A Place For Repentance (The Underwood Mysteries Book 6) (25 page)

The doctor was also observing his friend as he disappeared down the road and he smiled indulgently, “My dear Sir George, you know as well as I do that if this crime is to be solved, then Underwood is the man to do it.”

“Humph!” said Sir George and turned to enter the house, “Damned popinjay. What is it about him that makes my blood boil?”

“You know you are exceptionally fond of him really,” said Francis. “I still recall your devastation last year when you thought his final hours had come.”

“Yes, but then I was anticipating a lifetime without him – an exceedingly different matter than contending with his antics when he is very much alive!”

Dr Herbert laughed, “Come in, sir, and let me get you some tea. I’m afraid I have to tell you that Underwood had some very useful insights into our murder, so sadly you are going to have to contend with his antics for a little longer.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

(Extract from a journal discovered by C H Underwood, Winter, 1829)

              We need not have worried. There was never a hint that anyone suspected me or X for my father’s murder. The trick with the bell had worked perfectly and all were convinced that we had been safely indoors when some violent footpad had accosted my father, robbed and killed him. The authorities tried not to divulge the details of his injuries, but the newspapers relished the sordid tale and the below-stairs gossip speculated that the nature of his wounds pointed towards an angry lover rather than a sneak thief – and there were plenty of those to choose from! I had taken the trouble to search and empty his pockets before fleeing, but it fooled no one. He had left too many mistreated people in his wake for anyone to believe his death was random.

              Being the most grievously ill-treated one of all, I was curiously insulted not to be suspected, but the truth was that that devil incarnate had done his work too well. His years of lies about me meant that I was viewed as little better than a half wit, barely able to feed myself let alone plan and execute a murder, leaving no clues as to the identity of the killer.

              The relief amongst lawyers and distant relatives was universal when X made it clear that I was to retain the services of one who could be trusted to keep me safe and closeted as had been the case before.

              Of course my father, true to form, had lied about the will too. He had tried to fool me into not ending his life by offering a worse future, but it was all nonsense – not that I would have cared to have been left in penury – I wanted nothing from him!

              It was true that he had bequeathed the house to a distant cousin, but most of the money had been my mother’s and the principle was untouched by him. I now discovered that he had married my mother for her money though it did him no good, for her own father had despised him on sight. He had only allowed the marriage because my smitten mother had begged and pleaded to be allowed to follow her heart and would not be deterred. She learned later that she had made a grave error in ignoring her father’s strictures.

              However, my grandfather had not been a complete cat’s paw. He tied her money up tight before the wedding. He left trusts allowing her to draw upon the interest of the investments, but she could never use the capital as long as my father lived. He, of course, had tried everything to break the entails, but Grandfather was no fool.

              Sadly his foresight had ensured my own misery, for he had left all to me, but only if I should marry. This would keep the money out of my father’s hands, for which spouse would hand over an inheritance to their father-in-law? Small wonder then, that he had been determined to keep me by him until he could find a marriage partner who would suit his own purposes.

              It was a problem that was soon solved. X had a widowed friend, elderly but trustworthy, who was willing to wed me for a small consideration. The deed was soon done and the happy couple parted perfectly amicably straight afterwards.

              I was delighted to leave the house to my cousin, but I did two things before I left.

              I took all my mother’s jewels and bade X take them out of the house in secret and hide them. They were not mentioned in any will of my departed relatives including my mother – but then, apparently, she had either not expected to die, or my father had destroyed her last wishes – I suspected the latter. I was determined that I would not leave them for the future wife of my cousin to wear. I would sooner have cast them into the sea.

              Then I had X cut every single button from my father’s clothes – I could not bring myself to touch or look at them – then between us we took the garments into the garden and burnt every last scrap of material.

              The buttons were put into a box and kept by me. I had already begun to formulate a vague plan as to how I would occupy myself and the despised bits of bone, silver and wood might have a future use. But even if I never looked at them again, they represented my freedom – never again would I have to cower in fear merely at the sight and sound of a button coming undone.

              When all was accomplished X and I walked away into a new life with new identities, never to return.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

‘Captatio Benevolentiae’ – A bid for the goodwill of hearers or readers

              After consulting his wife, Underwood concluded that in order to interview the Wablers and other assorted brethren of the sword and gun; he needed to take them away from their usual haunts. Trying to hold their attention in the Pump Rooms or the various hostelries they enjoyed was like trying to catch floating dandelion seeds on a windy day. The moment a woman arrived on the scene or a round of drinks was ordered, they were off like hounds after a hare.

              It was Verity who suggested afternoon tea at Windward House. If the invitation issued from the lady of the house, no refusal was tenable and once she had lured them in and filled them to the point of bursting with tea and cake, they would be nicely lulled almost to insensibility and susceptible to the rigorous questioning which Underwood intended to deliver.

              If the likes of Joshua Thickbroome were surprised to be summoned by the jolly little Mrs Underwood, he was far too mannerly to mention it or indeed fail to attend.

