A Place For Repentance (The Underwood Mysteries Book 6) (35 page)

              Underwood could see that he was fast losing the battle to convince Sir George that he had an alternative explanation to the three murders. But he was nothing if not dogged in his pursuit of the truth. He would not concede without a fight.

              “Who found the body, George?”

              “Gervase Sowerbutts. Said he was worried that his sister had been gone for so long so he went out to search for her. When he was caught short in the little copse that borders the edge of the estate, he went into some bushes to relieve himself and lo and behold, there was Mrs Jebson, stiff as a board and very obviously dead.”

              “Gervase?” asked Underwood and glanced again at Flora. “Do you not find that somewhat convenient, George?”

             
“Very convenient for me,” he answered, entirely missing the irony in Underwood’s tone, “Now come along. I need you to help me. Your wife is kicking up a rare fuss about us arresting Violette. I want you to calm her down before I have to arrest her too, for attempting to prevent an officer of the law doing his duty.”

              “Tell Verity that I have said she is to calm herself and that I will be with her shortly,” said Underwood terse and disinterested for the moment in his wife’s distress.

              For the first time Sir George seemed to notice the compromising position in which he had discovered his friend. He nodded to Flora, but his visage was grim and unfriendly.

              “I can see you have unfinished business, Underwood, but surely your wife must take priority over your dalliances.” The way he emphasized the word ‘wife’ and glared at the woman he knew as Miss Sowerbutts would have amused Underwood at any other time, but he was too far gone in shock to try and defend himself. He merely nodded and closed the door on the retreating back of the Constable.

              “Dear God, what have you done?”

              She shrugged, “You heard the man. It must have been Will Jebson and Violette, mustn’t it?”

              “You know damned well it was not,” he said viciously, suddenly angry. All the rest he could at least understand, if not forgive. He had believed her when she said she executed only those who deserved it, who had used their positions of power to hurt and abuse those who were weak and defenceless – but this was barbarity of a kind that he could never comprehend.

              “You think it was me?” she asked, her eyes wide and innocent.

              “I know it was. But I don’t understand why.”

              “Oh, please! Martha Jebson was a she-hound of the worst sort, only interested in money. How do you think we enticed her out of the shop, and persuaded her to bring the poison? She was offered more money than she had ever seen in her life. I have done Will a favour ridding him of her.”

              “Not if he hangs for it,” snapped Underwood, appalled at her callous disregard for life, even one as unpleasant as Martha.

              “Well, that is rather up to you, isn’t it, Mr Cadmus Underwood.”

              “What do you mean?”

              “Well, you will either watch me swing – or your precious friend and his paramour. The choice is entirely yours.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

‘Ipsa Quidem Pretium Virtus Sibi’ – Virtue is its own reward

              The silence between them stretched to an almost intolerable degree. Underwood felt as though his nerves were as taut as the strings of a violin, Flora merely hid a polite little yawn behind her hand.

              “The clock is ticking, Cadmus,” she said at last.

              He was furious at the predicament she had thrust upon him and irrationally irritated by her impertinence, “I prefer Underwood,” he said between gritted teeth.

              She laughed softly, a pleasant, tinkling sound such as young ladies of good birth and refinement are taught to cultivate, “A minor consideration at such a moment, but very well. What are we to do, Mr Underwood?”

              He looked at her, hardly able to comprehend the magnitude of her crimes. The wide blue eyes, thick-lashed and innocent, the delicate features, with a fine nose and perfect bow shaped lips and the tall, willowy frame all spoke of sweet and gentle womanhood. If he brought her out of this room and handed her to George Gratten as his murderer, he would be laughed at and called a credulous fool.

              “What is your offer,” he said at last, “I will at least hear it before I decide.”

              “Bella and I leave tonight, unhindered and you shall have a signed confession exonerating Jebson and the girl.”

              “Will you take an oath now to cease your campaign? There must be no more deaths.”

              She laughed again, “I have to admire your effrontery, Mr Underwood. You still seek to negotiate, but you have no bargaining chips. No, I fear I cannot accept your terms. Bella and I go free to do as we will and I will ensure your friends go free with not a stain on their characters.”

              The temptation to fall in with her plans was almost overwhelming. How much easier it would be to simply turn away, pretend this conversation had never taken place, that he had never discovered her true identity. No one would be any the wiser. He had confided his suspicions to no one, not even his wife or his closest friends.

“I cannot …” he said, despair finally overcoming him.

              “Oh, but think, my dear sir,” she said with a compassionate tone that he knew merely mocked him, “Two innocent souls weighed against so many black, black hearts?”

              The thought of more murders, laid at his door because he had held her and allowed her to escape, weighed him down for a moment, but then he knew what he had to do. His entire existence had been aimed towards granting justice to all. He could not let her win.

              “No,” he said firmly, “You will come with me and I will persuade Sir George somehow. I will find a way to prove Will and Violette innocent.”

              “Let battle commence, then,” she said, “Good luck with your quest, Mr Underwood.”

              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.