Yield Not To Misfortune (The Underwood Mysteries Book 5) (24 page)

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.

“Don’t you think I’ve had enough water in the past few days?” he asked Verity, but she gave him an annoyingly patient look and thrust the cup into his hands.

“Drink,” she said firmly.

Word soon spread amongst the residents of Hanbury that Mr Underwood was taking the waters on his first trip out since his recent serious illness. Before very long there was a crowd of well wishers around him and Verity, exchanging news and listening with horror as Verity detailed Underwood’s sufferings.

Underwood was not particularly happy to have his evacuations described in such graphic details, nor to have his supposed bravery broadcast to one and all. The truth was he had not felt very brave at all and had longed to resign himself to the beckoning peace of the grave, but with Verity, Gil, Francis and Will all around him, refusing to give up on him, he had no choice but to go on with the cure, and he now remembered very little about it, except pain and humiliation.

Along with all this, he had to persuade Toby that his behaviour regarding Thomas Brodie had been justified. The big man had tussled with his conscience long into the night, finally allowed to sit at Underwood’s bedside, now that Brodie was dead and no longer a threat. It was in the early hours, when resistance was at its lowest ebb, that he had admitted his part in the death of the villain. Underwood had been too weary and weak to feel anything other than supreme relief at the demise of the despised brute and it had taken all his forbearance to listen patiently to Toby’s anguished confession and not simply tell him to pull himself together and be jubilant that a thoroughly evil man was dead.

Jeremy James joined them presently and punched Underwood good naturedly on the arm. The old man winced. Every bone, every muscle in his body still ached and he could only wish that the major had a less mannish way of showing his affection.

“They wouldn’t let me come to see you, Underwood, you know,” he complained, once their two wheelchairs were arranged side by side.

“Good,” said Underwood, “Your bombastic good humour was the last thing a dying man needed.”

“Charming,” said Jeremy James, “Well, the story I heard was that you were not dying at all. You had only had a pinch of arsenic-infused snuff. Trust you to make a great drama out of everything. You only do it to keep that lovely wife of yours on her toes. God knows you are too old for her, so you have to keep her interest somehow.”

From this Underwood was given to understand that Major Thornycroft had been frantic with worry about him and was delighted to see him recovered.

“Go and play dice with the Devil,” he responded equably and Jeremy James roared with laughter.

“I can’t tell you how good it is to see you back to your old self,” said the ex-soldier.

“Thank you, but not quite my old self, I fear. That may take a few weeks, I’m told. Though if I have to drink much more of this blasted spa water, it will aid my recovery prodigiously – and not because of its miraculous healing powers!”

“You need to be well in a sennight. I have a visitor due to arrive then and he’s very eager to meet you and treat you to several very large drinks.”

“I’ll have to disappoint him on that front,” answered Underwood, with no regret whatsoever in his voice, “I’m banned from drinking alcohol for six months at least, in order to repair the damage to my poor abused liver.”

Jeremy James laughed even more heartily, “Heaven knows what state my liver is in, but time enough to rest it when I’m dead,” he said frankly.

Underwood ignored the change of subject, “I assume this visitor is Captain Petch?” he asked. He had already had a letter from that gentleman, assuring him that as soon as he could be spared from the estate he would be paying his respects in person.

“Indeed. I’ve told him to bring Cressy and Miss Fettiplace with him. If I can’t find husbands for those two old maids, my name isn’t Jeremy James Thornycroft.”

Underwood shook his head in mock despair, “You never learn, do you, Thornycroft? Leave the ladies well alone, that is my advice.”

The major was saved from replying by the arrival of Mrs Woodforde and Sabrina. All smiles, the two ladies were greeted warmly by all gathered there. The court case had been abandoned as soon as the news of Thomas Brodie’s death had been made public. His final words to Lydia, heard and confirmed by Toby and Sabrina, were enough to convince Mrs Woodforde that Silas had indeed left his daughter in the care of the last man he had known on earth. And even if he had not and Lydia was an impostor, Mrs Woodforde no longer cared. She had a daughter to comfort her declining years, Brodie was dead and could not steal the Brownhill fortune, and Lydia was so grateful for the whole sorry mess to be over that she had turned overnight into the considerate and pleasant girl that Verity had always known her to be underneath all her defensive aggression.

