Lydia glanced him up and down, her barely concealed contempt obvious as she looked at his wheeled chair, “Sabrina will do as she is bid and I’ll thank you sir, not to interfere.”
“I’ll help,” said Elliott hastily, seeing a rare quarrel brewing between these two equally strong characters, “Come Sabrina, I’ll show you where to get the cups.”
Sabrina followed him obediently, but as he tried to talk to her as they walked away, she made no attempt to engage with him, merely answering his questions in as few words as possible.
Thornycroft was not finished with Lydia, however, whom he had immediately taken in dislike and was determined to take her down a peg or two, “Do you never say ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ to your servant, Miss? Good manners cost nothing, you know, or so my old mother used to tell me.”
Lydia stared at him as if he had spoken a foreign language to her, “Good heavens, no. Why on earth would I say please to Sabrina? What I tell her to do is not a request, it is an order. When you were in command of your battalion, or whatever it was, would you have said ‘please’ when you issued an order to your men? If you were hunting, would you ask your hounds politely to chase the fox? What a ridiculous idea.”
For a moment Jeremy James was entirely bereft of an answer, which no one who knew him ever recalled witnessing before. It was several seconds before he managed to say, “But Sabrina is not a dog, or a soldier, is she?”
“She is my property,” said Lydia curtly, “And she does as I say.”
The major was by now thoroughly annoyed, “She may be your property when you are at home in Barbados, my girl, but you are in England now and we have no slavery here. You are subject to the King and must obey his laws.”
She raised a disdainful eyebrow, “I may be English born, sir, but she is not. If you would prefer me to send her back on the next ship, I’ll gladly do so and she can join her countrymen on the sugar plantation!”
Sabrina had returned just in time to hear this last and her coffee coloured skin took on a greyish hue as the blood drained from her face, “Please Miss Lydia, don’t do that! I’ve made no complaint.”
Verity could not have been more distressed and she fluttered a hand at Thornycroft, “Please, Jeremy, I beg you will leave the subject alone. Lydia is not used to our ways,” she said in an urgent undertone.
Mrs Woodforde obviously felt it time to intervene, “That’s enough, Lydia, you are making a very bad start here. No one is going anywhere just yet and certainly not back to Barbados. Mrs Underwood, you were about to introduce the gentlemen to my daughter.”
Verity gave a tremulous smile, still very shocked and upset, but she rose magnificently to the challenge, “Of course, Mrs Woodforde, Lydia has not met anyone here in Hanbury just yet, has she. My dear,” she turned to the young woman, who was looking a little sulky, but remembered her manners well enough and accepted the proffered hand of each of the injured soldiers as they were named for her.
“This is Bertie Swann, Lydia; he served with the Major, and Piers Elliott, also a comrade. Frederic Meadows and Roland Dickson were with a different company, I understand.”
“We were indeed, Mrs Underwood,” said Dickson, “And rightly grateful for it we are too! Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Woodforde.” Lydia managed to smile politely, but it was obvious to all that she was uncomfortable in the presence of their disabilities. Elliott had offered his left hand as his right sleeve hung empty; Dickson was in a chair similar to Thornycroft’s with both his legs also gone. Swann was on a crutch, with his left leg missing below the knee and Meadows wore a black eye patch, from under which ran a long, white scar, testament to the injury which had robbed him of his right eye. He wore a monocle in the other eye, since his sight in that had been seriously impaired too.
Verity, who adored them all for their bravery, stoicism and good humour in the face of their personal tragedies, suddenly saw them from Lydia’s point of view and a raggle-taggle bunch they seemed – but, oh, what great hearts they all had!
“You will all be at the ball tomorrow evening, in the Assembly Rooms, won’t you?” she asked and they all assented readily, though only Meadows was fit enough to dance.
