Yield Not To Misfortune (The Underwood Mysteries Book 5) (16 page)

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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“Facilis Descensus Averno” – The descent to Hell is easy

It seemed an interminable wait for Cressida and Luckhurst to return from their travels. Underwood desired nothing more now that to find the diamonds and return home. He was uneasy about leaving Verity and his children with only Toby for protection from the machinations of Thomas Brodie and he was unhappy that his trust in Toby was being undermined by the affection the younger man was displaying towards Sabrina. Underwood knew, better than any other, that Brodie had the girl totally in his thrall. She had been raised to obey him without question, to have no thoughts, no opinions of her own – that sort of indoctrination was not easy to shake off – and Sabrina had no reason to gainsay her master, only an affection she might or might not feel for Toby and Verity.

At last word came from Miss Fettiplace that Cressida was home and that she had not only appraised Underwood of the fact, but had also sent a message to Will Jebson, who had told her of the planned exposure of the hiding place. Underwood wasted no time in getting the horse he had hired saddled and ready for the journey to Pershore House – he hoped, for the last time, for he fully intended to call back at the inn in Midmickle only to collect his valise and get aboard the next stagecoach bound for the North.

Cressida greeted them with tears in her eyes, quite overcome by the thought that Underwood was about to achieve freedom for her beloved brother. Attridge and Luckhurst were by the fireplace, speaking quietly together and both sent malevolent looks towards Underwood when he entered the drawing room. He could see from their expressions of trapped desperation that they had been vainly trying to think of any way they could to prevent Underwood and Jebson from entering the house and looking for the lost jewels, but in the face of Cressida and Miss Fettiplace’s enthused reaction, they could say nothing which would not make their collusion obvious.

“So Underwood, you think you have solved a mystery which the rest of us failed to fathom?” said Attridge sarcastically.

“Good afternoon, Mr Attridge,” said Underwood formally, making the other man’s discourtesy obvious, “And yes, I do hope I have discovered the hiding place, however, I beg we will all restrain ourselves from expressing triumph just yet. We are dealing with an elderly and very confused lady, who could quite easily have misremembered her own actions. I only say that I have a good idea where the diamonds are – if, and only if, Miss Greenhowe has not moved them again and forgotten.”

This seemed to ignite a small flame of hope in Luckhurst, who Underwood judged to be slightly less intuitive than his companion, “By God, I hope you are not wasting our time, Underwood,” he said gruffly, but his slight smile belied his words. It was obvious he very much hoped that Underwood
was
wasting his time. He threw a glance towards Jebson, who had remained silent, but was taking note of every word spoken, “And as for you, Apothecary, you had better hope you have played your cards well, for I assure you, there will be consequences. You will pay dearly for your disloyalty.”

Jebson swallowed deeply before venturing to reply, “I have full confidence in Mr Underwood, Mr Luckhurst.”

The man laughed mirthlessly, “Well, let’s hope he has a shop to let to you, for I promise you, there’s no place for you on my property.”

Jebson acknowledged this with a nod of his head. There was nothing more to say and to try would be a waste a breath. He was committed now, no matter what the outcome and could only pray that his confidence in Underwood was not misplaced.

“Oh, pray, let us stop all this chatter and go and find the diamonds right this very minute,” exclaimed Cressida impatiently, furious with her cousin’s assumption that the Greenhowe fortune was still going to be his, but too distracted to bother arguing the point with him.

“Not just yet,” said Attridge smoothly, “First I would like to know how Mr Underwood came to his conclusion without even searching the house for himself – I presume you have not searched the house, sir?” His tone suggested that he would have something harsh to say if Underwood were to admit any such thing. Underwood knew he was simply trying to find some reason to bring a halt to the proceedings and to be fair, he didn’t blame him for making the attempt. He was about to see all his plans fall into dust.

              “No, I have not searched, Mr Attridge. The guard Mr Luckhurst set upon the place was too stringent for even one as resourceful as I to breach. I merely spoke to Miss Greenhowe and followed the clues she gave me.”

“Which were?”

“She sang rhymes about horses.”

Attridge laughed heartily, and threw a contemptuous look at Underwood, “She sang to you? Dear God, man! She is out of her mind. You really think that this nonsense is going to lead you to a priceless treasure?”

“I sincerely hope so,” replied Underwood with a slightly wistful smile, “Or I shall look a fool, shan’t I?”

Cressida looked utterly astounded, “I don’t understand, Mr Underwood. How on earth could rhymes about horses lead you to find the diamonds? As far as I am aware there are no connections to horses in this house. We searched the stables – that is the only place you might find a horse.”

“So I discovered. I had Miss Fettiplace describe every room in the house, as far as she was able, with particular emphasis on any equine pictures which might possibly hide a wall safe or secret cupboard or even a statue which could be hollow and serve as a receptacle for the jewels.”

“There is nothing of that sort,” Cressida assured him, “We are not a horsey family in general. I cannot think of a single item which meets that description.”

“Nor could Miss Fettiplace – until we reached the third floor.”

“The third floor? But that is the attics. All that floor holds is the servants quarters in one wing and the old nursery and nursemaid’s room on the other. No one has used those rooms for twenty years or more. By the time Rutherford and I came to live with my aunt, we were both past an age to be confined in the nursery. I suspect it has not been in full use since Aunt Jemima was a little girl.”

“Precisely,” said Underwood.

“Precisely what?” sneered Luckhurst, “You speak in riddles as pathetic as the old woman’s.”

Underwood turned a cold glance on Luckhurst, “Tell me sir, what is the common turn of phrase which describes Miss Greenhowe’s sad condition?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” snapped the young man, growing red in the face with his rapidly building frustration.

