Yield Not To Misfortune (The Underwood Mysteries Book 5) (6 page)

“And then?”

“Rutherford came in very late and fell asleep on the settee in the drawing room, forgetting to lock the doors. When we woke in the morning the necklace was gone. Of course we imagined Miss Greenhowe had hidden it again, and she kept giggling and saying that they would never find it this time – and of course, as you know, we did not. Mr Luckhurst came and asked her why she thought we wouldn’t find it – she told him that a man had come and put it somewhere safe.”

“And Mr Luckhurst jumped to the conclusion that the man was Rutherford?”

“That was not mentioned at first, but then the Captain suddenly came into a lot of money, when his pockets had been let before for many months. The case began to build up against him. The jewels could not be found, he had money, and he had left the house unsecured so that anyone might have walked in. It did not take long for Mr Luckhurst to persuade Miss Greenhowe that the boy had either taken the necklace, or had allowed robbers into the house deliberately, in exchange for a goodly sum.”

Underwood looked thoughtful, “Captain Petch ran his head into a noose, didn’t he, Miss Fettiplace?”

She shuddered, “It would indeed have been a noose if they could have found the diamonds and proved he sold them on, but they have never been seen since.”

“You realize that if we could find the jewels, it would prove Rutherford innocent?”

She sighed, “Do you think Miss Petch and I haven’t thought of that? Every opportunity we have to search we have done so, but to no avail.”

“Ah, but you did not then have me on the case,” he told her with a smile. She looked at once more cheerful, “Do you really think you can help, Mr Underwood?”

“I can only do my poor best,” he answered modestly, “And if I can’t help, then at least we will all know that I did my best, for I assure you I will. Rutherford Petch saved the life of a man I hold very dear. He will not be deserted now in his hour of need.”

She grasped his hand and held it tight, “I think you are an angel sent from Heaven, Mr Underwood.”

At that he laughed heartily, “I wish my wife, brother and the rest of my acquaintance had heard that description of me, Miss Fettiplace, for I should very much like to see the look on their faces!”

*

CHAPTER NINE

“Aura Popularis” –Temporary Celebrity

There were gasps of shock when Lydia walked into the Pump Rooms in Hanbury Spa, but it was not her face or figure which caused the flutter, nor her notoriety due to the gossip which had swept the town when her possible imposture had been postulated. In a place already ripe for scandal, Lydia Woodforde gave the populace plenty to talk about, for in her wake came an abigail, which was only right, as the young woman was alone in the world, but this was not just any personal maid, but a stunningly beautiful black girl who was very obviously a Barbadian slave.

Slavery in England had been illegal for some years, but was still the norm in the colonies and whilst cosmopolitan cities such as London and most major sea ports were used to seeing all creeds, colours and nationalities of people walking their streets, in provincial little Hanbury, black faces were as rare as hen’s teeth. Underwood’s manservant Toby had also caused a stir, but he had been with the family several years now and Hanbury was used to him, but this girl was very different. It was not her loveliness, nor her downcast eyes and palpable air of discontent; it was the way in which Lydia treated her that most astounded the appalled citizens. The young woman did nothing for herself. With a flick of her hand and a curt order, the slave was directed to do her mistress’s bidding, otherwise she was completely ignored. It gave pause to some who treated their own servants with less than civility or even humanity – they could salve their consciences by at least knowing that they paid for the service they so carelessly received – poor Sabrina did not even have that consolation.

It had been Verity’s idea that Mrs Woodforde bring her daughter straight into the lion’s den, otherwise known as the Pump Rooms, as soon as she had rested from her journey. The notion that they get the first impression over and done with as quickly as possible and in front of as many people as could be reasonably expected in the spa early in the day, was a good one in theory, but in retrospect Verity rather wished she had been more circumspect. Lydia was giving a very bad impression indeed, though Mrs Underwood kindly put that down to nerves. Scarcely surprising that the girl was behaving so oddly, so stiff and unfriendly, in the light of her recent loss and the fact that she must know she was being judged and found wanting by almost every person in the room.

