Yield Not To Misfortune (The Underwood Mysteries Book 5)

by Suzanne Downes

  “No, sir, she did not. I came with news for you from Captain Petch. He arrived home from Australia just yesterday and after hearing from Miss Cressida of my part in your investigation, he asked me to come and tell you that as soon as he is rested, he will be coming to see you himself, to thank you for his deliverance. He also bade me inform you that Attridge the lawyer has been found and arrested. It seems that it was he and not poor Toft who was defrauding the estate – and he also lied about the will. Miss Greenhowe had not written a new testament naming Luckhurst as her heir; that was why they never tried to kill her and why Luckhurst was so desperate to marry his cousin. Captain Petch is, and always has been, the future owner of the Pershore Estate.”

  Underwood looked gratified, “That is good news indeed, my friend, but I fear I may never meet the good captain.”

  “Yes, you will. You have to. So many people are relying on you, you cannot give in now.”

  “I know it, Will, but God, I’m just so very tired. I can’t fight it any more.”

  Jebson sat on the edge of the bed and looked earnestly into Underwood’s face, “Listen to me, Mr Underwood, this is not the end. I have looked at the stuff you’ve been taking and I know what I’m talking about when I tell you that you haven’t been fed that much. Not enough to kill you, I swear it. The reason you feel as though you are done for is pure weariness because you have been through so much and have not been able to eat. You think Brodie has won, so your body is letting you down. I promise you that arsenic can be taken quite safely in small doses – in fact I use it in some medicines.” This was not strictly true, but Underwood did not need to know it. It was used on horses, to give them a shiny coat, but Jebson would never have fed it to humans, though others took it of their own accord for its supposed health-giving properties. Jebson had always felt that the results were too hit and miss to be safe; too much depended on the person taking it, their own state of wellness at the time, their height, their weight.

  “You are probably right, Will, but if my body has given up, then it is the end, isn’t it?” asked Underwood, his voice cracking at the thought of his own demise. He had been courageous enough up to now, but reality was beginning to take hold and he could no longer convince himself that he had a chance of survival. He had felt his strength draining away which was why he had finally asked for his brother and his children.

  “No. There are ways I can help. You just have to believe what I tell you. Brodie must have given you a huge dose at the beginning and that weakened you, but it didn’t kill you, which would have been his intention. He’s never been able to get close enough to give you the killer dose, so he made sure you continued to get small amounts – but they were not ingested, they were absorbed through your nasal membranes in the snuff and your gums when you brushed your teeth.”

  “That’s true enough, but it has still been poisoning me.”

  “But not sufficient to kill you. I’m not going to lie to you, the cure is going to be harrowing, but there is a cure.”

  “What do I have to do?” asked Underwood, his voice a little stronger than it had been before. Gil and Francis realized that even if he could not save Underwood, Jebson had at least given him hope.

  “You need to drink, a lot! Milk will help to bind the poison so that it can be expelled, water will help to flush your liver and kidneys.”

  “But I can’t keep anything down,” protested Underwood, “I’ve tried to drink and I vomit it straight back up.”

  “And that’s why it is going to be harrowing,” Jebson told him firmly, “You are going to have to keep trying, no matter what.”

  Underwood closed his eyes, pained at the thought of what he was going to have to go through, but he knew he had no choice. The next few hours were going to either kill him or cure him, he had no idea which, but he knew he owed it to his wife and children to put himself through what amounted to torture.

  “Please let the milk be fresh,” he said weakly, “I don’t think I could take the slightest hint of sourness.”

  “We’ll have a cow outside,” promised Francis, not sure that the drastic measures suggested by the apothecary were going to work, but determined to give it as good a chance as he could manage. He had to admit he had no better idea.

  They made their preparations; buckets and bowls were brought from all over the house, towels and fresh sheets, ready for use when necessary. Then they began. Underwood managed one glass of water before he threw up. Verity bathed his sweating forehead before putting another glass in his hand, “Try some milk this time, my love, please.”

  Underwood fell back on the pillows, “Give me a moment,”

  “No, I’m sorry, my own dearest one, but we do not have a moment to spare. Drink some more.” She held the glass to his lips and he retched at the smell of the milk, fresh as it was, but he opened his lips and drank. Nothing but his love for his wife could have persuaded him to go on in that terrible moment.

  It was going to be a very long day.

  *

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  “Iucundi Acti Labores” – Completed labours are pleasant

  As the afternoon wore on Toby grew more and more resentful that the only task he was allowed to perform for Underwood was to empty the slop buckets into the outside privy. The bedroom was full of those who loved him, all suffering with him, praying that their encouragement was going to be his salvation. Gil did pray, out loud, until Underwood told him irascibly that he was, far from giving his brother a reason to fight for life, actually draining him of the will to live. After that he confined his prayers to himself.

  Verity mopped his brow and begged him to keep drinking fluids to combat the dehydration that the poison and continual vomiting was causing. Francis monitored his condition, ready to tell them all to cease the experiment when he felt the poor man had endured enough and Will Jebson made the trips up and down the stairs with warm milk and cool water.

