A Place For Repentance (The Underwood Mysteries Book 6) (27 page)

              “What is going on?” she demanded.

              Thickbroome turned on her, no longer mindful of the gender of his listeners, or the presence of children.

              “Get me what I want, or by God, you’ll be sorry.”

              “What is it that you want?”

              “Laudanum.”

              Martha glanced askance at her husband, “Why are we not giving the gentleman what he requests, Mr Jebson?” she enquired formally.

              “The shop is not open. I have no ready access to any of the medicines,” answered Will, relieved to be released by Thickbroome, but still watching him cautiously in case he should attack again.

              “Nonsense. You have that great box of stuff in the cellar. Just give the man what he wants and let him leave us in peace.”

              “No,” said Will, in a surprisingly strong voice. Martha was astounded. It was not a tone he used often with her. For a moment she was tempted to chastise him for speaking thus to her, but she decided that argument could wait until they were alone. Instead she countered with her own opinion.

              “Don’t be ridiculous. We are here to serve the public. Get the medicine.”

              “It is not safe to sell that stuff,” said Will reasonably, realizing that he needed to explain himself to avoid further confrontation, “I have no idea if those bottles have the correct labels. We could be selling poison.”

              Martha was scornful of his caution and showed it in her sneer and a careless wave of her hand, “You are always too fearful, you stupid man. Why on earth should the old fellow before us change labels?”

              “He was old and confused. He could have made mistakes.”

              “I don’t care,” said Thickbroome, sensing that he was about to win his battle, “I’ll take the risk. Your wife is right.”

              “I will not do it,” said Will.

              Thickbroome took a threatening step towards him, his hand raised, and Prue, seeing her beloved father in danger suddenly ran forward and dealt the soldier the hardest blow she could muster, which unfortunately, due to her low stature, caught him right in the most vulnerable part of his anatomy. He gasped in shock and pain and was momentarily bent over and breathless. When he recovered himself a little he spoke between gritted teeth, “Get that abomination out of my sight!”

              Violette ran forward to grasp the child and drag her away from him, afraid that he would strike her. She swore at him in French and pulled Prue into the safety of her embrace.

              “So, to add to your sins, you have a French whore living under your roof!” the injured man ground out from between clenched teeth, “Does loyalty to your country mean nothing to you? Was it for this that we fought and some of us died? You make me sick. I give you fair warning, if you do not get rid of her, I swear I’ll burn the place over your heads!” He looked quite mad enough to make good his threat.

              Martha held out her hand to Will, “Give me the keys,” she said shortly. When he did not move to obey her, she approached him and reached into his pocket, taking the bunch before he could stop her.

              Within a few minutes she had gone to the cellar and returned with a bottle, which she thrust at Thickbroome.

              “Here, take it with our compliments – and I hope to God it kills you!”

              He almost snatched it from her and left the shop without another word.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

‘De Duobus Malis, Minus Est Semper Eligendum’ – When between two evils, choose the lesser one

              The only sound to be heard after the merry jingle of the bell fell away was Prue and Minta’s muffled sobbing as they both buried their faces in Violette’s gown.

              Martha cast a contemptuous glance at her husband and said in a small, hard voice, “I will give her the rest of the day to pack her things and be gone.”

              “No,” said Will swiftly. He realized, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, that he had been too emphatic when Martha’s expression altered from anger to astonishment. He swiftly marshalled his thoughts and added more gently, “I understand those threats to our children were worrying, my dear, but I will go directly and report the conversation to Constable Gratten.”

              Scorn returned as quickly as it had disappeared, “You will do no such thing. Do you think I credited that drunken fool with the courage to torch the place? What nonsense! But he can do irreparable damage to our business, if he goes out telling all and sundry that we refused to serve him.”

              It took Will a moment to understand what she was intimating and when he finally comprehended her words, he still felt he had to clarify them, “Are you saying that you are more concerned with the shop than the safety of our little girls?”

              “Of course I am. Fellows like that are all wind and water. But I’ll not risk him destroying our goodwill in this town, so the girl goes, this very day.”

              He would have admired her more had she been intimidated by the man and his threats, but it was very clear to Will that she was made of sterner stuff than that. It was borne upon him that she was more than willing to risk all their lives than offend someone who could damage her ability to make money.

              An emotion swept over him that he never thought to feel about any human being, much less his wife, the woman who shared his bed and had given birth to his children. For a moment he thought it was hate, but as he looked into her face, her features set and determined, with no hint of kindness or compassion, he suddenly understood that he did not hate her, but he despised her to the very depth of his being.

