Yield Not To Misfortune (The Underwood Mysteries Book 5) (10 page)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“Quidquid Agas Prudenter Agas” – Whatever you do, do with caution

The evening was far from over, though Underwood could happily have gone home to bed, once Lydia had been thoroughly offended by him, which was his purpose. In the face of his cynicism, he wanted everyone else, most especially Verity, to look as though they were supporting her. She was a canny Miss and it would not be easy to break through her protective shell. She had been trained by the best – Silas Woodforde was obviously the puppet master and it would take some ingenuity to outwit him, Underwood was sure.

He saw Jeremy James bearing down on him, pushed across the room by his wife, Adeline, and he realized he was going to have to talk at length about Rutherford Petch and his sister.

Thankfully it did not take quite as long as he had feared, for Jeremy was a good listener and interrupted very little. He looked thoughtful when Underwood had finished his tale.

“Do you think you are going to be able to get into the house and speak to the old lady?” he asked, “This Luckhurst fellow sounds slippery.”

“Not just slippery, very possibly murderous,” admitted Underwood, almost without thinking. He had cause to regret is thoughtlessness for Jeremy James was not a man to take threats of any kind lightly.

The major was at once alert, “What do you mean by that? Is Cressida in danger?” he demanded, a thunderous frown marring his usually genial face.

Underwood stretched out a calming hand, “Cressida is the safest person in that house, Jeremy, don’t concern yourself with that. I’m more worried about Miss Greenhowe.” He did not mention the suspicion that Luckhurst had arranged for an attempt to be made on his own life. The less people who knew about that, the better. He had no wish for Verity to hear of it.

The old soldier still looked murderous, “Can we catch the devil out, Underwood? I’d like to see him in shackles on his way to Van Diemen’s Land.”

“I sincerely hope so, my friend; my only misgiving is that I am relying on too many other people to help me on this case. I need the Apothecary, Will Jebson, to weaken the bottle of laudanum, Cressida to spill the existing medicine, the two women to get me into the house, the old lady to agree to speak to me and the whole lot of them to keep it secret from Luckhurst – I don’t like to have so many variables. If one link in the chain breaks, I’m done for.”

“Ask your brother to pray for a miracle,” suggested Jeremy James, and Underwood was not entirely sure he was joking.

*

After he finally found an opportunity to have a discussion with Toby the following day, regarding his discoveries, Underwood sent a note requesting an urgent meeting with Sir George, who was glad enough to accommodate him, since it saved him the tedium of the regular card party.  Underwood was never invited to Lady Hartley-Wells’ card evenings because of his aforementioned lack of skill at cards, which she strongly suspected was deliberate, so she refused to indulge him by showing her annoyance, though she had yet to forgive him the lost bet with Sir George. She knew, as indeed did all his acquaintance, that he was perfectly capable in every way, but he imagined everyone was fooled by his pretence of ineptitude. 

He arrived promptly and they retired to Gratten’s study, bidding the ladies farewell in the hall as they prepared to go out.  Lady Gratten tried to signal her disapproval of her spoiled evening, but Underwood resolutely refused to pick up on any of her hints and merely bowed low over her hand with a beautifully worded compliment.  Of course she instantly forgave him, making Gratten wish, rather bitterly, that he had such powerful charm.

Gratten was mildly irascible with him – but who could blame him? He had endured at least an hour of complaints when he cancelled his part in the evening, then Underwood had thrown a few pretty words at his wife and been welcomed back as a prodigal.

“Well, Underwood, I hope you have not ruined my evening to no avail,” Gratten told him sternly. 

Underwood seated himself and stretched his long legs towards the fire, accepting a glass of brandy with a nod of thanks, “Have I ruined your evening, Sir George?  I do apologise.  I had the notion you viewed an evening with Lady Hartley-Wells’ cronies with a horror equal to my own.  If I inconvenience you pray tell me so and we can arrange some other time for our chat.”

Of course he was fully aware that Gratten would no more delay this meeting than miss a meal.

“It’s done now, so think no more about it,” he murmured, irritated that he should have been so neatly wrong-footed, “What do you have to tell me?”

“Only that I did as I promised and set Toby to follow Miss Woodforde whenever she might find herself unchaperoned by her mama. He now has a report on her wanderings.”

“Am I to conclude that this was a frequent occurrence?”

“More frequent than you might imagine.  The young lady insists upon, and is allowed, a surprising amount of liberty due to the fact that she has brought a maid-servant with her from the Indies – a dusky maiden whom Toby has quietly befriended.”  He grinned in fond remembrance of his faithful friend, “An undertaking, I might add, that he has accomplished with great ease and at no personal expense whatsoever.” Which went to show how little Underwood really knew of his friend, for Toby was entirely torn both by his task and his growing feelings for Sabrina.

Gratten was aware that this was an unforeseen piece of good fortune.  Valuable information could be gleaned from any servant, but especially a personal maid.  There was not much that escaped the attention of the serving classes.

“Are there any conclusions to be drawn at this juncture, Underwood?  Has Toby discovered anything of interest?”

“After much sneaking about and being led a merry dance by the two young ladies, I believe he has found the hotel where the late, lamented Mr Woodforde is presently residing. I don’t know if Lydia and Sabrina finally wearied of trying to evade him – for they must know by now who he is and of his connection to me, or whether Woodforde himself gave them leave to show Toby his hiding place, for some perfidious reason of his own, but they did in the end grow careless and Toby succeeded in his mission – though, oddly, he did not seem particularly happy about it.”

Gratten was astounded, “By Gad!  You were right then, my friend.  The scoundrel is no more dead than you or I.”

“I think not.  But I felt it only right to consult you before going to confront the man.  I suspect he is not only devious, but very possibly dangerous.  He has much at stake here and he may not be pleased to be unmasked.”