  Forced to listen from outside the bedroom door to the low voices encouraging Underwood, and the ghastly sounds of the poor man’s suffering, Toby thought he would go mad with grief and frustration. When he could take no more, the big man left the house and hitched the horse to the gig. His destination was the small boarding house which now housed Lydia and Sabrina, whence they had shifted, once it became obvious that they could not continue to live with the Underwoods, partly responsible, as they were, for the master of the house’s illness. They had moved out as soon as Underwood’s increasing frailty had made nursing him Verity’s priority.

  He found them together in the sitting room and without preamble he demanded that they stop their games and tell him where he could find Thomas Brodie.

  “You might as well know that your master’s attempt to murder Underwood has failed,” he said coldly to Sabrina, though, of course, he knew no such thing. Underwood had still been fighting when he left, and even in the few minutes it had taken Toby to reach Hanbury, he could have died. This thought strengthened his resolve when Sabrina turned tear-filled brown eyes upon him and begged him not to ask her to reveal Brodie’s secrets.

  “You will tell me,” he warned her, for once refusing to be deterred by the stirrings of his own emotions whenever he looked upon her lovely face.

  A bitter laugh turned his attention from Sabrina to Lydia, “How will you make her tell you, Toby? Like this?” With that she tore the shawl from her servant’s back, unlaced her dress and pulled the cloth aside to show the astounded man the scars of brutal lashings across the girl’s shoulders, some old and healed, some so fresh that the blood still seeped from them.

  “Dear God,” breathed Toby, feeling nausea wash over him at the thought of what the thin little maid had gone through, “Brodie did this to you?”

  Sabrina nodded, “I dare not disobey him again, Toby.”

  “Even if I promise you that he will never lay a hand on you again?” asked the big man grimly, “We can see him hang for trying to kill Mr Underwood.”

  They both looked at him, eyes wide
with fear, unconvinced that there was any possibility they might truly be free of the monster who ruled them with beatings and hard words.

  “Please, ladies, you know you must do this. Underwood and Verity have shown you every kindness. You cannot mean to deny them justice.” Toby had never thought to see the day when he would be reduced to begging anything from anyone – he had sworn never to bow to any man again after his bondage, but what was his pride, when Underwood’s life was at stake?

  At last Lydia nodded her head, “Verity has never wavered in her support of me, even when all about me would have ostracised me without a thought. I have never wanted the Underwoods to suffer thus. I will take you to Brodie, even if it means I have to pay the price that poor Sabrina has so often in the past.”

  Toby tried to persuade Sabrina to stay behind, but she would not leave her half sister to the mercy of their father – if indeed he was Lydia’s father, or even her step-father. Who knew now where Lydia had sprung from? They would never know if she was the child who had been stolen from Mrs Woodforde twenty years ago. She fully admitted that she had no memory of her past. Whether it was from the trauma of being wrenched from her mother, or because no such thing had ever happened to her and she was a poor, lost orphan whom Brodie had adopted, but she could recall nothing from being the age of about five. All her life she had believed that Barbados was her home and Brodie her father.

  They went out to the gig and Lydia directed Toby which road to take. When he felt her trembling with fear beside him, he almost wavered in his resolve. Should he really be subjecting these two helpless women to this journey and the horror which probably awaited them at the end?

  Luckily he did not have too much time in which to change his mind, for Brodie had not gone far, too intent on keeping an eye on the court proceedings to risk leaving the district. The adjournment had apparently unnerved him for when they came upon him in the deserted coffee room of yet another insalubrious inn, he was already half drunk. He looked blearily towards his daughters and staggered to his feet, his fist raised, but he stopped before he struck the first blow when he saw Toby coming into the room behind them.

  He smiled unpleasantly, “Come to tell me of the sad demise of that interfering fool, Underwood, have you?” he asked.

  “On the contrary, I’ve come to report his recovery,” said Toby, equally grim, “But I do want to know why you tried to kill him, before I hand you over to the authorities. It has always seemed such a pointless crime to me. It was Mrs Woodforde who brought the case against Lydia, not Underwood.”

  “That may well be so, but she would never have thought of doing so without his interference! She was ready to accept Lydia as her lost child without question until that old hag Lady Hartley-Wells persuaded her to let Underwood investigate. Believe me, when I get the chance, I’ll serve her as I served him. No one stands in my way and lives!” He walked across the room with a drunken swagger that was almost comic and Toby realized that the man was quite mad. He had an absolute conviction that his wants were of more importance than anything else in the world, even the lives of others.

  “Did you kill Silas Woodforde too?” Toby asked, with a sudden moment of clarity. It had all been too easy, the convenient death of a man who had confided that the child with him was the heiress to a vast fortune.

  Brodie merely laughed, even when he heard Lydia gasp in shock at the suggestion that her real father might very well have been murdered, leaving her in the thrall of this monster, who had used her and never shown her the slightest affection. She had learned to be grateful to him because she thought he had saved her when she was left alone in a strange country with no one around her who might have known who she was and returned her to her mother. He had painted a picture of a nightmare existence of obscurity in a Barbadian orphanage.

