An Aria Writ In Blood (The Underwood Mysteries Book 4) (10 page)

CHAPTER TEN

(“Plures Crapula Quam Gladius” – Drunkeness kills more than the sword)

When Underwood went to find his wife, she was looking rather worried.

“Is there something wrong, my dear?”

“Cadmus, I know it is probably unnecessary, but I cannot help but be concerned that Horatia and the other children are in this house, after what has happened.”

Underwood, who had been concentrating wholly on the physical side of the incident, had not taken the time to consider the emotional.  Now that his wife brought it to his attention, he found that he, too, was decidedly unhappy that his child should be living in a house where a murder had been committed – a murder, moreover, whose perpetrator was unknown.  It was all very well to assume that Peter had been killed in what the French called “a crime of passion” – but what if he had not?  How safe was their baby if the killer was a madman with a bloodlust?

“Verity, you are very right.  The children must be taken away from here immediately!”

“Are we to go home, then?”

This was a solution he had not envisioned and he was torn.  The safety of his family must always be of paramount importance to him, but he was honest enough to admit that he also had a passion for the cut and thrust of solving a mystery such as this one.  To pit his wits against the cunning of a worthy opponent was a need which could be satisfied in no other way.

Rather unkindly Verity thoroughly enjoyed the few fleeting seconds during which these myriad emotions flitted across Underwood’s face.  His final answer was eloquent in its simplicity, “Oh!”

“Is there something wrong, beloved?” asked his wife, with an air of innocence.

“No, no, not at all – it is simply that … well, I had not considered our leaving here.”

“But going home must be the most sensible course.  Horatia cannot stay here, and I am not sure I want to do so either.”

“But, after all he has done for us, I feel honour bound to aid William in this time of trouble,” invented the ever-resourceful Underwood swiftly.

Verity smiled, “My dear, why try to fool yourself or me?  You want to stay!”

He grinned ruefully, “Very well, I admit it – but if you have your heart set upon taking Horatia back to Derbyshire, I shall naturally accompany you.”

“Only I know what a sacrifice that would be, Cadmus, and I would not hear of it.  Quite apart from any other consideration, you are right.  William has been exceptionally kind – and is now our kin.  You must stay and help him – especially as it is beginning to look as though Trentham has set himself up as the major – and possibly the only – suspect.”

“How true!  Why is my life plagued by foolish boys who plunge themselves into trouble and expect me to haul them out of it?”

“That I cannot answer, but I can give you my blessing to do so.”

He was struck by another problem, “But, what of you?”

“What of me?”

“Must you go, too?”

“Of course I must.  I can hardly send Horatia home alone.”

“I suppose not,” he admitted grudgingly.

“Are you trying to tell me something, Mr. Underwood?” she asked severely.

“Dammit all!  You know I am.”

“Then pray say it!” 

He writhed for a few moments, unwilling, indeed almost unable, to voice his deepest emotions, especially when she was forcing him to do so.  He could, on occasion, say the most touching of things, but not when it was expected or demanded of him.

“I don’t want you to go.  Does that satisfy you, you termagant?  I shall be lost without you and miss you horribly.”

“My dear, I believe that is the first time you have ever said anything of the sort.  I had no idea you could be so romantic.”

The note of sarcasm was not lost upon him and he dragged her roughly into his arms and kissed her, “Is that romantic enough for you?” he asked, when at last he released her.  It took her a moment to regain sufficient breath to reply, “I will speak to Ellen and the Countess.  Perhaps there is a safe haven nearby where the children could be housed.”

He laughed with quiet triumph, “Capitulation!  Perhaps you would now care to admit that you have no wish to leave me either?”

“A dutiful wife must always be by her husband’s side.”

“Dutiful, my eye!  Say it.  Say you don’t want to leave me either.”  His voice sank to a husky whisper in her ear, and then he kissed her neck, causing a shiver to run up her body.

“I don’t want to leave you,” she whispered back.

“I should think not!  Go, madam, and make your arrangements, whilst I speak to Toby.  The Earl, it seems, now thinks he has rights over my servants as well as his own.”

Reluctantly she withdrew herself from his embrace.  As she left him, he ran his hands down her arms, grasped her fingers and kissed them lightly before letting her go, “Until a little later, my love,” he said warmly.  She gave him one last coquettish glance before she shut the door upon him.

*

Being a man who did not possess a large house or many servants, Underwood had no patience with the politics involved in the running of an aristocrat’s mansion.  He found he could not be bothered ringing a bell, waiting for it to be answered, then requesting that Toby be sent for, during which time he must wait yet again, so he took himself down the basement steps and went to find his quarry himself.

If he could have been bothered to observe it, he might have been vaguely amused by the flurry his invasion caused.  He found the servants’ hall with little trouble, as the doors stood open and the sound of chatter and laughter issued from it.  It crossed his mind to wonder at the lack of sorrow the death of their master’s brother had caused the servants, but after all, he countered reasonably, why should it matter to them?  He did not suppose that any other consideration than wages; food and clothing prompted these people to take employment of the kind they had.  To them Peter must merely have been an exceptionally privileged man, and if he had the misfortune to be killed, well, it happened to their brethren all the time and usually in much less luxurious surroundings.  With the perils of poverty, illness, drunkenness, violent crime on the streets and in the home, most men were lucky if they attained the age of fifty.

As he entered the room the conversation ceased abruptly.  The maids leapt to their feet and straightened their aprons and caps; the butler and his minions also scrambled up and lifting their coats off the backs of chairs, they shrugged themselves into them.

