A Place For Repentance (The Underwood Mysteries Book 6) Read Online Free PDF

myself scarce for a few minutes so you can speak in private.”
                  “Non, non, please monsieur. Do not leave on my account. It is just a little toothache. I have been told to ask for clove oil – is that not right?”
    She turned appealing eyes on Will, who frowned slightly and shook his head, “Not to put too fine a point on it, madam, I think you have gone beyond clove oil. Your cheek is red and swollen and you look feverish. I dare swear you have an abscess and probably need to have the tooth pulled.”
    Underwood tutted and looked suitably sympathetic, “How very painful that must be,” he said, “But how rude of me not to introduce myself. The name is Underwood – but of course, you know that, you heard Mr Jebson address me.”
    She tried to smile as she bowed slightly to acknowledge his greeting, but it was evidently extremely painful for her to do so, as she winced as she responded, “How do you do, sir. I am Violette Molyneux.”
    “Ah, a French lady?” he asked with a friendly smile, to reassure her of his neutral reaction to her nationality.
    She hesitated for a moment before saying hastily, “From Flanders, sir.”
    Underwood doubted it, but he could understand her reluctance to admit the truth of her motherland, “Just so,” he said. “Now, about this poor tooth of yours. Shall I leave you to Mr Jebson’s ministrations? I’m told he is an expert at painless extraction.” He had been told no such thing, but what else could one say to an obviously frightened girl?
    She looked like a cornered doe, her large, long-lashed eyes casting about for some avenue of escape, “I have no time for that, sir,” she said hastily, “I must be at the theatre soon.”
    “The theatre? You are perhaps a chanteuse? ” asked Underwood, employing a little French to try and make her feel at home.
    “An actress, sir, I’m afraid I do not sing well.”
    Underwood very nearly spoke aloud of his gratitude to the deity for this small mercy. He had been forced to spend several weeks in the company of an Italian Opera singer in Brighton, when her English husband (and his sister-in-law Cara’s uncle) Lord Peter Lovell, had been murdered. To say that Underwood had not enjoyed the experience was to vastly understate the matter. He had found her histrionics rather wearing to say the least, though he had had every sympathy for her newly widowed state and the horrific manner in which it had been brought about.
    “How fascinating. I enjoy a visit to the theatre myself. Perhaps I could bring my wife to see the play?”
    She managed another small smile, “That would be nice, sir, but alas we move on tomorrow to the next town and I must help with packing up the costumes and scenery otherwise I will find myself without employment.”
    Jebson thought that it was time he intervened, “Well, miss, you really need to have that tooth looked at, so I suggest you try the oil of cloves for now but if you have no improvement, perhaps you will see a medical man when you next stop?”
    “I will, of course,” she said gratefully. “How much do I owe you?” She began to search her reticule and when she drew forth a tiny, draw-string purse; it became obvious to both Underwood and Jebson that it was pathetically light. Was it perhaps penury that dictated she could not have the tooth pulled, rather than pressure of time?
    “That will be thruppence,” said Jebson hastily and handed over the vial, neatly wrapped in brown paper. The girl laboriously counted three pennies into his hand, confirming that there was not very much more than those few copper coins in the purse.
    Underwood looked grim. To his certain knowledge the medication cost more than Jebson had said – toothache was not unknown in his own household, with two young children and his wife’s fondness for sweets. He said nothing, however; it was not his concern and it was typical of what he knew of Will Jebson’s kind heart that he would not have let the