A Place For Repentance (The Underwood Mysteries Book 6) (5 page)

              “I’m very sure you are going to tell me,” said the younger man amiably, not in the least put out by this plain speaking. He had lived too hard a life to take offence at anything said by a mild-mannered man like Underwood.

              “You are a fixer. You want to mend everyone around you. You were brave, but foolhardy in rescuing Major Thorneycroft, when you had no particular need to do so – he was just another soldier in battle, but you saw him in trouble and had to intervene. You are doing the same for this young woman – but you should know that it is not always possible. Some lives simply cannot be mended, no matter how hard you try.”

              Petch laughed, “Damn you, Underwood, you seem to know me better than I know myself, for all you have only just met me – but let me tell you that your homily falls on deaf ears. The moment I can arrange my affairs, I’m off on the first ship I can find bound for Australia.”

              Underwood gave a slight shrug, “I never doubted it, my dear fellow, but pray do me one favour before you leave,”

              “Anything,” said Rutherford heartily, “After all I owe you my life. It would be churlish indeed to deny you any reasonable request.”

              “Then promise me that you will not sail away from these shores before you have attended the birthday celebrations of my friend Jeremy James Thorneycroft. He attained his forty years months ago, but due to my own ill-health and your absence, the party was delayed until this summer. I cannot begin to tell you the disappointment which will ensue should you absent yourself again!”

              Rutherford smiled, “Fear not, my dear sir, it will be a good few months before I leave again. I have much to do for others before I can even consider my own feelings. If at all possible, I’d like to see my sister married to a good man before I go.”

              “Hanbury may be just the place for that eventuality, Captain. The place is positively heaving with eligible young men at this time of the year, all gathered about their elderly, rich and invalid relatives in the hope of scoring a few marks on the plus side of the ledger! If I but mention to my wife Verity that you are in search of a husband for your sister, she will be on the scent like a fox-hound!”

              They laughed together and trotted towards Dacorum-in-the-Marsh in perfect amity.

CHAPTER FIVE

(Extract from a journal discovered by C H Underwood, Winter 1829)

When my father employed X as my personal servant, little did he realize that he was signing his own death warrant.

              Of course I could not know that myself either at first, nor that my association with X would ultimately not only rid the world of the putrid scum that was my Pater, but also scores of others; bullies, liars, cheats, child killers, wife-beaters, misogynists, misanthropes.

              X was destined to start me on a career of protecting and avenging the poor, the helpless, the disadvantaged. If there was a widow cheated out of her rights, an orphan sold into the slavery and misery of unpaid toil and undeserved beatings by the workhouse, I would be there – and if I could not save them, I made sure that those who had been responsible for their downfall met a gruesome fate themselves.

              But all that came much later – after I had been blooded at my first kill.

              I can see now that perhaps he might have been a different man had my mother not died giving birth to my younger brother – but I doubt it. His was an evil that grew and matured, as the years passed he thought of ever more subtle ways to feed his perversions.

              I recall now small clues which later confirmed what I always suspected – that my mother had been one of his victims – I had no illusions that he must have been a wicked child and young man, who would have taken pleasure in tormenting servants, pets and school-fellows – his lack of real friends give credence to that! After all, which of them attended his funeral?

              She tried to hide his actions from me, to protect me, but even she succumbed in the end and left me, aged five, alone in the house in the sole power of that monster. My only comfort at the worst times, was trying to remember her, her soft hands reaching out to hold me, the scent of her as we cowered, hiding, praying that he wouldn’t find us until the worst of his anger had cooled.

              He educated me to a degree – he had to, for how could he explain his neglect to his peers had he not? But he put about the lie that I was too frail of mind, to be allowed out in society, and thus he kept me tied to him, restricted to the four walls of that dark and forbidding house. He did not know that I sneaked books from his library and saw to my own enlightenment – reading was my only escape until X came and rescued me.

CHAPTER SIX

‘Iuniores ad Labores’ – The younger people should go to work

              Rutherford did not accompany Underwood all the way back to the vicarage of St Eustace at Dacorum-in-the-Marsh, though the older man did assure his young companion that he could rely upon both Verity and Lindell Draycott to offer him a very warm welcome.

              “No, really Underwood, I do thank you most sincerely, but I have no stomach for vicarage manners just at the moment. You’ll give my compliments to your wife, of course, and tell her that I promise to play the perfect host when she comes to Pershore House for dinner.”

              “I’ll do that, Rutherford, and pray do consider my advice about speaking frankly to Cressida and Miss Fettiplace – I suspect you may be pleasantly surprised by their reactions despite your fears.”

              Rutherford smiled sadly, “I’ll certainly think about it, I can say no more than that.”