“Most people would describe Miss Greenhowe as being in her ‘second childhood’,” explained Underwood kindly, “If that is the way her mind is running, then what better place to hide something than in the place she would have secreted her girlhood treasures?”

“The nursery was searched,” growled Luckhurst.

“Then there is no harm in searching it again,” said Underwood, “Shall we go?”

They left the drawing room and ascended the stairs, Cressida leading the way, chattering happily to Miss Fettiplace that she was sure, oh, so very sure, that Mr Underwood was right and they would at last find the wretched stones – which, she assured them all, she would sell the very moment they became her property, so many bad memories were attached to them.

They found the nursery swathed in Holland covers, which Underwood swiftly removed, handing them to an infuriated, but defenceless Attridge, who held them in his arms as though they were bundles of unspeakable filth instead of dusty old sheets, before tossing them contemptuously on the floor.

Cressida, in the meantime, drew back the curtains and the room was suddenly flooded with daylight.

They all looked around and found a room untouched by time and still crammed with the toys and books of a long past childhood. The small bed was stripped, the mattress bearing a few unsavoury stains, which Underwood fervently hoped were patches of damp. There was an enormous doll’s house, filled with tiny, perfect furniture and a carved wooden family, lying strewn on the rug where the last child who played with them had left them when called away. A bookshelf was filled with books, the titles of which were strongly religious in tone, meant to build moral fibre rather than entertain. The Noah’s Ark was filled to the brim with its paired animals, exotic and domestic.

But the one object which drew all their gazes stood in the bright light of the window, facing outwards so that the child could look through the glass and pretend that they were riding across the hills. Dust motes floated about its head and it was so lifelike that one almost expected the ears to twitch in annoyance.

“The rocking horse,” breathed Cressida, “She meant the rocking horse!”

She ran across the room to it, “I used to love this old thing,” she said softly, “Though of course I was far too big to ride on it when we moved here. We were allowed to play up here when we came to visit before my parents died and this was always our favourite, even though Rutherford thought I should prefer the Doll’s House. He wanted to ride the horse into battle and we fought over it because I wanted to ride too.  He also liked the lions and tigers in the Ark, of course, and the building blocks made many a castle, only to be knocked down with his wooden sword. I should have known then that he would be a soldier one day.”

Attridge spoke testily, bored by these childhood reminiscences, “Yes, yes, all very quaint, but does the damn thing have a secret place where something could be hidden? I notice it has saddle bags.”

Cressida, reminded of the reason for their presence in the nursery, shook off the old memories and obligingly looked into the saddle bags.

“Nothing but some ancient crumbs from some forgotten picnic,” she reported, disappointed.

“What about under the saddle,” suggested Miss Fettiplace, “Perhaps there is a hole in the body, which the carpenter didn’t bother to fill, since it would be covered by the leather.”

With trembling fingers Cressida unbuckled the miniature, but perfectly replicated girths and removed the saddle. The back of the horse was as smooth and carefully painted with dapple grey as the rest of the creature. Whoever had created this item had done so with the loving care of a real craftsman.

“Ha! Just as I thought,” said Luckhurst, scarcely hiding the jubilation in his tone, “A fool indeed, Mr Underwood!”

“Not quite,” said Underwood, approaching the horse, his penknife in his hand, “I had a similar toy and drove my mother to distraction with the constant motion. She swore I had broken the floorboards with the pounding I gave them. A slight exaggeration, I had merely loosened one or two of the shorter ones – and when they were lifted, there was a very convenient cavity for hiding forbidden goods, such as my collection of conkers and the slingshot she had confiscated and which I duly set my younger brother to liberate.”

He moved the horse nearer to the window and after moving the rug aside, he made a swift examination of the broad oak boards beneath. Presently he slid his knife into a crevice and with a cry of triumph lifted the wooden plank, revealing a hole beneath into which he plunged his hand.

They all held their breaths as he drew forth a square, flat, red leather box, the sort in which expensive jewellery is sold.

“Let us hope that Miss Greenhowe left the diamonds in the case,” he said lightly, “for if she has removed them I doubt we’ll ever discover where they rest now!”

“Oh, don’t, don’t say so,” whispered Cressida in anguish, “Please just open it. I cannot bear the suspense any longer!”

Underwood lifted the small brass catch with a practiced thumb – he often opened his snuff box in the same manner – and lifted the lid.

The sunshine played upon the contents, making them all gasp.

Nestled in their blue silk bed were the most magnificent set of diamonds Underwood had ever seen – complete and untarnished by time – earrings, necklace, brooch, and the wirings to make the whole into a tiara, should it be required.

“Oh dear God,” said Luckhurst, but it was a groan of despair, not an acknowledgement of beauty of the stones Underwood held in his hands.

Attridge was the first to pull himself together, “Well, Mr Underwood, it looks as though poor Rutherford has been the victim of a miscarriage of justice after all. I shall go directly to the magistrate and set the wheels in motion for his release.”

Underwood gave him a cool look, “Pray don’t put yourself to the trouble, my dear sir, I shall do that myself. I have already written to the Attorney General about your conduct in this matter and I suspect he will want a full of account of what has gone on in this house.”

Attridge’s face drained of all colour, “By God, sir, you take much upon yourself!”

“As did you,” answered Underwood coldly, “I suspect this family will now be dispensing with your services, so I suggest you take yourself off.”

The man gave Underwood a look of such loathing that even that gentleman was taken aback, if only for a moment.

“You have made an enemy, Underwood, and take my word on it, I will have my revenge.”

“You tried once, sir, and failed. Perhaps it is now the moment to admit defeat.”

“Never!” Attridge snapped and turned on his heel.

Luckhurst grabbed his arm as he walked past him, “What are we to do now, Mark?” he asked of his friend, “It looks as though your clever plotting has ended in disaster!”