old woman one of these days anyway, and if it’s found to be the laudanum, you can be sure he will see to it that it’s me in dangling in the Magistrate’s picture frame and not him!”

Underwood was absolutely sure that this graphic way of describing a judicial hanging was indeed the price Will would be called upon to pay – Luckhurst was too clever at covering his tracks not to let someone else take the blame – the only thing that puzzled him was why he had not killed the old lady already. He already held the winning cards, so why keep her alive?

Unless, of course, he did not hold the winning hand.

The story he was putting about was that he had replaced Rutherford Petch as Miss Greehowe’s heir and that he had offered for Cressida Petch’s hand in marriage simply to keep her from penury. But that did not make sense from a man who had shown not one shred of compassion for anyone, including his poor Aunt, who was being drugged into insensibility and systematically robbed of her property and power.

His actions made more sense if one was to imagine that Miss Petch was still the heiress and Luckhurst needed to secure her hand before he could claim everything in her name. Toft had been displaced because he held the original will, naming Rutherford followed by Cressida. There was no new will, that was why Miss Greenhowe had been allowed to keep her tenuous hold on life.

It became more and more imperative that Underwood secure an interview with Miss Greenhowe, and that the old lady have full use of her faculties during that meeting.

“Will, go now and make up a special batch of medication for Miss Greenhowe – one that contains no opium.”

“But they had a full bottle sent for yesterday from Pershore House, it will be at least a couple of days before they need more.”

“Leave that to me. Just have it ready and make sure there is no mistake. I need that placebo!”

As he had the day before, Underwood found himself sneaking out of the apothecary shop by the back door – it was as well he did, because Gabe Muir was indeed searching the main street for him, having risen late, with a hangover, but more afraid of Luckhurst’s anger than the pain in his throbbing head.

Underwood went back to the inn and wrote a polite letter of farewell to Miss Petch, telling her that he was leaving that afternoon on the stage bound northwards and that he was sorry to have missed wishing her goodbye.

He could only hope that Luckhurst made sure that he read the missive and that Miss Fettiplace would catch the subtle invitation to attend him before he ‘left’ for home.

*

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Fama Volat” – Rumour travels fast

Within an hour of his note being despatched to Pershore House in the grubby hands of a stable boy, Underwood was astounded to find not just Miss Fettiplace waiting for him in the private parlour of the inn, but also Miss Petch, pink cheeked and breathless, looking very pretty in a pale lilac dress with puffed sleeves and a shawl of a darker shade of the same colour draped over her elbows. Her bonnet was trimmed with violets to complete the picture.

“Oh, Mr Underwood,” she gasped as he entered the room, having been summoned by the landlord, “I simply could not let you go without hearing what news you have for me. You said you would not desert my brother, so I cannot believe that you are going home.”

He took her outstretched hands in his own and spoke gently to her as he would to a restive horse, “Be calm, Miss Petch, and take a seat. Tell me, are you ladies alone?”

“If you mean is my cousin Ormund with us, you need not concern yourself. For once I told him firmly that I intended to see you before you go and he agreed it would be a good thing to take leave of you.”

“He was shocked rigid,” said Miss Fettiplace with grim amusement, “she turned on him like a wildcat and he backed down immediately, saying that it could do no harm, since you were going – to the devil, he hoped!”

“Bullies are usually cowards,” commented Underwood, “However, I would not be too sure he has not set someone to spy on us, so we must take care what we say.”

Miss Petch looked fearfully about her as though she expected cloaked assassins to creep from every alcove and doorway, “Do you really think so?” she whispered.

“Yes, I do,” said Underwood frankly, “Therefore let us go for a walk. Is there a park nearby where we could stroll? In the open it is very difficult for someone to hover close enough to listen to our conversation.”

“Yes, indeed there is. And not very far.”

“Then lead the way.”

As promised the park was nearby and the river ran through it, so once Underwood felt they were far enough away from any trees or bushes which might hide eavesdroppers, and the sound of the running water also covered their conversation, he reassured the two ladies that far from deserting them, he was in fact trying to trick Luckhurst into showing his hand.

“My dear Miss Petch, I have every reason to believe that your cousin has been lying to you about your Aunt’s will. You must not, on any account, accept his offer of marriage – unless, of course, he is your heart’s desire.”

