Yield Not To Misfortune (The Underwood Mysteries Book 5)

by Suzanne Downes

  “Good gad!” exclaimed Jebson at the end of the story, “You certainly do invite trouble wherever you go, don’t you, Mr Underwood? I don’t think we’ve heard of a highwayman in these parts for ten years or more.”

  “It is the nature of my work which invites trouble, Will, certainly not me personally! I am a man of peaceable habits and refined demeanour. I’m horrified by the extremes to which other men will go to protect themselves or more often, their money.”

  From what he had seen of the ‘peaceable’ Mr Underwood, and his single-mindedness, Will thought that he provoked rather more people than he helped, but he kindly kept the thought to himself.

  The ride through the lovely countryside was uneventful and Underwood could almost have admitted that he had enjoyed it. Will certainly had – it was extremely rare that he had time away from his shop to trot about the lanes on a horse. He spared a thought for his apprentice, Joe, and vaguely hoped that no really awkward customers called while he was absent, but other than that he gave himself over to the daydream that he was a gentleman of leisure.

  Constable Hugh Waylett was not particularly happy to see Underwood again, but he spoke to him pleasantly enough. He was still deeply suspicious of a man who had been named by a highwayman, who had subsequently ended up dead – and whose corpse had then mysteriously vanished when he had sent his men to collect it. He privately agreed with Underwood that of course the man’s partners in crime would move his body and dispose of it, since it could probably lead to their own identities being discovered, but even so, he hated loose ends – and they did not come much looser than a missing body and a female killer who had behaved with such level-headed coldness, and who had also proceeded to disappear without trace.

  He listened to Underwood’s story with growing disquiet before eventually holding up his hand to stop the flow, “Are you asking me to accompany you to Pershore House in my official capacity, sir, because if so, I’m here to tell you that it cannot be done.”

  “Why on earth not?” interrupted Jebson, by now thoroughly excited by the idea of finding the necklace and bringing Petch back from his exile. He was now utterly convinced that the only way to salvation for the inhabitants of West Wimpleford was to have a decent and honest man back in charge. Luckhurst fully intended to bleed them all dry with his excessive rent demands on his shop premises and poor repairs to overpriced cottages.

  “Simply this,” said the constable calmly, “I do not have a warrant to search the house. I would have to apply to a magistrate and give a very good reason for intruding on the privacy of the gentry – especially gentry as rich and influential as the Greenhowes.”

  “But if Miss Greenhowe were to give you permission to enter the house,” argued Will, desperate now not to see his rosy future slip between his fingers like the quicksilver he occasionally used in his remedies.

  “From what I’ve heard, Miss Greenhowe is not in her right mind. I would be taking a terrible risk of upsetting her and her powerful relations – and I’m not prepared to do that. The position of Constable is merely an honorary one and I have no intention of being the first man in the history of Midmickle to have my title taken away from me in disgrace.”

  Underwood was disappointed, but he understood the man’s situation. It was easy for him to trample over the feelings of others, in the pursuit of justice, he had nothing to lose by it, but he was asking simple countrymen to stand up against a class system under which they and their ancestors had laboured for hundreds of years.

  “I’m truly sorry, Mr Underwood,” he said, and his face showed genuine regret, “But I dare not do anything without official sanction. I could try and get permission from the magistrate, but I think you know what the answer would be. These gentlemen all stick by each other and they hate to admit they might have made a mistake. You are on your own with this. All I can suggest is that you take an independent witness with you when you uncover the diamonds, but Mr Luckhurst is likely to refuse entry to anyone who can damage his situation.”

  “I know it, which is why I was hoping you could help. But no matter, I will think of something. Even if I have to bring Sir George Gratten here, I will get into that house and find those diamonds!”

  There seemed to be nothing more to say, so Underwood invited Will to have a drink with him before returning to West Wimpleford. The younger man was glad to accept but he was very quiet once they reached the taproom of the inn. He sipped his ale, but he had a faraway look in his eyes. Underwood could see that he was mentally grappling with some issue and he wondered vaguely what was troubling his companion, though he was far too mannerly to enquire. The apothecary would no doubt confide in him when he was good and ready.

  “Dammit all, Underwood,” Will exclaimed after some minutes of silent cogitation, “I’ll do it!”

  “My dear fellow, do what?” asked Underwood, halted in the action of lifting his coffee cup to his lips. He observed his companion over the rim, “What mad plan have you come up with, pray tell?”

  “I’ll come to Pershore House with you and be your witness.”

  There was a decided shake of the head from Underwood, “Absolutely not. I’ll not ask it of you, my friend, though you can never know how grateful I am for the offer.”

  “Why not? I’m a respectable business man and Luckhurst cannot call us all liars, no matter how much he desires it to be the truth.”

  “I cannot allow it, Will, simply because I may be wrong. If I do not find the diamonds, then Luckhurst and Attridge win – and you will have earned their eternal enmity. Until Rutherford is back, they hold the whip hand – and I’ll not see you and your family cast out on the street – for that is precisely what would happen. They will not soon forgive anyone who defies them.”

  Will looked stubborn and regretful at the same time, “We can’t let them get away with this Underwood. This is not just about me and mine, now, it is about half the townsfolk and poor Rutherford. He was a hot-head and a fool, but he does not deserve the fate those devils have condemned him to.”

  “Of course he does not, but I cannot let you sacrifice yourself on the altar of my self esteem. I know I’m right about the diamonds, but what if I’m not? What if I’m an arrogant idiot who thinks he could deduce from an old lady’s ramblings a clue which no one else could understand – even those who have known her for years?”

  “I believe in you, Underwood, wholly and without reservation – and if it all goes horribly wrong, I assume there is the need for an apothecary in Hanbury?”

  Underwood laughed, “There’s always a need for an apothecary in Hanbury, my dear friend. There are more sick and maimed residents than you can shake a stick at. Very well, you have convinced me. We will do this together, but not until Miss Cressida Petch has returned. The more people who witness my idiocy, the happier I shall be!”

  *

  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 kno
wn 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.”