              Verity at least had the consolation of knowing that once tea was over, she could escape into the garden with Adeline, who would be needed to bring Jeremy James as she hardly dared trust any of the Wablers not to tip him into the hedge in an excess of wheel-chair pushing enthusiasm. The only member of the group who was really fit enough to take the weight of the major and his chair was Freddie Meadows and his eyesight was so poor that he could not be relied upon to see the ditch before it was too late.

              The plan worked beautifully. Everyone in Hanbury had the greatest affection for Verity, with her kind heart, patient listening skills, wise advice and the knowledge that nothing she heard would ever go any further. At various times all the Wablers had either confided in her or elicited her aid in matters of romance, or dealing with angry parents. Added to all that was her wicked sense of humour, which made allowances for drunken indiscretions and made no reminder of the embarrassment the next morning. Such a woman, who offered no threat of misunderstanding any approach or moodiness when offence was given but not intended, was bound to be universally popular and indeed she was.

              With the Wablers on their best behaviour, Underwood realized that this was the first time most of them had been to his home. Jeremy James and Adeline were frequent visitors, but the rest of them were a little younger and far more inclined towards roistering and wenching than to be his boon companions. He fully understood that their behaviour had connections with their experiences of war so he never judged, but equally he never allowed himself to be too closely entwined in their world. It would be truer to say that Verity knew them all far better than he did, despite the chasm which ought to separate a respectable wife and mother and a group of out-of-control and physically and emotionally maimed men.

              Despite the odd situation in which they found themselves, the old soldiers soon made themselves at home and demolished the tea Verity had provided. Only Thickbroome was ill-at-ease, wondering about the purpose of the meeting, for he was entirely sure it was not simply to take tea with an amusing, if slightly matronly, housewife. He could not know that he was vastly underestimating Verity, who was quite as intelligent as her husband, as well as being an accomplished and intuitive artist and portrait painter.

              When the table was cleared, Verity encouraged Adeline to go and see the garden, which was looking at its loveliest, thanks to Toby’s hard work. Underwood could take no credit for the lush growth and colourful borders. He knew the Latin names for flowers, but he couldn’t have pointed out a hollyhock if his life depended upon it.

              He waited until the ladies had retired, then he turned his attention to the military men.

              “Gentlemen, I have to admit this tea party has a purpose and you must now cast aside any notion that I will go easy upon you just because you are guests under my roof. You are, of course, entirely free to leave and refuse to discuss Pennyfather’s murder, but I feel I must warn you that to do so will avail you nothing. If you do not confide in me now, then you will be forced to speak to Sir George Gratten later – and he will not make any allowances for you as I, as a friend, am inclined to do.”

              There was a general disgruntled muttering, but no one rose to leave, knowing that he spoke nothing but the truth. They could not hide behind their code of honour forever, not now that one of their number was dead by the hand of another.

              “What is it you want to know, Underwood?” asked Jeremy James at last, realizing that none of the others were inclined to be the first to break ranks.

              “I want you to tell me as much as you know about Pennyfather. I fully comprehend that it sits ill with you all to discuss a dead man – and probably to his detriment – but if I am to track down his killer, I need to be aware of all his foibles.”

              “I don’t think any of us but Thickbroome knew him that well,” said the major cautiously, unwillingly, even now, to be the first to criticize the dead man.

              Underwood was neither fooled by the wary denial, not deterred by the reluctance of his old friend, “You knew him well enough that he took the time to attend your birthday party,” he said cynically.

              “True enough, but there are plenty of others who knew him better.”

              “Then I suggest they speak up,” said Underwood sternly, casting a severe look about him. “Come now, gentlemen, coyness has no place in a murder investigation.”

              Tredgett cleared his throat and broke the silence which followed this stark comment.

“I don’t mind telling you all I know, Mr Underwood, but it is, in truth, little enough and entirely biased for I only knew him from tales my brother told before he shot himself – and I know he must have held much back.”

              “Are you convinced that your brother’s suicide was a result of Pennyfather’s ill-treatment?”

              “There can be no question of it. The man was a monster – and well known as a harsh disciplinarian and unfair to those he took in dislike.”

              “Would you agree with that, Thickbroome, Thornycroft, the rest of you?” asked Underwood, looking closely at every face, noticing every nuance. One winced in distaste, another frowned in disapproval, but not one denied the accusation.

              “He could be hard,” conceded Thickbroome eventually, “but then his was the finest company, the most obedient, well-turned out …”

              “At what cost?” interrupted Tredgett savagely, “My brother was not the only casualty that his methods claimed. I know of another who hanged himself and two who inflicted serious injuries upon themselves in order to be invalided out and escape his rule.”

              Thickbroome looked angry and discomfited, but he said nothing.

              “So if I were to look into the man’s past, I would find any number of people who wanted to revenge themselves upon him?” asked Underwood.

              “All this was fifteen years ago and more, Underwood,” said Thornycroft. “Do you really imagine anyone carrying this bitterness for so long?”

              “I have,” said Tredgett frankly.

