“A mighty big ‘if’, Mr Underwood. I assure you that house has been searched from top to bottom with no sign of the dashed thing. And even should it be found, there is no guarantee that Miss Greenhowe will change her will again. I no longer have any influence over her. Luckhurst told her that I had been mishandling her investments. I was fortunate not to end in Australia with poor Rutherford. I only escaped prosecution by agreeing to stand down as the family solicitor. Luckhurst has his own man in charge of her affairs now and no one can get near to her to try and talk sense into her. He claims she is ill, but I suspect he befuddles her already weak mind with laudanum and insidious gossip.”
“If she is feeble-minded then surely her affairs should be in the hands of a disinterested party. Are there not laws which protect the property of the vulnerable from such vultures as Luckhurst?”
“There are, but how can we prove her incapable whilst she is so closely guarded? I tried to have her examined by a physician, but it needed the permission of the local Magistrate to proceed – and I need not explain how well that was received by the man who hunts, drinks and dines with Luckhurst!”
A frown descended upon Underwood’s brow. This matter was growing more complicated with every passing hour – and he was eager to get home. But never would he walk away whilst there was a wrong to be righted.
It looked as though he would be extending his stay a little longer.
“Is there but one apothecary in town, sir?” he asked.
“Yes, just the one, but why do you ask? Are you feeling unwell?”
“I’ve never been better, sir, thank you,” he replied, “And thank you for your time. You have been most helpful.”
“I don’t see how, but if you say so. Pray let me know if you manage to aid poor Rutherford, won’t you, sir?”
“Indeed I will.”
*
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Quo Vadis?” – Wither goest thou?
Toby Hambleton decided that there were some things that Mrs Underwood was better off not knowing. The letter in his hand was a case in point. In it was his instructions from Mr Underwood and he was very well aware that Verity would most certainly not approve. She hated the notion of underhand dealing of any kind and was finding it difficult enough to treat Lydia Woodforde as anything other than that which she claimed to be, despite the lack of proof. If she knew that her husband had told Toby that his task now was to follow Miss Woodforde whenever she was apart from her mother and report back her every move, meetings and conversations, she would be most unhappy.
Toby himself had no qualms. He had known Underwood long enough to realize that he never asked for any action without having good reasons. He was also well aware that Verity’s rose-hued vision of the world was no help at all when dealing with life’s rogues and rascals.
Underwood had not asked him to keep the letter a secret – he would never require Toby to deceive his adored Verity, but the more he thought about it, the more reluctant Toby was to confide in his mistress – not that she considered herself to be his mistress. He accepted payment and his keep from the Underwoods but none of the parties involved considered him to be an employee. If anything he was their lodger who helped out around the house and garden, with the children and with any other tasks which should happen to need attention.
Of course this unconventional arrangement caused much speculation in the town of Hanbury. No one could quite work out how the household fitted together, but Verity was so popular, Underwood admired and Toby well-liked that it had really ceased to matter to anyone but the newcomers, who raised an eyebrow, asked questions and had to be satisfied with indulgent shrugs. The Underwoods might be eccentric, but they were Hanbury eccentrics.
Since he didn’t actually have any duties to perform, though he did indeed keep himself busy in the house and garden, Toby found it relatively easy to absent himself and keep an eye on Miss Woodforde.
For the first few days it was evident that Mrs Woodforde could not bear her darling girl out of her sight, so Toby had little to do except ingratiate himself with local landlords, using various inns and taverns to keep watch on the Spa, the circulating library, coffee shops and other emporia. It was the sort of task he would normally find excruciatingly boring, for, though he liked a drink as much as the next man, he was not generally a frequenter of public houses. With his build and previous life as a pugilist, it was all too easy to find himself embroiled in fisticuffs. He avoided fights as best he could, but there was nearly always some drunken idiot who decided to take on the great, never-forgotten ‘Hammer-fist’ Hambleton. Often Toby could talk his would-be aggressors down from their fighting stance, but occasionally he was forced to give some young buck a lesson he would not soon forget, then he would have to explain away his grazed knuckles to a concerned Verity.
When Lydia did start to wander a little, with only her Sabrina to keep her company, Toby followed and took copious notes, but she did nothing of any real interest, or so it seemed. Of course Toby could not hide his identity for very long, he was far too well known in Hanbury for that, and he also accompanied Verity more often than not, driving her into town, for it not to be noticed by the two young women. Almost imperceptibly, Sabrina ceased to accompany her mistress and instead sought out the big man and occupied all his time and attention, with the obvious intention of distracting him from his surveillance.
“My mistress is choosing some ribbon to trim her new bonnet and it must be the exact shade as her green leather half-boots. Thank heavens she has taken Mrs Thornycroft with her so that I do not have to bear the tedium of shopping with her. Her fussiness is unbearable,” said Sabrina, sipping lemonade while sitting on a low wall outside The Saracen’s Head. Toby had a tankard of ale and had been happily ensconced in the tap room until he had seen her wistful face looking in at the window, perhaps searching for him. He had immediately left his cronies to their beer and pipes of strong tobacco and joined her outside in the sunshine.