She shuddered dramatically, “Oh dear me, no! He repels me.”

“Good, then, in that at least, you show good sense.”

She was affronted and showed it, “Do you think I have not shown good sense in other ways, sir?” she asked loftily.

“My dear goose, you have been a fool from beginning to end, but let us not list your failings here and now, there is not time.”

“Oh,” she uttered, quite crushed, “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean by that. And how you can presume to judge when you hardly know me?”

Miss Fettiplace smiled condescendingly and patted her hand as though to offer solace, “Mr Underwood is quite right, my love. You should never have allowed Ormund over the doorstep, let alone give him free access to your aunt and her business affairs. You had been left in charge but you allowed that odious little viper to convince you that you did not have the intelligence or authority to run the estate, but the truth was you had been running it for Rutherford for years.”

“Oh,” said Miss Petch again, humiliated to be thus castigated, but determined to excuse herself, “but how could I know he would take such unfair advantage? We are family after all.”

“Family are the most dangerous of all, Miss, when they choose to be,” said Underwood curtly, “They know every secret and have no compunction about using them.”

“Very well,” she said, tears hovering near, but bravely held back, “I accept this whole sorry mess is entirely of my own making, but it would be more useful now to tell me how to put it right.”

“I have but one thing to ask of you, Miss Petch. I assume you are allowed to see your Aunt? You are not entirely banished from her bedside?”

“Oh no, I often read to her. It calms her and helps her to fall asleep.”

“Excellent! Your task, then, is to break or spill her bottle of laudanum – preferably break it so that there is no chance of any remnants left in the vial.”

“Why on earth should I want to do such a thing?” she asked, quite shocked by the request.

“Because I believe your cousin is giving her too strong a dose with the direct objective of keeping her sedated and under his control.”

“Oh,” she said and seemed inclined to argue, but on second thoughts she recognized the truth of his assertion, “Is that all you need me to do, then?” she added briskly.

“For now. I shall return home for a week, then I will be back. There are people I need to see. Under no circumstances allow your cousin to guess that I intend to visit again, or that I am pursuing your interests still. When I come again in a sennight, I shall require access to your Aunt so if you can think of a way of getting me into the house and your cousin out of the way for a few hours, then that would be extremely helpful.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“In that case I shall bid you farewell. Please, please be careful. Luckhurst is a dangerous man. If he presses his suit whilst I am gone – and I have reason to believe he will, then do not accept him, but equally do not reject him. Tell him you need more time to arrange your affairs. If he thinks for one moment you have no desire to marry him, I fear your life and that of your aunt could very well be in jeopardy.”

Both ladies looked pale and shocked, “Do you really think so, Mr Underwood?” asked Miss Fettiplace tearfully.

“Yes, I do. I cannot emphasise strongly enough how serious this matter has become – and that is due, I’m sorry to say, to my arrival in town. Luckhurst had all the time in the world to bring his plans to fruition before my advent. Now, he knows his luck is running out. But on no account let him know that you feel any differently about him than you ever have.”

It was two chastened ladies who made their way back to Pershore House.

Underwood, meanwhile, went back to the inn and made his preparations to leave on the afternoon stagecoach. It meant that he would not get home before midnight, and more than travelling in daylight, he despised the danger of the roads lit only by moonlight and lanterns on the vehicle, but it could not be helped.

When he descended to the hallway, followed by a porter with his luggage, he found that he was not the only late passenger. Two women and three gentlemen were also awaiting the sounding of the long horn which was the signal to climb aboard.

All was bustle in the yard as the horses were changed for fresh animals and the driver took a moment to swallow a pint of ale offered to him by the landlord. Only then were the travellers invited to clamber into the coach, but not before Underwood had caught sight of his old adversary, lurking around the side of the stables, but instantly recognisable due to his two black eyes. His attacker mused wryly that he must have hit the bridge of the man’s nose rather harder than he had intended to have caused such damage. He assumed the purpose of his attendance at the departure of the coach was to report back to his master that Underwood had, indeed, taken the stage to Hanbury.