              The two gentlemen parted company and as he guided his mount along the narrow lane which led to the church, mindful of the other road-users in the hemmed-in, over-crowded thoroughfare, Underwood suddenly realized just how tired he was, but not, he reflected with some satisfaction, that bone-aching, head-thumping exhaustion to which he had grown so sadly accustomed after the slightest exertion over the past months, but the normal weariness of a man who has endured a long ride and a pleasantly active day amongst friends. It seemed that he might finally be seeing some light at the end of a very long tunnel indeed.

              The lane opened out onto a large square, across which stood the old church and beyond it the vicarage and Underwood hesitated for a moment to view, as though for the first time, the beauty of the little town. His mind had been elsewhere in the past week and he had scarcely taken note of his surroundings. It did not occur to him just then, but it was a sign of the lifting of the melancholy which had dogged his footsteps for so long.

              The church was all that remained of the monastery and its worn stones gave hints of both Norman and Saxon influences, with a squat, square tower and much carving of gargoyles and other grotesques. Underwood thought it rather charming, despite its mongrel history.

              The vicarage looked as though it too were a relic of the monastic past; probably it had been one of the working buildings, such as a dairy or more probably the guest house for visiting dignitaries. It was hard now to trace the lines of the past under the present buildings but Underwood had a few happy moments trying before dismounting and leading his hack back to the inn. After paying his shot, which was pleasingly reasonable, he wended his weary way back home, to find Verity waiting for him, her face suffused with a mixture of joy and relief. He would never know how much it had cost her to let him out of her sight for a whole day. She had grown accustomed to being responsible for his safety and she had experienced very similar feelings to a doting mother seeing her boy off to school for his first day.

              She tried to sound casual and unconcerned as she ushered him into the parlour where tea awaited him and asked him about his adventures, “So, did you find the lady, Cadmus?”

              “The lady?” he repeated slowly, sipping from a delicate china cup. This was a trick he employed when he had no idea what was being asked of him as it gave him a time to ponder the question.

              “The widow? Surely you must have found her name when you went to the Stagecoach booking office?”

              Light dawned, but he did not have the heart to tell her that he had performed this task months before to no avail. Verity had been so very proud of herself for finding a solution to the puzzle that she thought her clever husband had overlooked that he could not now tell her that it had been his very first action.

              “No use, I’m afraid, my love. She had given a false name.”

              “How could you possibly know that?” asked Verity, rather disappointed at his unenthusiastic response.

              “Because she used the classic ‘Mary Smith’,” he said cynically.

              Verity’s mouth dropped open slightly, “Wasn’t that the name used by the young lady who ended by being murdered when she came to Bracken Tor all those years ago?” she asked, referring to the time when she and Underwood had first met and had discovered the identity of a poor, unknown, headless corpse left in a bluebell wood.

              “It was. And it is used for a reason. It is probably the most common name for any woman in the land. Trying to trace a ‘Mary Smith’ is, indeed, like searching for a needle in a haystack.”

              “Oh,” said his deflated wife, and then she brightened. “But you are not going to give up, are you? You must find her now.”

              “Why?” asked Underwood bluntly, addressing himself to some bread and butter. It was another hour to dinner and he was surprisingly hungry after his ride.

              “Well, if she used a false name, then she really must have something to hide,” reasoned Verity.

              As Underwood knew very well that she did indeed have ‘something’ to hide, it was not possible for him to deny this assertion, so he prevaricated, “I suppose she must, but I fail to see how I can pursue her any further without any clues as to her name, destination and the passage of time.”

              “You’ll think of something,” said Verity serenely, ever confident of his abilities and ingenuity. “Now, tell me about the Petches – and did you see Mr Jebson?”

              Underwood was happy to change the subject and give her a full account of his day and the list of invitations he had secured for her.

              “I have some news for you too,” said Verity when his litany was over. “Lindell tells me that a troupe of players is due into town in the next few days and he has promised to take some of the young people to see the play. I assured him that you and I would be happy to act as chaperones. I know how you love your Shakespeare.”

              Underwood could not deny that adoration of the Bard, but he was not entirely sure he would particularly enjoy a visit to the theatre in the company of a host of unruly youngsters, however in view of Verity’s concession in allowing him to begin a search for the ‘widow’ he could not refuse any request from her. He forced a smile, “That sounds interesting.”

              The mention of travelling players reminded him of something he had heard earlier in the day, “As a matter of fact, I do believe I met one of the actresses in the Jebson’s shop. A Frenchwoman – though she insisted she is from Flanders. At least it seems she was telling the truth when she refused treatment because she said they were moving on to the next town.”

                If Verity was astounded by his capacity for meeting and interrogating strange women, she gave no indication of it, “Really? What a coincidence. But how came you to learn so much about the lady just from a chance meeting in an apothecary shop?”

              “Oh, it all just came out in the course of the conversation,” he said vaguely. “She was suffering from a rather nasty toothache.”

