A Place For Repentance (The Underwood Mysteries Book 6) Page 19

  Mrs Milner, lately Mrs Underwood, and proud mother of Cadmus and Gil, settled into her seat, quite happy to watch the dancers, claret-cup in her hand and her lorgnette lifted occasionally to her eye so that she could better observe her sons without their knowledge. She enjoyed family occasions more than her boys would ever know, for she despised clinging women and always inferred to them at least, that she was quite happy with her own life and had only a faintly passing interest in theirs. She was fortunate in her daughters-in-law for they both recognized that her stand-offish attitude was a loving subterfuge to avoid scaring off her sons, as though they were a pair of skittish colts who would run at the first indication of being scrutinized. Both Cara and especially Verity, who was naturally kind-hearted and fond of her mother-in-law, made sure that she received regular missives, reporting their every move.

  The adoring mother had been devastated the year before when her eldest had been so very ill and had dreaded the thought that he might expire before she did. She looked at him now, covertly, scanning his face for any sign that he might still be unwell and keeping it from her. She was completely satisfied with her observations, for both her sons seemed full of good spirits.

  The grey which was now very evident in Gil’s dark hair was not quite so obvious in Cadmus’ ash blond, but close examination showed that he too was growing silver amongst the gold. Mrs Milner thought that Gil looked most distinguished greying at the temples, for other than that he was aging well. He had gathered most of the lines on his face when his first wife Catherine had died, leaving a legal farrago for him to deal with along with his grief. She had been a Roman Catholic and had left her son from her first marriage in his care. The grandparents of young Alistair had been horrified at the thought that the boy was to be raised by a Church of England vicar and had fought tooth and nail to take him away from Gil. He had been equally determined to keep the boy, not only because he was immensely fond of him, but because it had been Catherine’s dying request and the only small part of her he had left.

  The advent of Lady Cara Lovell, their subsequent marriage and the birth of their two boys had restored Gil’s zest for life and Mrs Milner felt she had little to worry her in regard to her youngest. He had ever been the easiest child and barring that one small hiccup with Catherine, he had rarely caused her a sleepless night.

  The same could not be said for Cadmus. She seemed to have spent half his life fretting about her eldest son. In his youth he had fallen deeply in love with an heiress, whose guardian had been determined never to lose control of her finances, mainly because he had ruthlessly defrauded her for years. When she and Underwood had been about to marry, he had poisoned her in the hopes that her death might cover his infamy. Underwood, had, of course, uncovered the crime and it had all been for naught, for Underwood would gladly have married her penniless or not, and the uncle went cursing to the gallows. Small comfort to the bereft young man who had sunk into such low spirits that all who knew him had feared for him. As a consequence he had buried himself in his work as a tutor at Cambridge University and his mother had despaired of him ever meeting another woman and getting married. It was a good few years later that he had finally met the woman who was to cure him of his melancholy and give him the children his mother had longed for, even if he had apparently not.

  Mrs Milner transferred her gaze to Verity, who, pink-cheeked and excited, was chatting to Ellen Herbert on her one side and Cara on the other, doubtless wondering when their husbands were going to end their misery and ask them to dance. Her feet, shod in white satin pumps, were already tapping in time to the music beneath the hem of her lilac dress. She had grown much more fashionable with the advent of Cara, who missed living in London and being part of the ton and so had taken the slightly dumpy and ungainly Verity under her wing. The new gown of satin, beneath an over-gown of white net, embroidered with tall purple flower spikes at the hem, suited her dark colouring very well. Cara was in midnight blue, as befitted a vicar’s wife, but that was the only concession she made, for the dress was the very latest thing, with a deeply gathered hem, so that it swung out when she danced, showing a daring glimpse of very shapely ankle.

  Ellen, slightly older than the other two, was enjoying a rare outing with her husband, for as a much-in-demand doctor, Francis often had to send his wife to engagements alone, or with the knowledge that he might be called away at any moment.