The Wablers wasted no time in crossing the room to join the ladies as soon as they saw two new faces, one of them pretty, one very lovely indeed, and Verity was almost relieved to see them, though she knew they could be rowdy, given half the chance. She did not, naturally, confide their rather vulgar nickname to Lydia. She was not supposed to know it herself, as a matter of fact, since it was not fit for a lady to use, or so Underwood assured her.  His own knowledge of the language of the underworld sprang from his time as a tutor at Cambridge University, since it was “all the crack” for fashionable young gentlemen to use it on every possible occasion, but naturally not in the presence of mothers, sisters or sweethearts.  All she knew was that it was a soubriquet given to foot soldiers by the superior cavalry and had been mockingly applied to Thornycroft and his cronies when their injuries had robbed them of the ability to ride into battle with their former comrades-in-arms. They seemed to find it a grand joke, but Verity thought it tragic and could not see anything faintly amusing, but she accepted that perhaps the black humour was something only men who had experienced the horror or war could share.

The ladies had all seated themselves comfortably on chairs, except Sabrina, who was standing behind her mistress, her eyes downcast. The Wablers arrived in time to hear Verity offering to fetch her companions a glass each of the healing waters. Lydia at once spoke up, her voice imperious, “Nonsense Mrs Underwood, Sabrina will fetch it, you stay where you are.”

Verity was so shocked at being thus ordered that she immediately sank back on to her seat without voicing the protest which hovered on her lips. Thornycroft saw her face and understood at once how distressed she had found the incident.

“Nonsense, yourself, Miss! I shall fetch the water,” he said decisively.

Lydia glanced him up and down, her barely concealed contempt obvious as she looked at his wheeled chair, “Sabrina will do as she is bid and I’ll thank you sir, not to interfere.”

“I’ll help,” said Elliott hastily, seeing a rare quarrel brewing between these two equally strong characters, “Come Sabrina, I’ll show you where to get the cups.”

Sabrina followed him obediently, but as he tried to talk to her as they walked away, she made no attempt to engage with him, merely answering his questions in as few words as possible.

Thornycroft was not finished with Lydia, however, whom he had immediately taken in dislike and was determined to take her down a peg or two, “Do you never say ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ to your servant, Miss? Good manners cost nothing, you know, or so my old mother used to tell me.”

Lydia stared at him as if he had spoken a foreign language to her, “Good heavens, no. Why on earth would I say please to Sabrina? What I tell her to do is not a request, it is an order. When you were in command of your battalion, or whatever it was, would you have said ‘please’ when you issued an order to your men? If you were hunting, would you ask your hounds politely to chase the fox?  What a ridiculous idea.”

For a moment Jeremy James was entirely bereft of an answer, which no one who knew him ever recalled witnessing before. It was several seconds before he managed to say, “But Sabrina is not a dog, or a soldier, is she?”

“She is my property,” said Lydia curtly, “And she does as I say.”

The major was by now thoroughly annoyed, “She may be your property when you are at home in Barbados, my girl, but you are in England now and we have no slavery here. You are subject to the King and must obey his laws.”

She raised a disdainful eyebrow, “I may be English born, sir, but she is not. If you would prefer me to send her back on the next ship, I’ll gladly do so and she can join her countrymen on the sugar plantation!”

Sabrina had returned just in time to hear this last and her coffee coloured skin took on a greyish hue as the blood drained from her face, “Please Miss Lydia, don’t do that! I’ve made no complaint.”

Verity could not have been more distressed and she fluttered a hand at Thornycroft, “Please, Jeremy, I beg you will leave the subject alone. Lydia is not used to our ways,” she said in an urgent undertone.

Mrs Woodforde obviously felt it time to intervene, “That’s enough, Lydia, you are making a very bad start here. No one is going anywhere just yet and certainly not back to Barbados. Mrs Underwood, you were about to introduce the gentlemen to my daughter.”

Verity gave a tremulous smile, still very shocked and upset, but she rose magnificently to the challenge, “Of course, Mrs Woodforde, Lydia has not met anyone here in Hanbury just yet, has she. My dear,” she turned to the young woman, who was looking a little sulky, but remembered her manners well enough and accepted the proffered hand of each of the injured soldiers as they were named for her.

“This is Bertie Swann, Lydia; he served with the Major, and Piers Elliott, also a comrade. Frederic Meadows and Roland Dickson were with a different company, I understand.”

