A Place For Repentance (The Underwood Mysteries Book 6) Read online

  She wished that Mr Jebson did not look so very unhappy at the prospect of dining outdoors with herself and the little girls. She had grown to like and admire him for his kindness, his infinite patience and his self-deprecating sense of humour, which, despite the fraught atmosphere in the house, had shown itself once or twice and she hated the feeling that she was adding to his woes in some undefined way.

  He made every effort to be enthusiastic in the face of his exuberant daughters, “Well, I’m here at last. Where are we going to eat?”

  Violette smiled down at the giggling, dancing Prue and Minta, “Shall we show papa our secret place?”

  Clapped hands and renewed laughter greeted this and the girls each grabbed a hand and began to draw their father across the little lane and a few hundred yards away from the cottage. When they reached a rickety wooden gate, they pointed and shouted, “Over here, papa, over here!”

  He knew that over the gate and into the meadow beyond they were actually straying onto the Petch estate, but he hardly supposed Rutherford or Cressida would mind. If the odious Luckhurst had still been in charge, he wouldn’t have been surprised to find man-traps and armed gamekeepers, but all was safe there now.

  Violette handed him the basket to hold whilst she climbed over the barrier. He blushed and turned his face away as she reached the top and granted a flash of stockinged leg and lacy petticoats. Once she was over, she bade him pass the basket then help the girls to join her.

  Prue climbed confidently, her stocky body and short legs made short work of the task, but Minta was slightly plumper and when she reached the top she found her leading foot dangling in mid-air and she failed to find a foothold. She teetered dangerously for a few seconds then let go with a scream of thrilled fright as if she could not quite decide whether to be scared or not.

  Will, with an exclamation of horror, rushed forward to try and save her, but he need not have feared. Violette was waiting with open arms and caught her easily as she slid off the top of the gate.

  “Whew, Minta, you are getting to be a big girl. I can hardly hold you,” she said with a laugh, setting the child firmly on her feet. “Come, Mr Jebson, your turn next. But don’t fall like Minta. I shan’t be able to catch you. I think you would squash me flat!”

  The two girls squealed with delight at this sally and Will gave a ghost of a smile, slowly thawing towards the girl who was giving his children so much joy.

  They set off across the field, Minta and Prue running ahead, the two adults following at a more leisurely pace. Will wondered where they were headed, but apparently his daughters knew exactly where they wanted to go and made a beeline for the trees at the edge of the meadow.

  He was enchanted when they finally reached their destination, for their chosen spot was a small patch of soft and tender grasses, dotted with wild flowers of every colour. It was almost a tiny island, for the river gave a huge meander just at that point, then curved back upon itself, leaving this tiny oasis, skirted by a copse of young trees which allowed the dappled sunlight to paint the whole magical place in gold with purple and green shadows. The river there was slowed by the sharp bends and flowed with a soft gurgle, its surface only occasionally disturbed by a sudden plop and ripple caused by a trout catching flies.

  The French woman had come prepared. She spread a rug upon the ground and began to unpack the food, whilst the girls chased butterflies and talked non-stop to each other in their own odd little language, unintelligible to the grown-ups, but which seemed to make perfect sense to them.

  Will sat on the opposite side of the blanket, leaving a wide space between them, but he was unable to hide his interest in the contents of the basket. He suddenly realized how hungry he was, having eschewed breakfast in his eagerness to catch Rutherford Petch before he left for his interminable rounds of his estate.

  Violette seemed to read his mind, for she remarked, “Lucy has given us some nice things to eat. She was very nice about making us luncheon, but she would not come with us, even though I asked her to.”

  She sounded a little sad about the unrelenting enmity of the younger girl and Will felt he had to say something comforting, though he hardly believed his own words.

  “I’m sure she will eventually come to accept you, Violette. But she was devastated by her brother’s death. They had no one else in the world but each other.”

  She nodded, “I know how that feels. Sadly I did not even have a brother.”

  The apothecary thought it tragic that the two women could not find comfort in each other when they had so much in common. He could only hope that Violette would eventually work her charm on Lucy as she had on himself.

  The rug was soon spread with goodies and Prue and Minta were called to come and eat. They needed no second bidding. Pork pie and pickles, bread and cheese, fruit cake and a jug of fresh, creamy milk satisfied the little ones but Will’s eyes widened with surprise when his companion produced a bottle of wine from the basket and handed him a corkscrew and two glasses.

  “Where on earth did you get this?” he asked, as he obligingly struggled to extract the cork.

  “I happened to meet le Capitaine, when he was out riding and he asked me if there was anything I missed from home. I told him I enjoyed a glass of wine and he sent half a dozen bottles from his cellar.”

  “That was kind,” said Will, trying not to sound, or indeed, feel, disgruntled by this overwhelming generosity. It was easy enough for a rich man to make grand gestures, but where did that leave mere mortals? And why did he care that Violette was apparently quite taken with the handsome, young soldier?

  As soon as they had finished eating, Prue and Minta were off again, picking flowers, blowing dandelion clocks, paddling in the river. Will had intended to eat his meal and then leave the ladies to their afternoon of entertainment whilst he returned to work, but the wine had made him a little tipsy and he found himself wondering if it was so very vital that he went back to his shop. Joe, after all, was going to be left in charge in a few weeks’ time, so let him begin now.

