A Place For Repentance (The Underwood Mysteries Book 6) (7 page)

              Underwood agreed. He recalled a similar effect on his body when he had been at his most unwell and it was vastly unpleasant, one moment drenched in sweat and the next icily cold, with fingers and toes stiff and painful.

              “I’m happy to go and ask Will to come, Verity, but if the matter is exigent, should we not perhaps seek a medical practitioner who is nearer than Wimpleford?”

              “I have already enquired of Lindell and he tells me that the only man able to pull teeth here is a veritable butcher. I cannot leave the poor child to his tender mercies, not when she is already in so much pain.”

              “Then I had better hire a gig rather than a hack, for I shall need to bring Will and his equipment back with me.”

              He immediately went off to suit words for actions, not unhappy to be driving out of town, rather than attending church, which Verity would surely have compelled him to do, as a gesture of civility towards their host. As a scholar of history, he was only too aware of the misery caused by organized religion of all sorts, and consequently despised them all. Sadly he found himself in church rather more frequently than he cared for, mostly to avoid embarrassing his clerical brother, and he would very likely have had his conscience pricked by his wife for the same reasons, now that they were lodging with yet another vicar.

              The rain began again as he clicked the hired pony into a brisk trot and he was glad of his caped greatcoat and curly-brimmed beaver hat, which had been thoughtfully dried by Verity before the embers of the kitchen fire overnight. They should keep the worst of the weather off him and fortunately it was not terribly far to West Wimpleford. He could only hope that Will would be agreeable to coming to Violette’s aid. Sunday would be the poor fellow’s only day of rest and he would be quite within his rights to tell Underwood to go to the devil!

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘Ab Honesto Virum Bonum Nihil Deterret’ – Nothing deters a good man from acting honourably

              As he guided the pony trap into town, Underwood suddenly realized the major flaw in his plan and cursed himself under his breath for his stupidity.

              Of course he had no idea where Will Jebson lived. He had been surprised to find the younger man did not live above his shop, as most proprietors did, and he had been given the address when the invitation to meet his wife and family had been issued, but Underwood only knew two places in the area; the main street which housed the inn and the apothecary shop and Pershore House.

              Normally this would not be a particular difficulty, for he would simply ask at the inn or one of the shops, but the day was Sunday. The shops were shut and the inn would only serve customers if there was a stagecoach due. This would never happen in big cities or even the larger towns – the day of the week had little effect on commerce there, though the clergy breathed fire and brimstone on those who defied the order to rest on the Lord’s Day. However country towns and villages were still in the dark ages as far as religion was concerned. Sunday was a day of rest and that was that.

              He could, of course, hammer on the inn door until someone deigned to give him access, but he was reluctant to cause such a furore when all around him was so peaceful. He could think of no other recourse but to take himself off to see Rutherford Petch and hope that he could direct him to Will Jebson.

              He need not have worried. Rutherford was only too glad to escape the tyranny of Sunday and accompany Underwood on his quest.

              Will Jebson lived in a small cottage on the outskirts of the town, ivy-covered, so that Underwood could barely see the stone of which it was built. The garden too was overgrown and it was evident that Will did not have much time for gardening, or household maintenance, for the paint on the window-frames was peeling and the glass was streaked with dirt.

              Petch noticed the neglect also and muttered, “God bless Will Jebson. He’s the only one of my tenants not whining about the state of his living accommodation.”

              Will looked harassed as he opened the door to them, an expression which instantly changed to one of surprise, “Mr Underwood, I was not expecting you today, was I?”

              Underwood hastened to reassure him, “No, no, Will, pray forgive the intrusion. I stand in need of your assistance, but you must, of course, tell me plainly if it is not convenient.”

              The younger man forced a smile to his lips, “Think nothing of it. Come in, please, but forgive the mess. We were not expecting company and you find us in our everyday style. It takes me a little while to help my daughters to dress themselves.”

              He showed them into a low-ceilinged sitting room, sparsely furnished, with solid, practical chairs, a small settle and a dresser against the wall, which boasted little china and no silver at all. He introduced them to his waiting family, who consisted of a thin woman, with untidy hair and attired still in her long brocade dressing gown, though it was near noon, and two little girls who were sitting on a rug before the fire, playing with a wooden Noah’s Ark, full of crudely carved and painted animals, which would have been unrecognizable except for the gaudy spots and stripes which hinted at their species.