  The gentlemen were in evening dress, knee-breeches, stockings, flat shoes and cloth tailcoats, with shining silver or gilt buttons and deep velvet collars. Underneath were fancy silk or satin waistcoats, white shirts and all with impeccably tied cravats. Gil’s clothing, as always, was deep black, but the others were very nearly peacocks, with colourful waistcoats, some of the more elderly gentlemen wore old fashioned ones which were embroidered with exotic birds and flowers. Cadmus was slightly less opulent than his fellows, but still more showy than his clerical brother.

  Having satisfied herself that all was well with her sons, Mrs Milner turned her attention to the other guests. She had already decided that Martha Jebson, despite being out of her usual company, needed no help in settling herself into an alien environment. There was a lady who felt no inferiority, no matter how superior her companions might feel themselves to be. The same could not be said for her husband or the little French girl who accompanied them. Will Jebson could not have looked more discomfited had he been stark naked and the girl was obviously longing to enjoy herself but was uncomfortably aware that she was wearing borrowed finery and was there under sufferance.

  Mrs Milner was about to address some kindly remark to her, to set her at her ease, but she should have known that Verity would notice sooner than she and had already taken the girl by the hand and was leading her across the room to where the Wablers gathered. They would not stay in the ballroom for very long, since few of them could easily dance, but they liked to take note of which of the young ladies they intended to flirt with when the dancing was over. Once they had a filly or two in their sights, they would retire to the gambling rooms and re-emerge much later, in time to escort their chosen ladies to the supper tables.

  Freddie Meadows and Piers Elliott were Verity’s chosen targets. Freddie sported a patch to cover the fact that his right eye was gone and he wore a monocle to aid the sight in his left, which was poor, but still viable. Piers lacked his right arm, but that did not prevent him from treading a measure when the mood took him. Both gentlemen professed themselves delighted to have a partner and Violette smiled warmly up at both of them, choosing Freddie for her first dance and promising to return and partner Piers next.

  “He can’t see past the end of his nose, my dear,” Piers assured her, nodding towards his companion. “You’ll be sorry you chose him first over me. He’ll trample on your toes worse than a cart horse would.”

  Freddie was not to be outdone on the insulting front and snorted rudely, “At least I can come away from the dance having had a cosy armful, which is more than you’ll be able to lay claim to.”

  Violette had spent half her life on the edges of one battle or another and knew full well that such black humour was the order of the day. She laughed and told both gentlemen that she would enjoy the dance, no matter what the cost to her toes, or her untouched waist.

  Freddie swept her away into a waltz, which even in the provinces was becoming allowable; it had been considered a scandalous dance for many years, since it entailed the young lady resting within the embrace of the young gentleman. He actually danced very well, for though the others on the floor were mere shadows to him, he at least could see them when they drew too near and he could deftly guide his partner into safety.

  Will Jebson withdrew to the edge of the alcove so that he could lean against the arch and be almost hidden by the plush curtain that hung there and watched Violette dance with a look of wistfulness upon his face which was not lost upon Underwood, who rarely missed anything, though he pretended indolence and was at that moment sprawled lazily upon the sofa next
to his mama, doing his filial duty of listening to her drone on about the health and well-being of everyone she knew and in whom she thought he ought to take an interest. Sadly he rarely did, but he listened with half an ear and looked about him from beneath hooded lids, taking in the expressions on the faces of those around him and wondering what strange thoughts went on behind the smiles.

  He glanced at Martha to see if she had noted her husband’s apparent fascination with their French nursemaid, but she was busy gossiping with Cara, who, as a penance for her earlier rudeness to the woman, was making an extra effort to be pleasant. Her bored face and carefully smothered yawn showed him how tedious she was finding the conversation, but she stoically held her place, only taking a moment to send a loving smile towards Gil when he caught her eye.

  “Ask your wife to dance, Gil,” said Underwood quietly, leaning forward and tugging at his brother’s coat tails from his place on the sofa.