Sabrina and Toby were slowly repairing their relationship. The young ex-slave was still finding it difficult to understand that she was really free and that no one could force her to do their bidding ever again. The fact that she and Lydia were bound together by the secret of Brodie’s death meant that their attitude towards each other had also undergone a strange alteration. Lydia suddenly seemed to accept Sabrina as her sister and not her servant. They had begun to go about together, and Lydia had insisted on bestowing some of her vast inheritance on the younger girl. Suddenly Sabrina was not just a free slave, but a woman of independent means. She teased Toby that she was far too good to marry him now and the hurt look on his face had made her fly into his arms, crying an apology for her thoughtlessness.

Gil had promised that he would perform the wedding ceremony just as soon as Underwood was fit enough to play his part as best man.

Verity looked happily about her at her friends and family, truly content that the nightmare of losing Underwood was finally over.

Her husband was now enduring good natured teasing from the Wablers, his brother stood a little way off, looking into his wife’s eyes and smiling at something she had said to him, while Cara’s face softened as she looked back at him. Poor Gil looked as though he had aged in the past few weeks, his greying temples giving him a dashing look, but were a testament to his worry over his beloved Chuffy. The General and Mrs Milner, Underwood’s mother and step-father, were talking to Mrs Woodforde and Jeremy James was trying to avoid having to talk to a superior officer, having not quite shaken off the idea that he was still in the army. Only Will Jebson was missing. He had to return to West Wimpleford to take care of his shop, but he had promised that he would visit again as soon as he could.

For a brief moment Verity found herself alone with Underwood and she smiled at him, “How are you feeling, my dear?”

“Never better, my love. As you know, I generally abhor a crowd about me, but I must own, after all that we have been through, this is rather pleasant.”

“I was just thinking the very same thing. Thank goodness you pulled through, Cadmus, I dread to think that this might very well have been your funeral.” Tears gathered in her eyes, and he leaned over and took her hand in his, kissing it briefly.

“Banish it from you mind, Verity, I beg of you. It was a close run thing, I admit, but it is over now. Let us look forward to the future and not back, fretting about what might have been.”

She nodded and wiped her eyes, “You are quite right, of course. All is ended happily and we can settle down with no more adventures for the foreseeable future.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Of course. All the loose ends are neatened, are they not? The Greenhowe diamonds are found, Rutherford Petch is back from his foreign prison, and Lydia would seem to be a Woodforde after all.”

“There is one mystery that remains,” said Underwood thoughtfully.

“What is that?” she asked in surprise, not aware of anything that she might have missed out in her summary of the events of the past few weeks.

“I still don’t know the identity of the ‘widow’,” mused Underwood, quite forgetting, in that moment, that he had not told Verity of his other brush with death and how he had been saved by the quick actions of a mysterious woman dressed in weeds.

Verity cocked an eyebrow at him, “Underwood,” she said warningly, “Which widow is this?”

“Oh,” said Underwood vaguely, “Just a widow that I met on the stagecoach. No one you need fret about, my dear.”

Verity was aware, though her husband professed not to give her assertion any credence, that Underwood had a certain, indefinable, attraction for other women. Ellen Herbert had once said that a glance from him ‘melted one’s bones’, Cara had conducted an outrageous flirtation with him, before she realized he was married and she had met Gil. Even Lady Hartley-Wells had a soft spot for him, which she would have died before admitting.

From the thoughtful look in Underwood’s eye, Verity had the distinct feeling that she probably had a very great deal to fret about – and mostly it was due to an unknown ‘widow’.

But that was all part of being married to C H Underwood, wasn’t it?

*

THE END

Copyright Suzanne Downes 2015.