The butler tried to approach Underwood with great dignity, but the picture was rather spoiled by the fact that he still had a napkin tucked into his waistcoat and his large moustache was liberally frothed with the head off the ale he had just been drinking, “Can I be of some assistance, sir?” he asked coldly.

“Pray don’t mind me,” said Underwood airily, waving them vaguely back to their seats, “I merely require a word with my man Toby.  Is he in here?”

“No, sir.  I believe he and Giovanni are with his Lordship.  The men have arrived to remove the body of Lord Peter and the Earl required Giovanni to calm Lady Luisa.  Toby went to see if there was any assistance he could offer.”

“I see.  Well, whilst I am here, I would have words with you all.”  With no finesse at all, in the opinion of the pompous Pryce, Underwood dragged an empty chair from under the table and sat himself down, “Pray be seated, all of you.”

One young woman, with more spirit than the rest, asked politely, “Is there anything I can bring for you, sir?”

“Yes, thank you.  A cup of tea would be delightful.”  With a saucy swing of her hips, she sidled past Pryce and brought Underwood a cup of tea, before taking her accustomed seat at the lower end of the table.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, it would be foolish and more than somewhat insulting to you all to pretend that there is nothing untoward about the way Lord Peter met his death.  It was a vicious act which cannot, it would seem, be blamed upon suicide.  That being so, it is now vitally important that we find his killer.  I would ask you all to try and recall anything, however small or insignificant, that might aid the Constable and myself in bringing this murderer to justice.”

The faces which stared back at him were blank and he could see that the Earl spoke nothing less than the truth.  Not a word would issue from these lips without the express permission of their master.  He took a sip of his tea and continued, “During the course of the next few days, the Constable and his men will be questioning you all as to your movements on the day and night of the murder.  I suggest you all try to remember now, whilst it is still fresh in your minds.  It would also save a great deal of time and effort if you all wrote a short statement.  The Earl will be grateful to have the running of his household as little disturbed as possible, so this would save him the inconvenience of having strange men tramping about his home, asking questions.”

“I will see it is done forthwith, Mr. Underwood,” said Pryce firmly.

“Very good.  Thank you for the tea,” Underwood directed this remark and one of his most devastating smiles at the young maid who had served him, and she wilted beneath the onslaught.  When he left the room she heaved a huge, dreamy sigh, “Ooh!  Isn’t he lovely?”

“That will be enough of that, Miss!” snapped the housekeeper, “Get on with your work!”

*

While her husband searched for Toby, Verity did as she had promised and went to speak to the Countess.  She was in a small withdrawing room at the back of the house, trying to avoid the sight of Peter’s body being brought down the stairs by the Constable’s men.  Verity was not sorry to join her in this ambition, nor was Ellen, who had been directed by her husband to bear the lady company until the horrid moment was past.

“Dear Verity, do come in.  I have just ordered tea.”

“I don’t intrude, do I?” asked Verity tentatively.

“Not at all.  William has ordered me to stay out of the way whilst they deal with Peter, so I confess I am glad of the company.  I swear I do not know what to think or do.  I have never had such an experience in my life before.”

“Not many of us have,” asserted Ellen, “Even as a doctor’s wife, I have never had to go through a horror such as this.  You have our entire sympathy, my dear.”

“Thank you,” responded the Countess, briefly covering Ellen’s hand with her own.

“How is Luisa this morning?” asked Verity.

“Not good, I’m afraid,” answered Ellen, “They laid Peter out on a bed in another room and allowed her to go in and pay her last respects.  Seeing his body sent her into hysterics.  Even Francis could not calm her.  They had to send Giovanni to her in the end, though no one really approved of her having a man servant in her room without a chaperone present.”

Verity was inclined to think that the lack of a chaperone was really the last thing Luisa needed to worry about just at that particular juncture, but she made no comment.

“Poor Luisa!  One can only hope that this shock does not cause her to miscarry her baby.  It is tragic enough that she has lost her husband, to lose her baby too would be outside of enough.”

“I think Luisa has a much stronger constitution than any of us give her credit for,” said the Countess grimly, “She will not lose her child, I can guarantee it.”

Verity thought a change of subject would be politic, “My dear, I hesitate to burden you at such a moment, but Underwood and I have been discussing the situation and we both agree that we cannot countenance Horatia remaining here, now that this terrible thing has happened.”

“You are not leaving?” gasped the Countess, looking haggard at the very thought.

“No, no.  We could not desert you at a time like this, but I wondered if perhaps you knew of some house, not too far away, where she – and the other children - could be housed in safety until this dreadful mess is cleared up.”

The Countess looked immensely relieved, then frowned slightly as she considered the problem.   Suddenly her expression cleared, “Of course!  The perfect solution.  Cara and Trentham’s old nanny lives a few miles down the coast.  When William pensioned her off, he asked where she would like to live and she chose here, so her charges could visit occasionally, which of course they always do.  He bought a smart little house for her.  I’m sure she would be delighted to care for the children for us – I can send a nurse-maid to help her.”

“That would relieve a great deal of worry, if it could be arranged,” commented Ellen, “For Francis and I were also discussing taking the boys home, but I know Francis wants to stay and see this thing through to the end.  He wouldn’t hear of leaving Underwood to ‘have all the fun’, as he termed it.”

The Countess was rather shocked by this comment; she was not particularly fond of her brother-in-law, feeling that he had done very little in his life but bring shame upon his family, right up to the ignominious way he had met his death, but even so, she was not quite ready to see any part of the situation which could legitimately be viewed as ‘fun’!  Verity smiled slightly, “Men are such boys sometimes.  Why do the most bizarre circumstances always intrigue them?  I swear I have never seen Underwood look more bereft when I suggested we should go back to Derbyshire.”