              “I will not turn Violette out onto the street when she has done nothing wrong,” he said, his voice was quiet, but brooked no argument.

              “You will do as you are told,” his wife answered, squaring her shoulders and thrusting her face towards him, vindictive and totally unimpressed by his stand.

              Anger flooded him now. He had always known that secretly she held him in disdain and saw him as her inferior, a man who would be nothing if she had not deigned to marry him, but they had both managed to maintain an illusion that she at least respected his position as the man of the house. That pretence was now swept away.

              “If Violette goes, I go with her.”

              Martha laughed, a cruel sound with no mirth in it only the confidence of a woman who held all the cards and knew how to use them, “Go with my blessing, you fool, but you leave behind everything you hold dear, including my children.”

              Violette saw the agony this inflicted and she slowly drew herself up to her full height, gently removing the girls from her clasp, “There is no need for this quarrel, Mr Jebson, I shall go now and get my things. I do not have much to pack.”

              Martha sneered as she passed her in the doorway, “And don’t take anything that doesn’t belong to you,” she snapped as the girl tried to slip away without allowing even the hem of her dress to touch the older woman.

              Will hesitated only a second before he followed Violette out of the shop and up the stairs.

              Martha almost called him back, but Prue and Minta were sobbing so loudly now, almost hysterical with a grief that they did not fully understand, that she had no choice but to try and pacify them before they descended into convulsions.

              Violette had run so swiftly up the two flights of stairs that she was already in her little attic room under the eaves before Will caught up with her. She was crying quietly as she opened the chest at the bottom of her small truckle bed and began to throw the contents onto the bed, ready to tie them into a bundle.

              Will stood at the door, unsure what he could say or do. None of the actions he longed to take were acceptable between a married man and a dismissed servant, and he hovered, feeling unmanned and torn by sadness, anger and confusion.

              “Violette, I am so sorry …” he managed to say at last, his voice husky.

              She turned to him, wiping away her tears with a shaking hand, “Oh, my dearest one, I know this is not your doing.”

              Her sad smile held not a hint of resentment, no blame or anger and it almost broke his heart to see her so courageously facing her return to a life of deprivation, misery and very probably violence.

              “I cannot let you go …” he whispered.

              She crossed the room and took his hands in hers, “You must, for those two little girls need you here. I shall be … well enough.”

              “My dear, I cannot do much for you, but I can at least find you another haven.” He was suddenly determined not to let Martha win this battle, “Bundle up your things. I shall go and hire a carriage. I will take you to Windward House. The Underwoods will help to find you a place to go.”

              Her smile was a little less tremulous, “Yes, Mrs Underwood is so very kind. She will help, I’m sure.”

              “Of course she will,” he said warmly, relieved to think that she was not going far away. At the Underwoods, he would still be able to see her from time to time …

*

              Underwood, who had always had the uneasy feeling that he was going to acquire a French governess for his daughters at some point, was fortunately not at home when Violette and Will arrived, distraught and dishevelled. He did not see Verity welcome them with open arms and bring them indoors, insisting on giving Will tea before he drove back into town, and assuring the unhappy French girl that she could stay as long as she needed to and that Windward House must be her home until she felt able to move on.

              He would discover the arrival of his inconvenient houseguest much later in the day, for he was with Toby in Braxton, seeking the bawdy house which he had been assured was the abode of the mythical ‘Miss’ Mills.

              To say he was the one who unearthed the address was somewhat inaccurate – Toby had actually been sent to ascertain where the ladies could be found, since he was much more at home in such company and could be sure of getting the information. In those circles a man like Underwood would have been viewed with suspicion. The underworld did not easily give each other up to the law – and though he was no such thing, Underwood was very much seen as a representative of the law in the district.

              His first instinct had been to allow the dust to settle after the visit by the Wablers and perhaps seek the ladies the following day, but common sense told him that should a whisper of his interest reach their ears, the birds would have flown by the time he reached them – if they had not done so already.

              It would not take Toby above an hour to drive him to Braxton and back, well in time for dinner – and even if he were delayed, Verity would be accommodating, as she always was when he had a case.

              Though only four miles away from Hanbury, Braxton could not have been more different. The small village of Hanbury had grown to be a place of pleasure and healing, thanks to the discovery early in the previous century of the spa waters, and a great deal of money had been invested in turning it into a haven for the rich.