              “My wife, Martha, my daughters, Prudence and Araminta. My dears, meet Mr Underwood. Captain Petch you know already.”

              Underwood was discommoded to find the lady still in her night attire, though it was quite acceptable for her to welcome guests thus, according to the manners of the time. It was a remnant of the previous century’s fashion, where a lady would have thought nothing of entertaining gentlemen callers in her boudoir, sometimes whilst still reclining in her bed, but Underwood had never been of that aristocratic class and he had to steel himself to offer his hand and force a carefree smile to his lips, “Delighted to make your acquaintance, madam.”

              The woman rose to her feet, an answering smile stretching her features in a way that suggested this was not her habitual expression. Underwood noted that she was – or at least appeared to be – considerably older than Will. The grooves which marred her face gave him the impression that she was usually to be found frowning or perhaps merely discontented. She fluttered her hands in a coquettish manner, which sat ill with her grubby gown and unkempt hair, “Mr Underwood, why sir, it is an honour to welcome you into our home.”

              He bowed over her proffered hand as if she had been a duchess, “You are most gracious, Mrs Jebson, especially since we had intruded upon you without invitation.”

              He turned to greet the children, who had turned their faces to look up at him at the sound of their names. They stared blankly at him and he realized at once that something was very seriously amiss with them. Their almond-shaped eyes, protruding tongues, and round faces told him that they suffered from some congenital flaw, and yet they were both pretty in a strange way. They looked at him with undisguised interest, but with no hint of judgement or fear. Innocence exuded from them and it made him smile warmly at them.

              “Such lovely names,” he said, “And such grown-up girls. What age are you, ladies?”

              There was no reply and Will supplied hastily, “My little darlings are growing up fast, eight years old only this last month.”

              They did not look eight, and their behaviour with the toys was of much younger children. At eight years old, girls could be expected to be reading improving books about naughty children descending to hell, or to be sewing samplers with religious overtones, but that was not for these two. Underwood merely nodded, finding nothing to say that would not be either patronising or offensive. He had never been in this situation before and whilst not exactly uncomfortable, he was wary of causing distress.

              Rutherford had no such inhibitions about his relationship with the children. He stepped from behind Underwood, sank to his haunches and said, “Prue and Minta! Where are my hugs? I’ve not seen my girls for an age.” They ran, squealing, into his open arms and he proceeded to tickle and toss them, until their shrieks rang the rafters and their mother begged him to stop.

              This rough house behaviour seemed to bring some semblance of normality to Will and he grinned happily at his daughters’ laughter. He seemed to have recovered from the shock of seeing Underwood on his doorstep and addressed himself to the older man, gesturing him to take a seat.

              “Forgive me, Mr Underwood, I’ve been remiss as a host. Can I get you some refreshment?”

              “No, thank you, Will.”

              “Then what can I do for you? Mrs Underwood is not unwell, I trust?”

              “Thankfully not, but I do require your dentistry skills, if that is not too great a favour to ask on a Sunday.”

              “You have a toothache?”

              “Not I. You recall a young French woman in your shop last week?”

              “I do. She badly needed a tooth pulled. An abscess, if I am not mistaken.”

              “She still does. She is in dire need of your services, so much so that she was too ill to make the journey here and I have to beg you to come to the vicarage at Dacorum and tend to her.”

              Will hesitated before answering. Underwood noted his glance towards his wife. She had been listening avidly to their exchange and she now spoke up, a false smile adorning her features, “Well, of course you must go, Will. This young lady sounds as though she cannot do without you, and of course, the fee for your attendance must be doubled, in light of the day, and your absence from home, when your family have need of you.”

              Will blushed deeply at her insensitive comment, but Underwood merely nodded at her and laid a comforting hand on Will’s arm, briefly but firmly.

              “Of course, my dear lady, I would not hear of Will coming out of his way for anything less than that. If the matter could have waited until tomorrow, we would never have encroached upon your time.”

              “Please, Mr Underwood, I should not dream ...” began Will, desperately embarrassed by this exchange, but his guest silenced him with a raised hand.

              “Think nothing more of it, Will. I already stand deeply in your debt, and now have more favours to ask. Now, would it be convenient to come at once? I left the young lady in some considerable pain and with a high fever.”

