He held the door open and ushered her through.
They reached the hall – a vast cavernous space that required its own monumental fireplace to heat it, and he briefly recalled the huge Yule log that had been burning, trying to take the chill off the visitors who had attended the Christmas Eve gathering, and hardly succeeding. No fire burned in the vast grate now, for it was high summer, though the hall was still quite cold, not helped by the front door standing open.
Underwood had assumed that Sir George would have, by now, bundled Violette into the carriage and removed her to Hanbury lock-up and the last thing he expected was to be confronted by his weeping wife and an equally distraught Violette, clinging to each other with the Constable entreating them to “cease their caterwauling” for fear of disturbing the other guests.
From the faint sounds of revelry that drifted to him from the rear of the house, he could make a fair guess that very few people were aware of the drama which was unfolding in Lady Hartley-Wells’ large and imposing front hall.
With the arrival of Underwood Sir George finally felt able to assert his authority, assuming that a biddable little thing like Mrs Underwood would immediately obey her husband without question – how little he really knew Verity, thought Underwood with an inward sigh. He could feel another fight looming.
“Enough of this nonsense!” barked Sir George, pointing a finger at each woman in turn, “You, girl, get in the carriage this instant, and you, Mrs Underwood, go to your husband and kindly refrain from further interference. I have far too many pressing concerns to be indulging the pair of you a moment longer. I need to get into town and arrest Will Jebson before he has news of my coming and flees the district.”
Violette was startled enough to stop weeping onto Verity’s shoulder and drag herself out of the older woman’s clasp, “Will? Why are you arresting Will? You said that you believed I had killed those men and Martha.”
“And you were at pains to tell me that you did not kill anyone – well, then, if not you, then it must be him. Who else would benefit from his wife’s death but Will Jebson himself?”
Violette’s hands shook as she held them out in supplication to the Constable, tears still flowed and she could barely speak for sobs which still racked her small body, “But, sir, the children. If you take Will and me away to gaol, what will happen to Prue and Minta?”
Sir George had already considered this problem and was hoping that the Underwoods would, as usual, come to his rescue. His only other recourse was one which he hesitated to utilize. But he was not above using the threat of it as a lever to get his own way.
“They must go to the Workhouse for tonight. Tomorrow I will arrange for them to be taken to the asylum.”
Verity gasped and turned tear-drenched eyes upon her husband, “Cadmus,” she said, her voice breaking with emotion, “We cannot …”
“Verity, they are children with complex needs …” he tried to reason with her but he could see it was useless, her mind was set and so he turned his plea to the Constable instead, “Sir George, I beg you will wait until the morning to question Will. One more night can make no difference and you know he cannot leave town with those children being the way they are.”
Violette spoke up suddenly, her voice strong and resonant, “Do not trouble Mr Jebson. I confess to everything. He is entirely innocent.”
Underwood knew this to be a fabrication, albeit a noble one to save the man she loved, but he was still angry that Violette had played right into the hands of the monstrous woman who stood behind him, smiling serenely at the chaos she had caused, so very sure of herself.
“Be quiet, Violette, for heaven’s sake. You are no more guilty than Will Jebson and if Sir George will use his common sense and grant me a few days grace I will endeavour to prove it.”
Gratten puffed out his chest in indignation, “Guard your words, sir,” he said gruffly, “I resent the implication that I do not know my own business. Anyone with half an eye can see exactly what has happened here and the girl has just confirmed it. It is you who needs to admit for once that I have it right, and you have failed.”
Flora whispered in Underwood’s ear, “I told you the pompous old fool would never listen to you.”
Gratten decided to take no more prevarication. He grasped Violette roughly by the arm, now that she was out of Verity’s hold, he could do so without risking hurt to his friend, and thrust her out of the door and down the steps into the waiting carriage.
Verity reached out to try and pull the French girl back, but Underwood restrained her, rather more gently than the Constable had treated his prisoner, but nevertheless with some firmness.
Before he climbed into the vehicle, Sir George turned and spoke angrily to the group gathered on the threshold, “If you are going to take responsibility, I suggest you find accommodation for the Jebson children tonight, for I intend to arrest their father now and if they are not taken care of they will go to the Workhouse.”
Before they could protest, he slammed the carriage door and was bourn off down the drive in a scattering of gravel.
“Tempus fugit, Mr Underwood,” warned Flora, quietly, so that only he could hear.
No sooner had the carriage carrying Violette and Gratten moved away from the steps another vehicle swept around the corner of the house, from the direction of the stable yard – almost, thought Underwood cynically, as though the driver had been waiting for the Constable to leave.
Lady Hartley-Wells’ coachman and his staff had been kept busy all evening, tending to the horses of those visitors who had travelled in their own carriages, and entertaining the men who had driven them. Toby would be with them too, having taken Sabrina, Horatia and Clarissa home earlier, and returned to collect Underwood and Verity when they were ready to depart. He would hardly have expected their leaving to be so early.