When he boarded the coach Underwood was relieved to see that for once the vehicle would not be overburdened with either luggage or passengers riding on the seats outside as well as those within. The interior of the stagecoach could comfortably seat six persons; with some discomfort, seating could be pushed to eight. When added to those outside this could make the coach top-heavy and liable to overturning. Underwood had no wish to end his journey with a broken collar-bone, if not worse. And he certainly preferred not to be squashed up against a stranger for the long hours of bumpy, trundling over great distances of unmade roads.

He was presented with another dilemma as he heaved himself into the carriage, for the two ladies had taken the forward facing seats, the three gentlemen courteously travelling with their backs to the horses. Underwood preferred to face forward, but it meant sitting with the two ladies, which he was always reluctant to do for several reasons, chief amongst them being a disinclination to indulge in idle chit chat. Ladies always seemed to want to tell him their life stories on long journeys and worse still, they expected him to disclose his own deepest secrets.

He hesitated only for a moment – all in all, facing forward was the lesser of two evils, since he could be sure of motion sickness if he went backwards all the way to Hanbury. The two women judging from their dress and demeanour, were probably mistress and servant, so he could claim the window seat from the slightly older woman and let her sit next to her employer, with only the slightest pang of conscience. He comforted himself with the thought that the servant was lucky to be travelling inside – if the coach had been loaded to its full capacity, she could very well have found herself on one of the outside seats, unless some kind gentleman gave over his seat to her. Even on the stage, social position was all important.

He had barely taken his seat when the horn sounded and they were away, the coach lurching from side to side and it turned a tight circle to get out of the yard, its springs squeaking in protest, the wheels rumbling over the cobbles and the horses’ hooves clattering against the stones.

There was little conversation at first as everyone grew accustomed to the swaying and the noise of the coach, but gradually a few comments and pleasantries were exchanged and Underwood was happy to note that neither lady seemed particularly inclined to talk, either to each other or anyone else. He dared to hope that his ride home might be a peaceful one after all.

His character being a naturally curious one, he could not help but take a few minutes to observe his fellow passengers and make a guess as to their occupations and perhaps even the reason for their journey, though he was not likely to find out if his conjecture was correct, for he had no intention of questioning any of them. To do so would be to invite similar confidences from himself.

The man sat directly opposite, also in a window seat, was evidently a clerk or some kind, if the ink stains on his fingers gave any indication. Most people had a little ink somewhere on their hands, as using a dip pen or quill was a messy business, but this man would seem to use a pen for a good part of his day and seemingly could not be bothered to scrub it away, which meant he considered it a waste of time since the stains would simply be renewed. He had a slightly harried air, and his clothing was dark, shabby but of hard-wearing stuff which spoke of limited resources. He was probably running an errand for a demanding employer.

The gentleman in the middle seat, who did not look particularly happy about it, was a little older than the first, probably in his thirties rather than his twenties. He was portly and also dressed in darkish garb, though not so severe in style as the clerk. Underwood thought he looked like a schoolmaster or a private tutor, perhaps on his way to a new job, if his pair of trunks, noted by Underwood when the coachman was loading his own valise, was anything to go by.

The third was very elderly, wisps of white hair showing beneath his hat, which he did not, unlike the other gentlemen, remove for the duration of the journey. Underwood guessed a widower going to visit a married daughter – though he had no evidence for this assumption, it merely seemed likely and was as good a story as any other.

His oversight in not taking off his hat in the presence of the ladies, reminded Underwood that his own fawn-coloured curly-brimmed beaver was still on his head.  He was still getting used to wearing a hat. It was a new acquisition, for in his University days he had dispensed with hats, gloves, walking sticks, anything, in fact, which he was liable to lose. This helped to perpetuate the absent-minded persona he affected and used to great effect as a protection against the expectations of his colleagues. He found life far less demanding when everyone assumed his vagueness meant that he often failed to do what was required of him. He found his claim of ‘my lamentable memory’ saved him a deal of trouble. However, since he had been married to Verity, he had discovered that not only was she not in the least fooled by his apparent distraction, she also insisted that he dress in a manner which reflected his new status. His previous dark garb had meant that he had more than once been mistaken for a clergyman like his brother. This had entailed several very painful and tedious shopping expeditions and faced with having to go on a similar trek should he lose any item, he had suddenly discovered that he was not quite so careless with his property.

He rested the hat on his knees and took the opportunity to look at the two ladies as he did so.

And discovered that they were far more intriguing than the gentlemen.

*