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

  As he approached the carved stone porch, he saw what he thought was a bundle of rags on the narrow stone bench which lined the wall, seating for any supplicant who was early for the service, but as he drew nearer and the dim interior became more easily discerned, he realised that the rags had an occupant – in fact a young lady was curled upon the hard stone, her head resting on a small and tattered valise, her feet tucked under the hem of her coat in a desperate attempt to keep them warm.

  “Great heavens, you can be none other than Violette,” he exclaimed and she sat up, startled, then gazed at him fearfully.

  “How do you know my name?”

  He smiled reassuringly, “My house guests and I have been awake half the night worrying about you. I think you know Mr Underwood, though I understand you have not yet made the acquaintance of his wife?”

  “Mr Underwood?” she frowned, having entirely forgotten the chance meeting in the apothecary shop some days before, “I do not think I know anyone of that name.”

  “Do you not? Ah, well, I apprehend it was the briefest of introductions – in West Wimpleford a few days ago? You were seeking a cure for toothache.”

  Her hand went automatically to her cheek and he could see, even in the dim light, that it was red and swollen. He also perceived that she was not merely shivering with cold, but shuddering violently from head to toe.

  He held out his hand to her, “Please let me escort you to the vicarage, where Mrs Underwood will be only too delighted to get you some dry clothes and something to eat. You must be so cold and wet after the dreadful weather last night.”

  She shrank away from him, eying his proffered hand with real terror, “I do not know you.”

  “I understand your apprehension, but surely everything I have confided must tell you that I mean you no harm. In fact, if it will comfort you, I cannot even come into the house with you, for I must take the morning service. People will begin to arrive any moment, so if you wish to avoid being seen in your sad state, I should hurry now.”

  She needed no further bidding, for the very thought of being amongst people when she was dishevelled, cold and hungry was mortifying. She quickly realized that she had very little choice but to trust this stranger and hope nothing untoward befell her, for she was indeed feeling light-headed and perished to the point of pain in her hands and feet.

  True to his promise Lindell merely ushered her through the front door, called to the Underwoods with the news that he had found Violette, and here she was, safe, if not sound, and he would see them after Matins.

  Violette found herself enfolded in the warm embrace of a small, plump brunette, and coolly observed by a tall blond gentleman whom she vaguely recognized, before being borne off into the kitchen, which she was assured was the warmest room in the house, and there she was plied with food and a hot drink, all of it under a barrage of questions as to her health and well-being.

  “You spent the night in the church porch? Why, how clever of you! I should never have thought of that, though I am the daughter of a vicar, so it really ought to be my first port of call – but then I have never found myself cast out into the storm, so I suppose it doesn’t signify,” babbled Verity, busying herself with making toast for their unexpected guest and her own husband, who was, thankfully, not one of those demanding men who were too fine to eat in the kitchen. He was more than happy simply to be fed and didn’t much care for the niceties of placement.

  He did, however, notice the young woman’s wince of pain when she tried to nibble politely on a slice of nicely browned bread.

  “Do you not think Miss Molyneux would manage better with bread and milk sops?” he enquired delicately, bringing his wife’s attention to the still suffering girl.

  Verity was at once filled with all-consuming sympathy, “Oh, my dear, I am so sorry! What a silly goose I am. You must be in agony with that tooth. As soon as we have eaten and you have rested, we must send at once for Mr Jebson.”

  “Oh, pray do not,” murmured Violette, “I could not ask him to attend me on a Sunday, especially since I do not have the money to pay him. Now I have lost my place in the players I must conserve every penny.” Underwood was quick to notice that though she had a pronounced accent, her English vocabulary was excellent.

  “I’m sure he will not mind, just this once,” Verity assured her earnestly, “He is a most accommodating man, and so very, very kind. Underwood shall fetch him just as soon as he has finished his breakfast.” She carefully avoided any mention of money, afraid that an offer of a loan would cause offence.

  Underwood made no demur, though he was dashed if he could see why he had to run the errand, or indeed why it had to be poor old Jebson. There must surely be an apothecary or tooth-puller of some description in Dacorum-in-the-Marsh?

  Lindell returned just as they finished eating and smiled warmly at his visitor, “I do hope you are feeling a little better, Miss ... I’m sorry, I don’t recall your surname. I fear we have all taken the liberty of using your first name in your absence.”

  “Please call me Violette,” she invited shyly, “you have all been so kind. I do not know how I can ever repay you. But I should really be on my way.”

  “You have somewhere in mind?” he asked gently, fully cognisant of the fact that she had no job, no money and very probably no living relative – or at least not one that was within reach.

  “No, I supposed I should find another theatre, perhaps in the next town, and ask for some employment.”

  “You can’t possibly work until we have seen to that sore tooth,” said Verity decidedly, “Think no more about leaving until you are feeling better.”

  Since she did feel so terribly unwell and the ache in her jaw was rapidly spreading into the entire side of her face, Violette was only too grateful to accept this edict. She allowed herself to be led upstairs and watched woozily as Verity deftly made up one of the many spare beds in the huge vicarage, then sank wearily into it. After a dose of laudanum, she fell into a feverish sleep.