Upon seeing the smart phaeton draw up to the steps, Flora, who appeared to have submerged her true nature and reappeared as the flighty Miss Sowerbutts – a transformation Underwood could only admire – stepped forward and said, in a fair imitation of regret and surprise, “Oh, it is Gervase, come for me. What a pity, I was just beginning to enjoy myself.”
Underwood was not fooled for a second. He guessed that every single moment of the past hour had been meticulously planned, from the second he had invited ‘Miss Sowerbutts’ to join him in the anteroom. The pair had obviously realized that he had finally recognized them and had merely been waiting for the final confrontation. Martha’s death had served a dual purpose. Her behaviour towards her husband and children and her callous treatment of Violette had marked her down as meeting their criteria for deserving death, but the use of poison instead of their usual weapon of choice had been a stroke of genius, for that immediately threw the suspicion upon poor Will and Violette.
When he left the party with ‘Lilith’, then ‘Gervase’ had set the plan in motion. ‘He’ would conveniently wander about the grounds and ‘find’ the body, obviously dumped the day before – it would not have been hard to drive a cart into Wells Place when all the coming and going of the fair folk would have hidden the arrival of a covered cart containing the corpse.
It seemed fool-proof, but they must have made some error that would enable him to both save Will and Violette and entrap the real murderers.
He lifted his arm to prevent ‘Lilith’ climbing into the carriage, “Miss Sowerbutts,” he said firmly, playing along with her little farce, “I require you to stay here.”
She pushed him gently away, “Sadly I must reject the invitation, sir,” she said. “My brother and I have made plans to leave town tonight and now that Sir George will have lifted the ban on all travel, we will be gone within the hour.”
His face stiffened as he saw that she was very definitely calling his bluff and he had no ace to play.
“You gave your word,” he said desperately.
“I did, and I never break a promise. I will take the liberty of calling upon you as we leave Hanbury. I regret
it may be a little late.”
“No matter, whatever the time, I will be waiting.”
“Very well, Mr Underwood. Then I will see you in a little while to say my farewells.”
Verity listened to this astounding exchange in silence, trying very hard to trust her husband as he had requested, but finding the words spoken very confusing. The despairing tone in which Underwood had said to the young woman, ‘You gave your word’ gave her an especial pang of grief, but as always she kept her own counsel. She would expect an explanation from him, but it would be in the privacy of her own home.
As soon as the phaeton pulled away, Underwood started to run towards the stables to find Toby, but Verity hauled on his arm to stop his flight.
“What is going on, Cadmus?”
“She is the assassin, Verity. I must get Toby and go home at once. You may stay if you wish, I can handle this alone.”
She gave a derisive snort, “Are you insane? You have just told me that woman is a killer and she is planning to call at our house, where my children lie asleep! I am most certainly not staying to enjoy a party in those circumstances.”
“What about taking our leave of Lady Hartley-Wells and Jemmy?”
“Be damned to good manners,” she said briskly, “I’ll apologise beautifully tomorrow.”
In a remarkably short time they were in the gig and heading for home, the pony stunned by being harried into a faster pace than he had attained for many a year.
Both Verity and Toby were agog to hear Underwood’s explication of the events of the past few hours, but the noise of clattering hooves, creaking wood and leather and the soughing of the trees in the evening breeze made conversation difficult and the way they were all thrown from side to side as they speeded over the rutted lanes made it all but impossible.
Once they were in the house though, it was a different story.
A glance at his wife’s determined expression told Underwood that the time had come to make a full and frank confession. After what she had just heard, Verity was not going to stand for any more prevarication.
Ginny brought them a tea tray without even being asked. She was assuming that they would have over-indulged at the party – she could not have been more wrong. Underwood suddenly recalled that he had not had a drink of any sort for several hours and fell on the tea like a man dying of thirst.
Verity allowed him that concession before she fell upon him like an avenging angel.
“What the devil is going on, Cadmus Horatio Underwood? You had better have an exceptional reason for having my family associating freely with a murderer and not at least warning me what you were about!”
The use of his full name was ominous. Verity was not happy; a rare occurrence which boded ill for everyone.
“My love …” he began.
She held up her hand, “Don’t, Cadmus! Do not try and inveigle me into a conciliatory mood, for I am just about ready to murder you myself! I have been befriending that woman for days and now you tell me that she shot Pennyfather and Thickbroome and poisoned poor Martha. That sweet, innocent girl! You have either taken leave of your senses or I have.”
“It is almost incredible, Verity, I know, but I do assure you that it is quite true. Lilith Sowerbutts is really Flora Colfax – not only that, she is also the Widow for whom I have been searching all these months.”
“What?” Verity was dumbfounded. She had really suspected that Underwood was playing some kind of odd trick upon her. The very idea that Lilith could be a cold-blooded killer was ridiculous and she though she felt it was hardly the time to be hoaxing her, there was a part of her that was convinced there could be no other explanation for her husband’s peculiar behaviour.
“It is true.”
“Then why have you waited until now to speak out? You might have saved two or even three lives if you had told Sir George days ago that you knew her. What did the Widow do to make you think she was capable of murder? I knew there was something more to all this than you have confided.”
“There is much more, my dear, and I apologise for keeping secrets from you.”