“Where’s Underwood?” asked Dickson, suddenly noticing the absence of his darling Verity’s husband; he had claimed to be in love with her since the first moment he set eyes on her, when she had gladly flirted with him in spite of his injuries. He was fresh from London, where the heartless misses who were eager to make a brilliant match had treated him with a similar horror to that which Lydia had just shown. “Never tell me he’s finally left town so you and I can run away together, dearest Verity.”
“He’s away on business,” said Verity, careful not to give any hint of Underwood’s whereabouts. The less people who knew he was on another case, the better.
“You couldn’t run off with Verity anyway,” interpolated Swann, “A man would need at least one leg to do that!”
“See how fast you can run when I knock that crutch from under you,” returned Dickson swiftly and they all laughed, except Lydia who gazed from one face to another, wondering how they could bear to joke on so horrid a subject.
Lady Hartley-Wells, who had wondered off with Cromer to greet some of her own friends, and who found the Wablers rather trying en masse since they showed her none of the respect she felt was due to her, came back and shooed them all away, “Get on with you, you disreputable gaggle of chuckle-heads! I want this young lady to meet nice young men, not a bunch of here-and-thereians!”
Having been told in that short speech that she considered them to not only be stupid, but of no fixed abode – which sadly was true for most of them, as they resided in a lodging house, when away from the homes they still shared with their parents, the Wablers took themselves off to find something more palatable than Hanbury Spring Water.
Lydia seemed relieved to see them leave, “They are very ... outspoken, aren’t they?” she asked, still somewhat bemused by the whole experience.
Lady Hartley-Wells smiled after their departing backs, showing, for the first time since Verity had known her, a decided partiality for the ex-soldiers, “After what they’ve been through, they deserve the right to speak their minds, God bless them,” she said, “Now what have you all been talking about while I’ve been gone?”
Nobody particularly wanted to tell her.
When she found a moment to speak quietly to Lydia, Verity couldn’t resist asking, even though she felt it rather impertinent, “Do you really own Sabrina, my dear? How on earth does that feel, to know that another person is your property – forgive me! I shouldn’t ask, pray pretend I never said anything of the kind.”
Lydia looked at her strangely for a few seconds before she smiled slightly, “I’m sorry, Mrs Underwood, I know that you think it is I who is odd, but of course all this is perfectly ordinary to me, and I can’t understand why all of you are making such a fuss about Sabrina. I suppose it will take time for us all to grow used to each other’s ways. I’m afraid I can’t tell you how I feel about owning Sabrina, for it has never occurred to me that it could be any different. I have always had her by me – you could say that she owns me as surely as I own her, for I can never think of myself without including her in my reckonings. It is quite worrying, you know, having another body relying entirely on you for their every need. Sabrina could not survive without me; she knows how to do nothing for herself. She does not know about money or how to buy food, or where she could find shelter or clothing. In many ways she is like a child, expecting me to provide everything for her.”
“Very like being married to Underwood, then,” said Verity, before she had chance to think about her words. She bit her lip and looked at Lydia, who returned her glance straight-faced for a few seconds, then she smiled, whereupon Verity began to giggle in a manner which belied her matronly aspect. The two women bonded in that moment.
Later, when she was alone in her bed, missing Underwood and wondering how he was going on wit
hout her, she thought about her conversation with Lydia. At least Sabrina could always be freed and eventually be taught to look after herself, Verity was sure that Underwood never could.
*
CHAPTER TEN
“Aut Bibat Aut Abeat” – You are either for us or against us
By the time Underwood had taken note of the whereabouts of Mr Toft, the lawyer’s office and extracted a promise that he might be able to meet and talk with Miss Petch in the next day or so, he found Miss Fettiplace in such a state of nerves that he was obliged to ring the bell for service and when the maid arrived he had to ask her to escort the older lady off the premises by means of the back door, so that she might not be seen by any interested parties. Luckily her advanced age saved Underwood from any pert glances from the maid, for sneaking a lady out of his presence, it being known he was a married man by virtue of his wedding band.