              Braxton however, was a place of manufacture due to the deep and fast flowing nature of the river Han at that point. It was slightly lower in the hills than the Spa, so the waters had chance to widen and grow more muscular, ideal for turning machinery and supplying unlimited water and so its banks housed mills and factories. For this reason alone it had a greater population than Hanbury, but rather less finesse.

              The Dandy Cock failed miserably to live up to its name. A dandy would have died rather than present the unkempt and insalubrious aspect it offered. As to its other name, Underwood preferred not to speculate.

              An older woman who saw them enter sidled across to ask, “What’s your pleasure my fine gentlemen?” and cast an especially coquettish glance at Toby, who was a handsome man, as well as bearing a fine figure.

She pretended to know nothing of ‘Miss’ Mills or her ‘mother, but the fact that the blood drained from her face, leaving two bright spots of rouge standing out clearly against her pallor, told Underwood that he had found at least one of his quarry.

              “You have little to fear, madam,” he assured her kindly. “Neither you nor the young lady have done anything terribly erroneous that I can see. You gained no monetary benefit from your façade, so no law was broken, but a man did lose his life after associating with you, and that is a serious matter, so I need you to answer some questions.”

              The way her eyes darted from one side of the tap room to the other, as though planning her escape, told Underwood that he had been wise not to delay his visit. If Toby had not been effectively blocking the main doorway, his face impassive, his arms folded across his broad chest, she would have burst past her questioner and be gone already.

              She listened to Underwood then looked pleadingly at Toby, “Does the man not speak plain English?”

              Toby grunted, “He means you might not go to gaol if you answer his questions honestly,” he said succinctly.

              “But I don’t know nuthin’,” she whined piteously, “I don’t even know who ‘e’s talkin’ about. I never heard of no Miss Mills.”

              “We have it on very good authority that you are mendacious, madam,” said Underwood severely.

              “Lying through your teeth,” translated Toby.

              She seemed to grow tired to prevarication and suddenly sighed and sank onto a convenient bench.

              “All right, you win. I don’t know why I’m denying it, anyway. I ain’t done nuthin’ wrong, you said so yourself.”

              Underwood was about to open his mouth and explain that he had intimated nothing of the kind and she was, in fact, very probably in serious trouble, possibly as an accessory to murder, but Toby sent him a warning glance and gave a slight shake of his head. If they wanted information to be forthcoming, it would perhaps be better to withhold threats of future prosecution, thought Underwood, for once deciding that discretion was the better part of valour.

              “Should we not have Miss Mills here too?” he asked, since she had noticed his attempt to speak and the sudden change of mind.

              “Miss Mills is indisposed, sir,” said the woman, with a knowing grin.

              “I’m sorry to hear that. Mayhap she is well enough to come downstairs?”

              Toby gave an impatient sigh, “Underwood, the lady is not ill, but she is in bed,” he explained.

              Underwood looked blank for a moment, then recalled the sort of place he was in and sank into silence.

              “Tell us your tale, and make it quick,” Toby added, addressing the woman, “And no fairy stories, either, if you want to stay out of the House of Correction!”

              “It’s a simple enough tale. A fellow came to find us one night, three or four weeks back, asked if we wanted to earn some easy money. Well, who doesn’t? Mark you, we had no idea what he had in mind. If we’d known it was a murder he was plannin’ it would have sent us runnin’ in the other direction.”

              “Quite,” murmured Underwood, “But what precisely did he want of you?”

              “We were to dress up fine – he gave us the money to buy the clothes and paid for the hotel we stayed in. Then we were to get to know the soldiers well enough to learn their names. There was a special signal we were to give when we found that Pennyfather fellow. Tilly, that’s my companion, was to rap him on the arm with her fan, frequent like, so that he would see her – said he would be watching. She was to get so friendly with him so that he thought he was in with a chance. The man said he would take care of the rest.”

              Underwood looked thoughtful. It seemed innocuous enough. No wonder the women had not suspected foul play. The plan was probably to use Miss Mills’ name to entice Pennyfather to the place where he was killed. No note was found on his body, but that would take no time at all to remove.

              “You were not told to cause a disagreement between Swann and Pennyfather?” he asked, wondering where the younger man had come into the plot.

              “No, that was Tilly using her noddle. A bit of competition always makes the gentlemen more keen.”

              So it was not intended to frame Swann for the murder; that had probably been a fortuitous circumstance for the murderer.