She looked at him for a long time before breathing out deeply and though preparing herself for uncomfortable revelations.
“I knew it,” she whispered, “I knew something odd happened on that stagecoach and that you were hiding it from me. Well, tell me now.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
‘Vincere Scis, Victoria Uti Nescis’ – You know how to win, but you do not know how to use your victory
The very moment they reached Windward House, Verity turned to Toby, her eyes pleading with him to be kind, “Dearest Toby, I know you have been sent hither and thither tonight, and I am truly sorry to ask you to do more, but please, please could you drive to the apothecary shop and bring Prue and Minta back here? I would have collected them on the way home, but in the circumstances, I could hardly leave my own children undefended.”
Toby patted her arm affectionately, “Don’t worry, Verity, I’ll go for them now. If Sabrina is still awake, let her know where I am, will you?”
“Of course. Thank you.”
He hoisted the reluctant pony’s head back in the direction of Hanbury.
Once indoors, like a shame-faced little boy, Underwood finally told Verity the full story of how the Widow of West Wimpleford had shot and killed a highwayman in his defence and then melted into the crowds before he could discover any more about her.
“Why did you not tell me all this?” said Verity coldly. “That fairy-tale about the woman ‘intriguing’ you had me in a rare spin, thinking you had been indulging in a little extra-marital amusement.”
For the first time in what seemed like a very long time, he found something to amuse him and laughed heartily at this confession from his cross little wife, “Dear God, Verity, when have I ever given you cause to think I have the slightest interest in any woman but you?”
In fairness she could not think of a single occasion when he had misbehaved in any way, but there were several instances of women behaving very badly around him, which he had seemed to enjoy rather than discourage – but that was hardly his fault, was it?
She chose to move on from this topic rather than digress into a quarrel about who might take responsibility for what.
“So, as soon as you read about those other shootings in the newspapers, you began to suspect your ‘widow’ was not who she claimed to be. That I can understand. But when the Sowerbutts arrived in Hanbury and the killings began, how could you not know it was her?”
“In my defence, the widow was veiled when I met her and I was exceptionally unwell for a long time afterwards. I had admitted to you that I doubted my ability to recall her appearance once some months had passed. And of course her abigail was now dressed as a youth – albeit an effeminate one!”
“Even so,” countered Verity, quite sure that she would not have been taken in by so obvious a masquerade, quite overlooking the fact that she had been quite as oblivious of the true gender of Gervais Sowerbutts as Underwood.
“I would also remind you that the pair of them were at pains to avoid meeting me. Cast your mind back and you will recall that every time I arrived at the Pump Rooms or the Assembly Rooms, they had just left. It seems they were contracted to kill Pennyfather and Thickbroome, but on arriving in Hanbury, they recognized me and assumed I would be similarly cognisant. Fortunately for them I was not. Once they satisfied themselves that they were not in immediate danger of being unmasked by me, they went on with their plot, but a safety net was put in place just in case I should have a sudden epiphany. Which, of course, I eventually did, but sadly too late to save the soldiers or Martha Jebson.”
“Why did they force poor Martha to drink the poison? If they wanted her dead, it would have been kinder to shoot her as they had the others.”
“Ah, but that would not have implicated Will and Violette.”
“But why should they want to do so?”
He lifted a weary hand to his forehea
d and ran his fingers through his hair in a gesture of frustration, “Do you still not see the dilemma in which they have placed me? Why do you think I allowed them to leave the party tonight and why they are calling here as they abscond?”
She shook her head in genuine puzzlement and he suddenly understood that in her naiveté, in her sweet kindliness, she was quite unable to fathom the depths of depravity to which a wicked mind could plummet. She could not begin to understand the machinations of a sick brain.
“My dear, they have me in a cleft stick. I can save Will and Violette only by letting them go free. Flora Colfax has promised me a signed confession exonerating our friends, but only if I do nothing to try and have them arrested for the murders of Pennyfather and Thickbroome.”
She looked at him for a long time, as though trying to assimilate the words he had spoken, as though she were having to mentally translate them from a foreign language.
“They would be willing to let Will and Violette hang for a crime they did not commit?”
“They will certainly do so, unless I agree to their terms.”
“Is there nothing you can do to prove their guilt and Will and Violette’s innocence? You cannot contemplate agreeing to this monstrous pact.”
He reached out for her and drew her onto his knee, putting his arms about her waist and burying his head in the curve of her neck.
“What choice do I have?” he murmured. “I could try to investigate and find evidence to refute Sir George’s assertions, but what if I fail? Or if I take too long to find the clues and it is too late to save our friends?”
They remained in each other’s arms until the rapping of the door knocker alerted them to the fact that their unwanted visitors had arrived.
They both stood as Ginny, in Toby’s absence, showed the pair Verity still thought of as Lilith and Gervase into the parlour. She recalled afterwards how very odd the meeting was for they found it impossible to shake off some of the civility owed to visitors, even though they felt that they were hosting a party attended by the devil himself.
A Place For Repentance (The Underwood Mysteries Book 6) Page 32