              “Certainly, certainly. You will manage, my dear, without me?” This he directed at his wife, who again gave her thin smile and waved him away as though it was all of no consequence.

              “The girls and I will do very well without you, William, pray get yourself off. The sooner you go, the sooner you will be back.”

              “What about dinner?”

              “I can make it this once,” she answered tartly, “though if you did not insist on giving that stupid girl Lucy every Sunday off, we would not have a problem. I would be grateful if you could be as quick as you can. You know how hard I find it to manage the girls alone.”

              “Very well, my dear.”

              He bustled about, collecting a bag which Underwood assumed contained his tooth-drawing tools, and kissing his little girls goodbye, adjuring them to behave well for their mama while he was gone.

              “Say goodbye to Mr Underwood and Mr Petch, girls,” he told them and in response they lifted a hand each and waved to the two gentleman. Underwood noted the short, stubby fingers and the deep crease across each chubby palm, all part of their condition, he supposed.

He waved back and bowed formally to Mrs Jebson.

              Outside Rutherford pointed out yet another oversight by the ill-prepared Underwood.

              “How are you going to get back from Dacorum, Will?”

              “I shall bring him back, of course,” said Underwood, with dignity, but inwardly berating himself for not having thought that he would have to make the journey twice. He was tired already what with his disturbed night and early rising. Two round trips were going to be a trial to him.

              “Nonsense,” said the Captain decidedly, “We’ll call at Pershore House and collect another horse. Will can ride or I can lead it and then he can ride it back.”

              Underwood and Will accepted this solution gratefully; Underwood because it meant he didn’t have to stay on the hard seat of the gig any longer than strictly necessary and Will because it meant he could get back the sooner on a horse than in a gig drawn by a pony.

              The ladies of Pershore House fluttered and fussed about Rutherford missing his dinner, and the young man grew restive and irritated by their silliness, “For goodness sake, Cressy, I have gone far longer than a few hours without food, you know. Do you have any conception at all of life in a prison, or on a ship or in the untamed outback of Australia? Have you listened to and understood anything I have told you of the privations and hardships I endured?”

              Underwood could see that Petch was finally reaching the limit of his patience with his sister and cousin and he intervened hastily, “Fear not, ladies. Mrs Underwood will see to it that Petch and Jebson are fed and watered.”

              His making the two men sound like livestock took the sting out of the situation and soon everyone was laughing, albeit nervously, for the Captain still looked thunderous, for all his attempt at a grin.

              “Let us get on, gentlemen. Poor Violette was in a sorry state when I left her, and I cannot see that time will have wrought any improvement in her condition.”

              The rain began again as they set off and Underwood reflected on how the road between the two small towns could be so pleasant to traverse in the sunshine, and so utterly miserable and gloomy in the rain. The overhanging trees along the road were shady and cool in bright sunlight, but made the way dark and dank in the unremitting downpour. The pony’s steady trot splashed mud up from the road, and the puddles were deep enough to cause a violent rocking of the vehicle which did nothing for Underwood’s current mood, or his fervid dislike of travel in general. He sank as far down into his overcoat as he could and prayed for the day to be over.

              He could hear Will and Rutherford talking as they rode side by side ahead of him, but not what they were saying, which made him feel oddly lonely and introspective.  He wondered about their conversation. Was the captain perhaps confiding in the apothecary about his longing for Australia, which information he had so recently entrusted to himself? Was Will making excuses for his slatternly wife – for Underwood had no doubt she was a slattern. The house was unclean despite the fact that she evidently had a servant to help her, except on Sundays, and her own state of undress at the late hour of the day did not give a good impression, especially since she had young, difficult children to care for. He recalled Will’s first words when they arrived at the house, “It takes me a little while to help my daughters dress themselves.” The ‘me’ was quite emphatic. Obviously Mrs Jebson did not aid him in the girls’ toilet. Of course he did not know the family’s full situation and there might perhaps be some perfectly good reason why Mrs Jebson was unable to help, but there was a part of him which held deep misgivings. She seemed to him, on admittedly extremely short acquaintance, to be a discontented woman who took full advantage of her easy-going husband’s good nature. But he must not be too quick to judge. Verity would be appalled if she knew of his thoughts. It was her watchword in life to always give the benefit of the doubt, even to those who seemed to least deserve it – and occasionally she had been right.