It might have been evident to Underwood, had he been there, what mischief the girls were up to, but it never occurred to Toby that he was being played as skilfully as Underwood played the pianoforte; that he was dancing to the tune of the two young women. As soon as the beautiful Sabrina began to talk to him, he entirely forgot his promise to Underwood not to let Miss Woodforde out of his sight. When she looked adoringly up at him from beneath her impossibly long, dark lashes, her eyes the colour of hot chocolate, her skin tawny and smooth, he was lost in a dream of a love that he thought he would never find. He knew his real family were in Barbados, but he had been wrenched from them when he was so young that he had no memory of them. For years he had scarcely given them a thought, but having Sabrina by his side, her hair still smelling of the coconut oil she used to smooth the unruly curls, he was transported back, even if only in his imagination, to his childhood home. Eagerly he questioned her about other slaves on the island, hoping, yet despairing that she would know his mother and could give him news of the family he had never known.
She, in her turn, asked him about himself, begged to know how he had broken the shackles of slavery and found freedom. Before he knew what he was about, he was giving her the full story of his early life. He had been born in the late seventeen hundreds in a gentleman’s family to a female slave. The existence of a father was never mentioned, but it was hinted that a member of the household was responsible. Probably a member of the family, for had it merely been another servant, even a white man, there would have been no secret, in fact they might even have been allowed to get married; it was quite acceptable for the lower classes to fraternise with the black population, though not, of course, the gentry.
It seemed his early years had been fairly comfortable. He had been an engaging child and so the mistress of the house had taken him under her wing and treated him almost as a favourite pet. From the age of two he had been her constant companion. It seemed the master was rarely at home. He lived a life of debauchery in London, wenching and gambling while his w
ife stayed dutifully in the country pile. She was childless herself and seemed to pour all her maternal instincts into this attractive little boy. He slept in a truckle bed in her room and spent his days as her companion, doing small tasks and fetching and carrying for her. She taught him to read and write and to reckon and had him baptised a Christian.
However a sudden growth spurt at the age of fourteen brought him to the attention of the master, who suddenly decided that this tall, handsome black youth was hardly fit company for his aging wife. He was told that he would join the rest of the male slaves on the sugar plantation in Barbados and his passage was arranged on the next available ship.
His mistress, knowing that working with the sugar cane was practically a death sentence to one as gently raised as Toby, begged with her husband to grant the boy his freedom. Toby never knew how she managed to persuade him, but after days of adamant denial, he suddenly capitulated and Toby was literally turned out onto the streets with only the clothes he had on his back. His mistress managed to slip some money into his hand as she bade him a tearful farewell, but other than those few guineas, he had nothing.
His first thought was to go to London and seek work, but a few days of seeing the grinding poverty, drunkenness and filth that characterised the poorer areas of the great city, he took himself off back to the country and found what work he could as an itinerant worker. His beloved mistress had read ‘Robinson Crusoe’ to him as a child and he realised that at least in the countryside, he stood a chance of being able to live off the land if he couldn’t find work. As it happened he was much in demand because of his exceptionally hard work and growing physical strength. The fine, inherited physique soon blossomed into rippling muscles as he earned his living in agriculture, and it was not long before a passing Travelling Show recruited him as a bare-knuckle pugilist. At first he was employed merely to have wrestling matches with brawny young men who wanted to try and win a few pennies by flooring the resident champion, but the owner of the fair soon realised that he had a money-spinner on his hands and Toby was trained in the noble art of boxing.
“I had heard,” said Sabrina, “that it was Mr Underwood who saved your life when you were beaten almost to death. I must say I was surprised, for he does not at all seem like a man who would enjoy fighting.”
Toby laughed heartily at the thought of the elegant Underwood involved in anything so unseemly as a ‘mill’; of course he could have no idea that at that very moment, far away in West Wimpleford, the ‘elegant’ Mr Underwood was elbowing a man in the face and very nearly breaking his nose.
“I can assure you that though Underwood was indeed my rescuer, the fight itself was long over. He found me half dead in a ditch and brought me back to Gil and Verity for their ministrations.”
Sabrina joined in his laughter, “I have not yet met Mr Underwood, but from what I have heard, that sounds very much nearer to the truth than him wading in and boxing with your assailants. I wish you would tell me more about him. What manner of man is he? My mistress says that she hears his name on everyone’s lips and that he is really quite famous as a solver of mysteries.”
Her words gave him a sudden pang of conscience. It was obvious from her manner that she was angling for him to tell her about Underwood, and had merely been waiting for an opportunity to question him without rousing his suspicions. The breathless way she spoke, quickly saying what she had to before he could interrupt, told him that she was recalling a practised speech. He suddenly realized that she and Lydia could only be interested in Underwood for one reason – they had been warned that he was to investigate Lydia’s claim. With sickening certainty he saw that he had been guilty of dereliction of duty. He currently had no idea where Lydia was, but he knew one thing for sure; she was likely to be quite alone, for he had her abigail here beside him, and no matter what story Sabrina had told him about Lydia being in the company of Mrs Thornycroft, he had no proof of that, or indeed anything else she confided.