When he exited the room himself some minutes later, having given Miss Fettiplace chance to leave the building without a stain on her character, he found the landlord waiting for him with the news that he had another visitor, “Mr Luckhurst here to see you, sir. I did tell him that you were taking tea and had asked not to be disturbed as you were composing a letter of some importance.” He winked broadly at Underwood, who was given to understand that either he had won himself an ally through his innate charm, or more probably that Luckhurst was about as popular with the townspeople of West Wimpleford as he was with the dismissed staff at Pershore House.
Luckhurst was pacing the hall, obviously furious at being kept waiting. Underwood felt that the moment had arrived to put the obnoxious little toad in his place. As the younger man turned to confront him, Underwood lifted his quizzing glass out of his waistcoat pocket and raised it to his eye. He looked Luckhurst up and down in a disdainful way which he had perfected by observing one of his ex-pupils, who had astoundingly grown from a spotty youth into one of the most admired dandies in London, whose quizzing glass was known as the most devastating weapon among the aristocracy. Actually Underwood’s wasn’t even a dandified quizzing glass, but a magnifying glass which he used occasionally for his cases, but Luckhurst wasn’t to know that, and it had the desired effect. The man found himself so shocked by the contempt in Underwood’s demeanour that he was quite bereft of speech for several seconds, which gave Underwood the advantage, if only for a short while.
“May I do something to be of assistance to you, sir?” he asked coldly.
Naturally it didn’t take long for someone as arrogant as Luckhurst to regain his composure, “Certainly. You can tell me what the devil you think you are doing here. I know from your bearing that you are most definitely not a military man, so that cock-and-bull story you told about being a comrade of my cousin can clearly be disregarded.”
Underwood smiled, but there was a dangerous glint in his eye, “My dear sir, it is no business of yours who I am or what I’m doing in town. I came to see Miss Petch, not you.”
“And I will not have you lying to my fiancée!”
“When she is your fiancée, you may have an opinion, until then my friend, it’s of continuing disinterest to me what you think about my motives.”
The way the man’s mouth fell open with astonishment alerted Underwood to his error. He silently berated himself for allowing Luckhurst to irritate him to such a degree that he had lost his temper and spoken hastily. Of course he should not know that Miss Petch had been proposed to and had as yet withheld her answer.
“Who in damnation told you about my relationship with Miss Petch?”
Underwood drew his snuff box from his coat pocket, flicked it open with a practised thumbnail and took a leisurely pinch, “Dear me, have I been indiscreet? Well, never mind, I’m sure we’ll all recover from the oversight presently. Now, I’m sure you didn’t come here, my young hothead, to discuss my failings. Pray get your tiresome warnings over and done with, so that I can go about my business.”
Luckhurst was so incensed by this speech, he entirely failed to notice that Underwood did not answer his question, “You take my enmity very lightly, sir, but you will learn that I am not to be underestimated.”
It was at this juncture that Underwood very nearly mentioned the scar-faced ostler who had been sent to spy on him, but managed to restrain himself – he had given away enough for one day. Instead he smiled in that lazy way of his that could be guaranteed to send anyone of excessive self-importance into an apoplectic frenzy, “Console yourself, my dear fellow, with the knowledge that you have sent chills of fear running up and down my spine. Good day to you.” With that he brushed past the man and went up the stairs to his room.
Luckhurst unfortunately waited a little too long to bring to mind something cutting to respond and Underwood was out of earshot before the tirade began. When it grew too offensive and loud, the landlord intercepted and showed the man off the premises before he had his jacket dusted by one of several gentlemen who had just arrived on the coach in the company of ladies who were visibly shocked by the choice language.
Underwood, who was leaning over the upstairs banister and had heard every word, grinned wickedly to himself before retreating to his room to have a wash and change his clothes before venturing out again in search of Lawyer Toft.
He found that gentleman just preparing to leave for the evening, though Underwood noticed that his clerk kept to his place and was very obviously not about to finish his work for at least another hour.
“Mr Toft I presume? My name is Underwood. I wonder if I might beg a few minutes speech with you sir.”