              “That accounts for her presence in the shop, but not for the telling of her life-story,” said Verity tartly. She wondered how pretty this young actress was, and exactly how long Underwood had engaged her in ‘conversation’.

              Underwood finally sensed an undercurrent of irritation in his darling wife and raised a quizzical brow at her, “My love, if I knew no better, I would swear you were jealous.”

              Verity lifted one shoulder huffily, “Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped. “I have no such feeling – but be assured, if you keep being accosted by strange women, you will find it very difficult to shake me off for a whole day again, whilst we are here!”

              He laughed, crossed the room, and lifting her chin with one careless finger, he kissed her heartily, “How sweet that after so many years of marriage, and to a decrepit old invalid like myself, I still have the wherewithal to rouse your protective instincts where predatory women are concerned.”

              Verity allowed him to kiss her, but she answered him with a snort of derision, “Do not inflate your ego too much, Cadmus, I simply think you are too old to making a fool of yourself chasing young women – so very undignified, my dear!”

              They laughed softly together and Underwood drew her to her feet, “I’m terribly tired, sweetheart. Do you think I should lie down before dinner?”

              She blushed rosily, “You are incorrigible, husband, but I will see you upstairs and settled in your bed. You have had a very long day, after all, for a decrepit old invalid.”

*

              The next few days passed uneventfully. The Underwoods received their promised invitations from the residents of West Wimpleford, as well as tickets for the theatre and Verity was able to reflect happily that the social whirl she had been longing for was finally coming to fruition. Underwood was not, perhaps, quite so enamoured of the prospective outings, but he viewed them with equanimity, since they were all with people he knew and he was not facing the agony of tedious small talk with strangers.

              The first of their appointments was the theatre and Underwood found himself looking forward to the treat, especially when he discovered that it was to be
‘Much Ado About
Nothing
’ they were to see. In his current unsteady state of mind, he didn’t think he could cope with one of the bloodier or more morbid plays.

              He was not very sure of the veracity of the French girl, Violette’s story of being an actress, until he caught sight of her on the stage. She was evidently one of the bit part players and had few lines to deliver, which turned out to be very fortunate, for it rapidly became evident that her tooth was still troubling her and she was struggling to speak clearly. His heart went out to her, especially when a few rowdy young fellows in the pit began to call out to her, “Speak up, lassie, we can’t hear you!” and other similarly discouraging pieces of advice.

              When
Benedict
gave the line, ‘
I have the toothache.’
Underwood could not help but lean into Verity and whisper, “Ironic, don’t you think?”

              She nodded soberly and whispered back, “Poor girl to be reminded of it even by the play she is appearing in.”

              He was sure that there were very few people like himself who noticed that she never appeared again after the second act, though her character should undoubtedly have been present. Shakespeare was so impenetrable to most of the audience that they barely recognised who was who and the loss of one minor character made no odds to them. Underwood was worried and so was Verity when he whispered first her identity and then her absence during the course of the play.

              “She looked terribly unwell, Cadmus,” whispered Verity, when he pointed out the missing girl, “Do you think she is in real distress? Should we go backstage and look for her?”

              “I don’t see how we can do so until the play is over. It would cause a distraction which would be grossly unfair to the other players and the audience. We will tell Lindell of our intention the moment it is over. I’m sure he can see the young people back to the vicarage alone, if necessary.”

              They were both tense for the remainder of the evening, fully aware that the young woman had looked both ill and distressed by the catcalls. Luckily it was not an overly long play and when the end came they hastily explained to Lindell of their concern for the girl. He was both worried and determined to be helpful.

              “By all means go behind the scenes and find out if the young lady is being cared for. I noticed her myself and wondered what the trouble was. I will see you later at home.”

              He shepherded his excited flock off down the street, all loudly discussing the play, comparing notes on the various actors and their good looks, the clever use of scenery and the meaning of the archaic language, while the Underwoods found their way to the back door of the theatre, down a dingy alley which smelled, for some unknown reason, strongly of fish.

              It was chaotic and rather grubby behind the facade of the stage and Underwood thought sadly of how the illusion was shattered by the reality of the human condition. In candlelight the players had looked young and vibrant, but in reality most were middle-aged or older, the greasepaint so thick that it looked as if it might crack like old plaster if their faces became too mobile. The handsome leading man would have sadly disappointed the sighing young ladies in the auditorium had they seen him close to, for he was well past his prime and complained loudly of a creaking, aching knee which he swore meant he could no longer bend it without severe pain.

              It took the interlopers a long time to find someone who could direct them to the stage manager, who seemed to be the only person who knew what had become of Violette. He was in what passed for an office and was slouched in a battered old chair, just pouring himself a well-earned and extremely large glass of blue ruin.

              “What do you want?” he asked rudely, “A bit old for begging signed playbills, aren’t you?” He leered at Verity, apparently familiar with ladies lusting after the heroes of the stage and coming backstage in search of illicit adventures.