“We were indeed, Mrs Underwood,” said Dickson, “And rightly grateful for it we are too! Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Woodforde.” Lydia managed to smile politely, but it was obvious to all that she was uncomfortable in the presence of their disabilities. Elliott had offered his left hand as his right sleeve hung empty; Dickson was in a chair similar to Thornycroft’s with both his legs also gone. Swann was on a crutch, with his left leg missing below the knee and Meadows wore a black eye patch, from under which ran a long, white scar, testament to the injury which had robbed him of his right eye. He wore a monocle in the other eye, since his sight in that had been seriously impaired too.

Verity, who adored them all for their bravery, stoicism and good humour in the face of their personal tragedies, suddenly saw them from Lydia’s point of view and a raggle-taggle bunch they seemed – but, oh, what great hearts they all had!

“You will all be at the ball tomorrow evening, in the Assembly Rooms, won’t you?” she asked and they all assented readily, though only Meadows was fit enough to dance.

“Where’s Underwood?” asked Dickson, suddenly noticing the absence of his darling Verity’s husband; he had claimed to be in love with her since the first moment he set eyes on her, when she had gladly flirted with him in spite of his injuries. He was fresh from London, where the heartless misses who were eager to make a brilliant match had treated him with a similar horror to that which Lydia had just shown.  “Never tell me he’s finally left town so you and I can run away together, dearest Verity.”

“He’s away on business,” said Verity, careful not to give any hint of Underwood’s whereabouts. The less people who knew he was on another case, the better.

“You couldn’t run off with Verity anyway,” interpolated Swann, “A man would need at least one leg to do that!”

“See how fast you can run when I knock that crutch from under you,” returned Dickson swiftly and they all laughed, except Lydia who gazed from one face to another, wondering how they could bear to joke on so horrid a subject.

Lady Hartley-Wells, who had wondered off with Cromer to greet some of her own friends, and who found the Wablers rather trying
en masse
since they showed her none of the respect she felt was due to her, came back and shooed them all away, “Get on with you, you disreputable gaggle of chuckle-heads! I want this young lady to meet nice young men, not a bunch of here-and-thereians!”

Having been told in that short speech that she considered them to not only be stupid, but of no fixed abode – which sadly was true for most of them, as they resided in a lodging house, when away from the homes they still shared with their parents, the Wablers took themselves off to find something more palatable than Hanbury Spring Water.

Lydia seemed relieved to see them leave, “They are very ... outspoken, aren’t they?” she asked, still somewhat bemused by the whole experience.

Lady Hartley-Wells smiled after their departing backs, showing, for the first time since Verity had known her, a decided partiality for the ex-soldiers, “After what they’ve been through, they deserve the right to speak their minds, God bless them,” she said, “Now what have you all been talking about while I’ve been gone?”

Nobody particularly wanted to tell her.

When she found a moment to speak quietly to Lydia, Verity couldn’t resist asking, even though she felt it rather impertinent, “Do you really
own
Sabrina, my dear? How on earth does that feel, to know that another person is your property – forgive me! I shouldn’t ask, pray pretend I never said anything of the kind.”

Lydia looked at her strangely for a few seconds before she smiled slightly, “I’m sorry, Mrs Underwood, I know that you think it is I who is odd, but of course all this is perfectly ordinary to me, and I can’t understand why all of you are making such a fuss about Sabrina. I suppose it will take time for us all to grow used to each other’s ways. I’m afraid I can’t tell you how I feel about owning Sabrina, for it has never occurred to me that it could be any different. I have always had her by me – you could say that she owns me as surely as I own her, for I can never think of myself without including her in my reckonings. It is quite worrying, you know, having another body relying entirely on you for their every need. Sabrina could not survive without me; she knows how to do nothing for herself. She does not know about money or how to buy food, or where she could find shelter or clothing. In many ways she is like a child, expecting me to provide everything for her.”

“Very like being married to Underwood, then,” said Verity, before she had chance to think about her words. She bit her lip and looked at Lydia, who returned her glance straight-faced for a few seconds, then she smiled, whereupon Verity began to giggle in a manner which belied her matronly aspect. The two women bonded in that moment.

Later, when she was alone in her bed, missing Underwood and wondering how he was going on without her, she thought about her conversation with Lydia. At least Sabrina could always be freed and eventually be taught to look after herself, Verity was sure that Underwood never could.

*