Free Yield Not To Misfortune (The Underwood Mysteries Book 5) by Suzanne Downes Page B

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