A Place For Repentance (The Underwood Mysteries Book 6) by Suzanne Downes

moment. You’ll give my compliments to your wife, of course, and tell her that I promise to play the perfect host when she comes to Pershore House for dinner.”
                  “I’ll do that, Rutherford, and pray do consider my advice about speaking frankly to Cressida and Miss Fettiplace – I suspect you may be pleasantly surprised by their reactions despite your fears.”
                  Rutherford smiled sadly, “I’ll certainly think about it, I can say no more than that.”
                  The two gentlemen parted company and as he guided his mount along the narrow lane which led to the church, mindful of the other road-users in the hemmed-in, over-crowded thoroughfare, Underwood suddenly realized just how tired he was, but not, he reflected with some satisfaction, that bone-aching, head-thumping exhaustion to which he had grown so sadly accustomed after the slightest exertion over the past months, but the normal weariness of a man who has endured a long ride and a pleasantly active day amongst friends. It seemed that he might finally be seeing some light at the end of a very long tunnel indeed.
                  The lane opened out onto a large square, across which stood the old church and beyond it the vicarage and Underwood hesitated for a moment to view, as though for the first time, the beauty of the little town. His mind had been elsewhere in the past week and he had scarcely taken note of his surroundings. It did not occur to him just then, but it was a sign of the lifting of the melancholy which had dogged his footsteps for so long.
                  The church was all that remained of the monastery and its worn stones gave hints of both Norman and Saxon influences, with a squat, square tower and much carving of gargoyles and other grotesques. Underwood thought it rather charming, despite its mongrel history.
                  The vicarage looked as though it too were a relic of the monastic past; probably it had been one of the working buildings, such as a dairy or more probably the guest house for visiting dignitaries. It was hard now to trace the lines of the past under the present buildings but Underwood had a few happy moments trying before dismounting and leading his hack back to the inn. After paying his shot, which was pleasingly reasonable, he wended his weary way back home, to find Verity waiting for him, her face suffused with a mixture of joy and relief. He would never know how much it had cost her to let him out of her sight for a whole day. She had grown accustomed to being responsible for his safety and she had experienced very similar feelings to a doting mother seeing her boy off to school for his first day.
                  She tried to sound casual and unconcerned as she ushered him into the parlour where tea awaited him and asked him about his adventures, “So, did you find the lady, Cadmus?”
                  “The lady?” he repeated slowly, sipping from a delicate china cup. This was a trick he employed when he had no idea what was being asked of him as it gave him a time to ponder the question.
                  “The widow? Surely you must have found her name when you went to the Stagecoach booking office?”
                  Light dawned, but he did not have the heart to tell her that he had performed this task months before to no avail. Verity had been so very proud of herself for finding a solution to the puzzle that she thought her clever husband had overlooked that he could not now tell her that it had been his very first action.
                  “No use, I’m afraid, my love. She had given a false name.”
                  “How could you possibly know that?” asked Verity, rather disappointed at his unenthusiastic response.
                  “Because she used the classic ‘Mary Smith’,” he said