“Very true,” Gratten said thoughtfully, “but it will be difficult to arrange protection with no proof of wrong-doing.  I can’t imagine any magistrate allowing us to harass a private citizen without adequate cause.”

“Quite,” agreed Underwood grimly, “In fact, even if we prove indisputably that he is Woodforde, I fail to see that he has committed any crime.  As far as I am aware, there is no law against allowing one’s estranged wife to think one is deceased – unless of course she tries to remarry. Then there might be an accusation of accessory to bigamy. Woodforde, however, has gained nothing yet from the deception.”

“As always Underwood, you make perfect sense.  What then do you suggest our next move should be?”

“Therein lies the difficulty.  As you know I am not a man who relishes physical violence, and under normal circumstances I would take Toby with me to ensure my own safety.  He is well able to take care of himself and of me!  However, on this occasion, I wish to keep Toby’s association with myself as quiet as possible, though that may already be moot.  He is too valuable a source of information.”

“I cannot encourage you to visit Woodforde alone, Underwood,” Gratten told him severely, “Verity would never forgive me should any harm come to you.”

He smiled at the mention of his wife’s name, “Verity knows me well enough, George.  I’ll be the first to run at any hint of a threat, but I do think it would be wise to tell a number of people of my whereabouts.  Woodforde may be desperate, but he is not, I think, a fool.”

“You are prepared to pay him a call, then?”

“I think it must be our first step.  If he realises that he has been out-witted, he may throw in his chips.  As a life-long gambler, he must know when to fold.”

“Well, I wish you luck, Underwood – and be careful!”

“I will, naturally. There is one other thing, George, and I must ask you to keep this strictly between ourselves. Verity, especially, must never hear about this.”

Gratten cleared his throat, half embarrassed to be asked to keep something from Verity – not that he objected to secrets, but he astounded himself by being reluctant to deceive a woman who had grown so much in his estimation that he felt guilty about doing anything to hurt her, “Depends on what it is,” he muttered gruffly.

Underwood smiled, instinctively understanding the other man’s dilemma – he hated lying to Verity himself, but he would rather protect her than worry her, so there was no choice, “Don’t fret yourself, George, it’s nothing so very bad. There was an incident when I was travelling back from ... Well, never mind where from. All you need to know is that you will presently receive a letter from the Constable of Midmickle and I require you to assure him that I am not the leader of a gang of cutthroats.”

Gratten could not have looked more mystified if he had tried, “I beg your pardon?”

“Something and nothing, I assure you,” soothed Underwood, “Just send a letter of reference for me, there’s a good fellow.”

“Very well,” said the Constable resignedly. He had learnt over the years that sometimes, with Underwood, it was better to just bend in the wind like a reed than to try and withstand his overpowering personality, “Anything else?”

“As a matter of fact there is,” said Underwood, suddenly recalling his other task, “To whom do I apply to report a possible fraud by a lawyer in partnership with a crooked relation with vast expectations which shouldn’t be his?”

“The Attorney-General, I suppose, but my dear fellow, this is a terribly serious accusation. I hope you are not going to get yourself into any trouble over it.”

“That remains to be seen, but I shall take care, don’t concern yourself with that for the moment. Let us concentrate on Miss Woodforde for the time being. I suppose you did write to the friend of yours in Barbados?”

“I did. But it will be many weeks before we hear anything back.”

“Of course. Ah, well, let us see what Silas Woodforde has to say for himself, shall we. I will let you know as soon as I have seen him.”

“Do that, Underwood, and in this also, please take care!”

*

The Walnut Tree Inn in Beconfield had a name which sounded salubrious and perhaps even cosy, but nothing could be further from the truth. It was in the roughest part of the town and was much frequented by those with nefarious intentions. Underwood had certainly never entered its portals before, and after one glance around the interior, he was quite sure he never wished to again. However he had a task to perform so he gritted his teeth and approached the bar where he asked to be shown into the presence of Mr Thomas Brodie – an alias which Toby had discovered – by what means, Underwood had no idea, but guessed it would involve excessive amounts of drink and carefully artless questions aimed at employees of the tavern.

Once he was directed, Underwood went into the coffee room of the inn at once, eager to get away from the less than friendly gaze of the other patrons, and there he found the man calling himself Thomas Brodie, with a brandy glass in his hand despite the early hour.

Underwood greeted him by saying, “Good afternoon, Mr Woodforde.”

Brodie laughed, not in the least abashed and replied, “I think you must be after a different fellow, sir.”

“I think not.”

“As you wish.  Take a seat, my dear sir, and I shall order a couple of brandies, which you will pay for, then we can talk.”  Underwood sat, and paid for the drinks, almost admiring Woodforde’s brazenness.  Brodie then asked Underwood for his name and how he had managed to find him.  Underwood saw no reason to lie and Woodforde looked piqued, “I told the girls to be careful, but one should never trust women with anything important.  Still, even though you have found me, my dear fellow, it changes little.  Lydia is entitled to the inheritance, however much my presence might stick in her mother’s craw.”

“Very true, but it may, however, change your wife’s mind about taking this matter to court. I suspect she had more or less decided to take Lydia’s word that she is indeed who she says she is – that will probably not now be the case.”

“Why should she do so?” asked the man, still trying to maintain his calm demeanour, but Underwood thought he detected an undercurrent of panic in his tone.

“Revenge, sir, is a dish best served cold. Mrs Woodforde has waited a long time to punish you for your many misdeeds. You knew that, or so I believe, or you would not have pretended to be dead.”

“Does she know that I am here?” asked the man swiftly, and Underwood could almost see the machinations and calculations which whirred in his brain. Like a rat in a trap he was trying to find a way out of his dilemma.

“Not yet. I wanted to see you for myself first, before I report back to her.”