  Verity came downstairs and spoke urgently to her husband, “Cadmus, I know that manners dictate that we should wait until tomorrow before calling Mr Jebson out to see to Violette’s toothache, but I’m very concerned about her. She is burning with fever, but even asleep, she was still shivering with cold. That is never a good sign.”

  Underwood agreed. He recalled a similar effect on his body when he had been at his most unwell and it was vastly unpleasant, one moment drenched in sweat and the next icily cold, with fingers and toes stiff and painful.

  “I’m happy to go and ask Will to come, Verity, but if the matter is exigent, should we not perhaps seek a medical practitioner who is nearer than Wimpleford?”

  “I have already enquired of Lindell and he tells me that the only man able to pull teeth here is a veritable butcher. I cannot leave the poor child to his tender mercies, not when she is already in so much pain.”

  “Then I had better hire a gig rather than a hack, for I shall need to bring Will and his equipment back with me.”

  He immediately went off to suit words for actions, not unhappy to be driving out of town, rather than attending church, which Verity would surely have compelled him to do, as a gesture of civility towards their host. As a scholar of history, he was only too aware of the misery caused by organized religion of all sorts, and consequently despised them all. Sadly he found himself in church rather more frequently than he cared for, mostly to avoid embarrassing his clerical brother, and he would very likely have had his conscience pricked by his wife for the same reasons, now that they were lodging with yet another vicar.

  The rain began again as he clicked the hired pony into a brisk trot and he was glad of his caped greatcoat and curly-brimmed beaver hat, which had been thoughtfully dried by Verity before the embers of the kitchen fire overnight. They should keep the worst of the weather off him and fortunately it was not terribly far to West Wimpleford. He could only hope that Will would be agreeable to coming to Violette’s aid. Sunday would b
e the poor fellow’s only day of rest and he would be quite within his rights to tell Underwood to go to the devil!

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘Ab Honesto Virum Bonum Nihil Deterret’ – Nothing deters a good man from acting honourably

  As he guided the pony trap into town, Underwood suddenly realized the major flaw in his plan and cursed himself under his breath for his stupidity.

  Of course he had no idea where Will Jebson lived. He had been surprised to find the younger man did not live above his shop, as most proprietors did, and he had been given the address when the invitation to meet his wife and family had been issued, but Underwood only knew two places in the area; the main street which housed the inn and the apothecary shop and Pershore House.

  Normally this would not be a particular difficulty, for he would simply ask at the inn or one of the shops, but the day was Sunday. The shops were shut and the inn would only serve customers if there was a stagecoach due. This would never happen in big cities or even the larger towns – the day of the week had little effect on commerce there, though the clergy breathed fire and brimstone on those who defied the order to rest on the Lord’s Day. However country towns and villages were still in the dark ages as far as religion was concerned. Sunday was a day of rest and that was that.

  He could, of course, hammer on the inn door until someone deigned to give him access, but he was reluctant to cause such a furore when all around him was so peaceful. He could think of no other recourse but to take himself off to see Rutherford Petch and hope that he could direct him to Will Jebson.

  He need not have worried. Rutherford was only too glad to escape the tyranny of Sunday and accompany Underwood on his quest.

  Will Jebson lived in a small cottage on the outskirts of the town, ivy-covered, so that Underwood could barely see the stone of which it was built. The garden too was overgrown and it was evident that Will did not have much time for gardening, or household maintenance, for the paint on the window-frames was peeling and the glass was streaked with dirt.

  Petch noticed the neglect also and muttered, “God bless Will Jebson. He’s the only one of my tenants not whining about the state of his living accommodation.”

  Will looked harassed as he opened the door to them, an expression which instantly changed to one of surprise, “Mr Underwood, I was not expecting you today, was I?”

  Underwood hastened to reassure him, “No, no, Will, pray forgive the intrusion. I stand in need of your assistance, but you must, of course, tell me plainly if it is not convenient.”

  The younger man forced a smile to his lips, “Think nothing of it. Come in, please, but forgive the mess. We were not expecting company and you find us in our everyday style. It takes me a little while to help my daughters to dress themselves.”

  He showed them into a low-ceilinged sitting room, sparsely furnished, with solid, practical chairs, a small settle and a dresser against the wall, which boasted little china and no silver at all. He introduced them to his waiting family, who consisted of a thin woman, with untidy hair and attired still in her long brocade dressing gown, though it was near noon, and two little girls who were sitting on a rug before the fire, playing with a wooden Noah’s Ark, full of crudely carved and painted animals, which would have been unrecognizable except for the gaudy spots and stripes which hinted at their species.

  “My wife, Martha, my daughters, Prudence and Araminta. My dears, meet Mr Underwood. Captain Petch you know already.”

  Underwood was discommoded to find the lady still in her night attire, though it was quite acceptable for her to welcome guests thus, according to the manners of the time. It was a remnant of the previous century’s fashion, where a lady would have thought nothing of entertaining gentlemen callers in her boudoir, sometimes whilst still reclining in her bed, but Underwood had never been of that aristocratic class and he had to steel himself to offer his hand and force a carefree smile to his lips, “Delighted to make your acquaintance, madam.”