  Gil was about to demur, then thought better of it and held his hand out to his lovely partner, “Come, sweetheart,” he said. “Let us show these youngsters how it is done properly.”

  The vicar did not dance often – in fact in the past he had resolutely refused, but since he had acquired a much younger and more beguiling wife than he had ever dreamed possible, he had shed a little of his soberness and indulged her whims with alacrity.

  Martha was not to be outdone by Cara, with whom she had decided she could enjoy a friendly rivalry – or maybe not so very friendly, but entertaining just the same. She took hold of her husband’s hand and practically dragged him onto the floor. Poor Will was already a good way out of his depth amongst the gentry and he blushed to the roots of his hair at having to show off his extremely rusty skills before the suave and elegant company, but Martha was impossible to deny and he simply had to gather about him the dregs of his dignity and try desperately to recall the steps of a dance he barely knew.

  Alone with his mother for a few moments Underwood took the opportunity to have a quiet word with her, “You and the General keeping well, mother?” he asked solicitously.

  “Of course, my love,” she answered with a smile. “We have the usual old people complaints of aches and pains, but we rub along nicely all the same. And you, my dear boy? No recurrence of your illness last year?”

  “No, Mama, nothing at all. I’m fully fit again, and have learned a valuable lesson about trusting those who do not deserve it.” He smiled at being called a ‘boy’, but then he had baulked slightly at his mother referring to ‘old people complaints’ – he obviously no more thought of her as old, than she thought of him as a middle-aged man with a family.

  “Verity looks better than last I saw her too – she was so terribly worried about you, Chuffy.”

  “I know, Mama,” he soothed her, “and I have given an undertaking never to put her through such torment again.”

  She brightened considerably at this comment, “You intend to stop all this silly business of solving murders, then? I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear it!”

  He did not have chance to disabuse her of this notion for at that moment Rutherford Petch and his sister Cressida entered the ballroom, with Miss Fettiplace panting a little in their wake. She had put on more weight since the year before and was now quite rotund. She evidently found their youthful vigour hard to keep pace with and was pink and breathless by the time they crossed the room and joined the Underwood party.

  Introductions had just been exchanged when Freddie Meadows joined them, having been supplanted in Violette’s arms by Piers Elliott, who had stepped forward to claim his dance. Gallantly he instantly invited Cressida to join him on the floor and she blushingly agreed. She had not enjoyed much of a social life in the past few years, for once her brother had been tried, found guilty and transported to Australia, she had found it hard to hold up her head in polite company. Besides which, her cousin Luckhurst had fully intended to make her his wife and so get his greedy hands on the Greenhowe estate, so he too had severely curtailed her desire to fraternize with other young people. He had been terrified that some young buck would sweep her off her feet, for he was an uninspiring suitor, interested only in money.

  Her sudden freedom from an engagement she had not desired, and the return of her vindicated brother had changed her life but she had not assimilated the true depth of the alterations and was still shy and a little introverted.

  Freddie Meadows, for all his bravado, was similarly crippled with fear of his own inadequacies, for his eyesight, while not completely gone (for which he fervently thanked God) it was so poor as to be negligible. He was brash enough in the company of the other Wablers, whom he knew he could rely upon to take care of him, albeit sporadically, but when in the presence of anyone in the ‘petticoat line’ – a female of marriageable age – then he was quite as inept as Underwood.

  Cressida, relieved to find someone who did not expect her to flirt outrageously, nor deliver ripostes with sparkling wit and verve, was only too happy to converse pleasantly with this quietly handsome young man, whose black eye-patch gave him the slightly sinister air of a pirate without the terrifying manner to go with it.

  Freddie was similarly delighted to find a woman who listened when he spoke to her, seemed to find him a fascinating conversationalist and gave intelligent, but not bookish, responses to his questions and comments. Close to he could also see that she was pretty in a soft and appealing way.

  One dance quietly melded into two and no one even noticed that they spent the rest of the evening together, enchanted by each other and having no interest in anything occurring around them.