He had been a fool to think that this beautiful creature was in any way interested in him and his tales of pugilism and escape from slavery. She had been sent to distract him and he had allowed her to do so with pitiable ease. He rose to his feet, “Good grief, look at the time,” he nodded towards the clock on the tower of the nearest church, “your mistress will be wondering where you have been all these hours. I should hate to get you into trouble with her. I must escort you back to her.”
Sabrina hastily scrambled to her feet, “There’s no need for that. I’ll go by myself.”
“But you don’t know where she is, do you?”
“Oh, I’ll find her,” she said vaguely, “she’s bound to return to the Pump rooms for tea when she has finished shopping.”
If Toby had been in any doubt that Sabrina was a dupe, this comment disabused him of the notion. She had most certainly been told to stay by him to make sure that he did not follow Lydia. His disappointment in her and his self-recrimination made him curt with her, “You had better get yourself off and find her then,” he said dismissively, “I have my own errands to perform and shouldn’t have wasted so much time sitting about with you.”
With that he walked away, and Sabrina watched him leave, her face reflecting the confusion she felt at the sudden change of heart on his part. She had begun to talk to him because she had been told to, but very quickly she had begun to enjoy herself. She was rarely spoken to so gently and with such courtesy. To her mistress she was no better than a dog or a horse, there simply to serve without question. Most other people did not know how to treat her, confused by her position in society and wondering if she even spoke or understood English, so infrequently did they have contact with those whom they supposed to be ‘natives’. Even when slavery was at its height thirty years before, it had rarely reached as far north as Derbyshire. Ignorance made people afraid, she had found.
Toby felt that his long strides couldn’t put distance between him and Sabrina fast enough. He wanted to punch something, or preferably someone; such was his anger and frustration at her duplicity and his own gullibility. It was not as though Underwood had not warned him to be careful. The man feared there was a dark game afoot and he had tried to arm both Toby and Verity with wariness so that they might not be manipulated by the man who was behind the whole sorry enterprise, but of course they had both been drawn in; Verity by her natural inclination to see the good in everyone and himself by the wiles of a lovely girl.
They both needed to be more vigilant and though Toby knew that he had now learned a hard lesson and would benefit from it, he feared the same could not be said for Mrs Underwood. Verity would continue to welcome Lydia and Sabrina until something so momentous happened that she would have no choice but to walk away from them – and Toby was terribly afraid that by the time that occurred, it might very well be too late.
*
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Felicitas Habet Multos Amicos” – Prosperity has many friends
The residents of Hanbury would have been astounded if they had seen Underwood abroad so early the next morning. No one who knew him well expected to see him breakfasted and dressed before noon. However his early rising caused no stir in Wimpleford for it seemed everyone was up and busy. The stagecoach left at the crack of dawn and once the drivers and passengers were awake it was not long before everyone else followed suit – they did not go about their business quietly.
Due to his adventure of the day before, Underwood already knew where to find the apothecary shop, so he went there directly, checking first to see if he had unwanted company. However, either Luckhurst had found himself a better agent who could hide himself from the man he was following, or he had decided to leave Underwood to his own devices.
Hopeful of not been overheard Underwood entered the shop and asked to speak to the owner, who came out of the back room, eyeing his visitor warily, “We don’t want any trouble, sir, if you don’t mind.”
Underwood’s expression was one of pained innocence, “Trouble? My good fellow,
what can you possibly mean by that?”
“It was you, wasn’t it, who caused the brawl outside my shop?”
“Brawl?” repeated Underwood, apparently scandalized, “I accidently nudged some poor fellow in the face, then asked you to care for him before taking myself off by the back way in case he had thoughts of revenge. I’m deeply offended by the very notion that I might be the sort of rackety individual who fights in the street.”
“That’s not the story Gabe Muir is telling,” offered the man cynically, though Underwood was not quite sure which version of events caused his scepticism.
“I’m sure it is not,” said Underwood, “but tell me sir, if you bettered in a fight by the likes of me and preferred to see yourself as something of a bruiser, wouldn’t you claim that I had attacked you before you had chance to put up your guard?”
The man laughed, “Gabe has always been a liar and a bully – and he’s been worse than ever in recent times, so all things considered, I reckon you might be telling the truth at that. Now, you asked to speak to me? What can I do for you?”
“Is there somewhere private we can talk?”
The apothecary raised an eyebrow, but in his line of work he was quite used to gentlemen asking to speak ‘privately’ though he had to admit that his usual client for this sort of consultation did not generally resemble someone like Underwood.
“Certainly, sir, this way.” With a flick of his finger he indicated to his assistant, who had been busily dusting the shelves and myriad bottles, that he was now in charge of the shop. Evidently it was a code easily understood by the lad, for he left off his task and took his position behind the counter, though the shop, Underwood was pleased to notice, was currently empty of any customers.
Yield Not To Misfortune (The Underwood Mysteries Book 5) Page 8