Mr Toft waved his hand in the vague direction of his industrious clerk, “Make an appointment, my dear sir. I may be able to fit you in sometime next week.”
“I’m afraid that won’t do, sir, though I do apologise for the imposition. I’ll be leaving town in the next couple of days, but before I leave I do need to discuss Mr Rutherford Petch with you – and his sister also.”
At the name of Petch, the man stopped in his tracks and glanced sideways at Underwood, his filmy blue eyes suddenly interested, though he was trying to disguise the fact.
“I’m afraid the Petch family are no longer my clients, sir, so I doubt I can be of assistance.”
“I’m very sure you can help, sir, if you’ll forgive my persistence.”
Mr Toft caught Underwood’s eye, then threw a warning glance towards the clerk and Underwood immediately understood. The clerk must be another in the pay of the odious Luckhurst.
“You are wrong, sir, I have had no dealings with the Petch siblings for over two years. Allow me to show you out.”
Underwood went before him to the door and as he passed the older man, he heard him whisper, “The coffee house down the street, to the left. Ten minutes.”
“Good day to you, sir. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”
He walked away, to the right, so that the clerk saw him go past the window, then he crossed the street and doubled back, finding the coffee house with no difficulty. Mr Toft joined him, as promised, within the allotted ten minutes.
“I took the liberty of ordering us coffee,” said Underwood rising to his feet and pulling out a chair for the lawyer.
“Thank you, but I mustn’t tarry long. My wife expects me home.”
“I understand. Hopefully it will not take long to satisfy my curiosity.”
He waited until they had steaming cups of the fragrant brew before them and the lad who had served them was out of the way.
“Tell me about Mr Petch, sir. Miss Fettiplace gives me to understand that she feels sure that he is innocent of the crime for which he has been transported.”
“I’m sure she has not misplaced her trust in him.”
Underwood raised a quizzical brow, “Mr Toft, do you realize what you are saying? I can scarcely believe that almost everyone I meet is sure Petch is no thief, but the man languishes in the Colonies nevertheless.”
“You do not understand, Mr Underwood, how powerful Luckhurst has become since he bega
n to ingratiate himself with his Great Aunt.”
“I’m very sure he has his spies everywhere. I have witnessed his methods at first hand, but he cannot, in truth, have the law in his pay too.”
“Can he not?” responded Toft wearily, “He dines with the local magistrate every week, and pays for the Town Watchman from his own money. The local Constable is his oldest friend.”
Underwood looked thoughtful, “It sounds as though he owns the whole town.”
“He may as well do so. He has poisoned his aunt against Rutherford Petch and convinced her to change her will in his favour. She wanted to pass over Rutherford after his disgrace and leave everything to Miss Petch instead, but he has promised that he will marry the girl, assuring his aunt that without his care, Cressida would allow the whole estate to fall into ruin, or worse still, hold it for Petch’s eventual return.”
“If Rutherford did not steal the necklace, do you think Luckhurst did so?”
“No, I feel sure he is too canny to do any such thing. He would be ruined if it was discovered in his possession and to pay someone else to steal it would be to leave himself open to blackmail. I believe the old lady really has hidden it somewhere in the house – Luckhurst merely took advantage of its disappearance.”
“But he could not have known she would do anything of the kind.”
“The truth is he didn’t need the theft of the necklace to get rid of Rutherford. He had already successfully brought Miss Greenhowe round to his side by crawling and flattering, making himself indispensible while Rutherford spent years in the Peninsular fighting for his country. And of course the stupid boy did not help his own case by being thoroughly rakish when he came home on leave.” He sighed tiredly and took a sip of his rapidly cooling coffee.
“So if we could find the necklace and clear Rutherford’s name, all will be well,” said Underwood bracingly. He felt that everyone connected with this case was capitulating far too easily. They all needed to realize that even someone as power-crazed as Luckhurst had his Achilles heel – it was simply a case of finding it.
Yield Not To Misfortune (The Underwood Mysteries Book 5) Page 7