  He lay back and watched the clouds, huge and billowing and promising rain later, but too high just yet to be threatening. There was a skylark soaring above them and as it dropped its notes, like the tinkling of raindrops falling from above, Will thought that though life was often hard, even cruel, and almost always full of difficulties, there could be moments of pure happiness like this one. He was full of delicious food, drowsy with good wine and he could hear his children playing, laughing, dabbling in the water, with a woman who loved them, enjoyed talking to them and accepted their splashing with good grace and humour.

  He just wished there could be more times like this, instead of relentless slog, worry and misery. He wanted to be a man who was grateful and contented and until a few days ago he would have considered himself to be at least fortunate, but suddenly his heart ached with longing for something more.

  He closed his eyes and began to drift into a comfortable snooze, only to be rudely awoken by a dead weight landing on his stomach causing an explosive exhalation of all the air in his lungs. He was instantly alert and looked down to find a giggling Minta lying on top of him.

  “Wake, papa! No sleep, play!” was her imperious command and he obediently dragged himself back to the present and with a groan rose to his feet. There followed a mad half an hour of chasing, rolling in the grass and laughing, which Violette was delighted to join in, though Will was careful to avoid chasing or catching her.

  Eventually the tired children were glad to lie down on the rug and allowed their father to fold the spare side over them and they both closed their eyes, though there was still a lot of whispering a giggling going on for a good few minutes after they were supposed to have settled.

  As the rug was now being utilized, Violette and Will sat on the grass and they both looked at the river, rather than each other, getting their breath back and busy with their own thoughts.

  Will was startled when Violette suddenly spoke, for he had been deep in a br
own study and enjoying the sudden peace.

  “This is how childhood should be,” she said softly, almost to herself.

  He smiled, “I cannot disagree with that,” he said, “though sadly it is rare enough in this world. I sometimes envy my daughters, for they will never truly understand the harshness of life – well, not if I have anything to do with it.”

  Violette looked at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears, “They are lucky to have you. Would that my father had cared half as much.”

  Every instinct was screaming at him not to pursue this conversation, knowing that he would not be able to dismiss from his memory anything that she might confide, but still he said, “I gather you did not enjoy a carefree youth, Violette?”

  She laughed bitterly, “Hardly. My father was the worst sort of bounder. He seduced my mother away from her home and family and only agreed to marry her to spare their shame when they had paid him a considerable sum of money. Her father paid but he refused to forgive her and they never met again. I spent my formative years in France, but the revolution had impoverished him and it pleased him to blame me for all his misfortunes, though I was not even born when the Terror came. When my mother died I was at his mercy for several years until he too died. My mother’s English family were the only relatives I had left, so I came here seeking a reconciliation, but to no avail. They too rejected me and I was left in a strange country, destitute and without any means of earning my living. The rest you know.”

  Will felt that he hardly did know the rest, but he made no demur. It was, perhaps, best that he remained in ignorance of her sad tales. He was certainly aware of enough to feel pity for her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, inadequately.

  She shook her head, “All history now,” she said briskly, wondering why this lovely day had engendered these unhappy memories. Such morose stuff should be left firmly in the past.

  “But what of you? It must have been idyllic, growing up in this lovely place?”

  He gave an ironic half-smile, “Idyllic? Not quite. Though I can hardly complain of anything like your hardships. It was the same story as for so many others. Too many ambitions, too little money to fulfil them. Miss Greenhowe made sure all the village children were taught to read and write by the vicar’s wife. It was kindly meant but it gave me ideas above my station. I wanted to be a doctor, but it could never be. The best I could hope for was to be taken on as an apprentice by the apothecary, and that, thank goodness, came to pass. I have much to be grateful for, especially to Mrs Jebson and her father, who had no other children and without whom I could never have hoped to own a thriving business.”

  Violette had the oddest sensation that he was not only telling her this, but also reminding himself of it.

  “Not just one shop, of course, but soon to be two,” she said in an encouraging tone, feeling the need to dispel the air of melancholy that seemed to hover over him, like wisps of cloud before the sun.

  “Yes,” he responded, non-committally.

  “I suppose I must look for another place when you leave for Hanbury. Mrs Jebson will want to take charge of her children once again and you will not need my help.”

  “Even if Martha wants to retain your services, my dear girl, I will not allow it,” he said decidedly.

  As the import of his words sank in, she looked shocked and upset, “You see, I knew you did not like me or approve of my past, even though it is no fault of mine that I have had to lead the life I have!” she gasped, making to rise to her feet and run away from him.

  He caught her hand as she tried to rush past him, “Violette! You misunderstand me. It has nothing to do with any of that.”

  “Then what is it?” she cried, tears falling freely now as she tried to writhe and twist her wrist from his grasp.

  “I will not let you slave for us with so little return. Martha and I cannot possibly afford to pay you your full worth and it is wicked to expect you to subject yourself to poverty for our convenience.”

  “That is not your decision,” she cried, still pulling away from him.