  The woman rose to her feet, an answering smile stretching her features in a way that suggested this was not her habitual expression. Underwood noted that she was – or at least appeared to be – considerably older than Will. The grooves which marred her face gave him the impression that she was usually to be found frowning or perhaps merely discontented. She fluttered her hands in a coquettish manner, which sat ill with her grubby gown and unkempt hair, “Mr Underwood, why sir, it is an honour to welcome you into our home.”

  He bowed over her proffered hand as if she had been a duchess, “You are most gracious, Mrs Jebson, especially since we had intruded upon you without invitation.”

  He turned to greet the children, who had turned their faces to look up at him at the sound of their names. They stared blankly at him and he realized at once that something was very seriously amiss with them. Their almond-shaped eyes, protruding tongues, and round faces told him that they suffered from some congenital flaw, and yet they were both pretty in a strange way. They looked at him with undisguised interest, but with no hint of judgement or fear. Innocence exuded from them and it made him smile warmly at them.

  “Such lovely names,” he said, “And such grown-up girls. What age are you, ladies?”

  There was no reply and Will supplied hastily, “My little darlings are growing up fast, eight years old only this last month.”

  They did not look eight, and their behaviour with the toys was of much younger children. At eight years old, girls could be expected to be reading improving books about naughty children descending to hell, or to be sewing samplers with religious overtones, but that was not for these two. Underwood merely nodded, finding nothing to say that would not be either patronising or offensive. He had never been in this situation before and whilst not exactly uncomfortable, he was wary of causing distress.

  Rutherford had no such inhibitions about his relationship with the children. He stepped from behind Underwood, sank to his haunches and said, “Prue and Minta! Where are my hugs? I’ve not seen my girls for an age.” They ran, squealing, into his open arms and he proceeded to tickle and toss them, until their shrieks rang the rafters and their mother begged him to stop.

  This rough house behaviour seemed to bring some semblance of normality to Will and he grinned happily at his daughters’ laughter. He seemed to have recovered from the shock of seeing Underwood on his doorstep and addressed himself to the older man, gesturing him to take a seat.

  “Forgive me, Mr Underwood, I’ve been remiss as a host. Can I get you some refreshment?”

  “No, thank you, Will.”

  “Then what can I do for you? Mrs Underwood is not unwell, I trust?”

  “Thankfully not, but I do require your dentistry skills, if that is not too great a favour to ask on a Sunday.”

  “You have a toothache?”

  “Not I. You recall a young French woman in your shop last week?”

  “I do. She badly needed a tooth pulled. An abscess, if I am not mistaken.”

  “She still does. She is in dire need of your services, so much so that she was too ill to make the journey here and I have to beg you to come to the vicarage at Dacorum and tend to her.”

  Will hesitated before answering. Underwood noted his glance towards his wife. She had been listening avidly to their exchange and she now spoke up, a false smile adorning her features, “Well, of course you must go, Will. This young lady sounds as though she cannot do without you, and of course, the fee for your attendance must be doubled, in light of the day, and your absence from home, when your family have need of you.”

  Will blushed deeply at her insensitive comment, but Underwood merely nodded at her and laid a comforting hand on Will’s arm, briefly but firmly.

  “Of course, my dear lady, I would not hear of Will coming out of his way for anything less than that. If the matter could have waited until tomorrow, we would never have encroached upon your time.”

  “Please, Mr Underwood, I should not dream ...” began Will, desperately embarrassed by thi
s exchange, but his guest silenced him with a raised hand.

  “Think nothing more of it, Will. I already stand deeply in your debt, and now have more favours to ask. Now, would it be convenient to come at once? I left the young lady in some considerable pain and with a high fever.”

  “Certainly, certainly. You will manage, my dear, without me?” This he directed at his wife, who again gave her thin smile and waved him away as though it was all of no consequence.

  “The girls and I will do very well without you, William, pray get yourself off. The sooner you go, the sooner you will be back.”

  “What about dinner?”

  “I can make it this once,” she answered tartly, “though if you did not insist on giving that stupid girl Lucy every Sunday off, we would not have a problem. I would be grateful if you could be as quick as you can. You know how hard I find it to manage the girls alone.”

  “Very well, my dear.”

  He bustled about, collecting a bag which Underwood assumed contained his tooth-drawing tools, and kissing his little girls goodbye, adjuring them to behave well for their mama while he was gone.

  “Say goodbye to Mr Underwood and Mr Petch, girls,” he told them and in response they lifted a hand each and waved to the two gentleman. Underwood noted the short, stubby fingers and the deep crease across each chubby palm, all part of their condition, he supposed.

  He waved back and bowed formally to Mrs Jebson.

  Outside Rutherford pointed out yet another oversight by the ill-prepared Underwood.

  “How are you going to get back from Dacorum, Will?”

  “I shall bring him back, of course,” said Underwood, with dignity, but inwardly berating himself for not having thought that he would have to make the journey twice. He was tired already what with his disturbed night and early rising. Two round trips were going to be a trial to him.