  Despite the young lovers being oblivious of events in the Assembly rooms, plenty was happening as the evening wore on.

  Supper passed off quietly, but since that was the time when most of the men slaked their thirst on strong liquor, the aftermath tended to get out of hand quickly if anything caused an upset. Fortunately when this particular angry scene exploded, it was in the card room and most of the ladies were unaware of it, except those redoubtable old women who no longer cared to dance and preferred to gain their thrills at the gaming tables.

  If either Underwood or Thornycroft had been present, they would have ensured that John Pennyfather and Bertram Swann did not sit to the same table and play cards against each other. The simmering undercurrent of resentment which existed between the pair was bound to erupt into fury when one or the other lost and sadly it was Swann who saw his pile of golden guineas diminish rapidly.

  Before anyone could step in to take the heat out of the situation, the pair were on their feet, throwing insults across the green baize table.

  “Damn your eyes, Pennyfather, no one could be that lucky!”

  “Are you accusing me of cheating?” the older man’s tone was dangerously calm.

  “Take it any way you like, you card sharp.”

  “If you weren’t half a man, I’d send my second to your door,” responded Pennyfather, finally losing the cool demeanour he had managed to maintain and giving way to the anger which he had endeavoured to bury deep until this moment.

  “Don’t you worry your head about me, sir; I’m more than man enough to deal with you.”

  Someone had had the foresight to send for Thornycroft and he arrived in the very nick of time. He pulled at the arm of his friend Swann, casting a darkling look in Pennyfather’s direction.

  “We’ll have no need of seconds, you fellows. Strong drink talks boldly and neither of you want the sort of trouble that duelling will bring. Now, come away, before we are thrown out on the street for brawling.”

  Swann allowed himself to be escorted away, and Pennyfather, breathing heavily and still puce in the face, sank back into his seat and called for another glass of daffy.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  ‘Medio De Fonte Leporum Surgit Amari Aliquid Quod In Ipsis Floribus Angat’ – Even in the midst of the joys of Spring, something bitter rises to give us grief amidst the flowers.

  The fracas,
fortunately, had been short-lived. Jeremy James invited Swann to push his wheeled chair to the door of the Assembly Rooms to get some fresh air. This was rather complicated for the two drunken men, for it involved Jeremy James holding Swann’s crutch and Swann leaning upon the chair for support then guiding them both through various doorways and corridors, to the detriment of some china on one of the dining tables, and two or three unsuspecting gentlemen’s shins.

  When at last they reached their destination, the major sent Swann off home, extracting from him a promise that he would go straight back to his lodgings and sleep off the excess of alcohol and his bad temper.

  “But, dammit, Thorny, the man is insufferable! How could you bear to invite him to attend your party?”

  Thornycroft patiently pointed out that the invitation hadn’t been his, “Come now, Bertie, show a little sense. Adeline had no notion which of the fellows were my friends and the ones whom I barely know. Those who felt so inclined simply told their own cronies about the celebration and they all jumped at the chance to kick up their heels. Having seen the effort they have made to get here to wish me well, I can hardly be churlish enough to start turning away those who are not my choice, now, can I?”

  His younger companion was not in the mood to be conciliatory. Since the loss of his leg, the chances of his making a match with a decent woman of good family had grown further and further away. He had thought the elusive Miss Mills had been genuinely interested in him and it had been a body-blow to realize that she was merely toying with him, amusing herself by setting him against another man. The fact that she had disappeared as suddenly from Hanbury as she had appeared, leaving no forwarding address, had not helped his mood. He shrugged dismissively, but voiced no more protests. Jeremy James took his silence as tacit agreement and slapped him heartily on the rump, since he could reach no higher from his chair, “Go home, you young pup, and sleep off your blue devils. I’ll speak to Pennyfather and warn him to keep out of your sight. He’s an arrogant upstart and I’ll tell him in no uncertain terms that if he sends you up into the boughs again, I’ll see him onto the stagecoach myself.”