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

  The Wablers’ company had grown to include Jeremy James’ closest comrades from the war and now each day they met first in the Pump Rooms, to see if there was any reason for them to linger – that is to say, if there were any lightly chaperoned young ladies who might be willing to indulge in some coquetry. If these proved to be sparse, or their mamas too vigilant, then the entire company moved on to spend the afternoon in some comfortable hostelry. The evening would see them patronize the Assembly Rooms to attend one of the many balls, or failing that, the theatre, where they could be sure to find sport of a different kind, as the stalls were a well-recognized hunting ground for a certain sort of woman.

  There were others who knew Jeremy less well and they drifted in and out of the circle, but Pennyfather, Puckridge, Limbrick Boxley and Thickbroome had become regulars. These officers were all unmarried and all still in the service. Many of the other attendees were no longer serving officers and most were married and raising families. Underwood didn’t trouble himself to try and remember their names as they all made it clear that once the party was over they would be on their way. However Pennyfather and his cronies were evidently finding Hanbury much more diverting than they had ever expected to and looked set to become permanent fixtures.

  Watching them all now, Underwood could understand the attraction to the fairer sex. The red tunics of the regimental uniforms were not only dashing, but somehow so well-fitted that any man looked very fine in them, even those with a paunch, or spindly legs. Breeches and shiny boots ensured that a poor calf was quite hidden; epaulettes disguised shoulders which were less than broad and muscular, and bright buttons and sashes drew the eye away from physical imperfections. They were all resplendent in their dress uniforms and Underwood thought that it was a pity that their behaviour did not always live up to the splendid garb which they so casually donned.

  His attention was drawn back to his companion when Jeremy James asked, “Do you attend the ball at the Assembly Rooms this Saturday evening?”

  “It was certainly Verity’s intention that we should,” he answered, without enthusiasm. He did not really care for dancing, though he executed the moves with aplomb, as he did everything he set his mind to. He had been a clumsy dancer until he had worked out that using mathematics helped and since then he had become competent if not carefree. Verity, however, loved to dance and he always felt obliged to partner her for at least two or three sets, though, in truth, she was rarely short of a gentleman who would gladly stand in her husband’s stead. She was so easy-going and amusing that she was a great favourite amongst not only the Wablers, but many other young men in Hanbury too. There were always a few young people who attended such functions merely to appease elderly relatives and Verity’s obvious enjoyment of the entertainments, but without the obligation on behalf of her companion to be similarly enthused, made her a delightful person to be with.

  “Where is the lovely Mrs Underwood now? She usually accompanies you upon your morning constitutional, does she not?”

  “She does. However, her time has been taken up by that dreadful Jebson woman. She is helping the lady to prepare the shop and living quarters above for the imminent arrival of Will and their children. I counselled her to tell the harridan to go to the devil and that she should hire a cleaning woman, but Verity won’t hear of it. She is far too kind for her own good.”

  Major Thornycroft did not trouble to answer this assertion, it being too obvious an observation to acknowledge.

  “I believe Rutherford Petch took pity upon Will Jebson and delayed his own arrival so that he could assist with the move and they are to use the Pershore carriage to make the journey.”

  “That is good of him,” said Underwood who had not heard this particular piece of news. “I imagine it would be quite an undertaking to travel on the stage with the two little girls.”

  “Very probably,” remarked the major, “Petch is another who is too inclined towards kindness. It will get him into trouble one of these fine days.”

  “I venture to remind you that it already has,” said Underwood grimly. He had not forgotten the ‘trouble’ which had resulted from his association with Captain Petch. The younger man may have been transported to Australia because he was foolish and trusting, but it was Underwood who had nearly paid with his life.

  “Speak of the devil,” said Jeremy suddenly, looking across the room to the huge, glazed doors which were the magnificent entrance to the Pump room, “If I’m not very much mistaken, that is my old friend Rutherford Petch.”