              “Yes, but you did not come in search of him in order to wreak vengeance,” countered the major reasonably. “Fair enough, you told him what you thought of him when you met him again, but you did not spend the past twenty years seeking him out to kill him – or, at least I’m assuming you did not.” He gave a grim smile to take the sting out of this last and was rewarded by a throaty laugh from the bearded ex-soldier.

“Right enough, I did not. I’ve never forgiven nor forgotten, but I would not have run my own head into a noose just for the satisfaction of killing him. He was not worth the sacrifice.”

“Quite,” said Underwood, pondering upon what he had been told. “It takes a special kind of fury to kill a man. You are all soldiers and you knew that the life you chose in the army was not going to be an easy one. A certain amount of cruelty is to be expected in order to keep a disparate group of men, from all kinds of backgrounds and levels of intelligence and morality, in line.”

“That’s right,” said Tredgett, nodding in agreement. “Pennyfather was a bastard, but there were others who were worse – and a lot more, thank God, who were a great deal better. In my heart of hearts, I know my young brother was too soft for the life, but Pennyfather should have had him cashiered, not driven him to take his own life. I just wish I had known the full story before it was too late. I would have intervened, even if it had meant both of us being thrown out of our regiments.”

Thickbroome suddenly rose to his feet and began pacing the floor, “Don’t make the mistake of imagining that Pennyfather was only hard because it was the way to command respect from his men. There was a part of him that enjoyed the cruelty, even more than he revelled in the kudos of his reputation with those in high places.”

Swann watched the man’s agitated movements for a moment before he asked, with barely concealed contempt, “If you knew that, and did not have the same relish for brutality, then why on earth did you stick by him, Thickbroome?”

“Because he protected me from having to do all that unpleasant stuff for myself,” he answered bluntly, then caught himself and closed his lips before he could give any more of his secrets away.

Underwood realized that this was the moment to guide the questions away from the personal and back to the general before Thickbroome closed down completely, “I understand you and Pennyfather left the army together, do you mind telling me what you did after?”

“We spent some time in London, doing the usual rounds of social engagements, pleasing our families by appearing, at least in theory, as though we might finally settle down. We both had an inclination towards gambling and that was how we tried to recapture the excitement of our previous experiences in battle, but eventually it was not enough for either of us and we joined the militia in Manchester.”

“Manchester was a long way to go. Why not join the militia in London?”

“We, er… we needed a bit of space between us and the big city.”

“Found yourself on Queer Street, did you?” asked Swann bitterly, “Had the Duns after you and had to make a quick exit?”

Thickbroome sent him a glare and tried to pass the question off with a casual response, “There was a certain amount of debt, but more than that there was unrest in the North and we thought we might find a fight to satisfy that craving for blood and glory.”

“And did you?” asked Underwood.

Thickbroome shrugged, “We did. But there is no honour in drawing your sword against the unarmed public. A one-sided fight is no fight at all.”

“And then?” prompted Underwood, as Thickbroome fell silent, his face blank as he recalled the things he had done.

“We left the militia and re-joined the army. Once a military man, always one.”

“I see,” said Underwood, but in truth he did no such thing. A desire for violence had never troubled him and he barely comprehended why other men should wish to experience it. When he listened to Jeremy James recall his own exploits, usually when he was in his cups, it must be admitted, for he rarely talked of war when sober, he could hardly match the funny and kindly man whom he knew so well, with the cold-blooded killer who had taken the lives of other men without a second thought.

It also occurred to him to wonder at the ease with which some men could leave all the death and destruction behind them and begin anew, a page as fresh and blank as virgin snow, but others seemed to be eternally haunted by the horrors they had seen.

              Such cogitations availed him nothing, however, so he dismissed the thoughts and continued with his questions.

              “Tell me about the young lady that caused the quarrel between you, Swann and Pennyfather,” he said. “Had either of you two gentlemen met her before for you to both feel so strongly about her?”

              Swann hitched a shoulder which amply demonstrated his disdain, “I regret now that I was taken in by her. Had I known the truth I should have left her to Pennyfather’s tender mercies.”

              Underwood frowned, “What do you mean by that?”

              “After hard words were exchanged between Pennyfather and me, I was taken aside by one of the other fellows and he told me that the ‘Miss’ who had taken my fancy was not what she appeared to be.”

              The older man was still confused, “In what way?”

              “To put it plainly, she was not so pure and innocent as I wanted to believe and her ‘mother’ was not only unrelated, but was there to hold the purse strings after payment was made.”

              Since prostitution had proliferated while the army were in town, Underwood was hardly surprised to hear this, but he wanted rather more proof than the word of some other man, who could very well be lying for his own purposes.

              “I shall need a name for this ‘other fellow’,” he said briskly, “but in the meantime, I should be interested to hear how he knew all this.”

              “That is easily answered; he had visited her in her place of business, a notorious inn located in Braxton called, rather unimaginatively, ‘The Dandy Cock’- though I understand she had been less well dressed and rather coarser when he made her acquaintance.”