  They were both distracted from the altercation by a sudden anguished howl from behind them. Minta had woken and seeing the two struggling and Violette’s tears, she had given vent to a terrified cry, “Papa! Don’t! Hurting Vee!”

  He immediately released the girl and turned to his now sobbing daughter, “Minta, sweeting, please don’t cry.”

  “You hurt Vee,” she snivelled accusingly and Violette sank to her knees, putting her arms around the little girl.

  “No, Minta, papa didn’t hurt me. A nasty wasp stung me. Papa was trying to help.”

  “A wops?” asked the child, hiccupping, but ceasing to wail.

  “What’s wops?” said Prue, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

  “Nothing. It doesn’t matter. Come girls, time to go home. Papa has to go back to work and we shall go and tell Lucy thank you for our lovely luncheon.”

  Will silently offered his handkerchief to Violette, who hastily wiped her own eyes before subjecting Minta to a thorough mopping up of tears and mucus, which had flowed freely from her nose as soon as she began crying.

  “Thank you, Mr Jebson,” she said, handing back the linen square.

  “This is not over, Violette,” he said in a low tone which his daughters could not hear, “We will talk about this again.”

  “We will not,” she said determinedly as she took hold of the children’s hands, “Mrs Jebson hired me and only she can dismiss me.”

  He watched her as she walked away, despair darkening his thoughts and a sort of panic gripping his insides.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  ‘Panem Et Circenses’ – Literally ‘bread and the circus’ – food and entertainment

  As it transpired there were not quite the unmanageable numbers of guests which Adeline had feared. It could not be denied that the population of Hanbury was considerably swelled by the presence of the army, for some were married men and had brought families, but most, it must be said, had journeyed to the Peaks alone, with the express purpose of carousing.

  The worthies of the borough very quickly realized that they would do well to make the most of this sudden influx of younger people and the Assembly Rooms, the Spa, the Baths and various other places of entertainment had hasty amendments made to their opening times, their accessibility and the events they were wont to host.

  It was not that the usual visitors to Hanbury were universally aged and decrepit, but in view of the treatments offered, they did tend to be on the elderly side, apart from reluctant young relatives who accompanied them for the purposes of showing such dedication as would ensure a mention in a will. To suddenly have a large number of younger people invading the town was as surprising as it was welcome – at least from a financial point of view. They were to quickly discover that money was not everything.

  Underwood had always been aware, but had managed very neatly to ignore, that there were ladies of the night inhabiting Hanbury. They tended to remain firmly in their own small section of the town, where wise people never ventured, and were discreet in their dealings. This unwritten rule was always going to be swiftly and decidedly broken when a large contingent of soldiers and ex-soldiers arrived, looking for amusement of a sort that was not necessarily encompassed in country dances at the Assembly Rooms.

  At their daily meeting in the Pump Rooms, Underwood and Thornycroft watched this change with alarm and amusement respectively.

  “I understand you were accosted yesterday, Underwood, on your way into the hallowed portals of the Spa,” remarked Jeremy James, with a smirk, delighted that the normally complacent Underwood had been severely discomposed.

  Underwood gave a theatrical shudder of distaste, “My dear fellow, it was mortifying. Lady Hartley-Wells was entering just behind me and I swear she gave me a withering glance that hinted that she thought I was only politely declining the offer because she was there to hear me!”

  Jeremy laughed loudly and raucously at the
vision this tale engendered, “Poor you. No doubt she ran straight to Verity and told her tale of your debauchery?”

  Gad, I hope not! Verity would find it vastly amusing to know I had been propositioned. For some peculiar reason she rather enjoys seeing my so-called pomposity deflated.”

  “We all do, my friend. You can be a little over-bearing on occasion,” acknowledged Jeremy, as though the notion had only just occurred to him.

  “Balderdash,” countered Underwood roundly, “I am preternaturally generous of spirit and forbearing. Why on earth you and Verity should imagine I am pompous escapes me entirely.”

  Jeremy snorted rudely, “Well, that was a pompous little speech for a start. Enough of that. How are you enjoying the newly invigorated atmosphere of staid old Hanbury? You must admit that my old comrades have livened things dramatically.”

  “They have certainly done that,” admitted Underwood, with a smile. “Every young lady is suddenly arrayed in her Sunday best, cheeks aglow with judicious application of rouge – unbeknownst to their mamas, who would be chagrined to think that their little darlings were painting and preening in the hope of catching an officer for themselves.”

  “Oh, there are going to be some broken hearts before this is over,” predicted Jeremy, without the slightest hint of sympathy. He had endured some heartlessly cruel rejections by unfeeling, flighty little minxes after his injuries had disabled him and before he met and married his beloved Adeline, so he was not about to waste his finer emotions on those of a similar ilk.

  “Sadly on both sides,” added Underwood, nodding meaningfully towards Elliott and Swann who were both vying for the favours of a young lady unknown to the two older gentlemen, who was flirting outrageously with them both, but all the while was sending longing glances towards Second Lieutenant John Pennyfather. He, arrogant in his rude health, was merely finding his rivals amusing and evidently had no worries that either of them might steal the young woman from under his nose.