  Underwood glanced in the same direction, “By Jove, it is. And days sooner than expected. Perhaps he had second thoughts about bringing Will with him.”

  The tall, good looking Captain stood for a moment and looked about him, hovering in the doorway, unsure of whether to enter. He too was in his uniform, but Underwood guessed it was only to please his old comrades, for in conversation with the older man, Petch had shown no inclination to renew his membership of the army, rather the contrary, though he admitted he missed the excitement of his old life.

  Jeremy, who had long since grown used to taking advantage of his handicapped condition by behaving in any fashion he choose without earning censure, had no hesitation in calling loudly to hail his friend, who heard him and smiled. He strode to join them, a broad grin adorning his features. Several heads turned to watch his fine physique as he moved across the room, his long stride covering the floor in no time at all. There was a flutter amongst the ladies as his massive shoulders and thickly muscled thighs wove between the crowded patrons. Underwood reviewed his previous notion that any man looked well in regimentals. Rutherford Petch surely outshone them all.

  The way in which the two men clasped hands, the merest hint of unshed tears in their eyes, told Underwood that had Jeremy been able to stand, they would undoubtedly have defied convention and embraced, such was the deep regard in which they held each other.

  “My dear fellow, it is uncommonly good to see you,” said Jeremy James, his voice breaking with emotion.

  Petch simply grinned and pumped his hand with enthusiasm born of affection and the need to show it, but not having any other way to demonstrate his overwhelming happiness.

  “Dear old Thorny, by gad, I’m delighted to be finally here.”

  “What took you so long, you rogue?”

  Petch had the grace to look shamefaced, “Business, you know, old man. I had a lot to deal with when I came home.”

  He turned to Underwood to exchange greetings. They also shook hands warmly and Underwood asked, “All alone, Rutherford? I understood you had a crowd with you?”

  “Oh, I have, take my word on it. You cannot know how much I need a drink right now.”

  “We shall remedy that, forthwith. But where are your fellow travellers?”

  “Cressida has taken Miss Fettiplace to the hotel to rest – her nerves, she assured me, have been quite, quite shredded. Will has taken the girls to their new home. The carrier’s cart is following and he wanted to be there when the stuff arrives. You would not believe how much is needed with a young family,” explained Petch.

  Underwood laughed, “I believe it,” he said shortly, having travelled on several occasions with his daughters.

  “You should perhaps accustom yourself to the notion that such trials will have to be endured more often in the future,” said Jeremy James, laughing unkindly. He was himself a father to a daughter of two summers. “Doubtless it is plotted by your female relatives that your next task should be to marry and produce an heir.”

  His friend’s reaction was not quite what Jeremy James expected. Petch glanced sideways at Underwood and said in an undertone, “You have not told him, then?”

  Underwood shrugged apologetically, “I did not feel it was my place to share your private affairs.”

  Jeremy James looked from one to the other, “Care to confide the secret, cullies?” he said somewhat snippily. He found it utterly astounding and perhaps a little offensive that his two friends, who wou
ld not even know each other if not for him, should share some undisclosed nugget, hence his uncomplimentary comment.

  Petch saw that he was not going to be allowed to evade an explanation, so he quickly outlined his future plans to his old friend. The major took the news stoically. There was a part of him that understood Petch’s frustration at the prospect of an uneventful life. Any objection he made would be on his own account and not for his friend.

  They prepared to leave the Pump Rooms, in search of alcohol, which they all now felt they needed, even the abstemious Underwood, only to be distracted by an altercation which had broken out between John Pennyfather and Bertram Swann.

  None of Petch’s old comrades had noticed his arrival as they had been too intent on flirting with the willowy miss who had been enjoying setting her prospective suitors against each other. Her mama had evidently felt she had been allowed quite enough leeway and her behaviour was bordering upon causing an open scandal, so she had been dragged unwillingly away.

  Once she was out of earshot, the festering resentment felt by Swann at Pennyfather’s dismissive sneering was allowed full vent.