  “You’ll never know how Silas died, will you my friend?” he sneered.

  “You might just as well give yourself up, Brodie. Horatia has told of your part in the plot to kill her father and her testimony will hang you,” said Toby, aware that these revelations were probably not helping the two women come to terms with the plot they had been involved in. It was harsh enough to recall the crimes they had committed, without the painful realisation that they had done so for a man who not only did not deserve their loyalty, but was not fit to wipe their shoes.

  “Not if he’s not dead, it won’t. A man can’t be hanged for a murder that didn’t happen.”

  Toby had to admit that this was true, but he was content that any court in the land would take a dim view of the attempt. Brodie was looking at years in gaol if not transportation for his actions.

  Brodie guessed the reason for Toby hesitation and laughed aloud, “Well, it is a pity I didn’t manage to kill the man, but I got him out of the way for long enough to ruin the court case my dear ‘wife’ brought against Lydia.”

  Now Toby did have information that he could use to puncture the man’s

  insufferable self-assurance.

  “Is that what you think? I’m afraid you were misinformed. The court case has not been brought to a halt by Underwood’s absence. No, far from it. His testimony was peripheral at best. The reason they have adjourned is to bring some witnesses from London.”

  For the first time Brodie’s arrogance wavered, “Who might that be?” he asked sarcastically, “No one I need to be afraid of, I’ll be bound.”

  “Perhaps not, if you are telling the truth about who Lydia is. But Lady Lovatt and her husband should be able to tell us what has been happening in Barbados these past few years.”

  The colour drained from the older man’s face, “Who the hell told Lovatt about the case?” he spat viciously.

  “I did, papa,” said Lydia warily, “I heard they were back in England so I wrote to Lady Lovatt. I thought she could help our case.”

  Before Toby could stop him, Brodie moved from the stance he had taken before the fireplace and crossed the room to deal the girl a backhanded blow which sent her flying to the floor, “You stupid little bitch!” he gasped, “Lovatt and Silas knew each other well. They gambled at the same clubs in London. Red only covered for me because he thought I was raising Silas’s daughter for him after he died. Silas had given them the same tale of woe about his wicked wife and vengeful in-laws. He and his wife thought it was an act of compassion on my part, never guessing there was a fortune at stake. They’ll not back me if they realize it was all about the money. I’ve waited twenty years for this and you have destroyed it all with your stupid meddling!”

  As she dragged herself to her feet he went for her again, but Toby was ready for him this time and he smashed his mighty fist into the man’s face. He staggered backwards, falling into the fireplace and as he fell, they heard his skull crack on the fender.

  There was silence in the room for several seconds, then Sabrina ran across to her father, putting her head to his chest to see if his heart was still beating.

  She looked up at Toby, her eyes wide with fright, “I think he’s dead. Let’s get out of here, now. No one knows what has happened.”

  “The landlord showed us in. It’s not as though I can disguise myself now, is it? How long do you think it will take the authorities to find a black man in Derbyshire?”

  She thought for a moment and then made a decision, “Pick him up. We’ll take him up to his room, then you must leave. As soon as the coast is clear, I’ll tumble him down the stairs. It will look like an accident. If they want to blame anyone, they can blame me.”

  Toby shook his head, “I can’t let you do that,” he said huskily, real terror sweeping over him as he realized what he had done. He had ceased pugilism because he had always feared this very thing, that he would kill a man with his huge fists.

  “Yes, you can,” said Lydia, giving the body a disdainful glance before returning her attention to Toby, “I’ll stay here and help Sabrina, but you must go. They will understand two women being present at an accident, but they will never believe you did not kill him, even
if it was not deliberate. I’ll not see you hang for that scurrilous hound!” She knew now that her whole life had been a lie, that Brodie had never cared for her, had only nurtured her to make sure that she reached the age of five and twenty so that he could collect his reward. All she had ever represented to him was an abundance of cash.

  Toby was fully aware that they spoke sense. He had no choice but to leave them to cover his crime. Manslaughter would not even be considered because of the colour of his skin. They would hang him for murder. Without arguing any further he hoisted the body onto his shoulder and sent Lydia out into the hallway to make sure they would not be observed as they left the coffee room.

  All went as they had planned. Toby made sure that he spoke to the landlord to let him know that he had left Brodie in his room, his two daughters with him. Lydia and Sabrina waited until he was well away and dusk was coming on apace. That way they could pretend Brodie had missed his footing on the dark stairway.

  If he suspected anything, the landlord was too wise to say so. His own sense of self-preservation told him that it would be better all round not to have the local constable sniffing around his tavern. Brodie had not been a popular guest, with his drunken groping of the maids and his arrogant demands – demands which the landlord was pretty sure he couldn’t actually pay for. It was easier to believe that a tragic accident had occurred, resulting in the death of an elderly man. There was nothing more to be said.

  *

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  “Viresque acquirit Endo” – She gathers strength as she goes

  Underwood was in an almighty sulk. There was no escaping it. He was now officially, bath chair and all, a Hanbury invalid, being forced to take the healing spa waters in the Pump Room.