  Swann heaved himself to his one good leg and his wooden stump and, leaning heavily on his crutch, he shoved Pennyfather to one side, “Get out of my way, you bell swagger, before I draw your cork for you.”

  Pennyfather laughed, but his expression belied the sound of amusement, for the colour rose in his cheeks at being called a bully, albeit in thieves’ cant, which he fully understood, even if some listeners did not.

  “Hold hard, boy,” he said to the younger man, “watch your manners or I’ll have to teach you etiquette the hard way.”

  Swann was far too angry to take note of the warning tone of voice. He was not only furious that Pennyfather had bested him with Miss Mills, who had shown him a marked preference, but he was frustrated by his own treacherous body, which once more had let him badly down. He fulminated at the unfairness of life. He had given his leg in the service of his country, keeping safe pert little misses like the blonde Venus who had just flitted happily away, and what thanks did he get for it? Derision from fellows like Pennyfather, who had been lucky enough to escape from the wars unscathed, when they should know better; and spiteful scorn from shallow chits who should learn to hide their pitying glances.

  For the first time in a long time he allowed his rage full release.

  “Do you think you are the man to teach me anything, you lickspittle?”

  Pennyfather had tried to hold his own temper, for he could not provoke a maimed fellow officer into a confrontation and keep his dignity, but his young rival was going too far with his insults and manhandling.

  He opened his mouth to offer to send for his second, but Jeremy James arrived on the scene in the very nick of time, wheeling his chair between the combatants, “Stow it, you fellows, this is no place for this behaviour. Dammit all, you will frighten the ladies. If you must quarrel, take it outside.”

  The intervention gave Pennyfather the delay he needed to cool his hot head. He shrugged and grinned amiably, “No need, Thorny. Swann and I will agree to differ, will we not?”

  Swann’s stomach still roiled with hatred and fury, but he held his friend Jeremy James in the very highest regard and after taking one look at his serious face and realizing that any contretemps would distress him beyond measure; he swallowed his pride and nodded briefly and grimly.

  “All is well, Thorny, worry not.”

  They all left the Pump Rooms together to find a tavern, but Pennyfather and Swann made sure they kept their distance from each other for the rest of the day.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  ‘Plures Crapula Quam Gladious’ – Drunkenness kills more people than the sword

  “Oh my goodness, look at the time!” Verity Underwood consulted the small gold watch that hung from a pretty chain around her neck, brushing straggling, sweat-damp hairs from her face and giving herself a smear of dirt across her cheek in the process.

  Martha Jebson, who had been forced by Verity to work harder than she ever had in her life before, gave a sigh of relief, “Is it time to stop?”

  “Well, you have no need to, but I must go home.”

  Martha slumped onto the sofa, almost sliding to the floor as she did, so high was it piled with bedding, clothes, shoes and other paraphernalia. The carrier’s cart had arrived, amazingly, since its over-laden progress could normally expect to be far slower than a carriage drawn by the sort of high-steppers that the Petches preferred, ahead of Will and the rest in the Pershore coach. This was mainly because the travellers had been forced into several prolonged stops to settle Prue and Minta, who had not taken to the ride as well as everyone had hoped. They had found the whole experience distressing, and were wholly bemused, not understanding why they must be thrown about in the rocking, rollicking vehicle for hours on end, when all they wanted to do was eat, play and sleep.

  Rutherford had been the soul of patience in trying to entertain them, but sadly they possessed too little concentration and capacity to play the sort of guessing games he suggested and were too tired and grumpy to find the view from the window at all amusing.

  When Will finally arrived with his daughters and Violette, he found the shop in chaos and Martha snappish, partly from the inconvenience of his advent, but mostly from having been worked to a standstill by Verity, who had suddenly taken on the persona of a martinet and ordered her workmen about with an imperious manner which could not be gainsaid. If there was one thing at which Verity excelled, it was organization. In this she and Underwood were frighteningly similar – a place for everything, and everything in its place.

  Will and Violette were immediately despatched to find the children something to eat and cautioned not to return for at least two hours, whereupon the workers hoped that the accommodation above the shop at least might be in some sort of order.

  As the wife of the vicar, who was also Rural Dean, thus doubling her obligation, Cara Underwood was also helping Martha. One or two of the other ladies of their circle had also popped in over the past few days to lend a hand for an hour or two, but the task was far greater than anyone had realized. The old gentleman who had previously run the store had been alone for several years before his sad demise and had evidently not lifted a finger in the place in all that time. The shop he had given a little more attention to, as it was seen by his customers, but his living quarters had been not just been neglected but also filled with all manner of rubbish. The grime was grim, as Verity had joked at the onset. She was no longer in a jesting mood, however, for grim did not even begin to describe some of the horrors she had encountered in the backs of cupboards and under half-rotting rugs and shabby furniture. Dead mice, mummified and stomach-churning; spiders, cockroaches and beetles, all too alive and running for cover. She had repressed more screams than she cared to recall.

  When Will and Violette had taken the children away again, Cara put her hands upon her hips and gazed around in despair, “It is no use Verity, this place is never going to be ready to house those children tonight, though we work our fingers to the bone. What possessed you, Martha, to tell Mr Jebson to come now? He should have waited another week at least.”

  “I didn’t tell him to come,” said Martha snippily. She was tired, dirty and sick of cleaning, having for years relied upon poor Lucy and her predecessor to do all the donkey-work in her own little cottage. “On the contrary, I told him exactly how much there was to do and counselled him to wait a little longer, but he wouldn’t listen. He said the children were missing me dreadfully and his place was by my side to help.”

  Verity, exhausted and grumpy herself, took leave to doubt the former comment, for the two little girls had shown no particular interest in being reunited with their mother, nor, on admittedly short acquaintance, had Martha shown any sign of being bereft at her children’s absence. However, she said nothing. Sometimes it was better to let certain things simply slip by unacknowledged.

  “What is to be done a
bout it?” she asked instead. “They are here now, and nothing can change that. We can hardly send them back to Wimpleford. All their goods came with them on the carrier’s cart.”

  “They must stay at a hotel,” said Cara decidedly.

  Martha gave an outraged gasp, “Easy for you to say, Lady Bountiful, but money is not so widespread in our household that we can stretch to living in hotels.”

  Cara looked mutinous and Verity felt sure there was a curt response on the way, so she interjected hastily, “That is no use anyway, Cara, for there is not a hotel room to be had in Hanbury at the moment, with all the visitors who have come to see Major Thornycroft. Besides, I fear it would sadly unsettle those two little girls.”

  “Then,” said Cara with a sigh, “they must come to the vicarage for the night. I dare swear Gil would have invited them long ago; he is so very good and kind, and I must try to be so.”

  “We won’t come where we are not wanted,” said Martha, drawing herself up to her full height and meeting Cara’s eye, a battling light in her own orbs.

  Cara was nothing if not kind-hearted, even if it was deeply buried on occasion – she had to be, even when she did not want to be, for how else could Gil love her? She gave a small, conciliatory laugh, “Oh pray accept my apologies, my dear Mrs Jebson. That was the most ill-formed invitation I have ever heard. Your family is welcome to our hospitality, in fact, I insist that you all stay until Saturday, and I will pay someone to finish off this onerous task. I think we have all proved our mettle by what we have achieved so far and to do more would smack of martyrdom.”

  Even someone as prickly as Martha Jebson could not refuse so generous an offer and the ladies left the shop and went in search of Will in perfect amity.

  Verity heaved a huge, though silent, sigh of relief, for she had been about to make a similar offer of bed and board at Windward House, and she dreaded the reaction of her husband had she arrived with the Jebson clan and servant in tow.